German people, and I have come to the conclusion that the work I took out
with me was the most sensible and practical of the lot.

Finding it utterly hopeless to explain ourselves to the waiter, we let
the thing go, and trusted to Providence; and in about ten minutes the man
brought us a steaming omelette, with about a pound of strawberry jam
inside, and powdered sugar all over the outside. We put a deal of pepper
and salt on it to try and counteract the flavour of the sweets, but we
did not really enjoy it even then.

After breakfast we got a time-table, and looked out for a train to
Ober-Ammergau. I found one which started at 3.10. It seemed a very nice
train indeed; it did not stop anywhere. The railway authorities
themselves were evidently very proud of it, and had printed particulars
of it in extra thick type. We decided to patronise it.

To pass away the time, we strolled about the city. Munich is a fine,
handsome, open town, full of noble streets and splendid buildings; but in
spite of this and of its hundred and seventy thousand inhabitants, an
atmosphere of quiet and provincialism hovers over it. There is but
little traffic on ordinary occasions along its broad ways, and customers
in its well-stocked shops are few and far between. This day being
Sunday, it was busier than usual, and its promenades were thronged with
citizens and country folk in holiday attire, among whom the Southern
peasants, wearing their quaint, centuries-old costume, stood out in
picturesque relief. Fashion, in its world-wide crusade against variety
and its bitter contest with form and colour, has recoiled, defeated for
the present from the mountain fastnesses of Bavaria. Still, as Sunday or
gala-day comes round, the broad-shouldered, sunburnt shepherd of the
Oberland dons his gay green-embroidered jacket over his snowy shirt,
fastens his short knee-breeches with a girdle round his waist, claps his
high, feather-crowned hat upon his waving curls, and with bare legs, shod
in mighty boots, strides over the hill-sides to his Gretchen's door.

She is waiting for him, you may be sure, ready dressed; and a very sweet,
old-world picture she makes, standing beneath the great overhanging
gables of the wooden chalet. She, too, favours the national green; but,
as relief, there is no lack of bonny red ribbons, to flutter in the wind,
and, underneath the ornamented skirt, peeps out a bright-hued petticoat.
Around her ample breast she wears