the country--a hard war-engendered demoralized
race--discovered in it the approach of a wonderful time which appeared
to them like a legend from a distant country. The time when on every
acre of field, the thick yellow ears of corn would wave in the wind;
when in every stall the cows would low, and in every sty a fat pig
would be lying; when they themselves should drive with two horses in
the fields, merrily cracking their whips, and when there would be no
enemy's soldiers to snatch rough caresses from their sisters or
sweethearts; when they would no longer have to lie in wait in the
bushes, with pitchforks and rusty muskets, for the stragglers, nor to
sit as fugitives in the dismal gloom of the wood by the graves of
the slain; when the village roofs would be without holes, and the
farm-yards without ruined barns; when the howl of the wolf would not be
heard every night at the yard gate; when their village churches would
again have glass windows, and beautiful bells; when in the soiled choir
of the church, there should arise a new altar with a silk cover, a
silver crucifix and a gilt chalice; and when one day the young lads
would again lead their brides to the altar, bearing the virgin wreaths
in their hair. A passionate, almost painful joy palpitated through all
hearts; even the wildest brood of the war, the soldiery, were seized
with it. The stern rulers themselves, the Princes and their
ambassadors, felt that this great boon of peace would be the salvation
of Germany. The festival was celebrated with the greatest fervour and
solemnity of which the people were capable. From the same circle of
village recollections from which examples have already been taken, the
following description of a festival is placed, in juxtaposition to that
of the Princes and Field-marshals.

Doellstedt, a fine village in the dukedom of Gotha, had suffered
severely. In 1636 the Hatzfeld corps had fallen upon the place, had
committed great damage, plundered the church, burnt and broken off the
woodwork, as had been prophesied by the pastor Herr Deckner shortly
before. "This dear man," thus writes his successor, the pastor, Herr
Truemper, "had rebuked his flock with righteous zeal on account of their
sins; but they had laughed at his rebukes and warnings, had treated him
with anger and ingratitude, and as he lamented in 1634, with weeping
eyes, had cut down his hops from the poles, and carried off the corn
from his fields. Thus he could only pr