aid was a rarity, our ordinary pay of two
schillinge, scarcely twopence per hour, was increased to three.

Sometimes we went to church; and we always found a goodly congregation
there. The service was in good honest German; and the preacher--quaintly
conspicuous to an English eye by his velvet skull-cap, and a wonderfully
plaited frill which bristled round his neck--was always earnest and
impressive, and often eloquent. Among other religious services, I well
remember that of the Busse and Bet-Tag (day of Repentance and Prayer);
the anniversary of the battle of Leipsic; and a remarkable sermon
preached on St. Michael's Day, and of which I bought a copy after the
service of a poor widow who stood at the church door. If the weather
were fine, we strolled along the banks of the beautiful Alster, or made
short excursions into the country; and here again all was repose, for I
recollect having once had pointed out to me as a matter of wonder a woman
who was toiling in the field. Or, if the weather were stormy and wet, we
stayed in the workshop and read, or made drawings, or worked in the
manufacture of some favourite tool. Often, again, we had especial duties
to perform on that day in the shape of visiting some sick craftsman in
the hospital, to pay him his weekly allowance, or convey him a book, or
some little creature comforts. The Sunday morning was an authorised
visiting time, and the hospital was usually crowded--too crowded with
patients, as we thought--and each had his cluster of cheering friends.
Or we paid friendly visits to fellow workmen; smoked quiet pipes, and
told travellers' stories; or listened to the uncertain essays of our
brethren of the Mannergesangverein as they practised their part music.
There was one piece of business transacted on the Sunday morning which
may have been sinful, although we did not view it in that light. We paid
our tailors' bills on the Sunday morning if we had the money, or ordered
new garments if we had credit; and I believe it is a practice more
generally prevalent even in England than gentlefolks are apt to imagine.

We dined with the Herr at noon, and at one o'clock were at liberty for
the day. I have seen a Danish harvest-home on a Sunday afternoon in the
pretty village of Altona; watching its merry mummers as they passed by
the old church-yard wall, where Klopstock lies buried. I have attended a
funeral as a real mourner, followed by the mourning professionals in the
the