Among those who watched the passage of the Queen and the Prince of Wales from Buckingham Palace to St. Paul's there was one notable and historic personage. This was Napoleon the Third, at that time living in exile at Chislehurst. Within twelve months the ex-Emperor was dead. His death was the cause of a singularly picturesque demonstration on the part of the ruined Imperialist party. I went to Chislehurst to see the lying-in-state which preceded the funeral. The train which took me down from Charing Cross was crowded with Frenchmen wearing the rosette of the Legion of Honour, and on every side I heard men called by names that for twenty years had been part of the history of Europe. The poor Emperor lying in his coffin, guarded by men who but recently had been the great officers of an Imperial household, was a pathetic object. I noticed that his hair had turned grey; and the shortness of stature that he had been so anxious to conceal when living was now plainly apparent. His funeral, which took place on the following day, fittingly symbolised the fall of the Second Empire. Preceding the hearse walked a body of French workmen in blue blouses, the foremost of whom bore the tricolour, rudely fastened to a branch which had been hastily torn from one of the fine trees at Camden Place. Behind the hearse the young Prince Imperial walked alone, a pale, thoughtful, delicate youth, who seemed little fitted to bear the burden of the Pretendership. Behind him, in a single line, were four of his father's cousins, of whom the most conspicuous was Prince Napoleon. His likeness to the great Emperor was startling, and, as he walked bareheaded, one could see that it was emphasised by the way in which he had trained a solitary lock of hair upon his massive brow. The Emperor was buried in a temporary vault in the Catholic chapel of Chislehurst. The building was too small to admit a tithe of the crowd of French people who were present, but those who could not enter the chapel knelt throughout the service on the damp grass of the churchyard. When the funeral party returned to Camden House, I witnessed an unexpected and dramatic scene. The mourners had come back, as they went, in absolute silence. From highest to lowest, all seemed to be suffering from the deepest depression. The young Prince was the first to step within the door of the house. As he did so, he turned and bowed to the great company of Frenchmen--the wreckage of his father's empire. Instantly every hat was raised, and a tremendous cry went up, "_Vive Napoléon le Quatre!_" The suddenness and unexpectedness of this acclamation of the youth as the inheritor of the Napoleonic legend startled and impressed all those of us who were present as spectators.