o towel, the recollection of my own
discomfiture passed gently away.

Ah! how true it is, as good people tell us, that in thinking of the
sorrows of others, we learn to forget our own!

For fifty miles before one reaches Munich, the land is flat, stale, and
apparently very unprofitable, and there is little to interest the
looker-out. He sits straining his eyes towards the horizon, eagerly
longing for some sign of the city to come in sight.

It lies very low, however, and does all it can to escape observation; and
it is not until he is almost within its streets that he discovers it.

THE REST OF SUNDAY, THE 25TH

We Seek Breakfast.--I Air My German.--The Art of Gesture.--The
Intelligence of the Premiere Danseuse.--Performance of English Pantomime
in the Pyrenees.--Sad Result Therefrom.--The "German Conversation"
Book.--Its Narrow-minded View of Human Wants and Aspirations.--Sunday in
Munich.--Hans and Gretchen.--High Life v. Low Life.--"A Beer-Cellar."

At Munich we left our luggage at the station, and went in search of
breakfast. Of course, at eight o'clock in the morning none of the big
cafes were open; but at length, beside some gardens, we found an
old-fashioned looking restaurant, from which came a pleasant odour of
coffee and hot onions; and walking through and seating ourselves at one
of the little tables, placed out under the trees, we took the bill of
fare in our hands, and summoned the waiter to our side.

I ordered the breakfast. I thought it would be a good opportunity for me
to try my German. I ordered coffee and rolls as a groundwork. I got
over that part of my task very easily. With the practice I had had
during the last two days, I could have ordered coffee and rolls for
forty. Then I foraged round for luxuries, and ordered a green salad. I
had some difficulty at first in convincing the man that it was not a
boiled cabbage that I wanted, but succeeded eventually in getting that
silly notion out of his head.

I still had a little German left, even after that. So I ordered an
omelette also.

"Tell him a savoury one," said B., "or he will be bringing us something
full of hot jam and chocolate-creams. You know their style."

"Oh, yes," I answered. "Of course. Yes. Let me see. What is the
German for savoury?"

"Savoury?" mused B. "Oh! ah! hum! Bothered if I know! Confound the
thing--I can't think of it!"

I could not think of it either. As a matter of fact, I never knew