for his head was cut all to pieces. The
man that I found was our carpenter, am
his name was James Roberts. Now, when I
found that he was quite dead, I sat down
beside him, and I cried like a child, for I was
in great hopes that I should have had a
partner in my misfortune; for I could see
nothing but starvation before me, and I had a
great mind to lie down alongside of my
shipmate and die; but the dog would not let me
for he kept pulling me by the trousers for to
get up; and the sun was very powerful and
hot; so up I got to look for a place to shelter
myself, and at last I found one under some
trees, where I sat down to rest myself; but I
had not sat there long before I heard my dog
barking again very loud, and I got up in hope
of seeing some one alive besides myself, but I
could not see anybody; and when I came to
my dog I saw that he had found a land
tortoise, which I knew was very good eating,
but I had no fire to cook it by; but I knew
that the land tortoises have three bladders in
them, one full of blood, and two full of water;
and, as I was very dry, I killed the tortoise,
for I had my knife about me, the only thing
then, excepting the clothes I had on, that I
had saved from the wreck; and I took one of
the bladders of water out of the tortoise and
I drank it, and I found it very good, and I
gave the one full of blood to my dog; and I
eat some of the lean of the tortoise, and cut it
in thin slices, and beat it, and spread it out
in the sun to dry for myself to eat, and the
rest I gave to my dog; and the other bladder
of water I buried in the sand close to the
trees where I had fixed my present habitation.
And after I had eaten, and drank my
water, I felt myself a good deal better, and I
knelt down to thank the Almighty Giver of
all good for his wonderful mercy to me, to
send me food in the wilderness that I was in.

BITS OF LIFE IN MUNICH.

THE HOLY WEEK.

I HAVE lived in the churches here from
morning till evening. At nine o'clock this
lovely bright morning—having crossed the
picturesque old Schrannen Platz, where, spite
of its being Good Friday, the corn-market was
held as usual—I found myself in the queer
old St. Peter's Church. Although in walking
through the streets you saw no sign of a
holiday, the shops being open as usual, and
people going about in their ordinary clothes,
yet within the church you saw that it was
a day of holy significance. It was crowded to
excess; and with such a restless crowd passing
in and out, that I soon had my veil torn from
my bonnet, and felt truly thankful that no
gre&ter misfortune befel me. All that was
to be seen for a long time was a crimson
canopy, which rose conspicuous above the
crowd of heads, and was placed below the
altar steps. A large painting of "Christ's
Agony in the Garden " had taken the place
of the usual altar-piece. Soon the most
plaintive music pealed through the church— a,
long, mournful wail, as of the lamenting
disciples. Involuntarily I found myself filled
with a strange sadness, and I had come to
the church with a feeling of utter disgust
towards the ceremony I was about to witness
—a representation of Christ borne to the
sepulchre. To the strains of this solemn
dirge a long procession wound its way round
the church, descending from the altar, and
passing beneath the canopy. First went the
choristers in their white robes—tender
children and grey-headed men, blending their
voices in this wild chaunt; then priests, and
priests, and priests, two and two, in black and
white robes;—in their centre, and borne upon
a bier, and covered with a white veil, an
effigy of our Saviour. Ever and anon, instead
of the bell calling the crowd to bow before
the host which was borne aloft, you heard the
dead, abrupt, wooden sound of clappers which
certain priests carried in their hands. After
the priests came a stream of citizens, men
bearing burning tapers. Then—headed by
the most wan, emaciated, stunted-looking
priest, who walked with folded hands laid on
one side, and downcast eyes, an embodiment
of the most fearful vice, it seemed to me,
of priestcraft—a long, long train of women,
women of all ages and various degrees of
station, from the small tradesman's wife to
the lady in her lace bonnet and elegant gloves;
all were in black; all carried in one hand an
open book, from which they read, and a rosary
and in the other a burning taper.

I could not but admire the progress of
refinement, when I noticed the tapers carried
by the women. To prevent the wax falling
upon their black dresses, these tapers burned
in long white sockets, which, unless minutely
inspected, appeared to be wax. Every woman
bore such a taper. And thus slowly proceeding
round the church, the figure was laid in a
sepulchre erected in a little chapel. To visit
these sepulchres of the various churches, is
the great business of Munich on Good Friday.

The arrangement of the sepulchres is pretty
much the same in all the churches, especially
in the old ones. The body was generally laid
among flowers in a small cave beneath the
altar; sometimes the recess in the altar
uncomfortably reminded me of an English
fireplace in an unfinished house before the stove
has been set. But generally artificial rocks
surrounded the opening of the cave; a small
lamp was often suspended over the corpse, and
a row of tiny lamps burned upon the ground
in front, not unlike foot-lights; only each
turned behind a small globe filled with
coloured liquid—crimson, green, blue, and
yellow—considerably reminding you of the
ornamental bottles in chemists' windows in
England. The altar itself was transformed
into a very mountain of plants and flowers
—arums, roses, crown-imperials, myrtles,