ng overcoats, and stand in
cold expectancy beside their blanketed horses, which must need twice
the quantity of black-bread in this chilly air; for the horses here eat
bread, like people. I see the drivers every day slicing up the black
loaves, and feeding them, taking now and then a mouthful themselves,
wetting it down with a pull from the mug of beer that stands within
reach. And lastly (I am still speaking of the weather), the gay military
officers come abroad in long cloaks, to some extent concealing their
manly forms and smart uniforms, which I am sure they would not do,
except under the pressure of necessity.

Yet I think this raw weather is not to continue. It is only a rough
visit from the Tyrol, which will give place to kinder influences. We
came up here from hot Switzerland at the end of July, expecting to find
Munich a furnace. It will be dreadful in Munich everybody said. So we
left Luzerne, where it was warm, not daring to stay till the expected
rival sun, Victoria of England, should make the heat overpowering. But
the first week of August in Munich it was delicious weather,--clear,
sparkling, bracing air, with no chill in it and no languor in it, just
as you would say it ought to be on a high, gravelly plain, seventeen
hundred feet above the sea. Then came a week of what the Muncheners call
hot weather, with the thermometer up to eighty degrees Fahrenheit, and
the white wide streets and gray buildings in a glare of light; since
then, weather of the most uncertain sort.

Munich needs the sunlight. Not that it cannot better spare it than grimy
London; for its prevailing color is light gray, and its many-tinted and
frescoed fronts go far to relieve the most cheerless day. Yet Munich
attempts to be an architectural reproduction of classic times; and, in
order to achieve any success in this direction, it is necessary to have
the blue heavens and golden sunshine of Greece. The old portion of
the city has some remains of the Gothic, and abounds in archways and
rambling alleys, that suddenly become broad streets and then again
contract to the width of an alderman, and portions of the old wall
and city gates; old feudal towers stand in the market-place, and faded
frescoes on old clock-faces and over archways speak of other days of
splendor.

But the Munich of to-day is as if built to order,--raised in a day
by the command of one man. It was the old King Ludwig I., whose
flower-wreathed bust stands in these days