I once had the opportunity of studying the Emperor William in a very important phase of his life. I met him at the house of a friend in the celebrated days of November, 1908, when great demonstrations against the Emperor occurred in the Reichstag, and when the then Imperial Chancellor, Prince Buelow, exposed him. Although he did not allude to the matter to us with whom he was not familiar, the powerful impression made upon him by these events in Berlin was very obvious, and I felt that in William II. I saw a man who, for the first time in his life, with horror-stricken eyes, looked upon the world as it really was. He saw brutal reality in close proximity. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he felt his position on his throne to be a little insecure. He forgot his lesson too quickly. Had the overwhelming impression which prevailed for several days been a lasting one it might perhaps have induced him to descend from the clouds to which his courtiers and his people had raised him, and once more feel firm ground beneath his feet. On the other hand, had the German people often treated the German Emperor as they did then it might have cured him. A remarkable incident which occurred on this occasion is characteristic of the way in which the Emperor was treated by many of the gentlemen of his suite. I had opportunity, while waiting at a German station restaurant for the arrival of the next train, to watch and study the excitement of the population at the events in Berlin, which bore signs of a revolutionary character. The densely crowded restaurant re-echoed with discussion and criticisms of the Emperor, when suddenly one of the men stood up on a table and delivered a fiery speech against the head of the Government. With the impression of this scene fresh in my mind, I described it to the members of the Emperor's suite, who were just as disagreeably affected by the episode, and it was suggested that nothing should be said about it to the Emperor. One of them, however, protested most energetically and declared that, on the contrary, every detail should be told to the Emperor, and, so far as I know, he himself probably undertook this disagreeable task. This case is characteristic of the desire to keep all unpleasantness from the Emperor and to spare him even the most well-founded criticisms; to praise and exalt him, but never to show that he was being blamed. This systematic putting forward of the Emperor's divine attributes, which in reality was neither due to love of his personality nor any other dynastic cause, but to the purely egotistical wish not to get into disfavour themselves or expose themselves to unpleasantness; this unwholesome state must in the long run act on mind and body as an enervating poison. I readily believe that the Emperor William, unaccustomed to so great an extent to all criticism, did not make it easy for those about him to be open and frank. It was, nevertheless,