THE BLACK LADY OF ALTENÖTTING.


With the exception of the shrine of the Three Kings at Cologne, there
exists throughout Germany no spot of greater sanctity, no altar of
richer endowments, than the Chapel of the Black Lady, on the frontier of
Bavaria. The hearts of its sovereign electors have been deposited, from
century to century, within the consecrated cells; nor is there an
historic event, involving the interests of their own, or the adjacent
kingdoms, which is not supposed to have been influenced by her potent
interposition. A sufficient history, in fact, of the destinies of the
whole empire, might be recorded in a mere catalogue of the national
offerings to the shrine of Altenötting.

In rambling through the eastern provinces of Bavaria, some few springs
ago, I chanced to arrive one glowing afternoon at the post-house of an
inconsiderable town; which, from the grass-grown tranquillity of its
streets, and from a peculiar air of self-oblivion, appeared to be
basking fast asleep in the sunshine. There was little to admire in the
common-place character of its site, or the narrow meanness of its
distribution; yet there was something peculiar in its look of dreamy
non-identity; and had it not been for the smiling faces of the
fair-haired Bavarian girls, who were to be seen glancing here and there,
with their embroidered purple bodices and coifs, and silver-chained
stomachers, I could believe myself to have reached some enchanted realm
of forgetfulness.

As I entered the Platz, or market-square, of the little town, chiefly