ing the gentle pastime of their most Christian
Majesties, the confederation. A pretty bauble is a crown, indeed--at a
distance. It is a fine thing to wear one--in a dream. But to possess one
in the real, and to wear it day by day with the eternal fear of laying
it down and forgetting where you put it, or that others plot to steal
it, or that you wear it dishonestly--Well, well, there are worse things
than a beggar's crust."

"No one is honest in this world, save the brute," said the diplomat,
touching the dog with his foot. "Honesty is instinctive with him, for
he knows no written laws. The gold we use is stamped with dishonesty,
notwithstanding the beautiful mottoes; and so long as we barter and
sell for it, just so long we remain dishonest. Yes, you wear your crown
dishonestly but lawfully, which is a nice distinction. But is any crown
worn honestly? If it is not bought with gold, it is bought with lies
and blood. Sire, your great fault, if I may speak, is that you haven't
continued to be dishonest. You should have filled your private coffers,
but you have not done so, which is a strange precedent to establish. You
should have increased taxation, but you have diminished it; you should
have forced your enemy's hand four years ago, when you ascended the
throne, but you did not; and now, for all you know, his hand may be
too strong. Poor, dishonest king! When you accepted this throne, which
belongs to another, you fell as far as possible from moral ethics.
And now you would be honest and be called dull, and dream, while your
ministers profit and smile behind your back. I beg your Majesty's
pardon, but you have always requested that I should speak plainly."

The king laughed; he enjoyed this frank friend. There was an essence of
truth and sincerity in all he said that encouraged confidence.

"Indeed, I shall be sorry to have you go tomorrow," he said, "for I
believe if you stayed here long enough you would truly make a king of
me. Be frank, my friend, be always frank; for it is only on the base of
frankness that true friendship can rear itself."

"You are only forty-eight," said the Englishman; "you are young."

"Ah, my friend," replied the king with a tinge of sadness, "it is not
the years that age us; it is how we live them. In the last four years I
have lived ten. To-day I feel so very old! I am weary of being a king.
I am weary of being weary, and for such there is no remedy. Truly I was
not cut from the pattern o