A Tramp's Wallet stored by an English goldsmith during his wanderings in Germany and France — A Closer Reading

and-plastery, in fact; but we must not express our opinions too rashly, for first impressions are not always the most faithful after all.

“Now, Tom, is the boat ready?”

We scramble down the sides of the British schooner, the “Glory,” and seat ourselves along with Tom. What a confusion of boats, long-pointed barges, and small sailing vessels!

“Mind how you go, Tom.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” replies Tom, contemptuously shifting his quid.

These small sailing vessels we see are from the Hanoverian and Danish coasts. Their cargoes consist principally of wood, and whole stacks of vegetables, the latter ridiculously small. Those long-pointed barges are for canal navigation, and are admirably adapted to Hamburg, threaded as it is by canals in every direction.

Steady! Do you see that curious, turret-looking building, old and time-worn, guarded by a sentinel?—it is the fort to protect the water-gate through which we are now passing. It is also occasionally used as a prison. On the opposite side is a poor, dilapidated, wooden building, erected on a barge, where permits are obtained for spirits and tobacco—a diminutive custom-house indeed. There being no one to question or molest us, we pass on, and in a few moments are at our landing-place, a short flight of stone steps leading to the Vorsetzen or quay.

Tom moors his boat with a grave celerity, leads the way up the stone steps on to the quay, and as speedily disappears down a sort of trap which gapes in the open street, in the immediate vicinity of the landing-place. Let him alone; Tom knows the way. We follow him down an almost perpendicular flight of stairs into a spirit kellar, and gratify Tom’s little propensity for ardent liquors.

Tom has disappeared, and is now paddling his way back to the “Glory,” and we stand upon the humble water-terrace, the Vorsetzen, looking out upon the shipping. It is a still, bright, Sunday afternoon in September. There is no broiling sun to weary us; the sky is clear, and the air soft and cheering, like the breath of a spring morning. We will turn our backs upon the river and proceed up Neuerweg.

We cannot walk upon the narrow strip of footpath, for, besides that there is very little of it, our course would become a sort of serpentine as we wound about the fresh young trees which skirt the edge of it at regular intervals. But are they not pleasant to look upon, those leafy sentinels, standing by the stone steps of the houses, shaking their green tops in happy contrast to the whitened walls? So we will walk in the road, and being good-tempered today, will not indulge in violent invectives upon the round-topped little pebbles which form the pavement; but, should we by chance step into a puddle which has no manner of means of running out of our way, we will look with complacency at our dirtied boots, and trip smilingly on. Yes, trip is the word, for I defy the solemnest pedestrian in Christendom to keep a measured pace upon these upright, pointed, shining-faced pebbles.

There! we are in the Schaar-markt. Now look around, and say, would you not fancy yourself in some quaint old English village? What a curious complication of cross-beams is presented in the fronts of the houses!—a barring and binding of huge timbers, with their angles filled in with red bricks. How simple and neat is everything!—the clean stone steps leading up to the principal entrance of each house, and the humbler flight which conducts you to the _kellar_ and kitchen. You would imagine you had seen the place before, or dreamt of it, or read of it in some glorious old book when your memory was fresh and young.

See that young damsel with bare arms, no bonnet, no cap, but her hair cleanly and neatly parted in the middle of her head, and disclosing her round, rosy, honest German face. She is not pretty, but how innocent and good-tempered she looks; and see how lightly and easily she springs over those, to us, ruthless pebbles, her short petticoats showing her clean white stockings and bright shoes to advantage.

And here comes a male native of the place; a shortish, square-built, and somewhat portly man, clad in a comfortable, old-fashioned way, with nothing dashing or expensive about him. He is not very brisk, to be sure; and when you first look at his round face an idea of his simplicity comes over you; but it is only for an instant, and then you read the solid, sterling qualities quietly shining in his clear eyes. There is not a great amount of intellectuality, that is to say nervous intellectuality, in his contented countenance, but a vast quantity of unstudied common sense.