Another Christmas she received from the Emperor a pony-cart, to replace the blue-lined Turkish victoria of the Sultan, which was now deemed too childish and theatrical in appearance. The ponies were promoted to a workmanlike little vehicle of light-coloured ash, capable of holding, at a pinch, six persons; and it remained the chief medium of transport until after the Emperor’s visit to Highcliffe, near Bournemouth, when he brought back with him a beautiful little New Forest pony and “tub,” which completely eclipsed Ali and Aladdin, who were given away to a friend in the country. Perhaps, however, the most charming of all the Christmas presents which the Emperor gave his daughter was a most beautiful little Arab mare called “Irene.” She was brought from the stables at the time of the _Bescherung_ and led up the terrace steps into the big hall in front of the _Muschel-Saal_, where she stood gazing round in her well-bred gentle manner at all the ladies in their evening finery and the brilliant uniforms that crowded round her. She looked at them out of her beautiful eyes with a fearless, rather disdainful, air, and the lights of the many candles shone on the satin of her bright strawberry coat--for she was a wonderfully-coloured red-roan of an unusual tone. She had all the marvellous dignity of poise and light springy footsteps of her race, and had been highly trained and schooled in the “Spanish trot,” “passaging,” and other riding-school attainments, while her action across country was, as the Princess said when someone called it poetry, “almost a love-song in sixteen verses.” Unfortunately a year or two after her entrance into the stables she was seized with influenza, and died in spite of all efforts to save her. Towards six o’clock the household, one by one, slips away, and leaves the Imperial Family alone to spend the rest of the evening in each other’s society. Every year from Christmas to New Year’s Day the _Muschel-Saal_, especially in the evenings, is the family rendezvous. As soon as it is dark the Christmas trees are lighted and tea and supper are taken under the shadow of their branches. The Emperor sits at a table writing his New Year cards or reading, sometimes aloud, sometimes to himself; everybody is busy examining and comparing presents or writing letters of thanks. Christmas Day itself is passed very quietly, the luncheon strictly _en famille_, with none even of the suite present. As many as can be spared of the married servants are sent home, to be at least a part of the day with their families. Every possible consideration is shown, so that not the humblest worker is deprived of a share of leisure and opportunity to visit his friends. One Christmas the Emperor was in a very “anecdotal” mood, and chatted for some time to his suite, telling many amusing traits of the late Duke of Cambridge--“Uncle George” as he called him.