Munich University will cling around me forever. Nevertheless, I feel that after
all there are extenuating circumstances - he ought to change his paper collar
occasionally.

An hour after noon I am industriously dodging loose flints on the level
road leading across the Isar River Valley toward Munich; the Tyrolese
Alps loom up, shadowy and indistinct, in the distance to the southward,
their snowy peaks recalling memories of the Rockies through which I was
wheeling exactly a year ago. While wending my way along the streets
toward the central portion of the Bavarian capital the familiar sign,
"American Cigar Store," looking like a ray of light penetrating through
the gloom and mystery of the multitudinous unreadable signs that surround
it, greets my vision, and I immediately wend my footsteps thitherward.
I discover in the proprietor, Mr. Walsch, a native of Munich, who, after
residing in America for several years, has returned to dream away declining
years amid the smoke of good cigars and the quaffing of the delicious
amber beer that the brewers of Munich alone know how to brew. Then who
should happen in but Mr. Charles Buscher, a thorough-going American;
from Chicago, who is studying art here at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts,
and who straightway volunteers to show me Munich.

Nine o'clock next morning finds me under the pilotage of Mr. Buscher,
wandering through the splendid art galleries. We next visit the Royal
Academy of Fine Arts, a magnificent building, being erected at a cost
of 7,000,000 marks.

We repair at eleven o'clock to the royal residence, making a note by the
way of a trifling mark of King Ludwig's well-known eccentricity. Opposite
the palace is an old church, with two of its four clocks facing the
King's apartments. The hands of these clocks are, according to my