superb military bands are still playing at noon in the old Marian Platz and in the Loggie by the Residenz; that at half-past six in the evening our friends are quietly stepping in to hear the opera at the Hof Theater, where everybody goes to hear the music, and nobody for display, and that they will be at home before half-past nine, and have dispatched the servant for the mugs of foaming beer; I know that they still hear every week the choice conservatoire orchestral concerts in the Odeon; and, alas that experience should force me to think of it!  I have no doubt that they sip, every morning, coffee which is as much superior to that of Paris as that of Paris is to that of London; and that they eat the delicious rolls, in comparison with which those of Paris are tasteless.  I wonder, in this land of wine,—­and yet it must be so,—­if the beer-gardens are still filled nightly; and if it could be that I should sit at a little table there, a comely lass would, before I could ask for what everybody is presumed to want, place before me a tall glass full of amber liquid, crowned with creamy foam.  Are the handsome officers still sipping their coffee in the Cafe Maximilian; and, on sunny days, is the crowd of fashion still streaming down to the Isar, and the high, sightly walks and gardens beyond?

As I said, it was eleven o’clock of a clear and not very severe night; for Munich had had no snow on the ground since November.  A deputation of our friends were at the station to see us off, and the farewells between the gentlemen were in the hearty fashion of the country.  I know there is a prejudice with us against kissing between men; but it is only a question of taste:  and the experience of anybody will tell him that the theory that this sort of salutation must necessarily be desirable between opposite sexes is a delusion.  But I suppose it cannot be denied that kissing between men was invented in Germany before they wore full beards.  Well, our goodbyes said, we climbed into our bare cars.  There is no way of heating the German cars, except by tubes filled with hot water, which are placed under the feet, and are called foot-warmers.  As we slowly moved out over the plain, we found it was cold; in an hour the foot-warmers, not hot to start with, were stone cold.  You are going to sunny Italy, our friends had said:  as soon as you pass the Brenner you will have sunshine and delightful weather.  This thought consoled us, but did not warm our feet.  The Germans, when they travel by rail, wrap themselves in furs and carry foot-sacks.

We creaked along, with many stoppings.  At two o’clock we were at Rosenheim.  Rosenheim is a windy place, with clear starlight, with a multitude of cars on a multiplicity of tracks, and a large, lighted refreshment-room, which has a glowing, jolly stove.  We stay there an hour, toasting by the fire and drinking excellent coffee.  Groups of Germans are seated at tables playing cards, smoking, and taking coffee.