flavor of conflicting spices.  I should think it might be sold by the cord, it is piled up in such quantities; and as it grows old and is much handled, it acquires that brown, not to say dirty, familiar look, which may, for aught I know, be one of its chief recommendations.  The cake, however, which prevails at this season of the year comes from the Tyrol; and as the holidays approach, it is literally piled up on the fruit-stands.  It is called Klatzenbrod, and is not a bread at all, but and amalgamation of fruits and spices.  It is made up into small round or oblong forms; and the top is ornamented in various patterns, with split almond meats.  The color is a faded black, as if it had been left for some time in a country store; and the weight is just about that of pig-iron.  I had formed a strong desire, mingled with dread, to taste it, which I was not likely to gratify,—­one gets so tired of such experiments after a time—­when a friend sent us a ball of it.  There was no occasion to call in Professor Liebig to analyze the substance:  it is a plain case.  The black mass contains, cut up and pressed together, figs, citron, oranges, raisins, dates, various kinds of nuts, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and I know not what other spices, together with the inevitable anise and caraway seeds.  It would make an excellent cannon-ball, and would be specially fatal if it hit an enemy in the stomach.  These seeds invade all dishes.  The cooks seem possessed of one of the rules of whist,—­in case of doubt, play a trump:  in case of doubt, they always put in anise seed.  It is sprinkled profusely in the blackest rye bread, it gets into all the vegetables, and even into the holiday cakes.

The extensive Maximilian Platz has suddenly grown up into booths and shanties, and looks very much like a temporary Western village.  There are shops for the sale of Christmas articles, toys, cakes, and gimcracks; and there are, besides, places of amusement, if one of the sorry menageries of sick beasts with their hair half worn off can be so classed.  One portion of the platz is now a lively and picturesque forest of evergreens, an extensive thicket of large and small trees, many of them trimmed with colored and gilt strips of paper.  I meet in every street persons lugging home their little trees; for it must be a very poor household that cannot have its Christmas tree, on which are hung the scanty store of candy, nuts, and fruit, and the simple toys that the needy people will pinch themselves otherwise to obtain.

At this season, usually, the churches get up some representations for the children, the stable at Bethlehem, with the figures of the Virgin and Child, the wise men, and the oxen standing by.  At least, the churches must be put in spick-and-span order.  I confess that I like to stray into these edifices, some of them gaudy enough when they are, so to speak, off duty, when the choir is deserted, and there is only here and there a solitary worshiper at his prayers;