After passing through some fine pine-woods, we drove across the whilom moat, now planted with trees and called the Dark Walk, and, driving under a small archway, found ourselves in a spacious court laid out as a flower-garden, while facing us, and forming three sides of a hollow square, stood the schloss itself. The great entrance was approached by a long flight of steps, and upon these were several liveried servants awaiting our arrival, while at the sound of the sleigh-bells and the cracking of the driver’s whip, two great wolfhounds rushed out to welcome their master, and were followed, more sedately, by the daughters of the house, who from their striking disparity in height were always known by the sobriquet of Tiny and Tall. To Tiny’s care I was immediately consigned, and, after a brief adjournment to my room, was led by her into the saloon, where we found Tall presiding over the coffee and cakes, which, as I discovered later on, she had herself prepared. The Baroness had disappeared, leaving an apology for me that, as it was Christmas Eve, she had much to do, to which she must attend, and while we were waiting the signal to go and view the tree, Tiny and Tall proceeded to enlighten me as to many of their national customs in connection with this particular season. In this village, for instance, as in many others of the Fatherland, and especially in Southern Germany, a veiled woman goes up and down the streets after nightfall, bearing in her arms a child chosen for his beauty and goodness to represent the Infant Saviour, and as they pass along they find the cottage windows discreetly left ajar, so that the Christ-child, as he is called, can leave upon the sill some token of the day. Every good child, upon awakening next morning, finds gifts—oranges, sweeties, or some such things; but, alas for the child who has been naughty! for him are no such delights; for him there lies only a pliant willow or birchen rod, suggestive of the chastisement he deserves. Into the towns the Christ-child seldom comes; he is there replaced by the Christmas tree; and it was to decorate such a tree that the mother of the family had now disappeared. The room in which I was hearing all this was large and lofty, lighted by five windows, the remaining walls being hung with ancestral portraits; for these unassuming, domesticated young girls were the descendants of a noble and historical line, would not have changed their ancient barony for a modern dukedom, and with pardonable pride showed me the family portraits, and gave me slight sketches concerning the originals. The most striking of these was certainly the full-length picture of that old field-marshal of whom Carlyle thus graphically writes:—“With regard to Friedrich, the court-martial needs no amendment from the King. The sentence on Friedrich, a lieutenant-colonel guilty of desertion, is from president and all members, except two, death as by law.”