suffered a pang when the official, after contemplating the hideous portrayal of me, evidently said to himself, "This is enough," for he did not give me a second glance. We were not obliged to open any of our numerous bags and belongings. Even the enormous bouquet I carried, every flower of which might, for all they knew, have contained some secret missive, passed unexamined. Everything was quickly checked off. The polite officer whose appearance and manner belonged more to the Imperial Schloss in Berlin than in the Custom House in quiet little Warnemünde, put us himself in the train and, bowing, smiling, and saluting, went home to his 5 o'clock coffee, followed by our warmest thanks.

H., (my son,) who is of a friendly nature, hobnobbed with the Mecklenburg warrior who was on duty on the quay. He offered him a cigar, which the soldier pocketed quickly with a whispered "Danke schön." The footing on which they stood must have been very friendly, for the sentinel waved his gun as a parting salute when the train steamed away.

The Swiss gentleman with whom we had traveled, and with whom we had conversed in French and English at our sweet will, said that in the Custom House he had had been asked to show all his papers and that he had been felt over and “patted” from his shoulders down; that his pockets had all been "gone through," but everything had been done in the most courteous way, and the searchers had seemed rather to beg his pardon for putting him to so much inconvenience.

The other passengers, however, did not fare even as well as he did, and one (a Russian) did not fare at all. He was retained at Warnemünde, and was to be sent back by the next steamer. I must say that I never saw a more spyish-looking person in my life; I would not have trusted him across the street even in times of peace.

One man had a gold piece in his pocket. It was taken from him, but replaced by paper money of the same value. He had also a note book in his valise, in which he had written his impressions. One was that a "smukke pige " (Danish for pretty

girl) did not mean a smoked pig. These he was obliged to explain in detail. H. helped him, as he did not speak German, being from Argentina.

Our route passed through MecklenburgStrelitz. This part of Germany is very familiar to us, as we once spent a delightful Summer there.

We had a most excellent dinner in the dining car, even better than formerly, consisting of a good soup, a very good filet de boeuf, hot potatoes, cheese, and fruit. We were, as you see, far from being starved. We had fared well-better than was dreamed of by those who bade us farewell. The only thing out of the usual that I noticed was that there were fewer men in the stations, almost none in the fields, and not many in the towns as we passed through them. But the railroad service was just as always.

We arrived on the stroke of time in Berlin, and found our former servant (Otto) at the door of our compartment. He had been sent by Count M. to invite us to luncheon the next day. All the automobiles had been taken, and Otto was some time finding two droschkes to convey us and our baggage to the hotel. There were plenty of porters about, and we were not obliged to burden ourselves with our bags, as predicted.

We went to the Hotel Bristol, Unter den Linden. How dimly the lighted and dull streets looked! How deserted they were! How quiet this usually so brilliantly lit centre seemed! Hardly a pedestrian and no carriages. I would never have known our old Berlin. The hotel, the rendezvous of all that was chic and fashionable, was filled only with serious elderly men, eagerly reading the newspapers. The head waiter rushed up to us, as if welcoming his dearest friends, (evidently thinking we were American millionaires.) He rubbed his hands and asked us if we would "sup," (speaking in English,) beaming with happy anticipation of a princely bourboire, and chanced an I remember you when you were here before." He received a short and to-thepoint reply in German to the effect that he was not remembered and that, as some one once said, "his face was not as familiar as his manner." A Brodkarte (bread

card) was given to us. There were ten coupons on each, and each coupon was good for 25 grams of bread, sufficient for one day-supposed to be all you need. You cannot get more.

When you go to a restaurant you must take your Brodkarte with you, otherwise you go without if you can't borrow one. The bakers provide their clients with just that amount, and no more. Of course, in the hotels it is put on your bill.

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Many signs were hung on the walls of the hotel begging people to be economical, not to waste anything. particular stress was put upon potatoes. They should be boiled with their skins on, and if they were pared the parings must not be thrown away. Why? I wondered.

I went to see my jeweler the next morning. There was hardly any one in the street, (Friedrichstrasse.) It was generally so full of traffic, but now noticeably empty. Occasionally an officer would limp by, leaning on his cane, and another with a loose-hanging sleeve. What a sad tale this told!

Although there were so few people to be seen, all the theatres are open, and, it is said, very well attended. Certainly the restaurants showed no sign of lack of customers. Both hotels and restaurants are filled to overflowing.

I met the Princess Wied in the corridor of the hotel-not the ex-Queen of Albania, but her sister-in-law, (the daughter of the King of Württemberg.) She presented her son to me. He is very young, at least he looked so.

He goes to the front tomorrow. She seemed very sad, and looked with loving eyes at the handsome young fellow.

We lunched with Count and Countess M., and met some of the American Embassy, and after lunch Countess M. took me out for a drive in her motor. She has my former chauffeur. It seemed natural to be driving about the old familiar road to Grünewald and by Kaiserdam. My favorite promenade! When we passed the new building devoted to exhibitions and sport, the chauffeur said it was the largest edifice in the world. (I wonder.) The hall alone is 1,200 meters long and 18 meters high. It covers 19,000

meters of ground, and is lighted by 15,000 electric lamps at night; it is lighted "al giorno from the ceiling and behind glass.

