ing days have begun--never to conclude! His regiment
is his world; parades and drills, the orderly-room and the barrack
square occupy his time; and would seem monotonous and hard but for the
little Eden with its Eve close beside them.

The Emperor turns uneasily, for his thoughts recur to the painful
circumstances of his accession; but calmness soon succeeds as the
curtain rises on the splendid panorama of the reign. He sees himself,
a young and hitherto unknown actor, leaving the wings and taking the
very centre of the stage, while the vast audience sits silent and
attentive, as yet hardly grasping the significance of his words and
gestures, emphatic though they are. And then he recalls the years of
_Sturm und Drang_, the growth of Empire in spite of grudging rivals
and of fellow-countrymen as yet not wholly conscious of their
destinies, which one can now see constituted a whole drama in
themselves, fraught with great consequences to the world.

But we are keeping the Emperor awake when he should be left to
well-deserved repose. He has doubtless half forgotten it all; the
Bismarck episode is one of those

"... old, unhappy, far-off things
And battles long ago"

of which the poet sings. One unquiet political care excepted, all the
rest must be pleasant for him to remember--the rising with the dawn,
the hurried little breakfast with the Empress, the pawing horses of
the adjutants and escort in the courtyard of the palace; the constant
travelling in and far beyond the Empire; the incessant speech-making,
with its appeals to the past and its promises, nobly realized, of
"splendid days" in the future--its calls to the people to arms, to the
sea, to the workshop, to school, to church, to anything praiseworthy,
provided only it was action for the common good; the dockyards in Kiel
and Danzig, with their noise of "busy hammers closing rivets up"; the
ever-swelling trade statistics; and the proud feeling that at last his
country was coming into her own.

Even the sensation the Emperor caused from time to time in other
countries must have had a certain charm for him--endless telegrams,
endless scathing editorials, endless movement and excitement. There is
no fun like work, they say. The Emperor worked hard and enjoyed
working. It was the "personal regiment," maybe, and it could not last
for ever; but while it did it was doubtless very gratifying, and,
notwithstanding all his critics say, magnificently successful.