The fatigues of the day (and very few men but would be fatigued after swimming wellnigh thirty miles under water) caused young Otto to sleep so profoundly, that he did not remark how, after Friday’s sunset, as a natural consequence, Saturday’s Phoebus illumined the world, ay, and sunk at his appointed hour.  The serving-maidens of the hostel, peeping in, marked him sleeping, and blessing him for a pretty youth, tripped lightly from the chamber; the boots tried haply twice or thrice to call him (as boots will fain), but the lovely boy, giving another snore, turned on his side, and was quite unconscious of the interruption.  In a word, the youth slept for six-and-thirty hours at an elongation; and the Sunday sun was shining and the bells of the hundred churches of Cologne were clinking and tolling in pious festivity, and the burghers and burgheresses of the town were trooping to vespers and morning service when Otto awoke.

As he donned his clothes of the richest Genoa velvet, the astonished boy could not at first account for his difficulty in putting them on.  “Marry,” said he, “these breeches that my blessed mother” (tears filled his fine eyes as he thought of her)—­“that my blessed mother had made long on purpose, are now ten inches too short for me.  Whir-r-r! my coat cracks i’ the back, as in vain I try to buckle it round me; and the sleeves reach no farther than my elbows!  What is this mystery?  Am I grown fat and tall in a single night?  Ah! ah! ah! ah!  I have it.”

The young and good-humored Childe laughed merrily.  He bethought him of the reason of his mistake:  his garments had shrunk from being five-and-twenty miles under water.

But one remedy presented itself to his mind; and that we need not say was to purchase new ones.  Inquiring the way to the most genteel ready-made-clothes’ establishment in the city of Cologne, and finding it was kept in the Minoriten Strasse, by an ancestor of the celebrated Moses of London, the noble Childe hied him towards the emporium; but you may be sure did not neglect to perform his religious duties by the way.  Entering the cathedral, he made straight for the shrine of Saint Buffo, and hiding himself behind a pillar there (fearing he might be recognized by the archbishop, or any of his father’s numerous friends in Cologne), he proceeded with his devotions, as was the practice of the young nobles of the age.

But though exceedingly intent upon the service, yet his eye could not refrain from wandering a little round about him, and he remarked with surprise that the whole church was filled with archers; and he remembered, too, that he had seen in the streets numerous other bands of men similarly attired in green.  On asking at the cathedral porch the cause of this assemblage, one of the green ones said (in a jape), “Marry, youngster, you must be green, not to know that we are all bound to the castle of his Grace Duke Adolf of Cleves, who gives an archery meeting once a year, and prizes for which we toxophilites muster strong.”