e town, situate
among lakes and woods. Here in the shady ways of its quiet,
far-stretching park of Sans Souci, it is easy to imagine lean, snuffy
Frederick "bummeling" with shrill Voltaire.

Acting on my advice, George and Harris consented not to stay long in
Berlin; but to push on to Dresden. Most that Berlin has to show can be
seen better elsewhere, and we decided to be content with a drive through
the town. The hotel porter introduced us to a droschke driver, under
whose guidance, so he assured us, we should see everything worth seeing
in the shortest possible time. The man himself, who called for us at
nine o'clock in the morning, was all that could be desired. He was
bright, intelligent, and well-informed; his German was easy to
understand, and he knew a little English with which to eke it out on
occasion. With the man himself there was no fault to be found, but his
horse was the most unsympathetic brute I have ever sat behind.

He took a dislike to us the moment he saw us. I was the first to come
out of the hotel. He turned his head, and looked me up and down with a
cold, glassy eye; and then he looked across at another horse, a friend of
his that was standing facing him. I knew what he said. He had an
expressive head, and he made no attempt to disguise his thought.

He said:

"Funny things one does come across in the summer time, don't one?"

George followed me out the next moment, and stood behind me. The horse
again turned his head and looked. I have never known a horse that could
twist himself as this horse did. I have seen a camelopard do trick's
with his neck that compelled one's attention, but this animal was more
like the thing one dreams of after a dusty days at Ascot, followed by a
dinner with six old chums. If I had seen his eyes looking at me from
between his own hind legs, I doubt if I should have been surprised. He
seemed more amused with George if anything, than with myself. He turned
to his friend again.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?" he remarked; "I suppose there must be some
place where they grow them"; and then he commenced licking flies off his
own left shoulder. I began to wonder whether he had lost his mother when
young, and had been brought up by a cat.

George and I climbed in, and sat waiting for Harris. He came a moment
later. Myself, I thought he looked rather neat. He wore a white flannel
knickerbocker suit, which he had had made specially for bicycling in hot
w