ver the seat, and, looking indignant when a tired little milliner
gets in, would leave the poor girl standing with her bundle for an hour,
rather than make room for her--the women who write to the papers to
complain that chivalry is dead!

B., who has been looking over my shoulder while I have been writing the
foregoing, after the manner of a _Family Herald_ story-teller's wife in
the last chapter (fancy a man having to write the story of his early life
and adventures with his wife looking over his shoulder all the time! no
wonder the tales lack incident), says that I have been living too much on
sauerkraut and white wine; but I reply that if anything has tended to
interfere for a space with the deep-seated love and admiration that, as a
rule, I entertain for all man and woman-kind, it is his churches and
picture-galleries.

We have seen enough churches and pictures since our return to Munich to
last me for a very long while. I shall not go to church, when I get home
again, more than twice a Sunday, for months to come.

The inhabitants of Munich boast that their Cathedral is the ugliest in
Europe; and, judging from appearances, I am inclined to think that the
claim must be admitted. Anyhow, if there be an uglier one, I hope I am
feeling well and strong when I first catch sight of it.

As for pictures and sculptures, I am thoroughly tired of them. The
greatest art critic living could not dislike pictures and sculptures more
than I do at this moment. We began by spending a whole morning in each
gallery. We examined each picture critically, and argued with each other
about its "form" and "colour" and "treatment" and "perspective" and
"texture" and "atmosphere." I generally said it was flat, and B. that it
was out of drawing. A stranger overhearing our discussions would have
imagined that we knew something about painting. We would stand in front
of a canvas for ten minutes, drinking it in. We would walk round it, so
as to get the proper light upon it and to better realise the artist's
aim. We would back away from it on to the toes of the people behind,
until we reached the correct "distance," and then sit down and shade our
eyes, and criticise it from there; and then we would go up and put our
noses against it, and examine the workmanship in detail.

This is how we used to look at pictures in the early stages of our Munich
art studies. Now we use picture galleries to practise spurts in.

I did a hundred yard