The village of Varzin lies for the most part to the north and east of the Prince’s residence. It consists merely of a double row of houses along the highway, and, if I rightly understood, there are only five farmers among the inhabitants. The rest of the population consists of “small people,” as they are usually called--tenants of a house and garden, day labourers and village artisans. The policemen, who live in the village inn, are there for the protection of the Prince, and only remain while he is at Varzin. Of course Varzin is connected by telegraph with the capital of the Empire, and there is a Post Office official in the place or in the neighbouring village of Wussow. I was told that recently, in the course of one year, no less than some 6,500 letters and packets, and over 10,000 telegrams passed through this man’s hands, and it should be remembered that, with very few exceptions, these were all received during the five or six months which the Chancellor spent here in that year. There is no church in the village. Whoever wants to hear the sermon must go to Wussow, which is at a distance of about three-quarters of an hour. Although the Prince, as I have already indicated, is a God-fearing man, whose strength and sense of duty are based on religion, and who regards death as the _janua vitæ_, he seldom attends divine service--possibly out of consideration for his health. The Chancellor’s life, during his retirement at Varzin, is very simple. It is devoted largely to recuperating in a good climate, amid green woods and fields, from overwork, Parliamentary speeches, and the strain of notorious and deplorable friction; also to the active pursuit of his favourite occupation of farming, and finally to the enjoyment of Nature, by which he has also felt himself strongly attracted. It is generally known that he has for years past suffered from insomnia. His Gastein cure in the summer of 1877 produced a great improvement in this and other respects. Consequently the Chancellor rose earlier than he had been accustomed to do, and went for a walk about 9 o’clock in the morning, a habit which a little wind and rain did not appear to interrupt. On these occasions he was accompanied by his two Ulmar dogs, Sultel and Floerchen, the former a present from Count Holnstein, Master of the Horse to the King of Bavaria. Shortly after my visit to Varzin, the newspapers reported that some ill-disposed fellow, who remained undiscovered, injured the dog, to which the Prince was very much attached, in such a way that it died soon afterwards. Since then, however, it has been replaced by another of the same breed, only less good-natured, or perhaps one should say, more suspicious. Many of our members of Parliament will have met it (I only speak from hearsay) at the Saturday receptions in the Wilhelmstrasse.