With an expression of unconcern on his face, like that of all the principal persons of this ceremony, the bridegroom alighted from the carriage. Some young people, his most intimate friends, followed him, adorned with ribbons and bouquets. He slowly approached the bride, who even now did not look up, but went on spinning and spinning. The first bridesmaid then fastened the large bouquet of sage to the breast of his wedding-jacket. The bridegroom accepted the bouquet without thanks, for thanks were not included in the traditional routine. He silently offered his hand to his father-in-law, then, just as silently, to his bride, who thereupon arose and placed herself with the bridesmaids, between the first and second and in front of the third. In the meanwhile, the servants had carried the dowry to the wagon. The scene assumed a rather wild aspect, for the people with the baggage, in hurrying back and forth among the cooking-fires, kicked from its place many a burning fagot which crackled and showered sparks in the very path down which the bridal pair were to walk. After the loading of linen, the flax, and the various pieces of wearing apparel, the bride, with the three bridesmaids and the spinning wheel, which she carried herself, took a seat in the carriage. The bridegroom sat down apart from her in the back part of the vehicle, and the young fellows were obliged to follow on foot, as the dowry occupied so much room that there was none left for them. One of them made this the subject of traditional facetious remarks, which he addressed to the Justice, who replied to them with a smirk. He walked along behind the young men, and the Hunter placed himself at his side. Thus two men walked together, who on this day were cherishing the most radically opposed feelings. For the Justice was thinking of nothing but the wedding, and the Hunter of anything but the wedding, although his thoughts were hovering about the bridal carriage. Now let us allow the latter to drive slowly to the home of the bridegroom, where already the entire wedding-company is waiting for it--men, women, girls and youths from all the surrounding estates, in addition to friends from the city, the Captain and the Collector. There the carriage is unloaded. Meanwhile let us go on ahead to the church, which, shaded by walnut-trees and wild chestnuts, stands on a green hill in the centre of the entire community. Inasmuch as it was the proper time, and as the people had already gathered in the church, the Sexton began to play the customary "Battle of Prague" on the organ. He knew but one prelude, and this was that forgotten battle-hymn which perhaps a few elderly people will recollect if I recall to their memories that the musical picture begins with the advance of Ziethen's Hussars. From this march the Sexton managed to swing over, with transitions which, to be sure, were not infrequently rather bold, into the ordinary church melodies.