It must be splendid! Colossal is the only word to apply to it. My jeweler said that he would be called to do his military service next year.

"Next year!" I cried. "Surely you don't think that the war will go on till then? "

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Why, of course," he answered; "there is no doubt of it."

I hope that he is wrong. It is a dreadful thought that this state of things should continue!

Now our real journey, fraught with dangers and surprises, was to commence. We started from Anhalt Bahnhof the next day. The station was crammed with soldiers. Every train that came in brought them, and every train that went out took them away. The poor young fellows looked hardly over twenty. They carried their bundles on their backs and paper cartons tied with strings. They were going to receive their knapsacks at the end of their journey. . . And what more! Poor creatures!

They appeared quiet and serious; there was no shouting nor running about, after the manner of soldiers. The Captain marshaled them about with low-spoken words of command. Their uniforms, as those of the officers, were of dark cloth. Their helmets were covered with the same cloth to hide (I suppose) the shinyness of them. Our first-class compartment was almost filled with officers, but when we came they politely left us to ourselves and stood in the corridor.

The luncheon and dinner on the restaurant cars were well served, and there was enough of everything for the many passengers. Our bread was given to us in small packages, but we had plenty. The train was crammed with soldiers; they stood in all the corridors. H. gave them some cigarettes and I handed out what chocolate I had taken

with me. It was not much, yet they seemed very grateful.

All the factories we passed seemed to be closed; there was no smoke to be seen anywhere. In the fields, which appeared

to be full of Spring promise, one saw none but women. They were sowing grain, and plowing the fields behind the slow and ponderous oxen. We saw them sawing wood and cleaning out stables. Man's work! They replaced their husbands just as the oxen and dogs replaced the horses. Of them only the weakkneed and blind were left.

In some towns we went through the women were acting as conductors on the tramways.

We passed many camps for prisoners. They were a little way from the railroad, but one saw them very well. One regiment (I think it must have been a regiment) was in French uniforms. They were walking along the high road accompanied by some German soldiers. They seemed to step along briskly as if their lot was not an "unhappy one."

When one thinks that Germany has to provide not only for its own people but for more than 800,000 prisoners, one can truly admire the organization and the resources of the country. I, who was craving an adventure, an emotion, or a thrill of some kind, was disappointed. No plainer sailing or anything more humdrum and emotionless and normal than our journey so far can be imagined!

The only difference I noticed was that women were selling beer and newspapers in the station, which, as a rule, except for the moving of soldiers, was very devoid of excitement. The trains started on the minute and arrived on the minute.

At Stuttgart we walked to the Hotel Marquand, as it is next to the station. This hotel, whose prices are equal to its pretensions, was full; however, we found very good rooms. I think that we were the only strangers, and we seemed to convey the impression that we were the nabobs the waiter in Berlin took us for. The expectant maid, who stayed in the vicinity of my room, certainly was one of those made in Germany "—she never spoke to me without saying “Gnädige." The other guests, evidently as "heartless" as we, did not mind showing that they had money to spend. I was glad to find other "cruel" people willing to throw away a little of theirs in a country that needed it. The country seemed

an

very pleased to get the little we threw. The next morning we took the train en route for Switzerland, and found on it our Swiss friend Mrs. M. and a German diplomat on his way to Rome. They had traveled all night very comfortably in the sleeping cars from Berlin. The fourth person in their compartment was elderly lady, who dozed peacefully and who only waked up occasionally to ask whether we had reached the frontier. On hearing that we had not, she moved closer to her corner, to make room for me, and dozed off again. Happily, they were amiable enough to allow us to be there, (we sat sqeezed three on a seat,) otherwise we should have been obliged to stay in the corridor and stand on a Landwehr's toes.

No one, apparently, had had any difficulty anywhere. They seemed very comfortable; they had neither frozen nor starved nor waited on side tracks.

The German diplomat must have received special orders from his Government to avoid conversation with the humbler sex, for none of us three ladies could worm a glance from him, even the elderly lady's questions about the frontière were snubbed.

But as soon as one of my gentlemen attacked him, he was all smiles and blinkings behind his spectacles, evidently proud of himself that he had repelled the advances and withstood the wiles of women! He had in his eyes a sort of "retro Satanical" look.

We had no delay at the Swiss-German Custom House. The Swiss officer opened his eyes when the avalanche of passports was unbosomed and thrust at him, every one of them in a different language and garnished with portraits. We had been told that our photographs must be taken in the identical clothes we would wear on the journey, but, womanlike, we had changed our minds as we had our dresses and hats. Therefore, it was very hard for the man to see where the difference was, and, as we had not the time for puzzling over the mystery, he handed the passports back, with a tired but polite sigh.

