(From the Journal of a Travelling Economist)

["On the other hand, however, we must avow some apprehension that too minute attention to the possibility of cheap travel may render a Continental tour a continual vexation and trouble. Plain living and high thinking are, as Mr. Capper says, crying wants of these days; but the latter condition is hardly to be attained by the self-imposed necessity of striking a bargain with a landlord at the end of each day's journey."—Times.]

3 A.M.—Roused for the seventeenth time since midnight. Vow I will never go to a fourth-class hotel again. Try to get a little sleep on four chairs and a sliding bureau. Can't. Begin a letter to the Times in my head.

4 A.M.—Get up and look for ink. Wake the others. Order five breakfasts for seven of us, and explain to the landlord that we have to catch the 4.57 cheap "omnibus" train for Farthingheim.

5 A.M.—Row with landlord about bougies. Will charge for them, though we all went to bed in the dark. Explain this. He snaps his fingers in my face, calls me "Ein schwindlinder Beleidiger!" refuses to split the breakfasts, and seizes my portmanteau.

6 A.M.—Row still proceeding. Cheap train hopelessly missed. Look out "Beleidiger" in a dictionary, and go upstairs and collect all the bougies in a carpet-bag. Pay bill in full, threaten to write to Bradshaw, and go off, carrying all our own luggage to station, followed by a jeering crowd.

7 A.M.—Sit down on it, and, with the assistance of a Phrase-book, tell the crowd in German that "this isn't the sort of treatment a parcel of foreigners would experience, under similar circumstances, in the Tottenham Court Road."

Pelted. Make up our minds to catch the 7.43 (fast), if we can.

8 A.M.—Miss it. Nothing till the 12.3 express. Station-master refuses to take our luggage before 11.58. Start with it to the town. Crowd increasing.

9 A.M.—Visit the Dom. Descend into Shrine of St. Berthold. Very interesting. Guide well-informed and intelligent. Give him nothing on principle. Follows us to the Alten Schloss, shouting at the top of his voice, and shaking his fists.

10 A.M.—Go all over the Schloss. Capital state of preservation. Are shown the "reserved apartments." Refuse to give anything to the concierge. He comes out after us with a horse-whip. The guide still there shouting. We ask the way to tomb of Gustavus the Ninth. Crowd follows us with brickbats.

11 A.M.—Get in by the assistance of a very civil commissionaire. Striking. Are shown the boots of Charlemagne, and the spot where Rudolph the Eighteenth was assassinated. Sign our names in visitors' book. Give nobody anything. Commissionaire walks by our side, calling us "Brigands!" Crowd enormous. Symptoms of riot commencing. Reach station exhausted.

12 Noon.—Prepared to pay anything to escape. Take seven first-class tickets (express), and are charged nineteen thalers for excess of luggage. Get off in a storm of execration, after having to give up all the bougies to a gendarme. Start, threatening feebly to write to the Times, have hysterics, and go to sleep.

1 P.M.—Still hysterical.

2 P.M.—Ditto.

3 P.M.—Still hysterical.

4 P.M.—Ditto.

5 P.M.—Ditto.

6 P.M.—Arrive. Refuse to hire a voiture. Tell the omnibus conductor, with the aid of the Phrasebook, that his tariff of fares is "utterly ridiculous." Set out on foot in search of a gasthaus of moderate pretensions, where no English have been to demoralise the landlord and raise the prices.

7. P.M.—Still searching.

8 P.M.—Ditto.

9 P.M.—Ditto.

10 P.M.—Ditto.

11 P.M.—Find what we want at last, in a dark alley, turning out of a side street, running precipitously to the river. Dine at the late table d'hÔte with one commercial traveller, on pickled cherries, raw bacon, cabbage, sugar biscuits, horseflesh, and petrified figs.

12 Midnight.—Retire, and have nightmare.

1 A.M.—Endeavour to sleep on three chairs and a washhand-stand. Can't. Determine to write to the Times.

2 A.M.—Left writing.

"Avez-vous quelquechose À dÉclarer, madame?"

"Oh, wee! Je declar que noos avong pairdew too no baggarge!"