The town itself is picturesque and old-fashioned, with cobbled roads extremely painful to walk upon. Many of its houses were built in the time of Frederick the Great and inhabited by his marshals and generals. Its streets have a somnolent old-world air, and its society is very aristocratic and exclusive, containing as it does the cream of Prussian Junkerdom. Several younger sons of princely houses, officers in the crack regiments of the guards, live with their wives and children in Potsdam. Occasionally, on wet Sundays, some of these little princes and princesses came to spend the afternoon, and “Mimi Hohenzollern,” now married to King Manoel of Portugal, was a fairly frequent guest. One dull November Sunday evening we had an unusual number of children--about twenty--some of them quite small and rather an anxiety, for the nurses and governesses who accompanied them were sent to wait downstairs, while Herr Schmidt in charge of the boys and myself in charge of the little girls were left to cope with all these rather lively young people. They played after tea at circus in the big Turn-Saal at the top of the Palace, where there was plenty of room to romp about, and were just pondering what the next game should be, when Herr Schmidt, inspired by some imp of malice, made the suggestion that they should all go to the theatre in the dark. The private theatre of the Neues Palais, built by Frederick the Great for the representation of French plays, was situated in the farthest wing of the castle, the way to it lying through chilly, unlit, unwarmed passages. The whole horde of children--hopeful scions of princely houses whose names, though unknown in England, permeate the “Almanac de Gotha,” and occasionally emerge into prominence in connection with some royal or imperial marriage--were rushing like the Gadarene swine towards certain destruction. Those slippery marble staircases! Those shallow balustrades! The darkness and the cold! Terrible “_Schnupfen_"--the devastating colds with which in a steam-heated country one is eternally warring--would be the least evil that could possibly happen to them. Herr Schmidt, like an overgrown schoolboy, was laughing gleefully at the stampede. Fortunately they were stopped at the next staircase, where the faint gleam of a lamp served to show the black shadows of the descent, and were brought back, much disappointed, to play a “humdrum game,” as the Princess called it, of hide-and-seek. The Emperor to his sons was stern enough, and saw that Prince Joachim was shortly despatched to join his brothers at school in Ploen, but towards his little daughter he allowed himself, perhaps unconsciously, to be somewhat lenient.