sing out in chorus “Ah! ah! der Englander.” and as I reply, “Yah! yah.” in response, and smile as I wheel past them, the laughing and banter go all along the line.  The sight of an “Englander” on one of his rambling expeditions of adventure furnishes much amusement to the average German, who, while he cannot help admiring the spirit of enterprise that impels him, fails to comprehend where the enjoyment can possibly come in.  The average German would much rather loll around, sipping wine or beer, and smoking cigarettes, than impel a bicycle across a continent.  A few miles eastward of the Rhine another grim fortress frowns upon peaceful village and broad, green meads, and off yonder to the right is yet another; sure enough, this Franco-German frontier is one vast military camp, with forts, and soldiers, and munitions of war everywhere.  When I crossed the Rhine I left Lower Alsace, and am now penetrating the middle Rhine region, where villages are picturesque clusters of gabled cottages — a contrast to the shapeless and ancient-looking stone structures of the French villages.  The difference also extends to the inhabitants; the peasant women of France, in either real or affected modesty, would usually pretend not to notice anything extraordinary as I wheeled past, but upon looking back they would almost invariably be seen standing and gazing after my receding figure with unmistakable interest; but the women of these Rhine villages burst out into merry peals of laughter.

Rolling over fair roads into the village of Oberkirch, I conclude to remain for the night, and the first thing undertaken is to disburden the bicycle of its covering of clay.  The awkward-looking hostler comes around several times and eyes the proceedings with glances of genuine disapproval, doubtless thinking I am cleaning it myself instead of letting him swab it with a besom with the single purpose in view of dodging the inevitable tip.  The proprietor can speak a few words of English.  He puts his bald head out of the window above, and asks:  “Pe you Herr Shtevens ?” “Yah, yah,” I reply.

" Do you go mit der veld around ?” “Yah; I goes around mit the world.”

“I shoust read about you mit der noospaper.” " Ah, indeed! what newspaper?”

“Die Frankfurter Zeitung.  You go around mit der veld.”  The landlord looks delighted to have for a guest the man who goes “mit der veld around,” and spreads the news.  During the evening several people of importance and position drop in to take a curious peep at me and my wheel.

A dampness about the knees, superinduced by wheeling in rubber leggings, causes me to seek the privilege of the kitchen fire upon arrival.  After listening to the incessant chatter of the cook for a few moments, I suddenly dispense with all pantomime, and ask in purest English the privilege of drying my clothing in peace and tranquillity by the kitchen fire.  The poor woman hurries out, and soon returns with