Once, soon after the war, when he was staying at Ems, a bookseller there had his show window decorated with pictures of the Emperor. As the latter was passing the shop one day, he saw a crowd of boys gathered about the window. Stepping up to them he asked, “What is here, children? What do you like best of all these pretty things? Which would you rather have? Tell me.” The boys looked at him and at one another in confusion and did not know what to answer, till at last one lively urchin helped them out of their dilemma by shouting, “I will buy the German Emperor!” “Good!” replied the Emperor, “you shall all have him. How many are there of you?” He counted the boys, then went into the shop and bought a number of the pictures, which he distributed among them. Another favorite diversion of Emperor William was hunting, and he often went in the fall or winter to shoot at Letzlingen, Hubertsstock, or elsewhere. Once at the Count von Stolberg-Wernigerode’s, they had had a successful day, and the Emperor had distinguished himself, for he was an excellent marksman. When the game was counted, it was announced that the sovereign’s share was twenty-eight, whereat His Majesty smiled roguishly and remarked to his companions: “These results remind me of the quotation ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy’—for is it not a marvel that I should have shot twenty-eight pieces of game and only fired twenty-five cartridges?” All the Emperor’s servants had the deepest respect and affection for him, and with good reason, for never was there a more kind and generous master, continually making them presents and never forgetting to bring back some little gift when he went on a journey. His dependents were always treated with the greatest kindness and indulgence and never received a harsh word, yet they never failed to feel that he was the master. One evening he went to the Victoria Theatre alone, accompanied only by the coachman and a _jäger_, the latter of whom betook himself to a restaurant across the street as soon as his master had alighted. Whether the play did not please His Majesty, or what the reason was, does not signify, but he left the theatre again after about a quarter of an hour. The carriage was there, but no _jäger_. The Emperor must wait. At a sign from the coachman one of the theatre attendants ran to fetch the delinquent, who, terrified, began to stammer out excuses with trembling lips. But the Emperor only remarked quietly, “Why make so much of the matter? You must often have been obliged to wait for me, now for once I have waited for you; so we are quits. Open the carriage door for me!”