are employed in every religious procession, and planted themselves in front of the church, where they awaited the arrival of the hearse. The church bells began to toll, and ever and anon the cuirassiers blew their trumpets, and one long melancholy note, repeated at intervals, formed the wail, and was echoed by the other military bands. A crowd of royal servants had now collected to do the dead honour. A long procession of priests, in magnificent copes and gowns, carrying banners and crucifixes, and each man holding an unlit taper, then appeared. The archbishop, supported by two aged priests, bareheaded, forming the central group of the procession. Never before had I seen the archbishop in his pontifical robes, which were of crimson velvet, over which was placed a stole of black velvet profusely embroidered in gold. The archbishop wore his mitre, which looked, at the distance where I stood, as if it had been made of white paper, and held a superb crosier in his hand. Long as I had been accustomed to Bavarian processions, I still on this occasion felt as if I were living in some past century, when the great hierarchy of the Church of Rome was in its highest ascendant; and yet I perceived, or thought I perceived, that the hearts of the more enlightened of the people had long been released from many of the bonds of superstition which binds the simple in an iron grasp.

As the procession moved on, the chants of the priests mingled in a discordant confusion with the tolling of many bells, and the loud clamours of the military bands, aided by the music of the king's private musicians, who, being dressed in a livery the same as the other royal servants, gave the ridiculous impression of a number of valets and butlers playing on wind instruments. These were followed by the Leuchtenberg servants in state liveries of green, and then appeared the hearse, a strange lumbering vehicle, like a four-post bed on wheels, not closed as our English funeral boxes are, but open, and showing the coffin in the midst a form of bier used in old times in England, and if well constructed, far more elegant than the things in which we may either convey a corpse, a piano, or any other goods.

Under this canopy lay the poor body in its coffin, covered with a pall, on which the united heraldic glories of Bavaria and Leuchtenberg were wrought.

And now came the interesting part of this ceremony, that which touched all hearts. After the bier, there appeared as chief mourner, Prince Karl, the youngest brother of the late Duchess. His grief was unfeigned and deep, and scarcely could the gallant old man, the darling of the people and of the army, conceal his emotion. He mourned his sister indeed with the love so warn in German hearts and family ties, and so cherished in its simple truthfulness by this royal family of Bavaria. Prince Karl had known great sorrow. Married to a lady his inferior by a Morganatic marriage, he lost her many years ago, and though courted by many potentates as an alliance, he has never formed any second matrimonial tie, but lamented with a constancy of grief, her whom he had lost. The Princes Luitpold and Adalbert, and Duke Max, followed Prince Karl.

Sir

In such a manner did they enter the church, attended by a crowd of chamberlains, and received within the sacred enclosure by the ministers of State, Von der Pfordten, the Robert Peel of Germany,' the Prince, and General Thurn-und-Taxis, not to mention the corps-diplomatique, amongst whom Count Valentine Esterhazy, to whose skill the union of disjointed Russia and Austria, after the late war, was owing, figured in his grand state uniform; and Thouvenel, the great diplomatist of the late peace, then in the dawn of his fame, showed his lank face, and tall awkward highshouldered figure, in a tight blue embroidered coat, and looked as hard to every gentle impression as he has ever done. These two able men were then ministers at Munich to their respective governments.

The ceremonial was over then; but there is always (not to be irreverent) an after-piece of many acts in royal obsequies-masses before a large catafalque, for the repose of the soul that has departed; and at these it is complimentary for those who honoured the deceased, to attend in deep mourning.

These are sad pleasures, sorry amusements, and I suppose most people would gladly turn to the drama or the opera to fill up their time, rather than give one thought to the obsequies of an aged princess.

The theatre, like everything else, is undertaken by royalty, who pays for all, dictates the pieces, arranges who are to be engaged as performers. Generally they are all natives of Bavaria; and I saw Le Prophète put on the stage with great splendour, and enacted solely by Bavarians. But then, Rachel played Phædre, the intense beauty of which the Bavarians could not comprehend; but they were melted by the less exalted performance of Adrienne le Couvreur. Devrient was there performing in the German drama, and Mademoiselle Dombeck was recalling the days of Siddons, by her impassioned declamation in the classic plays of Germany.

I have descanted upon those arts which charm the higher classes chiefly, but I must observe that a love of art goes through every class in Munich. Witness the rude out-door frescoes on many a peasant's home; witness the almost invariable rise of every gifted artist from that class. Probably it is in some measure the incessant spectacle and pageant which keeps up this taste in the people. Amongst the old customs, fast dying out, is one which the present king is desirous to retain, the christening of the butcher's apprentices. Seldom is it that any distinction is accorded to a trade not pleasant to think of, but in Bavaria, on Shrove Tuesday, this curious ceremony takes place.

