For all I care, go to America. It may not be a bad idea and need not be a failure, I know persons whose lives were wrecked here and who went to America and returned millionaires, to be envied and fawned upon. I don't doubt that after all you have gone through, you have carefully weighed and considered the step you are taking. Dear Frederick, I beg of you, concentrate. The man who wants too much wants nothing. Above all, get rid of your philanthropic notions. You would never believe me when I told you that you uselessly sacrificed your money, your time, and your career to your philanthropic notions. And don't take up with Utopias, such as, for example, Socialism is, even at best. Bismarck is gone. The exceptional law against the Socialists has been repealed. Now we'll be seeing wonders from that pack of red internationals without a country. Did you read that some Anarchist dogs have again been throwing bombs--in Paris in a cafe not far from the Gare St. Lazare, right among a lot of innocent people, and seven or eight were killed. My dear boy, you were in Paris. For God's sake, in the discontented mood you are in, don't throw yourself in with such desperate elements. Forgive me. It was a slip of my pen. But here in Goerlitz, far from the firing line, even a rational man, when he is troubled, begins to imagine things. With your talents you might have been an officer on a general's staff long ago. God be with you. Write to us. I am convinced that with your great talents, you will strike root over there and make your fortune. Be on your guard against art and against side interests, from which a man cannot make a living. Do you know that the Grand Duke has made Botho his adjutant? It looks as if the boy might rise pretty high. Have a good trip and sometimes think of your devoted father. * * * * * With a sigh and a short, almost inaudible laugh of great compassion and great bitterness, Frederick folded up the letter. "'I don't know whether this letter will find you, or where it will find you,'" he repeated, and added mentally, "or how it will find you." Then he sat still for a while, staring into space. After a time he became observant of the American jackanapes, who had annoyed him in the smoking-room the day before. He was flirting with a young lady apathetically lounging in an easy-chair, a Canadian, Frederick had been told. He did not trust his eyes when he saw the American, who had been toying with a small box of matches, pile them up carelessly, and set fire to them in that inflammable room. A steward came up and modestly explained that it was his duty to ask him to refrain from what he was doing. At which the jackanapes dismissed him with "Get out of here, you idiot." Frederick drew out his mother's letter, but before reading it, he had to meditate briefly upon the matter that took the place of brains in the young American's skull. * * * * * My Dear Son,