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Updated: June 27, 2025
A telegram arrived from Oswald to-day, saying he was not coming till the middle of August: Konigsee, Watzmann, glorious tramp. Letter follows. Father did not say much, but I fancy he's very much annoyed. Especially just now, after poor Mother's death, Oswald might just as well come home. Last year he was so long away after matriculation, quite alone, and now it's the same this year.
I have to join a circle of mine in Baden, but there's no hurry; I could be disengaged for a week. And I have things to ask you, owing to my indiscretion but you have excused it. Woodseer turned for a farewell gaze at the great Watzmann, and saluted him. 'Splendid, said Lord Fleetwood; 'but don't clap names on the mountains. I saw written in your book: "A text for Dada."
I found myself in a little green vale hemmed in by magnificent heights whose rocky summits were covered with freshly-fallen snow. Close at hand rose the Watzmann, a soaring pyramid whose summit was cleft into two sharp peaks inclined into some semblance of a bishop's mitre.
My two friends also were in their way types, the cowled Franciscan, aloof in a mediaeval seclusion though he breathed nineteenth-century air, and the dancer whom I encountered in the vale, above which the Watzmann upholds forever its solemn mitre. But they were good fellows both, my comrade in and my comrade out.
I have to join a circle of mine in Baden, but there's no hurry; I could be disengaged for a week. And I have things to ask you, owing to my indiscretion but you have excused it. Woodseer turned for a farewell gaze at the great Watzmann, and saluted him. 'Splendid, said Lord Fleetwood; 'but don't clap names on the mountains. I saw written in your book: "A text for Dada."
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