are sofas that we all remember with tears, with
tenderness, with reverence. They have been the boards upon which we
first appeared in the role of lover perhaps; or where we have fondled
and comforted a discouraged child; or where we have pumped new
ambitions and larger life into a weaker brother; or where we have
tossed in the agony of grief or disappointment; or where we have
waited drearily and alone the result of a consultation of moral or
physical life and death in the next room. Indeed, this all reminds me
that I could write an essay on sofas that would be poignant, touching,
autobiographical, luminous, as could most other men, but this would
not explain the position of the sofa in Germany in the least. "Travels
on a Sofa"--I must do it one day, and perhaps, with more serious study
of the subject, light may be thrown upon this question of the sofa in
Germany.

Even at large and rather formal dinner-parties the host bows and
drinks to his guests, first one and then another. At the end of the
meal, in many households, it is the custom to bow and kiss your
hostess's hand and say "Mahlzeit," a shortened form of "May the meal
be blessed to you." You also shake hands with the other guests and say
"Mahlzeit." In some smarter houses this is looked upon as old-
fashioned and is not done. I look upon it as a charming custom, and
think it a pity that it should be done away with.

Young unmarried girls and women courtesy to the elder women and kiss
their hands, also a custom I approve. On the other hand, where a
stalwart officer appears in a small drawing-room and seats himself at
the slender tea-table for a cup of afternoon tea, holding his sword by
his side or between his legs, that seems to me an unnecessary
precaution, even when Americans are present, for many of us nowadays
go about unarmed.

Except on official or formal occasions it seems a matter of
questionable good taste to appear, say in a hotel restaurant, with
one's breast hung with medals or with orders on one's coat or in the
button-hole. Let 'em find out what a big boy am I without help from
self-imposed placards seems to me to be perhaps the more modest way.
The method in vogue in Japanese temples, where the worshippers jangle
a bell to call the attention of the gods to their prayers or
offerings, seems out of place where the god is merely the casual man
in the street, in a Berlin restaurant.

At more than one dinner the soup is followed by a meat course,