e new archbishop and his holy
brother walked side by side, followed by all the other bishops and
priests, down from the altar among the audience; and the new dignitary
gave his blessing to all the people.

I wish I could carry you with me to the palace at Versailles. The
magnificent equestrian statue of Louis XIV., which you can see afar off
as you approach, the noble statues in the grand court yard, and the
ancient regal aspect of the whole scene, with its countless fountains
and its seven miles of pictures, are beyond all description. As I stood
lost in wonder and admiration, my friend, who introduced me to this
world of wonders, pointed to a window in one corner of the building;
there, she said, Louis XVI. passed much of his time making locks; and
there, from that balcony, Marie Antoinette appeared with her children
and the king, when she addressed the wild, enraged Parisian mob. We saw
the private apartments of the unhappy queen, and the small door through
which she escaped from the fury of the soldiers. We went to see the
little Trianon which she had built for her amusement; a lovely place it
is. Here she tried to put aside state and the queen, and be a happy
human being.

Here Marie Antoinette had a laiterie, a milk house, where she is said
to have made butter and cheese. Here she caused to be built twelve
cottages after the Swiss fashion, and filled them with poor families
whom she tried to make happy.

We went into her dairy. It was fit for a queen to make butter in. In
the centre of the beautifully shaped room was a large oblong, white
marble table; on each side were places for admitting the water, and
under them beautiful marble reservoirs in the shape of shells, and,
underneath, large slabs of white marble. All is still, all so chaste,
so beautiful, all as it once was, and she, the poor sufferer, what a
story of blighted hope and bitter sorrow! See her the night before her
trial, which she knew would end in death, mending her own old shoes,
that she might appear more decently. The solemn realities of life had
come to her unsought.

I left Paris and travelled through Belgium to Cologne. The day I
arrived was some holiday; so there was grand mass in the cathedral, and
such music!--the immense building was filled with the sound. The full
organ was played, and some of the priest singers took part. Never did
music so overcome me. The sublime piece,--as I thought of Beethoven's,
surely of some great composer,-