thou noble drink of Britons--

the outburst of some exhilarated poet--should be inscribed upon thy
double-turreted gate, good Hamburg! The odorous steam of rum and lemon
contends in thine open streets with the fumes of tobacco; the union of
these two perfumes make up thine atmosphere; while thy public walks are
strewn with the unsmoked ends of cigars, thick as the shrivelled leaves
in autumn.

Seriously, the Hamburger toils earnestly, and takes his pleasure with a
proportionate amount of zeal. His enjoyments, like his labours, are of a
strong and solid description. The workmen trundle _kegle_ balls in long,
wooden-built alleys; and down in deep beer cellars, snug and warm, do
they cluster, fondling their pipes like favoured children; taking long
gulps of well-made punch, or deeper draughts of Bairisches beer. If they
talk, they do so vehemently, but they love better to sit and listen to
some little troop of _harfenisten_--street harp-players--as they tone the
waltzes of Lanner, or sing some chivalrous romance. Sometimes they form
themselves into bands of choristers, and sing with open windows into the
street, or play at billiards as if it were for life, or congregate in the
dance-houses, and waltz by the hour without a pause. In all they are
hearty, somewhat boisterous, but never wanting in good temper.

As marriage is out of the question with the workman in Hamburg, whether
stranger or native--unless indeed the latter may have passed through the
probationary course of travel and conscription, and be already on the
verge of mastership--so also is honourable courtship. His low wages and
dependent position form an impassable barrier to wedlock, and a married
journeyman is almost unknown. By the law of his native city he must
travel for two or three years, independently of the chances of
conscription, and thus for a period at least he becomes a restless
wanderer, without tie or home. No prudent maiden can listen to his
addresses, and thus it is that Hamburg swarms with unfortunates; and this
it is which gives them rights and immunities unknown in any other city.

CHAPTER V.

PLAYS AND PICCADILLOES.--"HAMLET" IN GERMAN.

It is Sunday again. Soberly and sedately do we pass our morning hours.
We waken with the sweet music of bells in our ears; bells that whisper to
us of devotion; bells that thrill us with a calm delight, and raise up in
us thoughts of gentleness and charity.

There is no lack of chu