hen
turn deadly pale. I looked again and saw that his boots had lost their
lustre. Drawing nearer, I found that grey hairs had begun to show
themselves in his raven coat. It was very painful and yet, to me, very
gratifying. In the cloak-room, when I went for my own hat and cane,
there was the hat with the broad brim, and (lo!) over its iron-blue
surface little furrows had been ploughed by Despair.

Rouen, 1896.

A Good Prince

I first saw him one morning of last summer, in the Green Park. Though
short, even insignificant, in stature and with an obvious tendency to be
obese, he had that unruffled, Olympian air, which is so sure a sign
of the Blood Royal. In a suit of white linen he looked serenely cool,
despite the heat. Perhaps I should have thought him, had I not been
versed in the Almanach de Gotha, a trifle older than he is. He did not
raise his hat in answer to my salute, but smiled most graciously and
made as though he would extend his hand to me, mistaking me, I doubt
not, for one of his friends. Forthwith, a member of his suite said
something to him in an undertone, whereat he smiled again and took no
further notice of me.

I do not wonder the people idolise him. His almost blameless life has
been passed among them, nothing in it hidden from their knowledge. When
they look upon his dear presentment in the photographer's window--the
shrewd, kindly eyes under the high forehead, the sparse locks so
carefully distributed--words of loyalty only and of admiration rise to
their lips. For of all princes in modern days he seems to fulfil most
perfectly the obligation of princely rank. Nepios he might have been
called in the heroic age, when princes were judged according to their
mastery of the sword or of the bow, or have seemed, to those mediaeval
eyes that loved to see a scholar's pate under the crown, an ignoramus.
We are less exigent now. We do but ask of our princes that they should
live among us, be often manifest to our eyes, set a perpetual example of
a right life. We bid them be the ornaments of our State. Too often
they do not attain to our ideal. They give, it may be, a half-hearted
devotion to soldiering, or pursue pleasure merely--tales of their
frivolity raising now and again the anger of a public swift to envy them
their temptations. But against this admirable Prince no such charges can
be made. Never (as yet, at least) has he cared to 'play at soldiers.'
By no means has he shocked the Puritans.