ith shot, are pulled down. The city walls also are repaired;
projecting angles and bastions still lie in ruins; blooming elder and
garden flowers are planted behind, and trail over the stones; the city
moat lies for the most part dry, the cows of some of the citizens
pasture within it, or the clothmakers have their frames set up with
rows of small iron hooks, and quietly spread their cloths over them.
The usual colour since the Pietists, is pepper and salt, as it was then
called; the old favourite blue of the Germans is also seen, though no
longer made from German woad, but from foreign indigo. The narrow
openings in the doors have still wooden planks, often two behind one
another, and they are closed at night by the city watchmen, who stand
at their post, but have often to be awakened by knocking and ringing,
when anyone desires admission. On the inner side of the city wall,
fragments of wooden galleries are still to be seen, on which once the
archers and arquebuziers stood; but the passage along the wall is no
longer free through its whole length, there are already many poor
cottages and shops built on it.

In the interior of the city, the houses are unadorned, and not so
numerous as in former centuries; there are still some waste spaces
between, but most have been bought by people of rank and turned into
gardens. Perhaps there is already a coffee garden, laid out after the
pattern of the famed one of Leipzig; it contains some rows of trees and
benches, and in the coffee-room, near the bar, are arranged the clay
pipes of the habitues; but the maple head and the costly meerschaum
are just coming into fashion. In the neighbourhood of the chief
market-place, the houses are more stately, the old arcades are not
preserved; these covered passages, which existed once throughout
the greater part of Germany, led through the basement story to the
market-places, protecting the foot passengers from rain, and acted as a
communication from the house to the street. The old pillars and vaults
are attached to the massive edifice of the council-house by coarse
rough-cast cement and intermediate walls; in the dim poorly lighted
rooms of the interior hang cobwebs, gray piles of records raise their
heads amidst layers of dust; in the council-room, in a raised space,
the railing of which separates the councillors from the citizens, are
stiff-cushioned chairs, covered with green cloth, and fastened with
brass nails; everything is unadorned,