e whole
pride and happiness is concentrated in his ponderous staff of pilgrimage;
a patriarchal wand, indeed! rightly bequeathed as an heirloom from father
to son, and in its state and appearance not unworthy of the reverence
with which it is regarded. It is no flimsy cane to startle flies with,
but a stout stem some six feet long, duly peeled, scraped and polished,
and mounted with a chased head of massive silver.

Close by his side an effeminate leather-dresser from Carlsruhe sits
stroking his yellow goat's beard. Instead of strapping his knapsack to
his back like a stalwart youth, after the manly fashion of his
forefathers when on the tramp, he trundles behind him as he goes, a
little iron chaise loaded with his pack and worldly equipage.

There broods a sombre cordwainer from Bremen, gloating over his enormous
pipe, in form and size like a small barrel, raising an atmosphere for
himself of the fumes of coarse uncut _knaster_. He has doffed his white
kittel (blouse), and has wriggled himself into a short-waisted,
long-skirted, German frock-coat, which, having been badly packed in his
knapsack, exhibits every crease and wrinkle it has acquired during a
three weeks' march. Know, friend, that the skilful folding of apparel,
to be worn on his arrival in every important town, is one of the
necessary acquirements of the German wanderer.

Add to these a rollicking saddler from Heldesheim, who figures in a full
beard, a rich cluster of crisp, brown curls, his own especial pride, and
the object of deep envy to his less hirsute companions; and who, far too
fond of corn brandy-wine, goes about singing continually the song of the
German tramp, "_Ich Liebe das liederliche Leben_!"--This vagabond life I
delight in!--an earnest, quiet student, who, for reasons of economy, has
made the Schuster-gasse his place of refuge; and a dishevelled
button-maker, last from Hamburg, who has just received his geschenck, or
trade-gift, amounting to fifteen silver groschens, about eighteenpence in
English money; and who ponders drearily over it as it lies in the palm of
his hand, wondering how far this slender sum will carry him on the road
to Breslau, his native place, still some two hundred miles away.

We have among us the wily and the simple, the boisterous and the patient,
the taciturn and the unruly; but though they will sing songs before they
go to sleep, and swagger enormously among themselves, they become as
still and meek as doves