way.  His successor was already in office; he was himself driven in haste from the house which so long had been his home.  A final visit to the Princes of the Royal House, a last audience with the Emperor, a hasty leave-taking from his friends and colleagues, and then the last farewell, when in the early morning he drove to Charlottenburg and alone went down into the mausoleum where his old master slept, to lay a rose upon his tomb.

The rest he had so often longed for had come, but it was too late.  Forty years he had passed in public life and he could not now take up again the interests and occupations of his youth.  Agriculture had no more charms for him; he was too infirm for sport; he could not, like his father, pass his old age in the busy indolence of a country gentleman’s life, nor could he, as some statesmen have done, soothe his declining years by harmless and amiable literary dilettanteism.  His religion was not of that complexion that he could find in contemplation, and in preparation for another life, consolation for the trials of this one.  At seventy-five years of age, his intellect was as vigorous and his energy as unexhausted as they had been twenty years before; his health was improved, for he had found in Dr. Schweninger a physician who was not only able to treat his complaints, but could also compel his patient to obey his orders.  He still felt within himself full power to continue his public work, and now he was relegated to impotence and obscurity.  Whether in Varzin or Friedrichsruh, his eyes were always fixed on Berlin.  He saw the State which he had made, and which he loved as a father, subjected to the experiment of young and inexperienced control.  He saw overthrown that carefully planned system by which the peace of Europe was made to depend upon the prosperity of Germany.  Changes were made in the working of that Constitution which it seemed presumption for anyone but him to touch.  His policy was deserted, his old enemies were taken into favour.  Can we wonder that he could not restrain his impatience?  He felt like a man who sees his heir ruling in his own house during his lifetime, cutting down his woods and dismissing his old servants, or as if he saw a careless and clumsy rider mounted on his favourite horse.

From all parts of Germany deputations from towns and newspaper writers came to visit him.  He received them with his customary courtesy, and spoke with his usual frankness.  He did not disguise his chagrin; he had, he said, not been treated with the consideration which he deserved.  He had never been accustomed to hide his feelings or to disguise his opinions.  Nothing that his successors did seemed to him good.  They made a treaty with England for the arrangement of conflicting questions in Africa; men looked to Bismarck to hear what he would say before they formed their opinion; “I would never have signed the treaty,” he declared.  He quickly drifted into formal opposition to the Government; he even