must rouse myself, for had I not resisted all
the joy of the Christinas Eve for this—that I
might be present at the midnight mass in the
Hof-Kapelle? Fräulein Sänchen was
inexorable; I must rise, for we must set off at
eleven, if we meant to secure good places in
the chapel.

I never should have had strength to rouse
myself out of that delicious sleep, had I not
kept saying to myself, "You'll repent to-
morrow morning! you'll repent to-morrow
morning, if you don't hear that organ—
don't see that exquisite chapel all lighted
up!"

So I rose; dressed myself in great haste;
drank a cup of coffee in great haste, and found
myself as fresh as though it were morning,
instead of midnight. And when we stepped
out into the cold frosty night, how beautiful
it was. The crisp snow beneath our feet, and
above our heads such a dark, blue frosty sky,
with its myriads of glorious stars. The air
was filled with the sound of bells—such holy
music! And as we passed along, the trees,
covered with hoar-frost, shone out like strange
phantoms. There were numbers of people
hurrying along the streets to various churches.

Our way lay through the courts of galleries
of the palace, till we came to the Hof-Kapelle.
Lights shone from the palace windows; the
whole place seemed astir; the warm breath
of incense met us as we approached the
chapel. Priests were already chaunting and
prostrating themselves before the altar, and
the organ was fitfully pealing through the
chapel. The altar was one blaze of tapers;
tapers fixed in all the candelabras around the
walls, like tall fire-lilies, cast long glittering
reflections upon the marble walls and
pavement. And how grand did the Prophets,
Saints, and Martyrs appear by this brilliant,
artificial light, gazing down upon you from
their golden grounds!

Soon the two kings, Max and Otho, and
their queens, and all the court, appeared in
the golden and frescoed galleries on either
side the high altar, and the archbishop, in his
mitre and brocaded robes, attended by a train
of priests, young and old, and a train also of
young court pages, lads of from twelve to
fifteen, some score of them, dressed in court
suits of blue and silver, all entered by a side
door near the altar, and bowing first before
the altar, then bowed before the king, and
passed on. A second train of court pages also
entered in the same dress, but apparently
some three or four years older, and each
carrying a tall waxen taper. These stood
before the steps of the altar, with their burning
lights, and they were, Fräulein Sänchen
assured me, every one high nobility; and
their fresh young faces seemed to have a vast
charm for my poor, old, wrinkled, and time-
worn companion. Poor old Fräulein Sänchen!
If her face seemed in that brilliant light, and
contrasted with the beauty of the saints and
martyrs painted on wall and ceiling, yet more
old, and odd, and withered, I felt in my heart
a still deeper respect and compassion for her
—for her who, in the sight of God, from her
touching unselfishness, her unwearying
goodness in the most prosaic of lives, must have
been one of the most acceptable worshippers
present. I had a real joy in being with her;
it was much more beautiful, in fact, than
sitting up in one of the golden galleries
among kings and queens.

The service lasted about an hour, and was
impressive. But the sudden change from the
warmth, the light, the music, the colour, and
the intoxicating incense within the chapel, to
the silence, the snow, the frosty sky, with a
brilliant rising moon without, was much more
impressive.

What with the excitement of the midnight
mass, the heat, the cold, and the beauty, I
was so wide awake when I once more found
myself in my own little room, that I did not
attempt to go to bed till it was about time to
get up in an ordinary way. And then came
a packet of English letters, greetings from my
beloved ones: and they have been the joy of
the day!

In the afternoon I went into several of the
old churches of Munich, to see what was
going on. High mass was performing
everywhere, and there were in some of the churches
extraordinary figures of the infant Jesus,
decked out in golden swaddling-clothes,
exhibited among burning tapers and artificial
flowers, and lying in long glass-cases.

In the Jesuits' Church there has been a
grand exhibition this week, of the Nativity,
in the style which I have already described,
with wooden angels in sublime attitudes, and
wooden cattle surrounding the wooden Holy
Family. These "Krippen," as they are called,
are exhibited in various churches, and have
attracted immense crowds.

THOMAS HARLOWE.

ALL amid the summer roses
    In his garden, with his wife,
Sate the cheerful Thomas Harlowe,
    Glancing backwards through his life.

Woodlarks in the trees were singing,
    And the breezes, low and sweet,
Wafted down laburnum blossoms,
    Like an offering, at his feet.

There he sate, good Thomas Harlowe,
    Living o'er the past in thought;
And old griefs, like mountain summits,
    Golden hues of sunset caught.

Thus he spake: "The truest poet
    Is the one whose touch reveals
Those deep springs of human feeling
    Which the conscious heart conceals.

"Human nature's living fountains.
    Ever-flowing, round us lie,
Yet the poets seek their waters
    As from cisterns old and dry.