Munich and the country round about it make a great exchange of
peoples every Sunday. In the morning, trainload after trainload of
villagers and mountaineers pour into the town, and trainload after
trainload of good and other citizens steam out to spend the day in
wood and valley, and upon lake and mountain-side.

We went into one or two of the beer-halls--not into the swell cafes,
crowded with tourists and Munich masherdom, but into the low-
ceilinged, smoke-grimed cellars where the life of the people is to
be seen.

The ungenteel people in a country are so much more interesting than
the gentlefolks. One lady or gentleman is painfully like every
other lady or gentleman. There is so little individuality, so
little character, among the upper circles of the world. They talk
like each other, they think and act like each other, they dress like
each other, and look very much like each other. We gentlefolks only
play at living. We have our rules and regulations for the game,
which must not be infringed. Our unwritten guide-books direct us
what to do and what to say at each turn of the meaningless sport.

To those at the bottom of the social pyramid, however, who stand
with their feet upon the earth, Nature is not a curious phenomenon
to be looked down at and studied, but a living force to be obeyed.
They front grim, naked Life, face to face, and wrestle with it
through the darkness; and, as did the angel that strove with Jacob,
it leaves its stamp upon them.

There is only one type of a gentleman. There are five hundred types
of men and women. That is why I always seek out and frequent the