And thus the evening breeze, come hither through the reeds and cypress from over the purpling Havel hills beyond, takes on an added perfume, an added bouquet, as it transports itself to the sniffer over to the hurrying _krebs-suppen_ and thick brown-gravied platters and dewy seidels. My nose, in its day, has engaged with many a seductive aroma. It has met, at Cassis on the Mediterranean, the fumes breathed by _bécasse sur canapés_ and Château Lafitte '69--and it has ffd and ffd again and again in an ecstasy of inhalation. It has encountered in Moscow, the regal vapours of _nevop astowka Dernidoff_ sweeping across a slender goblet of golden sherry--and it has been abashed at the delirium of scent. On the Grand Boulevards, it has skirmished with punch _à la Toscane_ flavoured with Maraschino and with bitter almonds--and has inhaled as if in a dream. The juicy, dripping cuts of Simpson's in London, the paradisian pudding _sueldoiro_ on the little screened veranda in the shadow of the six-minareted Mosque of El-Azhar in Cairo, the salmon dipped in Chambertin and the artichokes, sauce Barigoule, at Schönbrunn on the road to Vienna, the _escaloppes de foie gras à la russe_ (favourite dish of the late Beau McAllister) at Delmonico's at home--all these and more have wooed my nostril with their rare fragrances. But, though I have attended many a table and given audience to many an attendant perfume, nowhere, nor never, has there been borne in upon me the like of that exquisite nasal blend of _bratens_ and _bräus_ with which the twilight breezes have christened me among the trees of the Grunewald. Forgotten, there, are the roses on the moonlit garden wall in Barbizon, chaperoned by the fairy forest of Fontainebleau; forgotten the damp wild clover fields of the Indiana of my boyhood. All vanished, gone, before the olfactory transports of this concert of hops and schnitzels, of Rhineland vineyards and upland _käse_. And here it is, here in the great German out-of-doors, on the border of the Hundekehlen lake, with a nimble _kellner_ at my elbow, with the plain, homely German people to the right and left of me, with the stars beginning to silver in the silent water, with the band lifting me, a drab and absurd American, into the spirit of this kaiserwelt, and with the innocent eyes of the fair fräulein under yonder tree intermittently englishing their coquettish glances from the _eisschokolade_ that should alone engage them--here it is that I like best to bide the climbing of the moon into the skies over Berlin--here it is that I like best to wait upon the city's night.