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Karl;" and another series of embracing. "Well, my brother, she died," continued Henriech, rubbing his large, soft, hazel eyes with the red handkerchief; "she died, and I was broken-hearted; my spirit was quite gone. There came just then a powerful woman to our country, a fine woman; she liked me and married me, and took me back with her to her own place. It was in a slave country, and she had slaves, and her Must too. Ach ! what a Must that was!
"I got soon accustomed to it; but she had a whip too, and I could not get accustomed to that. One day some of her slaves ran away, she said I made them go. 'Henriech,' she said, 'thou must hunt these niggers, and catch them, and when they are caught, thou must punish them thyself.' We went out after them with dogs and guns; they were hid in the woods, and we were sure of catching them, but—I know not how that was—I got lost in the wood, and they went off home without me. I got thinking of old times, and I said to myself, 'I wonder if brother Karl keeps up his Must still, for it seems to me every one has a Must of their own, and his was no worse than others. So as I was out, and had brought money enough with me, I thought I would just come back to Germany to see if I could not bear thy Must now, brother Karl."
"And so thou shalt, thou stupid, soft-headed, dear little Henriech, thou shalt bear it," shouted the other; "hear this now—thou must never leave thy old brother again, thou must not." Such a Must as that was seemed to bring the train to a stand! The brothers left it; I saw them on the platform shaking hands as if they were going to part for ever, while they were fervently promising to part no more. Karl Olof Westermann ran back, and throwing a card with this name on it through the window, called out, "I have told the conductor he must not let any one in there who smokes. If you come back this way you must come to see me."
Here, while I have been telling this long story, the sun has gone down—quite down; a short time since the swans only were sailing on that formal but still refreshing Alster lake, now boats are gliding over it; Hamburg life is moving, the Jungfrunstein is gay, carriages are driving out to the country, the suburbs are full of pleasure haunts. Surely the good Hamburgers know
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how to unite pleasure and business; work first and play afterwards, seems the motto here.
Like other resuscitated towns of the oldHanseatic League, Hamburg has an external and internal aspect—modern and ancient; the great fire has also contributed much to the present handsome appearance of its modernized part. In point of commerce, I am told its wealthy merchants say "Hamburg first and London second." They are welcome, for my part, to say so, if it pleases them. In another respect, however, I think they have a less disputed advantage over our commercial towns; the aspect of modern Hamburg, on a first approach, most agreeably surprised me, for accustomed only to think of it as a place of transit, a commercial town, I was unprepared for the air of greatness, of brightness, and pleasure that strikes one even on a first view. The water, the trees, the Maiden's Walk, with all its evening animation, and the large white houses, contrast strongly with the gaunt and gloomy warehouses that greet the eye on our approach to Liverpool, and with the dull, heavy atmosphere of factory life and business that overhangs smokeenveloped Manchester. The bright and pleasant external aspect of this great commercial city would cause one to forget a fact no one can forget on visiting the others, namely, that there are dark counting-houses and sombre faces, toiling hands, thought-laden heads, and anxious, it may be Mammon-hardened hearts, to be found here as well as in every other place where the art of money-making is vigorously carried on.
Moen on the waters again! But not as before; not rising over them as it did at London Wall; nor yet rising over them as I have seen it shoot forth over the blue Adriatic, when simultaneously with its first unspringing beam, sprang up before me the towers of Venice, shining in the golden rays, which lent the air of a new creation to their grand old age, causing a cry of wonder and joy to burst from the solitary watcher who had sat all night on deck, fearing to lose the first glimmer of the
"New Cybele, from ocean Eising with her tiara of proud towers;"