About twelve years ago (before the building of the Bayrischen Hof), the Golden Stag, kept by an old and very corpulent Frenchman, of the name of Havard, was considered the very best hotel in Munich. It was there that all crowned heads and royal personages took up their abode; and many and bitter were the complaints of English families obliged to turn out of their apartments to admit of the turning in of an emperor, king, or archduke! In the month of August, however, such guests were unusual; and, accordingly, a young English traveller had remained for a week in undisturbed possession of one of the most comfortable rooms in the house. He seemed, however, thoroughly dissatisfied with it or with himself, walked impatiently up and down, looked long and listlessly out of the window, and then, with evident effort and stifled yawn, concluded a letter which he had previously been writing. A few lines of this letter I shall transcribe.
“I have continued to take notes most carefully of everything I have seen or heard since I left you; but I fear, my dear sister, the travels or wanderings, or sketches with which I intended to astonish the world on my return home, must be given up; for in the present day one can travel from London to Jericho without a chance of seeing anything not already succinctly described in the guide-books! I thought I had discovered why my brother John never met with any amusing adventures when my father sent him abroad. He spoke wretched French, and no German. Poor fellow; I did him great injustice. For even I, who, from not being the first-born, have a sort of natural claim to intellect—even I, who have studied German for six years, and can speak French fluently—even I must write stupid, commonplace letters, and acknowledge that composing a book is not so easy as I thought. I left home three weeks ago, and, excepting that lucky explosion of the steam-engine after we left Cologne, nothing has occurred worthy of notice. I must endeavour to get among these Germans; for travelling through a country without becoming intimate with some of the inhabitants, though it may enable me to judge of the beauty of the scenery, will leave me perfectly unacquainted with the manners and habits of the people. The Erskines are not here at present, so all hopes from that quarter are at an end. I am told that the Munich world is in the country, and I believe it; for nothing can be more deserted-looking than the streets which represent the west end. After all, one cannot go on forever looking at pictures and statues, etc.”
The young man folded up and sealed his letter, with a look of infinite vexation, and putting it in his pocket while he murmured something about “taking it himself to the post-office, for want of other occupation,” he slowly left the room and sauntered down the staircase, drawing his cane along the iron stair-railing as he went.
Hamilton, on his return, sprang lightly up the stairs, followed by a waiter, who lit the candles and prepared to assist him in taking off his rather tightly-fitting coat. The operation had proceeded about half-way, when his eyes fell on a letter which was placed conspicuously on the table. In a moment the coat was again on his shoulders and the letter in his hand.
“When did this come?”
“To-day, sir. Mr. Havard desired me to say it was carried by mistake to a gentleman’s room who left this morning early.”
Hamilton hastily opened the letter and read as follows:
“Dear Mr. Hamilton,—I have this moment read your name among the arrivals in Munich, and write to tell you that we are for the present at Seon, a short journey distant from you. Our house is not at present habitable, and we have made this old monastery our headquarters. It was some years ago a tolerably frequented bath, but being no longer so, I shall have no difficulty whatever in procuring an apartment for you. We shall be delighted to see you, and show you the beauties of our neighbourhood. Perhaps, too, we can arrange a tour in the Tyrol together. John, I know, has joined his regiment; therefore I do not expect to see him. But probably Mrs. Hamilton is with you; in which case I am quite sure you will not leave Germany without having visited your sincere friend,
A. Z.”
“How far is Seon from Munich? What sort of a place is it?” asked Hamilton.