cafe and beer-garden in the south-eastern suburbs, and repairing thither
I find an accommodating individual who can speak English, and who willingly
accepts the office of interpreter between me and the proprietor of the
garden. Seated amid hundreds of soldiers, Augsburg civilians, and peasants
from the surrounding country, and with them extracting genuine enjoyment
from a tankard of foaming Augsburg lager, I am informed that most of the
members of the club are celebrating the Whitsuntide holidays by touring
about the surrounding country, but that I am very welcome to Augsburg,
and I am conducted to the Hotel Mohrenkopf (Moor's Head Hotel), and
invited to consider myself the guest of the club as long as I care to
remain in Augsburg-the Bavarians are nothing if not practical.

Mr. Josef Kling, the president of the club, accompanies me as far out
as Friedburg on Monday morning; it is the last day of the holidays, and
the Bavarians are apparently bent on making the most of it. The suburban
beer-gardens are already filled with people, and for some distance out
of the city the roads are thronged with holiday-making Augsburgers
repairing to various pleasure resorts in the neighboring country, and
the peasantry streaming cityward from the villages, their faces beaming
in anticipation of unlimited quantities of beer. About every tenth person
among the outgoing Augsburgers is carrying an accordion; some playing
merrily as they walk along, others preferring to carry theirs in blissful
meditation on the good time in store immediately ahead, while a thoughtful
majority have large umbrellas strapped to their backs. Music and song
are heard on every hand, and as we wheel along together in silence,
enforced by an ignorance of each other's language, whichever way one
looks, people in holiday attire and holiday faces are moving hither and
thither.

Some of the peasants are fearfully and wonderfully attired: the men wear