I knew it would be a charming evening.
Having been received by another tall,
melancholy servant at the top of the stairs, and
conducted through a number of anti-rooms
and pretty boudoirs, I found the lady of the
house, and a tall aristocratic looking-man,
with a very good-tempered German face, a
very interesting, elegant young lady, and a
lively, pretty little girl, sitting in a comfortable
little drawing-room, comfortable though
splendid. The walls were hung with pictures
and rich velvet draperies; the sofas and chairs
were covered with crimson velvet; there was
gold everywhere; mirrors and tall vases of
Bohemian glass and rich china. All was very
costly, but the prints, and books, and pictures,
and the pleasant lamp-light, and the kind,
beaming faces of the group at the table, made
me feel instantly at home and happy. The
lovely young lady with the calm brow, like
one of Eastlake's women, and those delicate
taper fingers loaded with rings, was a relation
of the Baroness, and the gentleman was her
brother. They had travelled in England and
Scotland, and were well read in English
literature, of which they were very fond. We
had a deal of pleasant talk, not only about old
England, but about beautiful and interesting
parts of Germany, with which, fortunately, I
was acquainted; about books, and pictures,
and Kaulbach, whose genius we all agreed in
ranking so high.

Then came in tea on a rich silver tray, all
so elegant and attractive, and the little cakes
were so delicate, and the tea quite strong and
fragrant, like English tea. And after our
rude, though most poetical life, the calmness
and propriety, and elegance, of this aristocratic
existence had an unusual charm for me. I
loved to look at the glossy hair of the
aristocratic little girl, at her round arms–––at the
delicate hands of the young lady so imprisoned
in her rings; they were to my fancy a sort of
fairy creatures, who must ever live among
gold and rich satin and perfume, and the idea
of her ever walking in dust or mud, or in
wet or darkness, was like the idea of an
angel's wing being splashed with the mud of
a London cab-wheel! No, there was an
unusual piquancy in coming from our free,
unconventional life, suddenly into a
court-circle.

          A CHURCH FESTIVAL.

One day lately, the streets were so gay
with people, and the sun shone down into my
very heart. I longed to be among trees and
fields. I told my companion so; but she was
thoroughly tired by her week's work, and
preferred remaining at home. But, I thought,
"Why waste the beautiful day in sleep? And
was there not a Kirchweih in the Au?–––the
church-festival of that beautiful church there.
And thither I would go. I would not mind
going there alone, but would leave my poor
tired companion to sleep off her fatigue.

Through the gay streets I accordingly went,
crowds of holiday people moving towards the
Isar Gate, and over the bridge, and past the
Folk's Theatre.

The Au suburb was all alive with dance,
music sounding from the public-houses and
gardens; the little balconies were unusually
gay with flowers; all the Madonnas had clean
cambric pocket-handkerchiefs put into their
hands: how comic they looked holding their
handkerchiefs like fine ladies at a ball! And
by-the-by, in this suburb there are not a few
black virgins, who are here regarded as
peculiarly sacred. Numbers of little stalls were
set out covered with Kirchweih Nudle, a very
good sort of cold pudding. The open space
in which the lovely Au church stands, was
very gay, and under the acacia-trees, which
form an avenue along one side of the square,
hundreds of people were congregated.

Two streams of people were ascending and
descending the church steps; so great, indeed,
was the crowd, that I think I must have stood
twenty minutes before I could gain admittance;
they were principally peasants. When I did
enter the church, it was along with peasant
women, in their Tartar fur caps, and with
rosary and prayer-book in hand, and with
men in red or broad-striped waistcoats, and
with long-skirted blue coats. And then how
impressive was the sight! The air was heavy
with incense; the graceful, slender, white
columns rose up like the clustered stems of a
palm-grove! The sun shone and glowed
through the glorious painted windows. They
represent the Virgin, Christ, and the Apostles,
moving among groves, or quiet, solemn
temples and halls, or relieving themselves
against brilliant or pearly skies. In one
compartment the Virgin, a child of twelve or
thirteen, is taken by her parents to the High
Priest. She kneels before him, and Joseph
places the ring upon her finger. In another
she sits with the infant Christ on her lap on
the ass, on the journey towards Egypt. And
in another division she is seen ascending to
heaven. I knew that these windows were very
beautiful, but it was only to-day that their full
beauty burst upon me. The exquisite groups
stained upon them, with their correct drawing,
and rich draperies, are enclosed, as it were,
in jewelled shrines; the upper portions of the
window being filled with the most exquisite
Gothic work of every brilliant colour, like the
richest missal pages.

But if the windows excited my first attention,
the people attracted my attention in the
second place. All the seats were filled with
devout peasants, and numbers stood. As the
church, however, was large, there was no
unpleasant crush. All was silent as death,
except when, from the far end of the church,
came the voices of children chaunting, or you
caught the murmured words of the priest, as
he raised the Host before the High Altar;
and then the crowd responded with one deep,
sonorous voice, which could alone be compared
to the hoarse, monotonous, wild sound of
billows, solemnly rolling inward to the shore.