so on. Yet in spite of their
endless streams of traffic, the streets of Berlin are not noisy--not
nearly so noisy as those of Stockholm--for they are paved with asphalt
and wood, and most of the conveyances have rubber tyres on their wheels.
As in other large cities, the streets are relieved of a great deal of
traffic by trains which run right through the town and round its
suburbs, either up in the air on viaducts, or underground in tunnels
lighted by electricity. At the Frederick Street Station of the City
Railway, which lies in the centre of the town, a train arrives or
departs every other minute of the day and of a good part of the night as
well.

Not far off is a square--the "King's Place"--where a monument to
commemorate the victory of the Germans over the French, in 1871, lifts
its spire above the city, with three rows of cannon captured in France
in its recesses. Close at hand, too, are the shady walks in the
"Tiergarten" (Park), where all Berlin is wont to enjoy itself on
Sundays. When we turn eastwards, we have to pass through a great
colonnade, the Brandenburg Gate, with Doric pillars supporting the
four-horsed chariot of the goddess of victory in beaten copper. Here the
German army entered Berlin after the conquest of France and the founding
of the German Empire.

On the farther side of this gate stretches one of the most noted
streets in Europe. For if Berlin is the heart of Germany, so is the
street called "Unter den Linden" (Under the Lime-Trees) the centre and
heart of Berlin. There are, indeed, streets which are longer, for this
extends only two-thirds of a mile, but hardly any which are broader, for
it is 66 yards across. Between its alternate carriage-roads and
foot-walks four double rows of limes and chestnuts introduce a
refreshing breath of open country right into the bosom of the great town
of stone, with its straight streets and heavy, grey square houses. As we
wander along "Unter den Linden" we pass the foreign embassies and the
German government offices, and, farther on, the palace of the old Kaiser
Wilhelm, which is unoccupied and has been left exactly as it was in his
lifetime. He used to stand at a corner window on the ground floor, and
look out at his faithful people.

It is now just noon. Splendid carriages and motor cars sweep past, and
the crush of people on the pavements is great. We hear the inspiriting
music of a military band, and the Imperial Guard marches down the
street, follo