In one of the ancient parts of Munich, the Schrannen-Platz, a square surrounded with quaint old houses, there is a fountain used for this occasion. When I witnessed the custom, the water was still frozen, and hung in icicles. Two or three men, with feathers in their caps, represented the guild of butchers, and were accompanied by a beadle in an entire suit of crimson, a cocked hat and baton. The apprentice boys, urchins from ten to twelve, seven in number, were covered from head to foot in sheep's tails sown to a tightly fitting dress. The beadle and the boys mounted on the margin of the fountain, when the former reads

out the rules for butchers' apprentices, to which each boy gives his assent by drinking half a tumbler of wine, and throwing the rest over his shoulder. This was repeated after every rule was read. A comic scene then took place between the beadle and one of the boys, that worthy functionary administering a severe scolding for some imaginary fault; and accompanying it with tolerably smart blows. After this he pushed the lad into the water, and the rest jumped in also. They were to remain there ten minutes, but had leave to pelt the crowd to their hearts' content. One youngster, who had mounted on a lamp-post, and would not get down, was thoroughly drenched. When the apprentices emerged from the basin of the fountain, a broad blue ribbon, covered with bright_new two-florin pieces was hung round the neck of each, and the show, which was thronged with spectators, thus ended.

The Schäffler's or cooper's dance, occurs once in seven years. I saw it in 1851, so that it takes place this year. The origin of this dance is stated to be as follows :-About four hundred years ago, a plague devastated Munich, when the guild of coopers were of great assistance in helping the sick, and consoling the alarmed among the citizens. In commemoration of their good deeds, they are allowed to dance through the town every seven years. Their dress consists of a red jerkin covered with lace and tags, red plush shirts, and white stockings; a small green cap, with a couple of small white feathers; and the insignia of their trade, such as the apron, &c. Fifteen or twenty of them dance a kind of round, holding between them garlands of green box. They are accompanied by a couple of clowns (the delight of the populace), and a band of music on a cart, on which is also placed a barrel of beer-the Bavarian's beloved and most excellent beer-for refreshment between the dances. In this order they dance, or rather leap, at various stations; and even the grand Ludwig Strasse resounds to shouts and their rude music-nay, they stop before the palace, and the king sends them out money. In this way they collect a considerable sum.

I was so fortunate as to witness a

silver wedding, the anniversary of thirty years of conjugal fidelity, and it is to be supposed felicity among the

lower class. It is indeed with no small difficulty that poor people marry at all in Bavaria, as they cannot do so except they can prove themselves to be possessed of a certain number of guldens, according to their grade in society. These absurd restrictions lead to an almost universal demoralization, or they are evaded by a private contract, which I have always observed among the lower classes in Munich, among whom alone it exists, to be binding. This proves how strong a sense of duty they might have if properly governed.

The silver wedding is a grand fête preceded by mass, and followed by a repast, with potations of beer-each woman wears her best costume; the afternoon is spent chiefly in dancing to some village or town band, and the waltzing, in fur caps and thick shoes, is led off by the happy couple, and followed by innumerable other couples, all married likewise. Rough, loud, vulgar, there is a homely good-nature about the Bavarians that renders their amusements agreeable to witness. Naturally quiet, and somewhat slow in perception, they trouble themselves but little about politics, and Europe may go to rack and ruin, and they will care little about it so long as beer does not rise in price. They are honest as far as money or goods are concerned, but are apt to make free with viands, especially where the contract to which I have referred, exists between a servant and a needy man out of work. They are honest, and yet not truethe Bavarian is by nature false-perhaps it is the unreal religious faith that taints their moral sense; but crime is rare, and is mercifully dealt with by a merciful code, slow to punish, and by a government averse to capital punishment. The State assumes a fatherly care over alleducates all; to meet a woman or man who cannot read and write and cast accounts, is rare; yet, since the Bible is only permitted partially, the principles are untrained, whilst the faculties have been exercised.

The misery which is so frequent in other countries, is rarely seen in Munich. There is a rate for the poor, to which strangers, on furnishing a

house, must contribute. It is not great; private charity is considerable, but happily perhaps, not so organized as in England. The poor Bavarian trusts to his own efforts. Beggars in the streets are unknown, and rags on any one are rare. Provisions were formerly very cheap, but everything has risen in price since the railways have brought people into towns as residents, and none more than wood.

During the period of my residence in Munich, the town of Traunstein happened to be burnt down. King Max hastened the very next day to inquire personally into the cases of the destitute. The queen sent blankets and clothes; and a family named Tascher de la Pagerie, who are now in important offices round their relative, the Emperor Napoleon III., got up an entertainment of such singular merit and interest, that it is worth while referring to it as a model for similar occasions.

