My Life

he Berlin of to-day. There is probably no other Continental city

been built and was kept up for their exclusive entertainment, and strangers, particularly Americans, who ventured to dress as they do at home-white dresses in summer for ladies, for instance-were stared at as if they were a new species of human beings. In one particular, however, the city has not changed, and probably never will, i.e., in the amount of noise the Berliners are equal to when they are turned loose in the streets, afoot, in trains or in Drosckken. If it be true that the word German, philologically dissected, means a shouter in battle, then the word Berliner means two shouters talking about a battle. The incessant ya-yaing and nein-neining in the streets, the perspiring and nervous self-

But a much more conspicuous cause, if not the main one, is the fact that Berlin has grown up to Welt-Stadt prominence, overnight, as it were, and the good Berliners have not yet untangled their feet sufficiently to keep an orderly pace under the new order

ry little else. But far be it from me to dwell on this subject, for if there is any city in the world to which I ought to be grateful, it is Berlin. If it pleases the Berliners to shout the

may be seen at its best in this country in the neighborhood of Ellis Island; it was local color hatified indeed. While I lay asleep on the sofa in my mother's library, making up for the loss of sleep at sea,

a considerably quickened heart action, which did not give him great concern, however. At that time the good man was just beginning to pick up English, and at our first meeting made me listen to his rendering of "Early to bed, early to rise," etc. A few weeks

shteeps across te floor, and ten expire."

ial patients made it impossible for him to call on us, although he kindly made neighborly visits in my mother's home as long as he remained in our street. He is now getting old and gray, but I found him as friendly and hospitable on my last visit to Berlin, in spite of his fine villa, lackeys and carriages, as when he examined me for broken bones and twisted muscles after the coal-passing experien

n fold their tents and pass on, those who remain behind having to get acquainted afresh with the new set of "culturists" who are sure to arrive in due time. In Venice there is a

tions on meeting an Englishman or fellow countryman,

er against the old residents' record, but in spite of their long stay in the city they were, after all, campers. When the Christmas holiday time ca

a question which each camping family decides for itself. In the case of young men, students for example, it has its advantages and disadvantages. In my own case I think it worked well for a time. It was not compulsory; I could have returned to America at any time. And it afforded me an opportunity to

me passing coal on the Elbe would ever have expected to meet me in the lecture rooms of the Berlin University, a few months later, a

g into the new arrangement without much difficulty. The coal-passing experience had exhausted my physical resources more than I had at first imagined, and for days lying on a lounge was about as much as I felt up to. It was during this period, I recall, that I read Livingstone's "Travels in Africa," George Eliot's "Daniel Deronda," some of John Stuart Mills' "Political Economy" and chapters in German history. I seemed to take as naturally to this

twenty-first birthday was near at hand. I was no longer a boy with no responsibilities. My own sense of the fitness of things told me that it was high time for me to be up and doing, if I was going to be of any use to myself and the family. Yet, for the life of me, I could think of nothing more remunerative and honorable as a calling, than a woodchopper's life in the Black Forest. One of the coal trimmers on the E

. But the name seemed to fascinate me, and I told my mother that if she would help me get to Liverpool, I believed that my rightful calling would come to light there. A number of days were taken up in discussing this new project, but I persisted in thinking that Liverpool and Egypt had something wonderful in store for me. The good housing and nourishment had

n to me. I left Berlin, thinking that I ought to come back at least an admiral of The Fleet, my mother feeling quite hopeful

sted, but this was as far as I got toward becoming an admiral or in the direction of Egypt. The only "berth" offered me was in a Norwegian schooner as "cook's mate," or something like that, whatever "that" may mean. Liverpool itself, however, or rather those sec

air one's name-arranged the combination of funds very neatly; fortunately the bulk of mine were in safe keeping in the Sailor's Home. The whole amount, or rather the amount that I let her have, went for the cultivation of her voice and "stoil" in Lime Street concert halls; but she explained this selfishness away with a promise to finance me when she should be successful and I was passing the final examinations for the admiral's position. It is not unlikely that I might yet be struggling to get money for "Alice's" musical education i

creamed, and the others made similar teasing remark

. "Save me! I'm losi

ver saw her again, but five years later, when a friend and I were tramping in England, I asked abou

even days. She's dotty. Thinks she's a primer donner. Goo

he folly of trying to be an admiral on a mere coal-passer's experience. Her light-fingered ingenuity and the resulting depletion of my funds also assisted in curing me of the Egyptian fever. The upsho