STREETS AND BYWAYS 35

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will see sleds used in summer there. They go bumping
over the bare cobblestones, while the driver holds a drip-
ping oil-rag in advance of the runners to lessen the fric-
tion. You will see streets of water; and the country
roads paved as carefully as Broadway. You will see
vessels hitched, like horses, to their owners’ door-posts ;
and whole rows of square-peaked houses with overlapping
stories and roofs seeming to lean over the street, just
as if they were getting ready to tumble. Instead of sol-
emn, striking clocks, you will hear church chimes playing
snatches of operatic airs. every quarter of an hour, by
way of marking the time.

You will see looking-glasses hanging outside of the
dwellings; and, occasionally, mysterious pincushions dis-
played on the street-doors. The first are called spionnen
(or spionnetjen), and are so arranged outside of the win-
dows, that persons sitting inside can, without being seen,
enjoy a reflection of all that is going on in the street.
They can learn, too, what visitor may: be coming, and
watch him rubbing his soles to a polish before entering.
The pincushion means that a new baby has appeared in
the household. If white or blue, the new-comer is a girl;
if red, it is a little Dutchman. Some of these signals
are very showy affairs; some are not cushions at all, but
merely shingles trimmed with ribbon or lace; and, among
the poorest class, it is not uncommon to see merely a
white or red string tied to the door-latch—fit token of
the meager life the poor little stranger is destined to lead.

Sometimes, instead of either pincushion or shingle,
you will see a large placard hung outside of the front