of making his acquaintance.  Lord Rosebery suggested that the best way would be for me to go in the special train which was to carry the Prince of Wales.  First, then, I was to be introduced to his Royal Highness, which office was kindly undertaken by our very obliging and courteous Minister, Mr. Phelps.  After this all was easily arranged, and I was cared for as well as if I had been Mr. Phelps himself.  On the grand stand I found myself in the midst of the great people, who were all very natural, and as much at their ease as the rest of the world.  The Prince is of a lively temperament and a very cheerful aspect,—­a young girl would call him “jolly” as well as “nice.”  I recall the story of “Mr. Pope” and his Prince of Wales, as told by Horace Walpole.  “Mr. Pope, you don’t love princes.”  “Sir, I beg your pardon.”  “Well, you don’t love kings, then.”  “Sir, I own I love the lion best before his claws are grown.”  Certainly, nothing in Prince Albert Edward suggests any aggressive weapons or tendencies.  The lovely, youthful-looking, gracious Alexandra, the always affable and amiable Princess Louise, the tall youth who sees the crown and sceptre afar off in his dreams, the slips of girls so like many school misses we left behind us,—­all these grand personages, not being on exhibition, but off enjoying themselves, just as I was and as other people were, seemed very much like their fellow-mortals.  It is really easier to feel at home with the highest people in the land than with the awkward commoner who was knighted yesterday.  When “My Lord and Sir Paul” came into the Club which Goldsmith tells us of, the hilarity of the evening was instantly checked.  The entrance of a dignitary like the present Prince of Wales would not have spoiled the fun of the evening.  If there is any one accomplishment specially belonging to princes, it is that of making the persons they meet feel at ease.

The grand stand to which I was admitted was a little privileged republic.  I remember Thackeray’s story of his asking some simple question of a royal or semi-royal personage whom he met in the courtyard of an hotel, which question his Highness did not answer, but called a subordinate to answer for him.  I had been talking some time with a tall, good-looking gentleman, whom I took for a nobleman to whom I had been introduced.  Something led me to think I was mistaken in the identity of this gentleman.  I asked him, at last, if he were not So and So.  “No,” he said, “I am Prince Christian.”  You are a Christian prince, anyhow, I said to myself, if I may judge by your manners.

I once made a similar mistake in addressing a young fellow-citizen of some social pretensions.  I apologized for my error.

“No offence,” he answered.

Offence indeed!  I should hope not.  But he had not the “maniere de prince”, or he would never have used that word.