his dignity was sufficient for us all, thus saving us the trouble of
assuming any. Lastly, there was Samayana, which was not his name either,
from Bombay,--a real, live East-Indian nabob. In his own country he
travelled with three tents, a dozen servants, as many horses, and always
carried his laundress with him. Yet he never seemed lonely with
us,--which we thought very agreeable in him. Crawford had just created
Mr. Isaacs, and we fancied there was a resemblance,--barring the
wives,--and he told us such graphic stories of life in India that we
were not always sure in just which quarter of the globe we were touring.
Both Samayana and the curate were picturesque--for men. Two beings more
opposed never came together, yet they liked each other thoroughly.
Samayana was greatly admired in European society for his color, his gift
as a _raconteur_, and the curious rings he wore. He was very dusky, and
Cecilia, being very blonde, valued him as a most effective foil and
adjunct. We were seeing Germany in the most leisurely fashion, courting
the unexpected and letting things happen to us.

On the day of which I write we spent the early morning on the Königsee,
in Bavaria, the loveliest sheet of water in Germany, vying in grandeur
with any Swiss or Italian lake. Its color is that of the pheasant's
breast, and the green mountain-sides, almost perpendicular in places,
rise till their peaks are in the clouds and their snows are perpetual.
Stalwart, bronzed peasant girls, in the short skirts of the Bavarian
costume, rowed us about. A few years ago, in answer to a petition, King
Louis I. promised them that never in his reign should steam supplant
them. They laughed happily and looked proudly at their muscle when we
hinted at their being tired.

We landed at different points and strolled into wooded valleys, visited
artificial hermitages, stopped for a bite at a restaurant connected with