in 1785--In this it is boldly claimed
that "in heaven, on earth, or under the earth, there is nothing mightier
than a priest, except God; and, to be exact, God himself must obey
the priest in the mass." And then, in words which I do not care to
translate, the priest is made greater than the Virgin Mary, because
Christ was only born of the Virgin once, while the priest "with five
words, as often and wherever he will," can "bring forth the Saviour of
the world." So to-day keeps firm hold of the traditions of a hundred
years ago, and ultramontanism wisely defends the last citadel where the
Middle Age superstition makes a stand,--the popular veneration for the
clergy.

And the clergy take good care to keep up the pomps and shows even
here in skeptical Munich. It was my inestimable privilege the other
morning--it was All-Saints' Day--to see the archbishop in the old
Frauenkirche, the ancient cathedral, where hang tattered banners that
were captured from the Turks three centuries ago,--to see him seated
in the choir, overlooked by saints and apostles carved in wood by some
forgotten artist of the fifteenth century. I supposed he was at least an
archbishop, from the retinue of priests who attended and served him, and
also from his great size. When he sat down, it required a dignitary of
considerable rank to put on his hat; and when he arose to speak a few
precious words, the effect was visible a good many yards from where
he stood. At the close of the service he went in great state down the
center aisle, preceded by the gorgeous beadle--a character that is
always awe-inspiring to me in these churches, being a cross between
a magnificent drum-major and a verger and two persons in livery, and
followed by a train of splendidly attired priests, six of whom bore
up his long train of purple silk. The whole cortege was resplendent in
embroidery and ermine; and as the great man swept out of my sight, and
was carried on a priestly wave into his shining carriage, and the noble
footman jumped up behind, and he rolled away to his dinner, I stood
leaning against a pillar, and reflected if it could be possible that
that religion could be anything but genuine which had so much genuine
ermine. And the organ-notes, rolling down the arches, seemed to me to
have a very ultramontane sound.

CHANGING QUARTERS

Perhaps it may not interest you to know how we moved, that is, changed
our apartments. I did not see it mentioned in the cable di