Duke Max lent his theatre for the purpose, and a series of tableaux from Schiller's Lay of the Bell' was represented. A stage was formed, and at the extremity the various groups were raised on a stand, so that the vast assemblage of persons might see them distinctly. The chief personages in the court stood in these tableaux, and the dresses, the grouping, and the lights, were all placed under the guidance of first-rate artists, who gave their services. There was a prologue in German, then a short French play, acted by amateurs, amongst whom the Comte de Ségur, the descendant of the celebrated Ségur, enacted, to the great diversion of all present, an English gentleman, and then the tableaux began. They were ushered in with soft music, and in perfect taste. The first tableau was subdued in tone. Then came the various scenes illustrative of the poem-the christening, the marriage, the harvest home, the death and ruin. Amongst these none was more beautiful than the harvest home, in which the beautiful Countess Caroline Tascher, with a wreath of wheat ears, and an apron full of wheat appeared; the light was so managed as to give a rich sunny glow to the scene. It was an entertainment in which intellect and taste had their sway; and could the poet have beheld how skilfully his concep

tions were carried out to the senses, he might have acknowledged how nearly painting and poetry stand in kindly alliance to each other.

But the great festivity of all is that which takes place in October, a period of the year admirably chosen by King Ludwig, who instituted this gathering with the benevolent desire to give his subjects innocent exercises and amusements. In October the weather is often more settled in Bavaria than during the summer. It is a country of storms. Seated on a plain 2200 feet above the level of the sea, it is exposed to the gusts which rush through mountain passes, and to the driving blasts which proceed from the mountains, the snowclad summits of which may be seen from many parts of Munich. Almost one of the last occasions in which King Ludwig appeared in public, was the October Fest in 1851, during which the statue of the Bavaria was uncovered. The king standing on a large platform in the Theresien Wiese, received the addresses from the various trades, whose companies came in procession to do him honour. A platform near his Majesty was covered with agricultural produce, for which prizes were given-King Ludwig himself handing the medals, and speaking with his usual emphasis and bonhommie, even to the lowliest peasant there. Then there was a solemn interval of silence. All faces were turned towards a dark mass of boards in the centre of the plain, beneath which the famed figure of the Protectress of Bavaria, Schwanthaler's last work, was concealed from public view. The military band struck up a slow and solemn march; the framework began to move, impelled by some unseen mechanical power. One by one the boards were raised and allowed to separate. The massive braids of the Bavaria's hair were partially disclosed. Murmurs of delight ran through the crowd. Next was seen the calm brow of the colossal face. Expectation produced a nervous silence the air was still, not a voice above a whisper was heard; gradually that grandly beautiful countenance, so full of sweetness and symmetry, yet conveying the idea of a gentle wisdom more than human, yet more feminine than commanding, came into view. One long rending cry of delight and triumph was heard. The music

quickened in measure- -the planks noiselessly fell to the ground, and the whole figure, with her matchless arms, holding a wreath, the reward of genius, extended, was uncovered. It was a proud moment for Munich.

The plain on which that great conception of a great genius still stands, is singularly destitute of all beauty; and I never knew it otherwise than wet, clayey, and bleak. Nature has here withdrawn her aid, and left everything to the work of man. Whether one wanders down to the extremity of the Ludwig Strasse, and stops by the way to listen to the plaintive notes of the Blind School, as their voices resound from within the precincts of that institution, and look at the new triumphal arch begun by Gärtner, in imitation of the arch of Constantine, or whether one loiters in the rooms of the Royal Library, or enters the Odeon, it will be found that, in this rare capital, improvement and decoration have not driven away utility. They have not superseded the wise and kindly provisions for the thoughtful and the curious. Art has risen, but in no effeminate luxury. The cultivation of intellect, the care of the unfortunate, have been equally the concern and object of those who have thus raised an ancient salt station of a few industrious monks, into the wonder and delight of Europe.

To the philanthropic, the various charitable institutions of Munich will ever form objects of most gratifying interest. There is none more touching than the infirmary for sick children, under the especial and fostering care of the female members of the royal family, and the ladies of Munich. As the Bavarians are almost children themselves, they are cheated into being charitable against their will by some amiable stratagems. The late Queen Therèse had a lottery, which annually enticed the adventurous into throwing away some hundreds of guldens. The prizes were not magnificent, consisting of inferior glass vases, small pin-cushions, and even soap, got up in the form of fruit-a very favourite new-year's present also at Munich.

But whilst the poor were always the objects of consideration, King Ludwig looked carefully into the wants of that class which suffers most in priva