SEEING DRESDEN.

It's a mistake. I always did think so, and now I know it. When a man is traveling abroad for his pleasure, or for his health, he should not arrange to meet his maiden aunt-especially in Germany. It is really a perilous thing to do. I know it by experience.

Poor Aunt Gerry! Her whole name was Miss Geraldine Charlotte Arundel Criddle! From that you can judge what she was like. Naturally she was small, wore high heels, talked fast and nervously, liked tea, left her umbrella in the omnibus, and had a pet. That was the worst of all-the pet. It was small and nervous; it liked everything and nobody, wore long fur, and was named Chincky. Darling Chincky, the poodle!

I arranged to meet Aunt Gerry in Dresden, where I was to stop for a few hours. "Chincky and I," she had written, "will show you round, dear, and keep you company, so that you won't be so lonely." Lonely!

At any rate I saw the thing was necessary, and decided not to disappoint Aunt Gerry and the dog, this time.

It was late in the afternoon when the "Kaiserlich, Königlich," etc., train rumbled into the Dresden station. I seized my suit-case with one hand, my carry-all with the other, got off the car, and boldly dodging the over-zealous carriers, the officials and the countless police, made my way to the waiting-room. Suddenly I was jumped on, kissed, hugged, patted, criticised, pitied, blamed, welcomed, fussed over and worried about, before I had time to drop my baggage and gasp. And all round me a squeaky voice said:

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, George-at last, how are you? I waited so long. Why was the train late? How is your father? I am all alone here. What's the matter with your eye? Oh, you're so well. How's Edith? Is she well? Oh, how cold it is! Look at

Chincky. Chincky, dear, this is little Georgie, see! Kiss Georgie!" There I objected, and spoke:

"Well, Auntie, delighted to see you again. How are you?"

"Very well indeed-and so is Chincky. See how thin he is. I try to keep him thin with dog-biscuits, the poor dear! Here Chincky, don't run away. And how are your exams? Oh, I worried so much over them! But come, let's go; you must be hungry. What a fine suit-case; guess Edith gave it to you, dear girl. Where's Chincky? Oh, here, come on, did you were you . has she The rest of the fusilade of two-by-four questions evaporated in the confusion of the place, thank heaven. She led the way, her face twitching nervously, one of her hands fondling the furry beast, while the other tugged round at her skirt, then at me, at my tie, and so on. I tried to wedge in a word, but it was hopeless. "Yes, auntie-surely -he was-yes, I did-why, I don't . . but I wish indeed there" I might as well have stopped, so

I

I did.

.

here

"Let's take a cab-get one, George, please-ah, that's right," and while I got a cab she entered another one and made wild gestures at me to come to her. I crawled into the thing, and away we hobbled.

It was a shabby old rattling box of a carriage, so dark that I could not see the antics of the dog. I could only hear a rough scratching of nails on silk, and the restless motions of my aunt, who mumbled continuously. And there was a disagreeable stuffiness in that cab -I can smell it now when I think of it; and in my mind that odor will be forever linked with Aunt Gerry, poor soul.

After much jolting, the thing stopped, and amid a stream of exclamations of joy, distress, surprise, concern, and other emotions, my aunt skipped out. The porter who took my baggage was of course red haired, and wore the eternal green apron, for we were in Germany. This was evidently a boarding-house. I was shown to my room, while my aunt exhorted me to hurry up, and tried to hold the wriggling furriness in her hand,—a performance as ridiculous as it was useless.

I did hurry, for I was hungry, mighty hungry, and still hoped that my aunt would let me do some sightseeing in a neighboring restaurant.

But aunts are never hungry, except for tea, and then they feast on driblets of crackers and such-they don't know what it is really to eat. In fact, as soon as I was ready, my aunt and I walked out in the city of Dresden-that is to say, I followed where she and Chincky led-through a rambling crowd and along a narrow street, gaudy with shining shops and flashy electrical advertisements, and not once, in her conversation, which rattled off like a sewing machine, did she suggest a meal. Once in my remarks I mentioned hintingly the word café, but suddenly "Here, Chincky, you poor thing, that fat man almost stepped on you, dear sweet and I knew that I had not sidetracked her. "Now wait for me here, Georgie. I'll go in and get my mail-wait right here-and don't move-I'll be back in a second." And with these motherly commands she vanished into a house which, I presume, was the post-office. On my left was one of those wonderful German delicatessen shops, which seized my whole attention; and I gloated over the smoked hams and sausages, cursing the mail department in the courtyard inside. I forgot to say that auntie, in her solicitude for my comfort, had left Chincky in my arms. Chincky, a bunch of restless impudence, placed one leg neatly down my shirt sleeve and kept clawing savagely, while he tried to curl under my elbow in fantastic contortions, with his head under my coat. At least, I think it was his head, though I was not sure. My exasperation increased until after searching into my Esperanto vocabulary for adequate profanity, I came out with an eloquent "Damn your vile ." just as auntie

appeared.

