mmer the paths of the
Tiergarten of a morning are strewn with hair-pins, a curious, but none
the less accurate, indication of the rather fumbling affection of the
night before.

To live in a fashionable hotel, in a land whose people you wish to
study, is as valueless an experience as to go to a zooelogical garden
to learn to track a mountain sheep or to ride down a wild boar. You
must go about among the people themselves, to their restaurants, to
their houses, if they are good enough to ask you, and to the resorts
of all kinds that they frequent.

The manners are better than in my student days, but there is still a
deal of improvised eating and drinking. There is much tucking of
napkins under chins that the person may be shielded from misdirected
food-offerings. There is not a little use of the knife where the fork
or spoon is called for; but this last I always look upon as a remnant
of courage, of the virility remaining in the race from a not distant
time when the knife served to clear the forest, to build the hut, to
kill the deer, and to defend the family from the wolf; and the
traditions of such a weapon still give it predominance over the more
epicene fork, as a link with a stirring past. Mere daintiness in
feeding is characteristic of the lapdog and other over-protected
animals. Unthinking courage in the matter of victuals is rather a
relief from the strained and anxious hygienic watchfulness of the
overcivilized and the overrich. The body should be, and is, regarded
by wholesome-minded people, not as an idol, but as an instrument. The
German no doubt sees something ignominious in counting as one chews a
chop, in the careful measuring of one's liquids, in the restricting of
oneself to the diet of the squirrel and the cow. He would perhaps
prefer to lose a year or two of life rather than to nut and spinach
himself to longevity. The wholesome body ought of course to be
unerring and automatic in its choice of the quantity and quality of
its fuel.

A well-dressed man in Berlin is almost as conspicuous as a dancing
bear. This comparison may lead the stranger to infer, in spite of what
has been said of the orderliness of Berlin, that dancing bears are
permitted in the streets. It is only fair to Berlin's admirable police
president, von Jagow, to say that they are not.

If one leaves the officers, who are a fine, upstanding, well-groomed
lot, out of the account, the inhabitants of Berlin are almost
grotesque in the