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The Guardian.

VOL. XXVII.

AUGUST, 1875.

Unter den Linden, Berlin, Europe.

BY THE EDITOR.

"It is surprising that the foundation of a town should ever have been laid on so uninteresting a spot; but it is far more wonderful that it should have grown up, notwithstanding, into the flourishing capital of a great empire." So says one whose judgment ought to have weight. Built on the Spree, which in America we would call a creek, in a flat unpicturesque country, it has grown to be the metropolis of the German Empire, one of the first cities of the civilized world. Its attractions, according to the American standard of municipal taste, do not compare favorably with some of our larger cities. With the exception of Unter den Linden, its streets are more solid than showy. The houses impress you with their substantial appearance, built for durable service rather than beauty of architecture. Like the palaces of its Emperor and Princes, their massive walls are built to stand for centuries.

Let us take a stroll through its principal street, taking for our guide the Correspondent of an excellent German religious Journal. The picture shall be filled with what his eyes and mine see jointly. Every large city has its own type of city and social life. So, too, has Berlin. Unter den Linden is its principal street. Or rather this fashionable thoroughfare has five streets side by side. Öne street on each side, next to the side-walks for conveyancesto use; next to these are two rows of large linden trees on each side, whichform two shaded avenues

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for promenades; between these two is another broad avenue, roofed by the great linden limbs, used for the same purpose.

We will take our place at the Brandenburger Thor, through which the great stream of people move through the city wall, out into the Thiergarten, the large Berlin park. A great natural forest the latter is, with few artificial socalled improvements. This adds to its charm. For nature, unmolested by man, can get up a better park than he. This great city gate is a copy of one from an Athenian master-piece. You see the tall soldier on guard to the right. Twelve men are detached from time to time for this duty, who take their turn. Do you hear, "ho!" he cries. Quick as thought his eleven comrades rush to his side. The twelve stand like statues, side by side, presenting arms. What does this mean? Yonder comes a coach, drawn by two horses, black as a raven. Aside of the coachman sits a liveried servant, with a bushy waving feather on his military cap. You see a tall venerable gentleman sitting inside. He is old and gray-headed. The chilling air has led him to throw his military cloak around him. He wears the little military cap in use by every German soldier. It is "father William," the old Emperor. Let us lift our hats. Just see, he actually touches his little cap, and greets us with a smile. Evidently his broad shoulders feel their burdens. He is no longer as erect as the pictures had him five years ago. Age begins to bend his noble form.

Every week-day he takes his ride. through this street, out through the Thiergarten, between one and two P. M.

Hence this is the fashionable hour for promenading in Unter den Linden. All this hour you have here a glowing picture of Berlin life. And whoever wishes to get a passing glimpse of "Old William" must take his position at the Brandenburger gate, at ten minutes after one o'clock. You can tell his coach from afar, by the peculiar uniform of the coachmen and servant. Since 1870, the people of Berlin stand along the side of the street when he passes, facing him, with their hats off. A very touching scene it is, when thousands of people, reverently and with uncovered heads, pause in their walks of business and pleasure, to greet their beloved Emperor.

He usually rides out alone, except when he takes his daughter, the Grand Duchess of Baden, with him. He always rides past the column of Victory in this street, and always ends his ride at 2 P. M.

Among this great multitude you can always see some of Germany's celebrities. Yonder, in front of the royal palace, rides an aged man, in an open carriage. It is Wrangel, a renowned military leader, still vigorous in his old age. A man of ninety years; a rough, straight-forward soldier, with many kindly traits. His venerable form is familiar to every promenader, and the children seem to know him best. Some singular freaks he commits, whether as the result of doting old age or eccentricity of character I know not. When he meets a pretty lady, he will kiss his hand to her. The rollicking boys often greatly annoy him. Sometimes they hang to the rear of his coach. He likes to have them follow him. When they carry their attentions too far, he will raise himself from his seat, snatch the /whip from the driver's hand, and lustily lay it on the backs of the boys. My guide says: "On a pleasant spring day I rode out to Charlottenburg, (one of the suburbs of Berlin), on the top of a great omnibus. Right ahead of me I saw old Wrangel, on a white horse, surrounded by a crowd of boisterous children, clamoring to kiss his hand. Long and patiently he held out his hand, which they kissed with great glee. As he was about passing on, a little girl came running from across the street, calling to him: 'Me, too, papa Wrangel, me, too!' With

touching patience he waited to give her the cheap pleasure of kissing a great man's hand."

