When we reached the spring at the edge of the woods, we halted. What to us had seemed impossible, Ludwig had already accomplished. The iron column was already there, and around it were stone seats, and also a high bench, where people might lay aside their burdens. "One learns these things in America," said Ludwig. "There they do not care for yesterday, and do not console themselves with the hope of to-morrow: all must live in the present." After leaving the church, where the wedding was celebrated in a simple manner, we marched in procession to the family woods, where, by Ludwig's orders, great tables had been erected; and on our way there he told me how clever Ikwarte had been in the work. I cannot find words to speak of the great table in the woods. Before we seated ourselves, we were all obliged to remain perfectly still for a short time. Ludwig had made arrangements to have the whole group photographed. They all say that I look very sad in the picture; it may be so, for I could not help thinking, "Where is Ernst now? Does the sun that now shines on us, shine on him too?" It is especially pleasant to see Martella and Rothfuss in the background, holding each other's hands. Annette is also in the family picture; her eyes are downcast, while Richard is looking towards her. Since the loss of her husband, she had never laid aside her mourning, but to-day she wore colors. The Major's speech at the dinner was even better than the vicar's in the church. Martella's best and only treasure was Ernst's prize cup. She had placed it before me on the table, and Annette had wound a garland of flowers around it. After the Major's speech, the wine-cup travelled the rounds of the whole table. After the clinking of glasses, and the drinking of healths, the conversation had become loud and excited; after that, all became as noiseless as in a church during silent prayer. It was one of those pauses that ensue after the soul has unburdened itself, and when, for a moment, there is nothing new to engage it. And during that pause I could hear Annette saying to Conny, "Yes, dear Conny, I, as a stranger, beloved and loving in return, can speak more impartially than relatives can. I cannot describe the mother to you; and yet I have seen her to-day, or at least her counterpart. When Julius was standing at the altar, he had her very expression. He resembles her more than any one--he has her eyes.