ck being in sight we sat down upon a grassy bank to make our toilet.
A tramp's knapsack always has little pouches at the side for soap,
brushes, and blacking. We were not so near to the tall steeples as we
thought, and it took us a good hour and a half before we reached the city
gates. The approaches are through pretty avenues of young trees and
ornamental flower-plots. The town entrance at which we arrived was
simply a double iron gate, like a park gate in England. As we were about
to pass in, the sentinel beckoned and pointed us towards a little
whitened watchbox, at which we stopped to hand our papers through a
pigeon-hole. In a few minutes the police officer came out, handed to me
my passport with great politeness, and in a sharp voice bade the tinman
follow him. Such is the difference between a passport and a wander-book.
I, owner of a passport, might go whither I would: tinman, carrying a
wander-book, was marched off by the police to his appointed house of
call. I took full advantage of my liberty, and, as became a weary young
man with two gold ducats in his fob, went to recruit my strength with the
best dinner I could get. Having taken off my knapsack and my blouse, I
soon, therefore, was indulging in a lounge upon the sofa of one of the
best hotels in the sleepy and old-fashioned free city of Lubeck.

CHAPTER VIII.

LUBECK TO BERLIN.

By right of churches full of relics, antique buildings, and places
curiously named, Lubeck is, no doubt, a jewel of a town to antiquarians.
Its streets are badly paved, but infinitely cleaner than the streets of
Hamburg. I did not much wonder at that, for I saw no people out of doors
to make them dirty, when I exposed myself to notice from within doors as
a solitary pedestrian, upon my way to take a letter to a goldsmith in the
market place. The market place is a kind of exchange; a square building
with an open court in the centre, around which there is a covered way
roofed quaintly with carved timbers. In this building the mechanical
trades of Lubeck are collected, each trade occupying a space exclusively
its own under the colonnade. Here, all the tradesmen are compelled to
work, but are not permitted to reside. Each master has his tiny
shop-front with a trifling show of goods exposed in it, and his small
workshop behind, in which, at most, two or three men can be employed. In
some odd little nooks the doors of these boxes are so arranged, that two
masters