The next day being Sunday, I sang in the little church (Catholic, of course, as Westphalia is of that religion). The organist and I had many rehearsals in the _schloss,_ but none in the church, so I had never made acquaintance with the village organ. If I had, I don't think I should have chosen the _Ave Maria_ of Cherubini, which has a final amble with the organ, sounding well enough on the piano; but on that particular organ it sounded like two hens cackling and chasing each other. I had to mount the spiral staircase behind the belfry and wobble over the rickety planks before reaching the organ-loft. Fortunately, Count Metternich went with me and promised to stay with me till the bitter end; at any rate, he piloted me to the loft. The organ was put up in the church when the church was built, in the year Westphalia asserted herself, whenever that was; I should say B.C. some time. It was probably good at that time, but it must have deteriorated steadily ever since; and now, in this year of grace, owns only one row of keys, of which several notes don't work. There are several pipes which don't pipe, and an octave of useless pedals, which the organist does not pretend to work, as he does not know how. However, there is no use describing a village organ; every one knows what it is. Suffice to say that I sang my _Ave Maria_ to it, and the Duke and my hosts, miles below me, said it was very fine, and that the church had never heard the like before, and never would again. Certainly _not from me!_... The village itself is a pretty little village and very quaint; it has belonged to the _schloss,_ as the _schloss_ has to it, for centuries. The houses are painted white, and the beams of oak are painted black. On the principal cross-beams are inscriptions from the Bible, cut in the oak, and the names of the people who built the house. There is one: "Joseph and Katinka, worthy of the grace of God, on whom He cannot fail to shower blessings. For they believe in Him." The date of their marriage and their virtues are carved also (fortunately they don't add the names of all their descendants). Sometimes the sentences are too long for the beam over the door, and you have to follow their virtues all down the next beam. This is perplexing on account of the German verb (which is like dessert at dinner--the best thing, but at the end), and _gehabt_ or _geworden_ is sometimes as far down as the foot-scraper. Some houses are like barns: one roof shelters many families, having their little booths under one covering, and they sit peacefully at their work in front of their homes smoking the pipe of peace, and at the same time cure the celebrated hams which hang from the ceiling. I won't say all hams are cured in this way, because, I suppose, there are regular establishments which cure professionally. But I have seen many family hams curing in these barns.