Bismark is less frequently met here. Although a popular idol, to the people he is not very accessible. The young view him at a reverent distance. He is a man with a kind heart, but withal one of an iron and unconquerable nature. He rarely rides, and then in a faded coach, with common horses to suit it. He prefers going out afoot-always attended by a ferocious-looking bulldog. His tall erect form towers above the crowd, his face somewhat furrowed, and stern. Heedless of all around him, he strides on his way through the throng, all eyes following him, and seemingly seeing no one, save those who greet him, to whom he gracefully responds.

Von Moltke, his distinguished associate, is in many respects his opposite. With a mild, amiable countenance, flaxen hair, slightly gray, a tall, slender, graceful form, every motion of which expresses an unstudied natural elasticity and elegance, his eyes rest on the ground, as he seems to step thoughtfully and with studied caution, often closely along the houses, as though fearful of getting too near the curb-stones. Withal he notices with a cordial salute the greeting of the passing admirer. Bismark and Moltke, after William, and Unser Fritz, are the centres of attraction in the passing throng.

The latter is immensely popular. Often he has his wife with him, a lady with a plain matronly exterior, and his two oldest sons. The appearance of this group, in their fine equipage, is always the signal for the most enthusiastic greeting. Whilst his father is treated with reverence, Fritz receives the hearty popular homage, more like a very great but very good and dear friend. Their ride through this street is a constant ordeal of bowing, from side to side, of cap-lifting and laborious salutations. Fritz greets with the military salute, his wife with a nod of the head, and the royal boys incessantly lift their caps until they reach a more quiet street.

This Crown Prince and his wife seek to train and treat their children as good Christian parents ought to do. Their offspring happen to be people of like passions with those of ordinary mortals. It is with Emperors somewhat as with

officers of the army. With a sword dangling at their sides, they proudly step through the crowd with an air of lofty superiority. For usually these military promenaders belong to the less worthy men of their station, who are greater on a parade than in battle. Their toilet and trappings are arranged with faultless precision, and in their path they scatter the odor of rare perfumery, and stalk about among the civilians of Berlin with an air of great consequence.

In Prussia public opinion ranks the position of a military officer very high; higher than the legal, medical or clerical profession. Berlin builds monuments to her military heroes, more than to her great men of science and of State. Although, unless an officer of high rank, he has but a meagre salary,

pastors; if they know not how to rule their own house, how shall they rule a great empire? Fritz seems to know this, as the following incident shows, told by a certain lady who lived in the family. One day he heard one of the boys screaming in an adjoining chamber. He proceeded to the place of trouble, and learned from the chamber-maid that one of the little princes stubbornly refused to have himself washed. To the surprise of the servant the father told her to let it pass without punishing him. In the afternoon the young princes were taken out riding, this time without the presence of their parents. The guards throughout the city always salute the little princes the same as they do their parents- that is, present arms, and perform their customary polite ceremonies. To their great surprise this afternoon none of the guards saluted them. The he is a favorite in society, and his boyish pride of the little princes was deeply wounded. They could scarcely wait till they reached home, so eager were they to tell their papa how the naughty guards had insulted them. After listening kindly to their complaint Fritz cooly replied: "A prince who refuses to have himself washed, willing to ride out unwashed, cannot be saluted!" This reproof was better than a flogging, and had its desired effect. It must, however, have put the father to considerable trouble to send such orders to all the guards along their route, at so short a notice; and great must have been the surprise of the latter to receive such an unusual message.

Not all the members of the royal family are as great popular favorites as this coming Emperor of Germany. Of ten can you meet a tall old gentleman and his son walking along this fashionable street of Berlin. No one greets them. Both are haughty, reserved and of a coarse unprincely exterior. The elder is Prince Charles, a brother of old William, the younger is his son. They are said to be brave, fearless military leaders, but overbearing and repulsive to their inferiors. Despite their valuable military services to the nation, their appearance on the street excites no popular enthusiasm. But few greet them, and always coldly.

