The Emperor was a clever man, and he possessed that wonderful memory for faces peculiar to his uncle, King Edward VII. On one occasion when my husband was presented to the Emperor after receiving some special decoration, a colonel of a Siberian regiment also attended the Levée. The Emperor stretched out his hand to the colonel. “Surely I’ve seen you before?” he enquired. “Yes, Your Majesty.” “Well, but _where_?” continued the Emperor, in puzzled tones; then brightening, “Ah, I know,” he said, “I met you twelve years ago when I passed through Saratof.” The chief pleasures of the Emperor were those appertaining to an outdoor life. He was a good shot, fond of all kinds of sport, and his hands were exceptionally powerful. Boating was a favourite amusement; he liked to row in a small boat, or paddle a canoe, and the Emperor passed hours and hours on the water when the Imperial Family were staying at Shker, in Finland. Both the Emperor and the Empress disliked the Kaiser. I say this with perfect sincerity, and in all truth. They rarely mentioned his name before the war, and I know that his love of theatrical displays appealed to neither of them. In 1903 the Emperor William arrived in his yacht at Reval to witness a military review. The “Standart” with the Emperor of Russia aboard was also at Reval. After the Kaiser had paid a formal call on the Emperor, signals passed between the two yachts. “What’s all this?” asked the Emperor. An officer enlightened him. “Your Majesty,” said he, “the signal from the ‘Hohenzollern’ says: ‘The Emperor of the Atlantic salutes the Emperor of the Pacific.’” The Emperor looked cross. “Oh, that’s it--well reply ‘Thank you’--that’s quite enough.” The Kaiser did not shine as a visitor to the “Standart”; the first thing he did was to shake hands indiscriminately, a proceeding which caused much amusement and confusion, and everyone was heartily glad when the “Emperor of the Atlantic” took his departure. The Grand Duchesses disliked any mention of the Kaiser, but some of the officers used to tease them about him. The usual question of any privileged arrival at Tsarkoe Selo was: “Well, how is Uncle Willie to-day?” And the invariable answer was: “No--no--he’s not our Uncle Willie--we don’t want to hear his name.” Russia has been described as a country of tears and misery during the war, but this is incorrect. The peasants were never so rich as at this time, and there was no discontent in the country districts; the wives received big allowances, and they earned extra money for themselves without any difficulty. Every boy indulged in high patent-leather boots, every girl spent money on dress. There were certainly tears for the fallen, but there was no material misery in Russia.