For a long time in Germany the airships--the “Zeppelins” as they are popularly called--occupied the popular imagination much more than the flying-machines with which the Germans have recently won such distinction. Once in the earlier years of Zeppelin’s monster air-craft a message came to the court that he was flying from Frankfort to Berlin, which he would reach somewhere about five o’clock that afternoon. There was the usual hurrying to and fro. The Emperor, Empress, Princess and suite hurled themselves into motor-cars and hurried towards Berlin, but after waiting several hours on the Tempelhofer Feld, with nothing to eat and not much to do, they returned without a glimpse of any airship, as the rumours of its coming had been entirely unfounded. However, later on in the year Zeppelin announced his intention to bring his airship to Berlin. On the day fixed all the shops were closed at noon, and the whole population turned out and walked up and down the street with their eyes fixed heavenwards towards the lovely blue sky, for the weather was superb. Every lady or gentleman having any connection with the court was invited by ticket either to the Tempelhofer Feld, at which the airship was to descend, or to the roof of the Schloss itself, as the Zeppelin was to manœuvre round the building. But towards noon, just as all the excursion trains from the country had brought in the surrounding inhabitants to swell the already dense crowd of sky-gazers, a special edition of the newspapers was issued announcing an injury to the airship which prevented further flight. So every one went sadly home again. The next day, Sunday, news came that the defect had been repaired and that the airship with Count Zeppelin on board would appear about noon. This change of plan was rather inconvenient for several reasons, for there was a newly restored church to be dedicated in the presence of the Emperor and Empress and the chief military authorities. A gentleman in attendance said that never before had he seen such an obviously distracted congregation at any church function. The long-drawn-out service, the long-winded address (German sermons are of the old-fashioned type and usually last at least an hour) were listened to with hardly concealed impatience and lack of interest; and the clergy themselves seemed to keep one ear turned towards that heaven to which they were directing their audience, in apprehension of hearing before they had finished their discourse that mighty droning which would proclaim Zeppelin’s arrival.