sort to beer; and many
are of opinion that frequent trips to the bock stalls in the spring are
more healing than a visit to Carlsbad or Baden Baden, where one drinks
disgusting water. In all circumstances and all moods they drink and are
comforted.

The Jews believed that the sacred waves of the Jordan were powerful to
wash away all human suffering, either of the soul or body. Faith was
necessary to this pious healing. To the Muenchener beer is the river of
health. His faith in it dates from his earliest infancy, and he resorts
to its beneficent influence at least seven times a day, and drinks his
last _Kruegl_ with apparently the same relish as the first. The quantity
which Germans drink is something incredible. Bavarian students usually
take from five to seven masses per day. (At the German Jesuit seminary
in Prague the novices are allowed daily seven, the clericos ten, and the
priests twelve pints of beer.)

Beer is considered good not only for men, but for women, for girls and
boys, and even unweaned infants.

"Mein Kruegl" the Muenchener speaks of as of his natural and human rights.
He was born with a right to his beer, and his _Kruegl_, as "man is born
with a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," and
equally with these the State must look after this right. The kruegls, or
beer mugs, of each brewery are inspected by the police, to see if the
measure is correct, and if the ware has no poisonous lead in its
composition. The royal K is stamped on them by the King's authority. The
police also examine the contents of the beer with the same zeal as the
water or the condition of the sewers.

The Germans as a nation are patient of wrong and peace-loving, but the
rumor of a tax on beer raises a frightful commotion, and a riot is often
the consequence. As well tax air, water, and fire as beer, the fifth
element.

In an ancient neighborhood of Munich, behind the post, and best entered
from Maximilian street, is a little square remarkable for its ugliness.
All the houses are old, and one feels upon entering it as if one had
suddenly walked back into the middle ages. On the east side stands a
time-gray, low, irregular building, resembling in architecture, or by
its want of it, nothing of the present age. This is the royal Hof
Brauerei. After 10 A. M. a constant stream of thirsty souls flows along
the streets and narrow alleys leading toward its dismal-looking portals.
Its beer is celebrated as being the f