The altar beneath Our Lady’s chapel was a confused mass of lumber and rubbish; but, if I were to select—­from all the strange and gloomy receptacles, attached to places of religious worship, which I have seen since quitting the shores of my own country—­any ONE SPOT, in preference to another, for the celebration of mysterious rites—­it should be the CRYPT of the CATHEDRAL of FREYSING.  And perhaps I should say that portions of it might be as old as the latter end of the eleventh century.  From the foundation, we ascended to the very summit of the building; and from the top of the tower, had a most extensive and complete view of the plains of Hohenlinden, the rapid Iser, and the gray mist of Munich in the distance.  I was much struck with a large bell, cast about fourscore years ago; the exterior of which was adorned by several inscriptions, and rather whimsical ornaments.  Having gratified a curiosity of this kind, my companion and valet left me, for a stroll about the town; when I requested the guide (who could luckily talk a little bad French) to shew me the LIBRARY belonging to the monastery formerly attached to the cathedral.  He told me that it was the mere relics of a library:—­the very shadow of a shade.

Indeed it was quickly obvious that there were certain hiatuses upon the shelves—­which told their own tale pretty readily.  The books, once occupying them, had been taken to Munich.  The room is light, cheerful, and even yet well garnished with books:  most of them being in white forel or vellum binding.  There were Bibles, out of number, about the beginning of the sixteenth century; and an abundant sprinkling of glosses, decretals, canon law, and old fashioned scholastic lore of the same period.  Nevertheless, I was glad to have examined it; and do not know that I have visited many more desirable book-apartments since I left England.  In my way to the inn, I took a more leisurely survey of the collection of Mr. Mozler:  but his sister had not returned from vespers, and I was left absolutely alone—­with the exception of a female servant; who, pointing to the book-room above stairs, as the supposed fittest place for my visit, betook herself to her culinary occupations.  Since the sight of the premises of the younger Manoury at Caen,[77] I had never witnessed such a scene of darkness, lumber, and confusion:—­yet I must do Mr. Mozler the justice to say, that there was much which might have repaid the toil of a minute examination.  But I was pressed for time:  and the appetites of my travelling companions might be sharpened so as to stand in need of an immediate attack upon the cotelette and wine.