I

WENT to-day to the Hutfabrik and bought a soft hat for ten marks. Everybody here goes and gets one, the ladies as well as the men. I had my choice of a white, a black, a brown, or a green one. The girl who waited on me, an intelligent young person, gave the hat a little knock on top and a Jäger twist to the rim. The hat had in the crown on the inside a map of Zwieback and its surroundings. I asked the girl if the map was her idea. I might have known that it was not. It was evidently a man's idea. It was the thought of some keenly attentive person. The girl said that it was her young master's suggestion. I thought also that the notion was characteristically

German; it showed a German intelligence, thoroughness, and sense of the obligation to grasp the situation perfectly. An English hatter would have wished to know what authority there was for doing such a thing; whether it had ever been done by Lincoln & Bennett, or whether some royal highness would care to have it in his hat.

Is not some consolation for a difficulty in speaking German and foreign languages in general to be gained from that passage in St. Paul which says that some are "discerners of spirits" and some "have the gift of tongues," as if these qualities were contrary and inconsistent, or at any rate widely diverse? The late Lord Beaconsfield, who was certainly a discerner of spirits, was a bad linguist? A compatriot of his who met him at the Berlin Conference said, "There's one thing

British about him. - that is his French." I should think it likely that the silent, Oriental gaze of Lord Beaconsfield would not go along with that miscellaneous activity of mind we commonly see in a man who is good at learning languages.

I have accepted an invitation to dine with Madame L———. I have since been asked for the same day by Mrs. R—. Now I should rather go to Mrs. R's. Why might I not present my compliments to Madame L———————, and regret that a subsequent engagement prevents, etc.?

Like everybody else, I am reading the absorbingly interesting books of Stevenson. I find that when I read them I am always getting scared, usually about nothing. One trick he has keeps me in a constant

state of panic: this is a habit of mentioning some trivial incident which turns out by and by to be of special significance. Thus, Mr. Stevenson will say, "I observed he put salt on his meat." At this the practised reader of Mr. Stevenson begins to scent danger. A few sentences further on it is said, "I again observed that he put salt on his meat; this time, however, he added a little pepper." At this the reader's hair stands on end.

A few days ago I spent a rainy afternoon in the readingroom at the Kursaal, One or two American papers are taken. I am a great reader of American newspapers, which are perhaps the most interesting in the world, and which are conducted with vast energy and ability. But people are at home so used to the tone the press has as

sumed there that it does not seem to them as peculiar as it sometimes appears to persons in this part of the world. I have been, for instance, following with great interest the accounts given in the papers of the love affairs of an American cabinet minister. It was ascertained that the object of this minister's visit to a certain Southern town was to obtain in marriage a lady living there, who was a widow. Accordingly, the leading newspapers sent correspondents to watch the progress of the courtship. Owing mainly, it seems, to the opposition of her relatives, the lady was not at once able to come to a conclusion regarding the minister's offer. There is evident in the communications of the correspondents, written at this juncture, a sentiment of vexation, perhaps unconscious, at this delay and indecision, which indeed was,