CHAPTER XII.
We are grieved at the earthly instincts of the German--A superb view, but no restaurant--Continental opinion of the Englishman--That he does not know enough to come in out of the rain--There comes a weary traveller with a brick--The hurting of the dog--An undesirable family residence--A fruitful region--A merry old soul comes up the hill--George, alarmed at the lateness of the hour, hastens down the other side--Harris follows him, to show him the way--I hate being alone, and follow Harris--Pronunciation specially designed for use of foreigners.
A thing that vexes much the high-class Anglo-Saxon soul is the earthly instinct prompting the German to fix a restaurant at the goal of every excursion.

On mountain summit, in fairy glen, on lonely pass, by waterfall or winding stream, stands ever the busy Wirtschaft.

How can one rhapsodise over a view when surrounded by beer-stained tables?
How lose one's self in historical reverie amid the odour of roast veal and spinach?
One day, on elevating thoughts intent, we climbed through tangled woods.
"And at the top," said Harris, bitterly, as we paused to breathe a space and pull our belts a hole tighter, "there will be a gaudy restaurant, where people will be guzzling beefsteaks and plum tarts and drinking white wine." "Do you think so ?" said George.
"Sure to be," answered Harris; "you know their way.

Not one grove will they consent to dedicate to solitude and contemplation; not one height will they leave to the lover of nature unpolluted by the gross and the material." "I calculate," I remarked, "that we shall be there a little before one o'clock, provided we don't dawdle." "The 'mittagstisch' will be just ready," groaned Harris, "with possibly some of those little blue trout they catch about here.

In Germany one never seems able to get away from food and drink.