of the sea, may re-assure well-meaning people
whom a want of contemplation has betrayed
into the fear that we exalt ourselves unduly,
in rejoicing at the triumphs of our human
handiwork. We have a right so to rejoice,
and no man conversant with nature, who
permits his heart to warm over the honourable
trophy of his race, now raised in London, is
at all likely to forget that there is an Architect
unutterably above Mr. Paxton. Such
notions of comparison could never have
occurred to him, were they not first suggested by
weak heads that mean well, but think idly.

The tide is breaking very pleasantly upon
the shore. You perceive that as the wave runs
up to our feet, the lower part of it is retarded
by the friction and resistance of the sloping
beach, the water on the summit having no
such opposition to encounter, shoots ahead; so
that the whole wave seems to curl until the
upper part is overbalanced, and comes toppling
to the ground. It beats air down upon the
beach, which soon bursts out again, and makes
the music of the breakers.

We have been walking up and down
the sunny shore, and gossipping about the
world of water, as if storms never blotted its
good nature; but the water never storms
except when the wind troubles it. Earthquakes
disturb its balance now and then, but air is
the arch agitator. Our ocean of water is a
peaceful, busy gentleman, who would perform
his work like a chronometer if he were not
married to an ocean of air, who has the upper
hand of him. His wife is fickle; she is kissing
him quite prettily to-day, to-morrow she
may blow him up, and if she do, he certainly
will foam and fret; and then, perhaps, she
will get up a squall, and he will roar, or she
will howl, and he will give a sullen growl, and
woe be to the ship that interferes too much
between the pair while they are quarrelling.
On the whole, however, they are certainly a
happy couple; and so close is their alliance, and
so many are the bonds of sympathy between
them, that to understand the water properly,
you ought to know his wife. Very well, then;
a few pages of "Household Words" shall be
devoted to the winds as soon as possible.

BITS OF LIFE IN MUNICH.

THE FEET-WASHING ON GOOD FRIDAY.

I HAVE just witnessed the ceremony of
the Feet-washing, which has been announced
for this month past as one of the great
sights of the season. My good friend at the
Kriegs Ministerium kept his word faithfully
about procuring tickets for us. Accordingly
Myra F. and I have seen the whole
ceremony. At nine o'clock Myra was with me,
and, early as it was, Madame Thekla advised
us to set off to the Palace, as people were
always wild about places, and if we came late,
spite of our tickets, we should see nothing.
The good old soul also accompanied us, on the
plea that, as she was big and strong, she could
push a way for us through the crowd, and keep
our places by main force. She stood guard
over us—the good creature!—for two mortal
hours, and when the door at length was
opened by a grand lacquey, had the
satisfaction of seeing us step through the very
first. But before this happy moment arrived,
we had to wait, as I said, two hours; and
leaving, therefore, the patient old lady as
our representative before the little door
which led into the gallery of the Hercules
Hall, whither our tickets admitted us, and
before which door no one but ourselves had
yet presented themselves, Myra and I ranged
along the queer white-washed galleries of the
old portion of the Palace in which we were.
Cannot you see these vistas of white-washed
wall, with grim old portraits of powdered ladies
and gentlemen, in hoops, ruffles, gold lace, and
ermine, and framed in black frames,
interspersed amid heavy wreaths and arabesques
of stucco?—dazzlingly white walls, dazzlingly
white arched ceilings, diminishing in long
perspective! Now we came upon a strange
sort of a little kitchen in the thick wall, where
a quaint copper kettle, standing on the now
cold hearth, told of coffee made for some Royal
servant some hours before; now we were
before the door of some Kammer-Jungfer; now
in a gallery with the white-wash, but without
the portraits, where opposite to every door
stood a large, white cupboard; a goodly row
of them.

Once we found ourselves below stairs and
in one of the courts. There, on passing
through the door-way, you stood on a sort of
terrace, above your head a ceiling rich with
ponderous wreaths of fruit and flowers, and
other stucco ornaments of the same style,
which probably had once been gilt, and with
fading frescoes of gods, goddesses and cupids!

This old part of the Royal Palace of Munich
is quite a little town. We discovered also a
little tiny chapel, now quite forgotten in the
glory of Hess's frescoes, and the beauty of the
new Hof-Kapelle. To-day this old chapel
was open, hung with black cloth, and illuminated
with numberless waxen tapers, and the
altar verdant with shrubs and plants placed
upon the altar steps. There was, however, a
remarkably mouldy, cold smell in the place;
but I suppose the royal procession visited this
old chapel as well as the new one, on its way
to the Hercules Hall. This cortege, with the
King and his brother walking beneath a splendid
canopy, and attended by priests and
courtiers, went, I believe, wandering about a
considerable time, to the edification of the
populace; but of all this, excepting from
hearsay, I cannot speak, having considered
it as the wiser thing for us to return to
Madame Thekla and our door, rather than
await it.

The Hercules Hall is rather small; and
certainly more ugly than beautiful, with
numbers of old-fashioned chandeliers hanging