of fruit of an old woman, she says words that would be, literally translated, “I thank you beautifully.”  With all this, one looks kindly on the childish love the Germans have for titles.  It is, I believe, difficult for the German mind to comprehend that we can be in good standing at home, unless we have some title prefixed to our names, or some descriptive phrase added.  Our good landlord, who waits at the table and answers our bell, one of whose tenants is a living baron, having no title to put on his doorplate under that of the baron, must needs dub himself “privatier;” and he insists upon prefixing the name of this unambitious writer with the ennobling von; and at the least he insists, in common with the tradespeople, that I am a “Herr Doctor.”  The bills of purchases by madame come made out to “Frau——­, well-born.”  At a hotel in Heidelberg, where I had registered my name with that distinctness of penmanship for which newspaper men are justly conspicuous, and had added to my own name “& wife,” I was not a little flattered to appear in the reckoning as “Herr Doctor Mamesweise.”

THE GOTTESACKER AND BAVARIAN FUNERALS

To change the subject from gay to grave.  The Gottesacker of Munich is called the finest cemetery in Germany; at least, it surpasses them in the artistic taste of its monuments.  Natural beauty it has none:  it is simply a long, narrow strip of ground inclosed in walls, with straight, parallel walks running the whole length, and narrow cross-walks; and yet it is a lovely burial-ground.  There are but few trees; but the whole inclosure is a conservatory of beautiful flowers.  Every grave is covered with them, every monument is surrounded with them.  The monuments are unpretending in size, but there are many fine designs, and many finely executed busts and statues and allegorical figures, in both marble and bronze.  The place is full of sunlight and color.  I noticed that it was much frequented.  In front of every place of sepulcher stands a small urn for water, with a brush hanging by, with which to sprinkle the flowers.  I saw, also, many women and children coming and going with watering-pots, so that the flowers never droop for want of care.  At the lower end of the old ground is an open arcade, wherein are some effigies and busts, and many ancient tablets set into the wall.  Beyond this is the new cemetery, an inclosure surrounded by a high wall of brick, and on the inside by an arcade.  The space within is planted with flowers, and laid out for the burial of the people; the arcades are devoted to the occupation of those who can afford costly tombs.  Only a small number of them are yet occupied; there are some good busts and monuments, and some frescoes on the panels rather more striking for size and color than for beauty.