d some of us have angelic figures made of red
brick, so that the angelic faces are checked with white where the
bricks are joined together."

"But it does not become anyone from England to criticise the
architecture and sculpture of a foreign country," I said to the artist
who told me the story of the lamp. "Our own is notoriously bad."

"It is not you who will criticise ours," he answered. "By your own
confession, you know nothing whatever of architecture and sculpture,
and when people know nothing they should either keep silence or ask
for information in the best quarter. You have my authority for saying
that the architects and sculptors of Berlin would have been better
employed building dog-kennels."

"But I rather like your wide cheerful streets," I objected, "and your
tall clean houses. Our houses...."

"Your houses are little black boxes in which people eat and sleep.
They do not pretend to anything. Ours pretend to be beautiful, and are
ridiculous. Moreover, in England there are men who can build beautiful
houses. You do not employ them much. You prefer your ugly little
boxes. But they are there. I know their names and their work."

"But what do you think of our statues?" I asked him.

"I don't think of them," he said; "I prefer to think of something
pleasant. When I am in London I spend every hour I have at the docks."

"I like the _Sieges-Allee_," I said boldly,--"it is so clean and
cheerful."

"It was made for people who look at sculpture from that point of
view," said my friend.

I hardly know where an artist finds inspiration in the streets of
Berlin. It really makes the impression of a city that has sprung up in
a night, and that is kept clean by invisible forces. The great breadth
of the streets, the avenues of trees everywhere, and the many open
places make it pleasant; but you look in vain for the narrow lanes and
gabled houses still to be found in other German towns, and you are not
surprised when Americans compare it with Chicago, because it is so new
and busy. It is indeed the city of the modern German spirit, and what
it has of old tradition and old social life lies beneath the surface,
hidden from the eye of the stranger. There is Sans-Souci, to be sure,
and Frederick the Great, and the Grosser Kurfuerst. There is the double
line of princes on either side of the _Sieges-Allee_. But modern
Berlin dates from 1870, and so do all good Berliners, whatever their
age may be. They are proud of th