eir young empire and of their big
city, and of doing everything in the best possible way. There is
unceasing flux and growth in Berlin, so that descriptions written a
few years ago are as out of date as these impressions must be soon.
For instance, I had counted steadfastly on finding three things there
that I cannot find at home: first and second-class cabs, hordes of
soldiers everywhere, and policemen who would run a sword through you
if you looked at them; and of all these I was more or less
disappointed.

I did get hold of a second-class cab on my arrival in Berlin, but it
nearly came to pieces on the way, and I never saw another during my
stay there. The cabs are all provided with the taximeter now, so that
the fare knows to a fraction what is due to the driver; and the
drivers are of the first class, and wear white hats. Anyone who wished
to see a second-class cab would have to make inquiries, and find a
stand where some still languish, but before long the last of them will
probably be preserved in a museum. Cabs are not much used in Berlin,
because communication by the electric cars is so well organised. The
whole population travels by them, the whole city is possessed by them.
If it is to convey a true impression, a description of Berlin should
run to the moan of them as they glide everlastingly to and fro. You
can hardly escape their noise, and not for long their sight. Even the
Tiergarten, the Hyde Park of Berlin, is traversed by them, which is as
it should be in a municipal republic. This is what the Germans call
their city, for they are not conscious themselves of living under an
autocracy or of being in any sense of the word less free than, let us
say, the English, a point of view most puzzling to an English person,
who is conscious from the moment he crosses the German frontier of
being governed for his good. But it is pleasant on a summer morning
to be carried through the shady avenues of the Tiergarten in an open
car, whether it is an autocracy or a republic that arranges it for
you; and you reflect that in this and a thousand other ways Germany is
an agreeable country even if it is not a free one; especially for "the
people" who have small means, and are able to drive through the chief
pleasure ground of their city for a penny. The conductors of the cars
are obliged to announce the name of the next halting-place, so that
passengers alighting may get up in time and step off directly, but on
no account b