(all in gaudy uniforms but me) stand near the throne—­stand through the whole performance.  One night after an hour or two of ladies coming along and curtsying and disappearing, I whispered to the Spanish Ambassador, “There must be five hundred of these ladies.”  “U-m,” said he, as he shifted his weight to the other foot, “I’m sure there are five thousand!” When they’ve all been presented, the King and Queen go into a room where a stand-up supper is served.  The royalty and the diplomatic folks go into that room, too; and their Majesties walk around and talk with whom they please.  Into another and bigger room everybody else goes and gets supper.  Then we all flock back to the throne room; and preceded by the backing courtiers, their Majesties come out into the floor and bow to the Ambassadors, then to the Duchesses, then to the general diplomatic group and they go out.  The show is ended.  We come downstairs and wait an hour for our car and come home about midnight.  The uniforms on the men and the jewels on the ladies (by the ton) and their trains—­all this makes a very brilliant spectacle.  The American Ambassador and his Secretaries and the Swiss and the Portuguese are the only ones dressed in citizens’ clothes.

At a levee, the King receives only gentlemen.  Here they come in all kinds of uniforms.  If you are not entitled to wear a uniform, you have a dark suit, knee breeches, and a funny little tin sword.  I’m going to adopt the knee breeches part of it for good when I go home—­golf breeches in the day time and knee breeches at night.  You’ve no idea how nice and comfortable they are—­though it is a devil of a lot of trouble to put ’em on.  Of course every sort of man here but the Americans wears some sort of decorations around his neck or on his stomach, at these functions.  For my part, I like it—­here.  The women sparkle with diamonds, the men strut; the King is a fine man with a big bass voice and he talks very well and is most agreeable; the Queen is very gracious; the royal ladies (Queen Victoria’s daughters, chiefly) are nice; you see all the big Generals and all the big Admirals and the great folk of every sort—­fine show.

You’ve no idea how much time and money they spend on shooting.  The King has been shooting most of the time for three months.  He’s said to be a very good shot.  He has sent me, on different occasions, grouse, a haunch of venison, and pheasants.

But except on these occasions, you never think about the King.  The people go about their business as if he didn’t exist, of course.  They begin work much later than we do.  You’ll not find any of the shops open till about ten o’clock.  The sun doesn’t shine except once in a while and you don’t know it’s daylight till about ten.  You know the House of Commons has night sessions always.  Nobody is in the Government offices, except clerks and secretaries, till the afternoon.  We dine at eight, and, when we have a big dinner, at