That was my first sight of a real king.  But there is another figure which I contemplate with more interest.  The 31st of May of 1870 was a day sent from heaven, brilliant sunshine after a period of cloud; the spring lording it in the air, the trees and grass in their freshest luxuriance.  I was at Potsdam that day; in the wide-stretching gardens that surround the New Palace.  As I walked, I came to a cord drawn across the path, indicating that visitors were to go no farther.  Close by stood a tall young grenadier on duty as a sentinel, but willing to chat.  Looking beyond the cord into the reserved space I presently saw coming up from a secluded path, a low carriage drawn by a pony led by a groom in which was seated a lady dressed in white.  She was not of distinguished appearance but my grenadier told me that it was the Crown Princess of Prussia, the daughter of the Queen of England.  From the screen of the bush I watched her with natural interest.  The carriage paused and a group of little boys and girls came running out from the thicket attended by a governess or two and a tutor.  The little girls had their hands full of flowers, which, running forward, they threw into the carriage.  The boys, too, ran up with pretty demonstrations, and a straight little fellow of ten years or so hurried to the groom and began to pat the pony’s nose.  These, I learned, were the princes and princesses of the royal family.  The little fellow patting the pony’s nose was the eldest and destined to emerge into history as Kaiser Wilhelm the Second.

And now, from a door of the palace, not far distant, came striding a notable figure, tall and stalwart, in the undress uniform of a Prussian General.  Under his fatigue cap the blond hair was abundant; a wave of brown beard swept flown upon his breast.  The face was full of intelligence and authority, but at that moment most kindly as his blue eyes sought the group that stood in the foreground.  It was the Crown Prince of Prussia, destined at length to be the Emperor Friedrich.  The carriage passed on, the Crown Prince walking, with his hand on the side, while the Princess held her parasol over his head, laughing at the idea evidently, that so sturdy a soldier needed that kind of a screen.

The Crown Prince Friedrich was unpopular in those days as too domestic, standing too much withdrawn from the bustling world, but there was no failure when the stress came.  Only a few weeks passed before the stout soldier, whom I had seen throwing lilies and sheltered from the sun by his wife’s parasol, was at the head of a great army corps, crushing the power of France at Worth and Weissembourg; but the report was that he had said, “I do not like war, and if I am ever King I shall never make war.”