drawn by yoked oxen, and even sometimes by cows, wait patiently
while we cross the long, straight roads stretching bare for many a
mile across the plain. Peasants trudge along the fields to work.
Smoke rises from the villages and farm-houses. Passengers are
waiting at the wayside stations.

Towards mid-day, on looking out, we see two tiny spires standing
side by side against the sky. They seem to be twins, and grow
taller as we approach. I describe them to B., and he says they are
the steeples of Cologne Cathedral; and we all begin to yawn and
stretch, and to collect our bags and coats and umbrellas.



HALF OF SATURDAY 24TH, AND SOME OF SUNDAY, 25TH



Difficulty of Keeping this Diary.--A Big Wash.--The German Bed.--Its
Goings On.--Manners and Customs of the German Army.--B.'s Besetting
Sin.--Cologne Cathedral.--Thoughts Without Words.--A Curious Custom.

This diary is getting mixed. The truth is, I am not living as a man
who keeps a diary should live. I ought, of course, to sit down in
front of this diary at eleven o'clock at night, and write down all
that has occurred to me during the day. But at eleven o'clock at
night, I am in the middle of a long railway journey, or have just
got up, or am just going to bed for a couple of hours. We go to bed
at odd moments, when we happen to come across a bed, and have a few
minutes to spare. We have been to bed this afternoon, and are now