The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1895-03-10


lace. These toothsome infants bring
back wildly to memory that most
charming of old German stories. The
Nut Cracker of Nuremberg" and see
children who stood In little Mary's cuD-
board until the cruel rat king with
seven heads came every night and ate
one for his supper.
GOOD THINGS TO EAT.
BY the same token there are excellent
things to eat in this Bavarian fair. De-
licious cakes. fresh baked and smoking
hot; fried potatoes. Of a beautiful gol-
den brown, ladled out while we wait
from a huge pan of boiling lard, and
melting crisply in our mouths; sailed
rolls, Favored with aniseed, which take
the place of our American pretzels and
provoke the same enduring thirst for
beer. On one side of the grounds, some
distance from the other booths, is a
long row of sheds, before each of which
hang hundreds of little fishes glistening
In the sum- Bare-armed women, portly
and vigorous, fan the emberS over which
these fish are frying, and the odors
thereof, waited through the air, invite
the hungry throngs to come and eat.
Black bread of a most uncompromising
hardness is given with every plateful,
with guests. Sausages served with red
cabbage are also deservedly popular,
and gallons of beer are poured down
thirsty throats. / see infants of tender
age slipping it on their mothers knees,
and turning up a pleading, drowsy eye
for more.
A waxwork tent attracts us for a few
minutes before we leave, and we enter
its dim recesses with timorous and fore
pooling steps. Experience has taught me
the morbidly realistic character of this
branch of German industry, and I steel
myself to see something unpleasant
see 1t. At one end of the room a soldier
ts having his wounds dressed by Sis
ter or Charity, while his comrade lies
dead-and very bloody-by his side.
Close at hand two little children are at
lacked by truculent wolf, and an eagle
is bouncing upon a plump, waxen baby.
whose mother. sickle in hand hastens
TO its rescue. Worse still is a large and
dismal group representing forester who
has been shot, accidentally or designed
ly, by one of two hunters half hidden
behind a rock, The dying man lies
stretched at our feet, one hand still
grasping his rife. and the clotted blood
stains showing where the bullet has en-
tered his head. Some diabolical ma
chinery inside his frame makes his chest
heave up and down with a convulsive
motion, as though he gasped for breath
AT intervals his right arm is feebly
raised, his eyes open and close, he lifts
his head, as with a final effort, and let's
1T fall heavily On the ground Nothing
In Nine. Tussaud's Chamber of
Horrors" nor in the sanguinary crypts
of the Eden Musee equals in ghastli-
ness this painful figure. We watch it
Tor moment or two with a sort of
loathsome fascination and then escape
into the outer air and sunshine. But
we are the only people who find it in
the least repuisive. Assuredly we are
the only ones who sicken at the sight.
The smiling, stolid crowds around us
are unvexed by nerves or by the trouble
some stimulus of Imagination. Like the
phlegmatic Briton who sat eating his
oranges throughout the narrowing
scenes of King JOHN they probably
say to themselves. 1T isn't true, and, il
1t were, it's nothing to u.s."