Among the great mass of people thronging this street you always find a large proportion of gaily uniformed

company is courted by people of rank. To fair ladies of fortune, members of "the best families," the straps and feathers of a soldier have a wonderful charm. As you watch the plumes waving above this sea of heads on "Unter den Linden," you have an index of the strength and the weakness of a great Empire. The bayonets and prowess of her soldiers shield her against her foes, and secure her rights, whilst these hundreds of thousands of warriors produce nothing and consume all. Respecting the true wealth of a nation they are like an army of grasshoppers, reaping where they have not sown, and gathering where they have not strewed.

Every day at 12 M., a fine military band plays towards the lower end of the street, near the royal palace. Often would I throw aside books and papers at noon, and hasten to this open air concert, free to all the people. Most enchanting music did they discourse, and a choice. yet, vast audience did they attract. Men, hoary with age and decked with the glittering marks of honor, the servants and the votaries of science, the sage and the youthful student, paused in their walk to catch the pleasing music. The first notes brought nurses and servants with the little children in their charge, hurriedly to the spot, all enjoying the concert with bated breath.

These nurses form a peculiar feature of Berlin life in Unter den Linden.

The most of them are women from the country, retaining their simple picturesque village costume; a short red petticoat, a snow-white apron, a blue bodice, and a white or colored sort of turban for a bonnet. The most of them still look unspoiled by corrupt city life, and unspotted as when they left their country homes. With patient leisure they here seek to amuse and interest the little citizens of the world, as they carry them on their arms, or push them about in little coaches. Their costume, conduct and looks indicate that they feel strange and ill-at-home amid such surroundings.

As in all large cities, Berlin abounds with corner-loafers, poor people, and some not very poor, who have, or wish to have, nothing to do. Against posts and corner-houses they lazily lean. Here and there one of their number accosts you in a strange brogue and manner: "Alte Kleeder zu ver Koofen" (have you any old clothes for sale)? Thus both Jew and Gentile are eager to convert the thread-bare cast-off goods of their fellow-men into merchandize and money. Just here in Berlin, the scientific centre of Europe, where old systems of thought have either been cast aside like worn-out old clothes, or renewed and brushed into better and more beauteous shape-just here, among this crowd representing the social and scientific life of the world, these buyers of cast-off garments, amid the flummeries and fustian of the addle-brained officers, remind one of Carlyle's Sartor Resartus, in which he learnedly discusses The World in Clothes, Old Clothes, etc. And many a good, but at present prevailing error and folly is therein contained. Two classes of beings are in the world, Tailors and the Tailored. "Strip the noblest horse of girths, flaps, and extraneous tags fastened around him, and he becomes his own sempster, weaver and spinner: nay, his own bootmaker, jeweler and manmilliner; he bounds free through the valleys with a perennial rain-proof court suit on his body; wherein warmth and easiness of fit have reached perfection. While I have thatched myself over with the dead fleeces of sheep, the bark of vegetables, the entrails of worms, the hides of oxen or seals, the felt of furred beasts; and walk abroad a moving

rag-screen, day after day I must thatch myself anew; day after day this despicable thatch must lose some film of its thickness."

Among this street life the horse and his driver are prominently represented. Like the humanity of Berlin, its horse-life appears in two classes. The nobler horse serving royalty and people of rank, gayly dancing along the street in gold-mounted harness, sleek and nimble-footed, with arched neck and flowing mane, proudly champing his bit, gently held by a liveried driver more proud than he.

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Very different from him is the ordinary cab horse of Berlin, than which you cannot find anywhere a more distressed and forlorn-looking member of his kind. Poor in flesh and vitality, his ribs you can count, and see if one is broken or missing, his legs stiff-jointed, his bones lifting the skin to angular elevations, so lifeless and sleepy does he look, that your sympathy is touched by the sight of him. Ever and anon he changes his legs, as he stands aside of the curb-stones, seeking to relieve his fatigue or pain by standing on three, and resting the fourth. Meanwhile his driver sulkily sits in his narrow place, a coarse fur cap, with the number of his cab on it, covers his bushy unkempt head, a beard as bushy half covers his red face, wrapped in a heavy coarse cloak, from under which his heavy wooden shoes partly peep out-such is the Berlin cabman. A clumsy, ungainly man, who never lifts his cap for anybody, but honest and independent, unlike the American cabman, he never clamors for a job, never even asks you to hire his cab. If you wish to have his services you will have to ask for them, for he will certainly not ask permission to serve you. He is prompt to resent a wrong and to claim his rights. Last fall the Government increased the tariff on the cabmen's business. At once they combined on a strike. And great was the trouble, for people had either to go afoot or ride in dog-coaches.

