Finding it utterly hopeless to explain ourselves to the waiter, we
let the thing go, and trusted to Providence; and in about ten
minutes the man brought us a steaming omelette, with about a pound
of strawberry jam inside, and powdered sugar all over the outside.
We put a deal of pepper and salt on it to try and counteract the
flavour of the sweets, but we did not really enjoy it even then.

After breakfast we got a time-table, and looked out for a train to
Ober-Ammergau. I found one which started at 3.10. It seemed a very
nice train indeed; it did not stop anywhere. The railway
authorities themselves were evidently very proud of it, and had
printed particulars of it in extra thick type. We decided to
patronise it.

To pass away the time, we strolled about the city. Munich is a
fine, handsome, open town, full of noble streets and splendid
buildings; but in spite of this and of its hundred and seventy
thousand inhabitants, an atmosphere of quiet and provincialism
hovers over it. There is but little traffic on ordinary occasions
along its broad ways, and customers in its well-stocked shops are
few and far between. This day being Sunday, it was busier than
usual, and its promenades were thronged with citizens and country
folk in holiday attire, among whom the Southern peasants, wearing
their quaint, centuries-old costume, stood out in picturesque
relief. Fashion, in its world-wide crusade against variety and its
bitter contest with form and colour, has recoiled, defeated for the
present from the mountain fastnesses of Bavaria. Still, as Sunday
or gala-day comes round, the broad-shouldered, sunburnt shepherd of
the Oberland dons his gay green-embroidered jacket over his snowy