plays them by a set of pedal keys, and
works himself into a mighty heat and flurry in the operation. But we
cannot think of the wild manner and mad motions of the player in
connection with those beautiful sounds, so clear and melodious; that half
plaintive music so sweetly measured. They ring thus every morning,
commencing at a quarter to six, and play till the hour strikes.

We descend, and make our way through irregular streets and dingy canals
till we reach the church of St. Jacobi. It stands in an open space, is
neither railed in, nor has it a graveyard attached to it. It is of
stone, and has an immense gable roof, slated, and studded with eaved
windows. A shortish square basement is at one end, from which springs a
tall octangular steeple. Within all is quiet and decorous. The church
is paved with stone, and there is a double row of pews down the centre.
But is this a Protestant Church? Most assuredly; Lutheran. You are
astonished at the crosses, the images, the altar? True! there is
something Romish in the whole arrangement, but it is Protestant for all
that. You cannot help feeling vexed at the pertinacity with which the
Germans whitewash everything, nor do the pale lavender-coloured curtains
of the pulpit appear in keeping with the edifice. Everything is
scrupulously clean.

We are too late to hear the congregational singing, the devotional union
of voices, for as we enter the minister ascends into the pulpit in his
black velvet skull-cap, and bristling white frill. Unless you are a good
German scholar you will fail to understand the discourse so earnestly, so
emphatically delivered. The echo of the building, and the high character
of the composition, will baffle and mislead you; while, at the same time,
the incessant tingling of the little silver bells suspended from the
corners of scarlet velvet bags, which are handed along the pews (at the
end of a stick), during the whole of the sermon, will distract and
irritate you. It is thus they collect alms for the poor. Yet even to
one ignorant of the language, there is a fullness and vigour in the style
and manner of delivery that would almost persuade you that you had
understood, and felt convinced of the truth of what you had heard. As we
quit the church we purchase at the door a printed copy of the sermon from
a poor widow woman, who is there to sell them at a penny each.

We will loiter home to dinner. The streets are thronged with people,
wit