was almost ignored, while the conversation originally intended to
consume but a few moments lengthened into hours, and Napoleon and
Alexander, having sworn eternal friendship, proceeded to divide up
Europe between them, and parted with mutual expressions of esteem and
admiration, having quite forgotten a trifle like the King and Queen of
Prussia and their rage of anxiety.

But all these memories of Napoleon and Prussia gave way before the
vital fact that we were to visit a lovely Polish princess and see some
of her charming home life. I had been duly informed by my friends of
the various ceremonies which I would encounter, and which, I must
confess, rendered me rather timid. I only hoped my wits would not
desert me at the crucial moment.

For instance, if the archbishop were there I must give him my hand and
then lean forward and kiss his sleeve just below the shoulder. I only
hoped my chattering teeth would not meet in his robe. So when I saw
the state carriage of the princess at the station of Memel, drawn by
four horses, and with numbers of servants in such queer liveries to
attend to my luggage, I simply breathed a prayer that I would get
through it all successfully; and if not, that they would lay any
lapses at the door of my own eccentricities, and not to the ignorance
of Americans in general, for I never wish to disgrace my native land.

The servants wore an odd flat cap, like a tam-o'-shanter with a visor.
Their coats were of bright blue, with the coat-of-arms of the princess
on the brass buttons. This coat reached nearly to their feet, and in
the back it was gathered full and stiffened with canvas, for all the
world like a woman's pannier. I thought I should die the first time I
got a side view of those men.

It was late Friday afternoon when we left the train, and we drove at a
tremendous pace through lonely forests which we were only too happy to
leave behind us. Suddenly we came upon the little village of Kretynga,
whose streets were paved with cobblestones the size of a man's two
fists.

To drive slowly over cobblestones is not a joy, but to drive four
Russian horses at a gallop over such cobblestones as those was
something to make you bite your tongue and to break your teeth and to
shake your very soul from its socket.

The town is inhabited by Polish Jews, and a filthy, greasy, nauseating
set they are, both men and women. The men wear two or three long,
oily, tight curls in front of their ears. T