lovely flowers I have described, lay two young
painters. Painters I am sure they were,
though they had no outward sign, except the
character of their heads and faces, and
perhaps their dress. One wore a loose blouse, of
a deep green; the other a similar blouse of
dark brown. They reclined amid the cool
grass, with the warm sunshine falling upon
them, and the soft breeze blowing through
their long hair; their felt hats and a large
botanical tin-case lay beside them on the
ground. Behind them were the twisted and
gnarled trees of an old orchard just bursting
into the tender beauty of pear and apple
blossom. Through the chequered shadows of
the orchard wandered a gaily-attired old
peasant-woman, in her fur-cap, leading by
the hand a tiny child, dressed as quaintly as
the old dame herself, only wearing a
handkerchief over her little round head, instead of
the fur. On one side of the painters rose a
screen of tall, dry, dead reeds, through whose
grey stems gleamed the sparkling lake, a
lovely mirror, reflecting the blue of the
heavens; and above the reeds towered the
distant mountains, of a fainter and more
ethereal azure, with snowy peaks, scarcely
to be distinguished, in the glare of
noon-day, from the silver of floating clouds. It
was a pleasant little poem, this "Painters'
Holiday."

And now we walked past old orchards, and
through grassy meadows, people streaming in
happy groups— all ranks and all ages, old
and young, rich and poor, parents, children,
friends, acquaintance, lovers, citizens, peasants,
painters, poets, and learned men; all had
turned out to celebrate God's bountiful gifts
of May and Nature!

In the little hamlet of Possenhofen, by the
road-side, stands a small chapel— so small
that it seems only a large wayside shrine. It
has a tiny belfry, is white-washed, and there
is a deal of painting, of pale sea-green, about
the lattice-work windows of the belfry. A
large pear-tree grows close to the little chapel,
and this pleasant May Sunday this pear-tree
seemed a tree carved in snow, so covered was
it with blossoms: bees hummed about the
pear-tree; the sun showered down his loving
warmth upon tree, chapel, and murmuring
bees; and from the open door came a low
monotonous chant. I looked into the little
chapel; it was filled with people; about
twelve women kneeling on one side, about
twelve men on the other— the men chanted
in their deep bass, the women took up the
chant with their shriller voices, and when
they paused you heard the low, busy hum of
the bees; and, over all, within and without
the chapel, was the breath of May and the
blessing of God. Higher up among the woods,
too, how pleasant it was!

People arrived ever faster and faster;
parties in carriages, with servants and
grandeur; parties on foot; the gentlemen
with wreaths of ivy or stag's-horn-moss
twisted round their straw or felt hats, with
gentians and cowslips, and the little lilac
primulas stuck into their button-holes; ladies and
children with garlands and bouquets of the
same flowers in their hands. There were
families and knots of friends come together;
there were lads from the Gymnasium, students
from the University and Academy. Now I
recognised one well-known painter and his
family, now another; and friends greeted
friends, and tables were brought out, extra
tables from the near inn, and people sat upon
benches or upon the turf, and talked and
laughed, and ate and drank, and were right
merry. Others, like ourselves, having seen
what was going on, and having greeted their
acquaintance, again moved off towards the
lake. There we found our boat and its
handsome mistress, and soon were landing
upon a certain little island, which had been
all the morning tempting us to pay it a visit—
its trees and bushes having gleamed out so
brightly in the distance, and looking as
though they rose out of the very water itself.
But it was pleasanter in idea, this island,
than in reality, for we found it in a perfect
chaos, being turned into a pleasure garden
for the King. The only remarkable thing
we saw was a cowardly bull-dog, the veriest
bully of a bull-dog conceivable; he looked
tremendously fierce, barked tremendously,
then put his tail between his legs and ran
away! We returned to Possenhofen just in
time to see the reception of the steamer,
as she passed with all her flags, her garlands,
and her royal personages on board. Very
gay she looked, with her bevy of elegant
ladies walking about beneath the awning that
shaded the deck. The King, the Queen, and
Prince Adelbart graciously replied to the
shouts and waving of hats from shore; the
King's voice was heard, saying something
about "Vivat Starnberg!" and on passed the
little steamer. We, rowed by our beautiful
mariner, and listening to her extraordinary
account of the huge fish caught in the lake,
sailed on in the wake of royalty towards
Starnberg and dinner. Ah, that dinner!—
I will spare you all the detail of our
impatience and disappointments at the grand hotel,
where, finding we might have waited till
doomsday and get nothing to eat, we
decamped to another. There we sat, in a room
decorated for the evening's ball, amid tobacco-
smoke, and beer-tankards, and empty coffee-
cups, seeing people rushing about on all
sides with food, having our dinner promised
"immediately" a dozen times, yet dish after
dish was carried past us to other hungry
guests. One old gentleman— a prince, by-
the-bye greatly excited my envy, as I saw a
capital smoking roast fowl carried up to him.
"Don't envy him!" exclaimed an
acquaintance who had joined us; don't envy him; he
has waited ever since two o'clock for that
fowl,ancl now it is five. I have waited for
coffee ever since three. You— if your roast