THE DRAMA OF 365 DAYS
enabled me to judge, only too plainly apparent in the person of the Crown Prince.
Outside the narrow group that gathered about him (a group hailing, ironically enough, from the land of a great Republic) I cannot remember to have heard in any winter one really warm word about him, one story of an act of kindness, or even generous condescension, such as it is easy for a royal personage to perform. On the contrary, I was constantly hearing tales of silly fooleries, of overbearing behaviour, of deliberate rudeness, such as irresistibly recalled, in spirit if not in form, the conduct of the common barrator in the guise of a king, who, if Macaulay's stories are to be credited, used to kick a lady in the open streets and tell her to go home and mind her brats.
SOME SALUTARY LESSONS
Only it was not Prussia we were living in, and
it was not the year 1720, so the air tingled
occasionally with other tales of little salutary
lessons administered to our Royal upstart on
his style of pursuing the pleasures considered
suitable to a Prince. One day it was told of
him that, having given a cup to be raced for on
the Bob-run, he was wroth to find on the noticeboard
of entries the names of a team of highly
respectable little Englishmen who are familiar on
the racecourse; and, taking out his pencil-case,
