theories of the Reformation on the very benches on which we sat.

The door-sill was high, and we stepped over it on to a stone floor, the
flagging of which was sunken in many places, causing pitfalls to the
unwary. The room was small and only half lighted by infinitesimal
windows. One end of the room was given up to what appeared to be a
charcoal furnace built of bricks, over which in plain view buxom maids,
whose red cheeks were purple from the heat, were frying delicious little
sausages in strings. We squeezed ourselves into a narrow bench behind
one of the tables whose rudeness was picturesque. I have seen schoolboy
desks at Harrow and Eton worn to the smoothness of these tables here and
carved as deeply with names. There was not a vestige of a cloth or
napkins. The plates and knives and forks were rude enough to bear out
the surroundings. In fact, the clumsiness and apparent age of everything
almost transported us, in imagination, to the stone age, but the
sensation was delightful.

One of the maids brought a string of sausages sizzling hot from the pan
and deftly snipped off as many as were called for upon each of our
plates. We drank our beer from steins so heavy that each one took both
hands. A person with a mouth of the rosebud variety would have found it
exceedingly difficult to obtain any of the beer, the stein presenting
such unassailable fortifications.

It was too hot when we were there to appreciate to the full this
delicious old spot, but on a winter evening, after the theatre, which
closes about ten o'clock, think what a delightful thing it would be, O
ye Bohemian Americans, with fashionable wives who insist upon the
Waldorf or Sherry's after the theatre, to go instead to the
Bratwurst-Glocklein! There you smoke at your ease, put your elbows on
the table and dream dreams of your student days when the dinner coat
vexed not your peaceful spirit.

Owing to our late arrival and the enormous crowd of people at Bayreuth,
we found it expedient to remain in Nuremberg and go up to Bayreuth for
the opera. The day of our performance of "Parsifal" was one of the
hottest of the year. Not even Philadelphia can boast of heat more
consolidated and unswerving than that of North Germany on this
particular day.

We put on muslin dresses and carried fans and smelling salts, and Jimmie
had to use force to make us carry wraps for the return. The journey,
lovely in itself, was rendered hideous to us by the heat, but when