Do not pass it, if you should ever come hither, without
entering it--at least once. You would fancy yourself to be in Greece, so
thoroughly characteristic are the countenances, dresses, and language of
everyone within.
But yonder commences the procession of horse and foot; of cabriolets,
family coaches, German wagons, cars, phaetons and landaulets, all moving
in a measured manner, within their prescribed ranks, toward the Prater.
We must accompany them without loss of time. You now reach the Prater.
It is an extensive flat, surrounded by branches of the Danube, and
planted on each side with double rows of horse-chestnut trees. The
drive, in one straight line, is probably a league in length. It is
divided by two roads, in one of which the company move onward, and in
the other they return. Consequently, if you happen to find a hillock
only a few feet high, you may, from thence, obtain a pretty good view of
the interminable procession of the carriages before mentioned: one
current of them, as it were, moving forward, and another rolling
backward.
But, hark! the notes of a harp are heard to the left, in a meadow, where
the foot passengers often digress from the more formal tree-lined
promenade. A press of ladies and gentlemen is quickly seen.
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