her; but neither she nor I cared for the huge
white head-gear. Indeed, I thought it rather
piquant than otherwise.

First, we walked through the principal
street, to peep into the shop-windows, which
were all arrayed in their most tempting
merchandise. Such glorious vases, ewers, pokals
(drinking-glasses), of variously tinted and
gilded Bohemian glass, in one shop; such
exquisite ball-dresses and artificial flowers in
another; such tempting jewellery! But the
confectioners, with all manner of devices for
Christmas Trees, were perhaps the most
brilliant of all—quite enchanted grottoes; and
in each shop the counter, or a table in the
middle of the floor, was festooned and
decorated most tastefully with their choicest
articles. It would have been difficult, even
in London or Paris, to find anything more
beautiful. At this time the streets were
deserted in comparison with what they were
about four o'clock. Then there was a stir!
as busy and well-dressed a throng as any
West-end thoroughfare would exhibit on any
bright afternoon in May. Ladies and children,
all in their best, and all so happy and cheerful,
and alert; such rolls and parcels as peeped
out from muffs and from beneath heavy,
warm cloaks! Every one, high and low, was
purchasing presents; and the gentlemen were
no whit behind the rest. You saw tall,
aristocratic gentlemen, with their wives, busy,
discussing various purchases; you saw knots
of students buying; you saw good fathers in
toy-shops; you saw them in booksellers' shops
buying Andersen's "Märchen;" you saw
even little children making their purchases.
There were dandified young fellows inspecting
the most elegant trinkets, evidently for ladies'
wear; and I speculated as to those for whom
they purchased. You saw a regular
procession of gay Christmas Trees carried through
the streets, by maid-servants and man-
servants; by poor, care-worn, yet, at all events,
for that one day, happy-looking mothers.

Oh! it was a sight to warm you that cold
day, all this happy crowd—more than the
warmest Russian furs could do. But all this,
as I said, I saw in the afternoon, and not when
good Madame Thekla, with her white head-
dress, and I were on our evening perambulation.
Then the chief point of interest was
the fair; the effect was very pretty indeed.
My good companion, however, assured me,
as people always do when you admire
anything, that the fair was not nearly as beautiful
this time as it was ten years ago, when she
last saw it. Let it have been as much more
splendid as it might then, it was, however,
quite enough to please me now. Was there
not still a pretty effect in the long vista of
illuminated booths, with the strip of dark
azure night-sky overhead, which, contrasting
with the glare of the lamps, looked perfectly
Oriental—at least as I imagine an eastern
sky at night? And were not those booths
themselves very pretty, all lined with pale
pink and blue tissue-paper, and the stalls
heaped up with confectionery, drapery, or
crucifixes, and really lovely statuettes of
madonnas and saints, as it might be, and
presided over by elegant young women in their
gayest attire, or bearded men wrapped up in
furs?

At all events, the students of the good
University of Munich, and various young
painters, recognisable by a yet longer growth
of fair hair and beard than the ordinary
student, and by a certain semi-Raphaelesque
cut of cap and cloak, seemed to think the fair
attractive; for they were there in crowds,
considerably increasing the picturesque
character of the scene, as you may imagine. And
then, what groves of Christmas Trees there
were, all fluttering with gay ribbons; and
what heaps and heaps of gilded walnuts,
and what heaps of gay dolls, with large tinsel
wings to represent the Christ-child! what
hideous little idols! But all was bright, and
glittering, and cheery; and the keen frosty
night-air added quite a zest to the whole
thing. Such was the Christmas Fair.

Of the Christmas Eve itself I have not
much to tell, as least as regards any Christmas
Tree; for, as I had another object in view
than seeing trees which are so familiar to us
all, I resisted every invitation, well knowing
that what I gave would be duly presented by
the respective Christ-child though I were
not there, as well as that every gift designed
for me would reach me in time; and accordingly,
after my tea, while all the world
was rejoicing itself, I lay me down and in
imagination passed through all the happy
homes of this blessed Eve. I saw the tree
that the peasant had driven off with, in
his ladder-wagon, with its long shambling
horse, set up in his little cottage in a
quaint old-world village, and decorated by
some peasant-woman in a badger-skin cap
and embroidered silk boddice. I knew
exactly how the tree would look in the palace
itself, and how thousands of other beautiful
trees must look in their different homes; in
the home of the noble; in the home of the
small citizen; in the home of the painter. I
was there in imagination, and seemed to hear
the delighted, astonished shouts of millions of
little children, and to see the beaming looks
of love from parents, and brothers and sisters,
and friends throughout this great Germany!
And you may be sure I did not forget dear,
old England, with its jolly Christmas doings,
its holly, and turkey, and roast-beef and mince
pies, and plum-puddings. I lived over many
a past Christmas Eve—both beautiful and sad
—many strange old ghosts came of past times,
but they were more beautiful than sad. I
was any thing but lonely; I was surrounded,
steeped as it were in love. And thus I sank
into a delicious slumber to be woke by Fräulein
Sänchen, as it seemed to be the next
moment.

But it was half-past ten at night, and I