untry of the world radishes of
such size, tenderness, and flavor--a brown variety inherited by the
happy Muencheners with their breweries. Nowhere else does cutting and
salting them rank as an art. To prepare one scientifically they pare it
carefully, slit it in three slices nearly to the end, place salt on the
top, and draw the finger over it, as if it were a pack of cards. The
salt falls between the slices, and when they are pressed together
becomes absorbed.

In a German _Bier Local_ are represented all classes of society. Beer is
the great leveller of social distinctions. The foaming glass of King
Gambrinus unites all Germans of all states, climates, and professions
in a closer brotherhood than the sceptre of the Hohenzollerns, and links
that portion of the Teutonic race over which the stars and stripes
throws its protecting folds to the dear fatherland.

Fine wines are a perquisite of money. The fortunate aristocrat and the
house of Israel, which everywhere waxes fat on the needs of travellers,
may sip their champagne, their Lachrymae Christi, and their Hockheimer,
while less favored humanity contents itself with sour _vin ordinaire_;
but beer is the same for all, and in some breweries each one must search
for a glass, rinse it, and present himself in his turn at the shank
window, to which there is no royal road. "La biere," which a great
writer calls "ce vin de la reforme," is essentially a democratic drink.
It became popular at a time when a fatal blow had been struck at class
privileges and priestly exclusiveness.

Manfully does a true-hearted Bavarian stand by his brewery, in ill as
well as good report. If the beer turns out badly, he does not find it a
sufficient reason to desert his local for some other, but rather remains
with touching devotion, and anticipates the approaching end of the old
beer and the advent of new, with implicit trust and confidence in the
future. Some years ago the Bavarian post and railway conductors
distinguished themselves by the mournful zeal with which they notified
to the passengers the nearing of the frontier. At each station they were
sorrowfully communicative.

"The last Bairischer[B] but four, gentlemen! Gentlemen, there are only
two more real Bairischers! Gentlemen," with tears in the voice, "the
last Bairischer."

The passengers rushed to the buffet and drank.

Even now, with that curious affection with which every Bavarian's heart
turns to his Mecca of beer, the salu