To return to out-of-door amusements. A
visit to Schœnbrun was business for a whole
afternoon; for we must perforce each time
unravel the windings to the pure spring in
the maze, with vague and mysterious ideas
of some time or other falling upon the grave
of the Duc de Reichstadt, there secretly
buried, according to popular tradition. On
rare occasions we spent the whole of Sunday
in some more distant palatial domain, or
suburban retreat. In Klosternenburgh, with
its good wine; in the Bruhl, with its rugged
steeps, its military memorials, and ruined
castles; at the village of Bertholdsdorf, with
its Turkish traditions; among the viny
slopes of the Leopoldiberg, or the more
distant and wilder tract of mingled rock and
foredst which encircle the Vale of Helen.
Above all, there was Laxenberg,—an
imperial pleasure-palace and garden, and a
whole fairy-land in itself, peopled by the
spirits of ancient knights and courtly dames.
Some one of the Hapsburgs had built, many
years ago, a knightly castle on a lake, and
in it were stored dim suits of armour of
Maximilian; a cabinet of Wallenstein, grim
portraits of kings and warriors; swords,
halbards, jewelled daggers, and antique
curiosities innumerable; only rather
prosaically completed by the exhibition of the
every-day suit of the last Emperor of
Austria, which, however, affecting a spectacle
for a simple-hearted Viennese—and they are
mere babies in matters of royalty—irreststibly
remined one of Holywell Street, London, and
cast-off regimentals. Laxenberg is distant
less than a shilling ride, and about two
hours' walk from Vienna; and, like our
Hampton Court Palace, is thrown
unreservedly open to the public. There were no
end to its wonders: fishing-grounds, and
boats upon the lake; waterfalls, and rustic
bridges were there; and one little elegant
pavilion, perched on the water, dedicated to
the beauties of Windsor, illustrating its
scenery in transparent porcelain. There was
a list for knightly riders; a dais for the
Queen of Beauty; and places for belted
nobles, saintly abbots, and Wambas in
motley: an Ashby-de-la-Zouch in miniature,
which a little imagination could people.
Then, for the plebeians, there were leaping-
bars and turning-posts, skittle-alleys, and the
quintain; and, for all alike, clusters of noble
trees, broad grassy meads, and flowers unnumbered.
There was even a farm-house,
homely and substantial, with dairy and
poultry-yard, sheep in the paddocks, and
cattle in the stalls

We started from Vienna on a Sunday
morning on board the steamboat Karl for
Linz; and trudging thence on foot came on
the following Saturday night into Salzburg,
the queen of the Salzack. We rested here
one happy Sunday: not so much in the town,
which had its abundant curiosities, as in the
pleasure gardens of the old archbishops of
Salzburg, at an easy stroll from it. This
garden is pleasant enough in itself, but there
are besides a number of water eccentricities
in it such as I should think were in their
peculiar fashion unequalled. Here blooms a
cluster of beautiful flowers, covered as it
were by a glass shade, but which turns out to
be only water. There a miniature palace
is in course of erection, with crowds of
workmen in its different storeys, each man at
his avocation with hammer and chisel, pulley
and wheel, and the grave architect himself
directing their labours. All this is set in
motion by water, and is not a mere doll's
house, but a symmetrical model. Then we
enter a subterranean grotto, with a roof of
pendant stalactites, where the pleasant sound
of falling waters and the melodious piping of
birds fill all the air. There is a sly drollery
too in some of the water performances,
invented years ago by the grave archbishops
of Salzburg; for suddenly the stalactites are
set dripping like a modern shower bath: and,
the gigantic stags at its entrance spout water
from the very tips of their horns. The
garden is not a Versailles, for there is nothing
grand in any of its hydraulic arrangements;
but in the beauty with which are clothed
such trifles, the artistic spirit which has
suggested its objects, and the humour which
spirts up tiny jets of water by seats where
lovers sit, and in unsuspected places where
the public congregate, even in the middle of
a walk, it is a wonderful and delightful
exhibition. This garden was thronged by the
holiday folks of Salzburg. There was an
official to explain the curious display, and
nothing but innocent gaiety was to be seen.

The Sunday we spent in Munich was
passed in the Kirche Unserer Lieben Frauen,
with its self-supporting roof; in the English
Garden; and at a lovely spot on a hill-side,
in the environs of the city. During the week,
we were escorted by a friend to a sort of tea-
gardens of some notoriety, but found it silent
and deserted. Our friend apologised for its
dulness, but exclaimed, in part explanation,
"You should see it on Sunday!" It was
evident that Sunday was a day of rest and
enjoyment, and not a working-day in Munich.
My own impression of the Munichers was,
that they drank too much been every day
in the week.

Still tramping towards France, we passed
one Sunday in Heidelberg, among all its
romantic wonders; but as everybody knows,
or ought to know, all about Heidelberg, I
will not allow my enthusiasm to lead me
into a description which would not be novel,
and might probably be tedious. This was
the last Sunday we spent on German ground.
So far as Germany is concerned, you may
look upon everything but museums, picture
galleries, and the like, on Sunday; you may,
as Luther says you ought, "dance on it,
ride on it, play on it, do anything "— but
see that which is most likely to instruct