Marienberg, 29 Sept., 1844…. This long stay in an Ultra-Romish country, where yet the people are truly serious and devout, has furnished many new and curious subjects of observation and reflection. These people are of a good stuff – goodnatured, intelligent, lively, and laborious, and sparing no effort to wring from the surface of the naturally unproductive soil their scanty maintenance: the influence of the clergy must be great, and unceasingly exercised to fanaticize the flocks which have been driven in crowds to worship the ‘Holy Garment’ at Trier – being the ‘coat without seam’ for which the soldiers cast lots; - and not satisfied with this severe effort, to people who live by their labour, and can ill spare four days’ travelling, and the bodily fatigue of a foot-pilgrimage through sun and rain, – processions without end go along the banks of the river to Bornhoven, where there is an old church and wonder-working Madonna, the alcove in which the image stands being entirely tapestried with votive pictures. But these processions differ strangely from those we used to see in Rome, being real Bittfahrten, – the pilgrims one and all singing litanies and German hymns without ceasing, one division taking up the strain when the other is out of breath: – and I understand the clergy are very strict as to admitting individuals to the privilege of attending the processions, not letting those go who are suspected of having no other object but amusement and sight-seeing. The spectacle of such a procession is most striking – a double line, of men and women indiscriminately, bearing flags at a little distance one from another, a cross belonging to each line, their Pastor walking in the centre between the two lines, – the voices sounding in solemn harmony. Why have we not such singing in procession, there where we might have it, without any corruption of our worship, in baptismal or marriage processions, or at funerals? I felt painfully, this time twelve months, when following the remains of Lina up the hill to Hurstmonceaux Church, how the long-protracted silence sunk gloomily upon the spirit, which might have risen upon the pinions of song above death and mourning. << less