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Tom Cringle's Log by Michael Scott
page 24 of 773 (03%)
severe service having worn all the gilding and lace away--"there was not a
piece of feather in the host" I felt the reality before me fast overcoming
my preconceived opinion. I had seldom or ever seen so fine a body of men,
tall, square, and muscular, the spread of their shoulders set off from
their large red worsted epaulets, and the solidity of the mass increased
by their wide trowsers, which in my mind contrasted advantageously with
the long gaiters and tight integuments of our own brave fellows.

We approached a group of three mounted officers, and in a few words the
officer, whose prisoner I was, explained the affair to the chef de baton,
whereupon I was immediately placed under the care of' a sergeant and six
rank and file, and marched along the chief canal for a mile, where I could
not help remarking the numberless large rafts--you could not call them
boats--of unpainted pine timber, which had arrived from the upper Elbe,
loaded with grain: with gardens, absolute gardens, and cowhouses, and
piggeries on board; while their crews of Fierlanders, men, women, and
children, cut a most extraordinary appearance,--the men in their jackets,
with buttons like pot--lids, and trowsers fit to carry a month's provender
and a couple of children in; and the women with bearings about the
quarters, as if they had cut holes in large cheeses, three feet in
diameter at least, and stuck themselves through them--such sterns--and as
to their costumes, all very fine in a Flemish painting, but the devils
appeared to be awfully nasty in real life.

But we carried on until we came to a large open space fronting a beautiful
piece of water, which I was told was the Alster. As I walked through the
narrow streets, I was struck with the peculiarity of the gables of the
tall houses being all turned towards the thoroughfare, and with the
stupendous size of the churches. We halted for a moment, in the porch of
one of the latter, and my notions of decency were not a little outraged,
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