I did not see Humboldt again, nor Frederick William IV. Long before this time it had become clear that King William IV. was not what he imagined himself to be—the congruence of all the incongruent elements then fermenting in Prussia and Germany at large. There can be little doubt that towards the end of his life his mind, or rather his judgment, had given way. His mind, I believe, remained lively to the very end; but, in a State like Prussia, the Government without a clear-sighted King is like a runaway engine without its driver. It may keep to the rails for a time, but there is sure to be a smash at the end. The King had parted with one friend after another. His own brother, the Prince of Prussia, afterwards the first German Emperor, fell into disgrace, and had in the end to leave the country and take refuge in England. The name by which he was known in the family was not flattering. He was a soldier, clear-headed and straightforward. His whole heart was in the army, and when he afterwards came to the throne, he wisely left everything else to his responsible ministers, after he had once learnt to trust them. The army was the pride of his life, and to see that army ordered out of Berlin, and not allowed to restore order in the streets of the capital, had nearly broken his heart. He was intensely unpopular in 1848. His own palace was taken possession of, and, in order to preserve it from pillage, a large inscription was put on the walls, “National Property.” I was not in Germany that year, but I heard much from my friends there—v. Schlœzer, Ernst Curtius, and others—all personal friends of the Prince and Princess of Prussia. The Prince was not even allowed to command his own, the Prussian army, in the Schleswig-Holstein war, then just beginning; and the following letter, written in London, and addressed to one of his comrades, shows how deeply he felt it:—