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My readers will easily see how the last three months have changed the German capital, by reading after this chapter the one entitled "My Second War-time Journey to Berlin."

The following journal has been written partly on board the small steamer which brought me from Amsterdam back to England, and partly immediately after my return to Great Britain.

* * *

October 10th.

"Your nationality?"

"Italian."

"Where do you come from?"

"Berlin."

The fatherly-looking Custom House officer who was examining our passports dropped his glasses and looked at me in astonishment. "And what were you doing in Berlin?" he asked, after a moment's pause.

"Just a pleasure trip," was the answer, which perhaps did not satisfy him completely.

He looked again at the passport, which was in perfect order, at the half-a-dozen seals, signatures, and Consulate stencils, Italian, Dutch, and German, which have occupied, during the last two weeks almost all the room left for the purpose on the dirty-looking, official piece of paper, and concluded philosophically, giving it back to me: "After all, some folk have got curious hobbies."