of red wine, whereupon he said, "It is very impudent in me to take
it."

Upon asking the same person how it was that I could understand him so
much more readily than the others, he answered, "O, I can talk the
written language when I try, but these others can't."

"Here," said I, pointing to the philosopher, "is one who is quite
incomprehensible."

"So he is to me."

They were all anxious to know whether our American troubles were nearly
over; whether the President had the power to do further harm (he had too
much power, they all thought); and whether our Congress could carry out
its plan of reconstruction. Lincoln, they said, was the best man we ever
had; when the play of "Lincoln's Death" was performed in the theatre at
St. Gall, a great many Appenzellers hired omnibuses and went down from
the mountains to see it.

I was aroused at daybreak by the chiming of bells, and soon afterwards
muskets began to crack, near and far. Then there were noises all over
the house, and presently what seemed to be a procession of horses or
elephants began to thunder up and down the wooden stairs. In vain I
tried to snatch the last and best morning nap; there was no end to the
racket. So I arose, dressed, and went forth to observe. The inn was
already transformed, from top to bottom, into a vast booth for meat and
drink. Bedding and all other furniture had disappeared; every room, and
even the open hall on each story, was filled with tables, benches, and
chairs. My friend of the previous evening, who was going about with a
white apron on and sleeves rolled up, said to me: "I am to be one of the
waiters to-day. We have already made places for six hundred."

There were at least a dozen other amateur waiters on hand and busy. The
landlord wore a leathern apron, and went from room to room, blowing into
the hole of a wooden top which he carried in his hand, as if thereby to
collect his ideas. A barrel of red and a barrel of white wine stood on
trestles in the guests' room, and they were already filling the
schoppins by hundreds and ranging them on shelves,--honestly filling,
not as lager-bier is filled in New York, one third foam, but waiting
until the froth subsided, and then pouring to the very brim. In the
kitchen there were three fires blazing, stacks of _Bratwurst_ on the
tables, great kettles for the sour-krout and potatoes, and eggs,
lettuce, and other finer viands, for the dignitaries, on the shelves.
"Good morning," said the l