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160 the gate of the city and ignominiously sent about her business. Heedless of her agonising entreaties for mercy, she was then dismissed from the room; and I forgot my hunger in a strong desire to assist her inquisitor to a still more speedy exit through the window. By this time the anger of my relative had given way to compassion; she begged that the girl might not be imprisoned, and even offered to retain her if she could be bound over to keep the peace. To this the polizei assented; the servant was again sent for; and the former, addressing her in impressive low German, said that at the request of Madame he should give her one more trial, send in two days to make inquiries as to her conduct; and should the result not be satisfactory, that he should enforce the sentence already passed. All that the officer received for this trouble and trial of patience was thanks, as there was nothing to pay, he said, although had the girl been arrested a Prussian dollar would have been due to the Bureau. A polite bow, and he was gone; and I lost no time attacking the repast which this specimen of Hamburgh justice had compelled me to forego so long.

I have since heard that Doris seems to have profited by her lesson; and though such a plan could scarcely be adopted in England, where policeman, servant, and kitchen are so closely connected, still I believe, that were the servants in this country placed under external control, and made amenable to the authorities for any breach of domestic peace, or improper conduct of any kind, the same good results might ensue as on the day I so much enjoyed the eloquence and hospitality of my esteemed relative.



old hound wags his shaggy tail, And I know what he would say: It’s over the hills we’ll bound, old hound, Over the hills, and away.

There’s nought for us here save to count the clock, And hang the head all day: But over the hills we’ll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

Here among men we’re like the deer That yonder is our prey: So, over the hills we’ll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

The hypocrite is master here, But he’s the cock of clay: So, over the hills we’ll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

The women, they shall sigh and smile, And madden whom they may: It’s over the hills we’ll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

Let silly lads in couples run To pleasure, a wicked fay: ’Tis ours on the heather to bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

The torrent glints under the rowan red, And shakes the bracken spray: What joy on the heather to bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.

The sun bursts broad, and the heathery bed Is purple, and orange, and gray: Away, and away, we’ll bound, old hound, Over the hills and away.