Now my road leads through forests of dark firs; and here I overtake a
procession of some fifty peasants, the men and women alternately chanting
in weird harmony as they trudge along the road. The men are bareheaded,
carrying their hats in hand. Many of the women are barefooted, and the
pedal extremities of others are incased in stockings of marvellous
pattern; not any are wearing shoes. All the colors of the rainbow are
represented in their respective costumes, and each carries a large
umbrella strapped at his back; they are trudging along at quite a brisk
pace, and altogether there is something weird and fascinating about the
whole scene: the chanting and the surroundings. The variegated costumes
of the women are the only bright objects amid the gloominess of the dark
green pines. As I finally pass ahead, the unmistakable expressions of
interest on the faces of the men, and the even rows of ivories displayed
by the women, betray a diverted attention.

Near noon I arrive at the antiquated town of Dachau, and upon repairing
to the gasthaus, an individual in a last week's paper collar, and with
general appearance in keeping, comes forward and addresses me in quite
excellent English, and during the dinner hour answers several questions
concerning the country and the natives so intelligently that, upon
departing, I ungrudgingly offer him the small tip customary on such
occasions in Germany. "No, Whitsuntide in Bavaria. I thank you, very
muchly," he replies, smiling, and shaking his head. "I am not an employe
of the hotel, as you doubtless think; I am a student of modern languages
at the Munich University, visiting Dauhau for the day." Several soldiers
playing billiards in the room grin broadly in recognition of the ludicrousness
situation; and I must confess that for the moment I feel like asking one of
them to draw his sword and charitably prod me out of the room. The unhappy
memory of having, in my ignorance, tendered a small tip to a student of the