ave arrived and scolded. My
home-circle was like a ring without its jewel, while I, an undenominated
waif in search of a _vise_, was fluttering through the duchy of Baden.
Thirty minutes passed, and the bath-house retained the silence of a
ruined monastery, while outside, among the perfumes and shadows of
twilight, there began to arise strains of admirable harmony. I looked
out of the window. Some lanterns placed among the trees were already
beginning to assert their light among the shadows of evening. A chorus
of fresh and accurate voices was pouring forth from the garden, the pure
young tenors and altos weaving their melodies like network over the
sustained, vibrating, vigorous bass voices. It was the antiphony of the
youthful promenaders to the drinkers, the diastole of the heart above
the stomach, the _elisire d'amore_ in rivalry with beer. Amid this scene
I recognized my waiter, illuminated fitfully like some extraordinary
firefly as he sprang into sight beneath the successive lanterns, and
pouring out beer to right and left. To my indignant appeal he turned,
lifting his head, and stood in that attitude, finishing a musical phrase
which he was contributing to the chorus. Then he told me that my bath
was being made ready. The Teutonic placidity of this youth confounded
me. Quite disarmed, I closed the shutter, changed my linen in the dark,
and drew on my gloves over a pair of hands that decidedly needed the
disguise. The lateness of the hour alarmed me, and I fled down the stair
in three jumps. At the bottom I met my musical waiter, still tranquilly
singing, and armed with a linen wrapper and a hairbrush.

[Illustration: BIER UND BADEN.]

"What do I owe?" I asked.

"Is der Herr not going to take his bath?" asked this most leisurely of
valets.

"No."

"Very well: it will be half a florin, including towels."

I gave him the half-florin, and was getting into my cab, when he came
rambling up.

"And the palm-greaser," he cried, "the trinkgeld?"

In ten minutes I was at the offices of the national representative, but
it was now dark, and the porter, without waiting for my question, told
me that the offices were closed and everybody gone to the opera.

"The theatre!" I shouted to my charioteer.

[Illustration: AN EXHAUSTED TRAVELER.]

The ticket-seller was asleep in his box, and was much astonished at my
application for an orchestra-seat. The last act of some obscure German
opera was being shouted in full cho