It was a little piece called "The Ground
Floor and the Second Floor; or, the Freaks
of Fortune." You can imagine the sort of
thing; and how there were two stages, as it
were, so that you saw what was going on in
two families at once. Of course, one family
was a very grand, and the other a very poor
one. It was very droll in parts, and full of
un-English things, that particularly amused
us. There were two little children that acted
beautifully; one a little girl, about ten, who
acted a boy. The way those children ran
about the stage, and played, and slapped each
other, and plagued their mother, was the
prettiest thing I ever saw.

              GETTING HOME.

It rained in torrents as we went and
returned, and as it was fine when we set out
we were not at all prepared for wet. I don't
know what one is to do in this changeable
climate. When we were on the Isar bridge
the rain came down with such fury, and the
wind blew so fiercely, that I thought the long
procession of umbrellas, and people returning
from the little theatre, would certainly be
carried away into the river. Prince Adelbert,
the present king's brother, was there, and he
had to walk home also in the rain and mud.
Of course there are two performances daily at
this theatre, one at four o'clock, the other at
eight.

Although, when the weather is fine, we enjoy
our walk back from the theatre to our house, we
do not so much relish our getting into our own
rooms from the street door, the lock of which
is very stiff. I am considerably developing
the muscular strength of my hand by
unlocking this door; and when we have achieved
this first difficulty, our real disagreeable
commences. A hot, close atmosphere meets you;
all is perfectly black; there is no light; you
feel as if entering an Inferno. It is a sort of
sensation to return to in delirium. You grope
your way to the wide staircase; you find the
balustrade; you mount with careful steps;
you feel as though the darkness and blackness
weighed on your brain; you perhaps hear
some other nightly wanderer tumbling up
stairs; you do not know whether it may not
be some drunken man; but he can't see you,
so you keep yourself quietly in a dark corner
till he passes; you can often see who is
coming by the glimmering of a burning cigar;
but you have nothing to betray you. Well,
at length having reached your door, that is
say the door of the long, dark passage which
shuts in your rooms, you unlock it, and then,
in a certain place, you find the third key of
your own especial sitting-room door, and
which has been hidden by you. And now,
thank Goodness, you are in your own dear
little home! The light from the street lamp
shines in through the four white-curtained
windows. On the table stands the candlestick;
you strike a light, in the German
fashion, by rubbing the match along the floor
or the wall–––there's nothing else for it–––and
your perils are past! Yes, this coming up
that dark staircase is not attractive, but we
are become quite accustomed to it now. I
can now find my way perfectly well. I asked
why they had no lamp, but ran the risk every
night of breaking a bone;–––they said it cost
so much. Neither are there any bells in the
house, another terrible bore. How Germans
can exist, year after year, age after age,
without the commonest conveniences of life,
is a mystery and puzzle to me.

       A GRAND ASSEMBLY.

Very different to this evening was my
visit to the Baroness von –––'s. On our
return from dinner at the Meyorischen Garten
yesterday, I was informed that the lady
of the ––– Ambassador had called and
enquired for me. I was not in a visiting
humour, and the idea of going to these
grand people quite alone daunted me. I
have courage for most things, I am sure I
could travel to China, very easily to America,
by myself; but going alone to a ball, or
even a little party, among strangers, is my
idea of desolation: and this evening I
believed there was a grand party at the
Ambassador's. I was in despair; it was a wet
day and I felt ill, and even if I did screw up
my courage to a pitch of heroism, how was I
to get there? how in all this rain ? Where
was my carriage?–––where even a cab? A cab!
yes, that reminded me that I might go and
return in a fiacre.

When, therefore, on returning home, I
found that I could improvise a toilet, and felt,
after a cup of tea, really better, and found
that, with a deal of trouble and bargaining, a
driver of a fiacre would condescend, for such
really was the case, to take me at the late hour
of eight o'clock–––they leave their stand at seven
and go home for the night!–––and then bring
me back again at ten, and all for the enormous
sum of two gulden, and he would not take a
kreuzer less. Well, when all this was
arranged, I dressed and set out, having of course
been inspected by the whole family of the house
from doors and windows–––father, mother,
daughter, little children, Wilhelm, and two
apprentices with white rolled-up shirt sleeves.
What amusement the idle people could find
in seeing one of the English fraulein walk
down stairs in a simple white dress and without
her bonnet, and get into a lumbering old
coach, I cannot conceive.

After a short wet drive across the Residens
and Odean Platz and past the red Wettelbacher
Palais, the palace where now lives the old
King Ludwig, and which strange, red, Gothic
pile is guarded by two enormous stone lions
seated on each side of the gateway, into the
Belgravia of Munich; we stopped at the house
of the Baron von ––––, a beautiful house. A
tall, melancholy-looking footman ushered me
in and to my delight I found there was no party.
My spirits rose, I like Madame von ––––, and