In Berlin large draught dogs are in common use, mostly in smaller truckwagons, where the owner guides the wagon by keeping his hand on the tongue, which usually is at the seat end, while the dogs pull it through the street. And when the cabmen strike, many

worker. No wonder "the devil hates music," for it entices from his ranks many a follower. Philip Phillips has accomplished good in many cases that are known. While singing in London, his song "I will sing for Jesus" caught the ear of a poor despairing man on his way to the docks to drown himself. It reminded him of boyhood days and his mother's prayers, and brought him

people ride in smaller coaches propelled by dogs. And it is surprising what a heavy load a team of dogs can pull. As soon as the team stops they lie down and rest, at the same time watching the wagon. Woe to the man who touches it in the absence of the owner. This use of the dog gives him a high value in some European cities. The raising and training of draught dogs is a special business. Indeed Berlin has a "so-called to the Saviour. dog park, where dogs are washed, sheared, and taken to board."

The Voice of Song.

BY MARY.

"Whence is the might of thy master-spell?
Speak to me, voice of sweet sounds, and tell.
How canst thou wake by one gentle breath
Passionate visions of love and death?

How call'st thou back with a note, a sigh,
Words and low tones from the days gone by-
A sunny glance or a fond farewell?

Speak to me, voice of sweet sounds, and tell!
What is thy power from the soul's deep spring
In sudden gushes the tears to bring?
E'en mid the swells of the festal glee
Fountains of sorrow are stirred by thee.
Something of mystery there surely dwells
Waiting thy touch in our bosom-cells;
Something that finds not its answer here,
A chain to be clasped in another sphere.
Yet speak to me still though thy tones be fraught
With vain remembrance and troubled thought.
Speak! for thou tell'st my soul that its birth
Links it with regions more bright than earth!"

The power of music! who has not felt it? Volumes might be written on its conquests and many hours consumed in telling how it has soothed savage breasts, that never before heaved with gentle emotions. It steals into ears that have long been closed to heavenly voices. Some have employed this great heart-opener most successfully among the outcast and degraded in large cities. Tears have been seen dropping from the eyes of debauched men and abandoned women at the sound of some simple hymn.

God has made many a one to lift up the voice of song for Him who could not be a watchman on the towers of Zion, and He has made it reach dark corners and dull ears that were barred against the preached word. It knows how to find a hidden chord in every soul, and is therefore a most efficient gospel

"And you to whom the secrets
Of all sweet sounds are known,
Rise up! for He hath called you
To a mission of your own,
And rightly to fulfil it

His grace can make you strong,
Who to your charge hath given
The Ministry of Song."

The preached word finds in the voice of song an active and devoted helpmate. There is not an emotion of the Christian heart that does not find expression in the hymns of God's house; and many of them have fallen with unwonted sweetness from dying lips. There is a comfort in the thought that the saints while below must have borne the same burdens we carry to the mercyseat, or many of our most precious hymns had never been written. Let us always remember in this important and delightful feature of worship, that we are singing to God and not to each other; our language should be addressed to Him, our praise be of Him.

Poetical talent of the highest order in

all ages may well be employed in perfecting the praise of Eternal Love. He who has in all times endowed some with such exalted talents cannot be displeased when His own gift is devoted to His service; and He is surely properly worshiped in the use of its offspring as well as in the use of the Psalms of David, since He has never commanded us to use only the language of inspiration.

Neither is any degree of musical knowledge too high to be employed in this noble work; but according as God has dealt to every congregation and each individual, not only a voice, but the means of voice-culture, should His praise ascend. Therefore, dear people. do all sing. If church choirs looked upon the voice of song as a holy ministry there would be love and harmony in the gallery. A quarrel is always dreadful, but a quarrel in the choir how out of place and wicked!

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