So I took it as it was - with two lumps
only - and it was pretty fair coffee for European coffee.
It tasted
slightly of the red tape and the chicory, but it was neatly prepared
and promptly served.
And so, over historic streams no larger than creeks would be in
America, and by castles and cabbages and kings and cows, we came
to Berlin; and after some of the other Continental cities Berlin
seemed a mighty restful spot to be in, and a good one to tarry in
awhile. It has few historical associations, has Berlin, but we
were loaded to the gills with historical associations by now. It
does not excel greatly in Old Masters, but we had already gazed
with a languid eye upon several million Old Masters of all ages,
including many very young ones. It has no ancient monuments and
tombs either, which is a blessing. Most of the statuary in Berlin
is new and shiny and provided with all the modern conveniences
- the present kaiser attended competently to that detail. Wherever,
in his capital, there was space for a statue he has stuck up one
in memory of a member of his own dynasty, beginning with a statue
apiece for such earlier rulers as Otho the Oboe-Player, and Joachim,
surnamed the Half-a-Ton - let some one correct me if I have the
names wrong - and finishing up with forty or fifty for himself.
That is, there were forty or fifty of him when I was there.
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