And so, over historic streams no larger than creeks would be in America, and by castles and cabbages and kings and cows, we came to Berlin; and after some of the other Continental cities Berlin seemed a mighty restful spot to be in, and a good one to tarry in awhile.  It has few historical associations, has Berlin, but we were loaded to the gills with historical associations by now.  It does not excel greatly in Old Masters, but we had already gazed with a languid eye upon several million Old Masters of all ages, including many very young ones.  It has no ancient monuments and tombs either, which is a blessing.  Most of the statuary in Berlin is new and shiny and provided with all the modern conveniences —­the present kaiser attended competently to that detail.  Wherever, in his capital, there was space for a statue he has stuck up one in memory of a member of his own dynasty, beginning with a statue apiece for such earlier rulers as Otho the Oboe-Player, and Joachim, surnamed the Half-a-Ton—­let some one correct me if I have the names wrong—­and finishing up with forty or fifty for himself.  That is, there were forty or fifty of him when I was there.  There are probably more now.

In its essentials Berlin suggests a progressive American city, with Teutonic trimmings.  Conceive a bit of New York, a good deal of Chicago, a scrap of Denver, a slice of Hoboken, and a whole lot of Milwaukee; conceive this combination as being scoured every day until it shines; conceive it as beautifully though somewhat profusely governed, and laid out with magnificent drives, and dotted with big, handsome public buildings, and full of reasonably honest and more than reasonably kindly people—­and you have Berlin.

It was in Berlin that I picked up the most unique art treasure I found anywhere on my travels—­a picture of the composer Verdi that looked exactly like Uncle Joe Cannon, without the cigar; whereas Uncle Joe Cannon does not look a thing in the world like Verdi, and probably wouldn’t if he could.

I have always regretted that our route through the German Empire took us across the land of the Hessians after dark, for I wanted to see those people.  You will recollect that when George the Third, of England, first put into actual use the doctrine of Hands Across the Sea he used the Hessians.

They were hired hands.

Chapter VIII

A Tale of a String-bean

It was at a small dinner party in a home out in Passy—­which is to Paris what Flatbush is to Brooklyn—­that the event hereinafter set forth came to pass.  Our host was an American who had lived abroad a good many years; and his wife, our hostess, was a French woman as charming as she was pretty and as pretty as she could be.

The dinner was going along famously.  We had hors-d’oeuvres, the soup and the hare—­all very tasty to look on and very soothing to the palate.  Then came the fowl, roasted, of course—­the roast fowl is the national bird of France—­and along with the fowl something exceedingly appetizing in the way of hearts of lettuce garnished with breasts of hothouse tomatoes cut on the bias.