Setting aside the Doctor, who had evidently turned the brains of the entire village, they were intelligent people. One thing in particular struck me, their honesty in admitting that here they spoke bad German, and advising me to go to Coburg or Leipsic for German.—‘_Sie sprechen da rein_’ (clean), said one; and they all nodded their heads together like as many mandarins, and repeated _rein_, _so rein_ in chorus. Of course we got upon Scotland. The hostess said, ‘_Die Schottländer trinken gern Schnapps_,’ which may be freely translated, ‘Scotchmen are horrid fond of whisky.’ It was impossible, of course, to combat such a truism; and so I proceeded to explain the construction of toddy, interrupted by a cry of horror when I mentioned the _hot_ water; and thence, as I find is always the case, to the most ghastly romancing about Scottish scenery and manners, the Highland dress, and everything national or local that I could lay my hands upon. Now that I have got my German Burns, I lean a good deal upon him for opening a conversation, and read a few translations to every yawning audience that I can gather. I am grown most insufferably national, you see. I fancy it is a punishment for my want of it at ordinary times. Now, what do you think, there was a waiter in this very hotel, but, alas! he is now gone, who sang (from morning to night, as my informant said with a shrug at the recollection) what but _‘s ist lange her_, the German version of Auld Lang Syne; so you see, madame, the finest lyric ever written will make its way out of whatsoever corner of patois it found its birth in. ‘_Meitz Herz ist im Hochland_, _mean Herz ist nicht hier_, _Mein Herz ist im Hochland im grünen Revier_. _Im grünen Reviere zu jagen das Reh_; _Mein Herz ist im Hochland_, _wo immer ich geh_.’ I don’t think I need translate that for you. There is one thing that burthens me a good deal in my patriotic garrulage, and that is the black ignorance in which I grope about everything, as, for example, when I gave yesterday a full and, I fancy, a startlingly incorrect account of Scotch education to a very stolid German on a garden bench: he sat and perspired under it, however with much composure. I am generally glad enough to fall back again, after these political interludes, upon Burns, toddy, and the Highlands. I go every night to the theatre, except when there is no opera. I cannot stand a play yet; but I am already very much improved, and can understand a good deal of what goes on. _Friday_, _August_ 2, 1872.—In the evening, at the theatre, I had a great laugh. Lord Allcash in _Fra Diavolo_, with his white hat, red guide-books, and bad German, was the _pièce-de-résistance_ from a humorous point of view; and I had the satisfaction of knowing that in my own small way I could minister the same amusement whenever I chose to open my mouth. I am just going off to do some German with Simpson.—Your affectionate son,