This was my last hope of an adventure. Nothing had happened, and certainly now

nothing would happen. I looked out of the window at the Schafhausen Cascade, (the place where the beautiful Rhine commences its career before it begins to make wine and grow hops,) and felt somehow as if I had been defrauded unduly of emotions. I had one, nevertheless.

The elderly lady who had shown such anxiety about the frontière whom we thought was Russian, caught sight of my flowers and remarked that they were beautiful, and added: "If you want to keep them you must cut their stems a little every day"; I said I would remember to do so.

The ice being broken, I said: "These carnations are already three days old. I can't expect to keep them forever."

"From what country did you say they came?" I had not mentioned any country! Nevertheless I told her. "I am from Sweden," she said. The ice by this time had become thin enough to walk on. She talked rapidly and in Swedish. "Do you know Mrs. ?" and spoke my name. I nodded my head. "Have you read -?" and mentioned my book. I murmured something, trembling to hear a verdict. "Oh! how I should like to know her!" she said.

"You have not far to go, Madame,” I said; "you are talking to her now," and pointed to the third button of my blouse.

Nae," she cried, “Nae, I cannot believe it," and gasped for breath. I think, also, that it must have been hard for her to believe that the lady she wanted so much to know was the tired and travelstained lady before her.

"I have not your book with me. It is too precious, [perhaps it was too heavy.] I own two. I keep one in my salon and the other on my nightstand; I read a chapter every night."

Like the Bible, thought I, or could she mean that it was to invite slumber? In any case I was overwhelmed. . . .

What pleased this enthusiastic lady the most was that she had praised the book before she knew who I was. I took some flowers from my bouquet and gave them to her; I could not do less, could I? She pressed them to her lips, and begged me for my autograph. I never was so flattered in all my life.

We stayed that night in Zurich. It was very cold, and we decided to push on to Locarno. Before we left the hotel the next morning I received a twenty-fiveword-long telegram from the Swedish lady repeating in a condensed form her effusions of the day before.

It was a dark and cold day, but when we came out of the long tunnel of St. Gothard the sun burst forth in a blaze of glory.

F

ROM the outset of the war Russian

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"" 'barbarism and savagery have been much harped upon by the Germans. In this way they wished to influence the neutrals, even the Allies themselves. The "Cossacks" became the incarnation of the cruelties and inhumanity of earlier wars; they represented pillage, robbery, violation, incendiarism, destruction of property, murder of non-combatants.

Intellectuals in various countries allowed themselves to be caught in this clumsy trap set by German diplomacy with the aid of German savants, newspapers, agents, and spies.

Reality soon tore the mask from these lies. Compared with the semi-civilized Germans, the Cossacks have proved to be angels of sweetness and mercy. The illusion of Russian savagery has been swept away. The Germans themselves, for the purposes of their cause, now find more interest in turning about and denouncing the criminal egoism of the English.

But it is not without interest to take up again the psychology of the Russian people as it is understood in the Old and New Worlds. The Europe of tomorrow must become better acquainted with the elements that must work together in creating it.

First, one must draw a distinction between the Russian people and its rulers. The formation of the Russian Nation makes it impossible to identify these with each other. The Romanoff dynasty has tried for many years to become identified with the needs and aspirations of the people; now, at last, everything leads to the belief that it has succeeded.

The nobility of the three Baltic provinces, entirely Germans, in whom are rooted the worst instincts of the Prussian Junkers, had until the war a dominant influence on the evolution of Russian destinies. Military leaders, statesmen, the

highest office holders, were recruited principally from the Junkers of Courland, Livonia, and Esthonia. Always intriguing with Prussia, toward whom they were attracted by similarity of tastes and aspirations, they can be considered only superficially Russians. Were it not for the immense extent of the empire and the resistance of the real Russians, this little selected body, working without restraint, would have drowned the Russian soul in the German ocean.

The Franco-Russian alliance was confronted for years with insurmountable obstacles. The iron will of an Alexander II., of a Nicholas II., was needed to make headway against the petty intrigues of the Baltic nobility, backed by the Hohenzollerns. But what contributed most efficaciously to awakening the Russian Court and to exasperating the national sentiment was the unskillful conduct of the Kaiser and of his diplomats, who looked upon Russia as a conquered province.

Pan-Slavism, and the orthodox religion, so radically opposed to Germanic tendencies, also helped to save the empire of the Czars. The present war will be, for Russia, a war of permanent deliverance. The mountain of crimes erected between the two nations will make the resurrection of the past impossible.

Nevertheless, German influence has not had its last word. While Russia is fighting her "holy war," numerous German emissaries paralyze her life and seriously compromise her repute. The far-reaching words of the Czar offer peace and kindly tolerance to his subjects, but at the same time agents from Berlin are doing their best to foment trouble which threatens to discredit the decrees and promises of Nicholas II.

Scattered through the Russian Empire, the Germans have always sought to make trouble among its constituent elements. High German officials are almost always responsible for Russian blunders; they