In a German park I have seen a gardener step gingerly with felt boots on to grass-plot, and removing therefrom a beetle, place it gravely but firmly on the gravel; which done, he stood sternly watching the beetle, to see that it did not try to get back on the grass; and the beetle, looking utterly ashamed of itself, walked hurriedly down the gutter, and turned up the path marked "Ausgang." In German parks separate roads are devoted to the different orders of the community, and no one person, at peril of liberty and fortune, may go upon another person's road.

There are special paths for "wheel-riders" and special paths for "foot-goers," avenues for "horse-riders," roads for people in light vehicles, and roads for people in heavy vehicles; ways for children and for "alone ladies." That no particular route has yet been set aside for bald-headed men or "new women" has always struck me as an omission.
In the Grosse Garten in Dresden I once came across an old lady, standing, helpless and bewildered, in the centre of seven tracks.

Each was guarded by a threatening notice, warning everybody off it but the person for whom it was intended.
"I am sorry to trouble you," said the old lady, on learning I could speak English and read German, "but would you mind telling me what I am and where I have to go ?" I inspected her carefully.

I came to the conclusion that she was a "grown-up" and a "foot-goer," and pointed out her path.

She looked at it, and seemed disappointed.
"But I don't want to go down there," she said; "mayn't I go this way ?" "Great heavens, no, madam!" I replied.