derful Air and Dietary
Advantages of Germany. It seemed that the Fatherland was becoming
Commercially Supreme and of the greatest Military Importance because
every Fritz kept himself saturated with the Essence of Munich.

He could see on the Post-Cards that each loyal subject of Wilhelm was
plump and rosy, with Apple Cheeks and a well-defined Awning just below
the Floating Ribs, and a Krug of dark Suds clutched in the right Mitt.

All the way from Duesseldorf to Wohlgebaum he played the Circuit of
Gardens with nice clean Gravel on the Ground and Dill Pickles
festooned among the Caraway Trees. Every time the Military Band began
to breathe a new Waltz he would have Otto bring a Tub of the Dark Brew
and a Frankfurter about the size of a Sash Weight.

Between pulls he would suspire deeply, so as to get the full
assistance of the Climate.

Sometimes he would feel that he was being benefited.

Often at 9 P.M., before taking his final Schnitzel and passing gently
into a state of Coma, he would get ready to renounce allegiance to all
three of the Political Parties in the U.S.A. and grow one of those
U-Shaped Mustaches.

Next Morning, like as not, he would emerge from beneath the Feather
Tick and lean against the Porcelain Stove, wondering vaguely if he
could live through the Day.

The very Treatment which developed large and coarse-grained Soldiers
all through Schleswig-Holstein seemed to make this Son of Connecticut
just about as gimpy as a wet Towel.

Undismayed by repeated Failures, he took some Advice, given in a
Rathskeller, and went to a Mountain Resort famous for a certain brand
of White Vinegar with a colored Landscape on the Label.

It was said that anyone becoming thoroughly acidulated with this noble
Beverage would put a Feather into his Granulated Lid and begin to
Yodel.

He sat among the snowy Peaks, entirely surrounded by the rarefied
Atmosphere so highly boosted in the Hotel Circulars, sampling a tall
bottle of every kind ending with "heimer," and yet he didn't seem to
get the Results.

At last he headed for the barbaric Region which an unkindly Fate had
designated as Home, almost convinced that there was no Climate on the
Map which would really adapt itself to all the intricate Peculiarities
of his complicated Case.

Often he would be found in the Reception Room just next to the
shake-down Parlor.

After reading a few pages in a popular Magazine dated two Years back,
he would be admitted to the