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"But in face," said I, instinctively
interpreting the shrug of his shoulders, "is the
very counterpart of her horrible brother. Is
it not so?"

"Not quite so ugly," said the porter, shrugging
his shoulders again.

That shrug was sufficient. I fled
precipitately, and the next morning departed for
Paris, without even having seen or desiring
to see the object of my truly shadowy


You wonder that my tears should flow
    In listening to that simple strain;
That those unskilful sounds should fill
    My soul with joy and pain
How can you tell what thoughts it stirs
    Within my heart again?

You wonder why that common phrase,
   So all unmeaning to your ear,
Should stay me in my merriest mood,
   And thrill my soul to hear
How can you tell what ancient charm
   Has made me hold it dear?

You smile to see me turn and speak
    With one whose converse you despise,
You do not see the dreams of old
    That with his voice arise
How can you tell what links have made
    Him sacred in my eyes?

0, these are Voices of the Past,
    Links of a broken chain,
Wings that can bear me back to Times
    Which cannot come again;
Yet God forbid that I should lose
   The echoes that remain!



By right of churches full of relics, antique
buildings, places curiously named, Lübeck is,
no doubt, a jewel of a town to antiquarians.
Its streets are badly paved, but infinitely
cleaner than the streets of Hamburgh. 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 Lübeck are
collected, each trade occupying a space
exclusively its own under the colonnade. Here,
all the tradesmen are compelled to work, but
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 cannot go out of adjoining
premises at the same time without collision.

Though my friend in Lübeck was a stranger,
as a brother jeweller he gave me friendly
welcome. Having inquired into my
resources, he said, "You must take the viaticum."
—"It is like begging," I answered.—
"Nonsense," he replied; "you pay for it
when you are in work, and have a right to it
when travelling."—"But I might find
employment, on inquiry."—"Do not be alarmed,
my friend; there is not a job to be done in
the whole city." I was forced, therefore, by
my friend's good-natured earnestness, to make
the usual demand throughout the little group
of goldsmiths, and having thus satisfied the
form, I was conducted to our guild alderman
and treasurer. A little quiet conversation
passed between them, and the cash-box was
then emptied out into my hand: it contained
twenty-eight Hamburgh shillings, equal to
two shillings in English money.

I returned to my hotel and slept in a good
bed that night. The morning broke heavily,
and promised a day's rain. Through the
lowering weather and the dismal streets I
went to the police office to get my passport
viséd for Schwerin in Mecklenburg. Most
dismal streets! The Lübeckers were
complaining of loss of trade, and yearned for a
railway from Lübeck to Hamburg. But the
line would run through a corner of Holstein,
and no such thing would be tolerated by the
Duke of Holstein. The Lübeckers wanted
the Russian traffic to come through their
town and on to Hamburgh by rail. The
Duke of Holstein wished to bring it through
his little port of Kiel upon the Baltic.

Too poor to loiter on the road, having got
my passport viséd, I again strapped the knapsack
to my back, and set out through the long
avenues of trees over the long, wet road,
through bitter wind and driving rain that
put my pipe out. Soaked with rain, and
shivering with cold, I entered the village of
Schöneberg at two o'clock, just after the rain
had ceased, as deplorable a figure as a man
commonly presents when all the vigour has
been washed out of his face, and his clothes
hang limp and damp about his body. Wearied
to death, I halted at the door of an inn, but
was told inhospitablymiserable tramp as I
seemed, and wasthat "I could go to the
next house." At the next house they again
refused me, already humbled, and advised me
to go to The Tall Grenadier. That is a
house of call for masons. I went to it, and
was received there hospitably. My knapsack
being waterproof, I could put on dry
clothes, and hang my wet garments round
the stove, while the uproarious masons
terrible men for beer and musiccomforted
me with unending joviality. They got into
their hands a book of German songs that
dropped out of my knapsack, and having
appointed a reader set him upon the table to

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