tz, and behold us before the Altonaer
Thor, or Altona-gate.

Ah, these are pleasant banks and noble trees! How green the grass upon
those slopes--how fresh the flowers! And what a splendid walk is this,
looking to the right down the double avenue of sturdy stems waving their
spreading tops across the path! You did not think that quaint old town
below could boast of such a border as this; but take a tour about the
environs, and you will find them cheerful, fresh, and beautiful, from
Neuer Kaye to Deich Thor.

We will pass through the simple Altona-gate, and make towards
Hamburger-Berg. Do not be alarmed. Perhaps you have heard of the "Berg"
before, and virtuous people have told you that it is a godless place.
Well, so it is; but we will steer clear of its godlessness; we will avoid
the dancing-houses. Before us lies a broad open road, neither dignified
by buildings nor ornamented by trees, but there are plenty of people, and
they are worth our notice. There is a neat figure in a close boddice and
a hauben, or hood-like headdress; she has taken to winter attire early.
She carries no trailing skirts, nor has she ill-shapen ankles to hide.
Look at her healthy face, though the cheek-bones are rather too high; but
the mouth is ever breaking into a smile. Her hair is drawn back tightly
from her face, tied in a knot at the back, and covered with a velvet
skull-cap, richly worked with gold and silver wire and braid. The effect
is not bad.

There is a country girl from Bardewick--Bardewick, you know, though now a
mere village, is traditionally said to have been once a large and
flourishing city. She has flowers to sell, and stands by the wayside.
She has neither shoes nor stockings, nor is her dark dress and white
apron of the longest. Her tightly fitting boddice is of blue cloth, with
bullet buttons, and has but a short waist, while a coral confines her
apron and dress. Her head-dress is only a striped coloured handkerchief,
tied under the chin, but in such a way that it presents a sort of
straight festoon just above her sparkling eyes, and completely hides her
hair.

But here comes a curiosity of the male species. Surely this is Rip van
Winkle from the States. He has no sugar-loaf hat, but he wears the
trunkhose, stockings, and large buckled shoes of the old Dutchman, and
even his ample jacket, with an enormous sort of frill at the bottom. No,
my friend, let me give you to understand that this is a _Vierlande