"Why George Eustace! you . . . I'm shocked. Poor, darling Chincky, did he try to hurt you, did he, poor dear, ... etc." All hopes of a meal vanished. Indeed, I had been imprudent. And silently I said other things; then blandly:

"Auntie, did you get your mail?" which shows that we are all hypocrites sometimes.

"Oh, that reminds me," she began. "The idea!-just think-that foolish man would not understand-come and see if you can speak to him."

Again I saw trouble ahead. I knew only seven words of German, two of which, auf Wiedersehen, were not useful in business; the other five I organized in squadrons of two and three in different combinations, put my spectacles on, and faced the bearded Saxon behind the grating of the Poste-Restante window.

"Fräulein Geraldine Charlotte Arundel Criddle," I gasped in one

breath.

"Wie?" came in guttural tones. I paraded the names again. But he was well, let us call him dull. Finally I wrote Criddle on the blotting paper, for which unruly act he glanced at me bloodthirstily, and forthwith came the letters, which were one, and a paper. Incidentally I saw that it was six-thirty. At eight my train started.

"It's getting late, Auntie; let me take you to a restaurant and

"Oh, never," she said. "This is my treat, Georgie; when my dear nephew comes here, I must do the inviting. Anyhow, I have ordered the dinner at home."

"By the way," I asked, "Where is it that we are stopping?"

"Where?" And I knew she was dismayed, because she turned Chincky loose. "Why, let me see-" long pause-"why, really, George, the name has fled from me now."

"Well, but what street is it on?"

"Oh, I never knew that. How should I know? I'm a stranger, too." My knees became weak.

"Well, auntie, for heaven's sake! how are we going to get home?" "Why, ask a policeman, to be sure."

"What shall I ask, if we don't know the name?"

"That's right-let me see here, Chincky, here quick, oh, you're all muddy, poor dear."

"Auntie," in supplicating tones, "my train goes very soon-I have not seen the town-and what's more, I'm hungry. Do try to remember the name of the Pension!"

"Oh, I can't, George; you know my memory is not good, ever since the neuralgia, you remember. Edith will remember, I know;

you ask Edith how I used to suffer. That was before Chincky came; wasn't it, Chincky?"

My patience was fainting away. Then an idea struck me. If we went to the station and found the same cabman, we might perhaps find the boarding-house. So I took the situation in my hands, pressed by the energy of hunger and despair, got a cab, saw my two worrisome hosts into it, and drove to the station. Once there, I succeeded, after endless rushing round, in finding the cabman. Luckily I had noticed him carefully before. So we were transferred to the stuffy cab again, and rattled once more towards unknown regions.

Suddenly my aunt jumped up. "Oh, I remember now; it's the Pension Schmidt."

"Yes." I could not help saying, "Thank you, auntie, we are there now." In fact, we had arrived. It was seven-thirty. I paid my bill, had a drink of water, which was very nourishing, and told auntie that I must run away.

"What? So soon? Why, Georgie, you don't mean it! And Chincky was just beginning to love you so; weren't you, Chincky?" The awful beast grunted in his fur.

"Good-by, Aunt Gerry, so glad to have seen you," which proves what liars we all are to be polite.

"Good-by, Georgie, so sorry to see you go so soon, but we did have a nice time these short hours, didn't we? Say good-by to Chincky." She jumped at me again, and amid effusive kisses, she all but put Chincky in my face. Luckily I had a hand on his collar, which prevented complications.

So I went away in the stuffy cab, for the third time. I was feeling faint and wild, and wanted to break things. At the station I was barely in time for the train, and got a miserable seat.

Dresden, I know, is really a delightful place. It has a Gallery and a Palace and a Madonna, they say; but all its cabs are stuffy. Travelers generally starve there, and the streets are full of wild animals, called Chincky. In a shop somewhere, they sell smoked hams and sausages. I cannot say if they are good.

Rudolph Altrocchi.