Sometimes, instead of déjeuner at the villa, we started off, at ten or eleven o'clock, in a carriage, for some picturesque spot, and breakfasted in the shadow of the orange trees, while the grasshoppers chirruped merrily. One of these picnics lingers in my memory, for everything was perfection-the number and the composition of the guests, the weather, the place, and the menuthe latter not to be disdained! The party comprised five men and five ladies. At half-past ten we started from the villa in five carriages— two in each vehicle. As the hotel where the Prince of Wales was stopping was on our road we all halted there to take him up. He was ready and waiting for us. He wore a dark-grey suit, a soft felt hat of the same colour, and grey shoes (daim gris). His reputation for elegance was certainly well deserved. He never looked as if he were got up" for the occasion, yet it had the effect of supreme refinement. It was he who set the fashion, yet he was never à la mode. That morning, for instance, he wore a collar with

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wings," although at the moment turndown collars were the rule. The only lively note in his sober garb was the blue scarf, tied in a sailor's knot. With that easy manner which was SO characteristic, he came up to the carriages, and said he was obliged to keep us waiting for a moment; an important personage had not completed his toilette" (this was said with a meaning smile). We understood; he referred to his favourite dog, Peter.

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Peter was indeed an important personage; he was fort coquet. He knew that he had to look very nice when he was going out with elegant company. He was a delicious bulldog, black as coal, with a coat as sleek as velvet. He had three beauty marks on his left jaw, and extraordinarily mobile ears, illustrating the various moods of a dog at once spoilt and intelligent. At the moment his ears denoted impatience. He was listening to everything to the horses champing their bits and pawing the ground with their hoofs, and to the voices of the party. After his tub he was frictioned with eau-de-Cologne; then, seated in a chair, he held out first one paw, then the other, while the servant who had charge of him brushed his paws and cut his nails! Meantime the horses were getting impatient. Peter loved horses, and did not like to keep them waiting; and he turned his black muzzle to the valet as if he would say, Well, where is my collar? Be quick with it! A collar was shown to him, but he turned away from it disgusted. Was it possible that any one could offer him such a collar under the circumstances? A white varnished collar with gold plaque to wear at a lunch in the country! Deplorable want of taste! With a bound Peter jumped from the chair and made for the place where all his collars were ranged. He selected one with his humid jaws, a collar of fawn-coloured leather, bordered with squirrel's fur. A la bonne heure! Now he was "in the note," and he came frisking along to rejoin us. Politely he said "Bon jour

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to everybody - then stretched himself at his master's feet.

It was glorious weather. Those who have not lived in those morning hours in Provence do not know the beauty of the world. What are words amidst such scenes? Of what avail are descriptions? We pass, first, between walls covered with scarlet geraniums and pale blue plumbagos; from the terraces droop roses-Maréchal Niels and La France; and then there are the mimosas and the olive trees. The walls disappeared, and we were in the open country, amongst the almond and orange trees. In the carriages everybody was talking. The Prince of Wales said, "Often as I have been here I never tire of this glorious country. It is always new to me-every time I discover some new beauty."

Now we were in the wood which skirts the Siagne, the little stream in the environs of Cannes, where it was arranged that we should lunch; and amidst the trees we saw the white tablecloths and the sparkling glasses. At this spectacle everybody remembered that it was the luncheonhour, and that the open air gives one a tremendous appetite. The servants had arranged everything most artistically. The table was not far from the stream. All the chairs were on the same side of the table, facing the water. We were in the shadow of the planes and the pines.

All subjects were talked about, and we were never tired of admiring the surprising youthful

ness of the Prince of Wales. He was quite as vigorous mentally as physically.

Suddenly there came the sound of a guitar, and a tenor voice was heard singing "O sole mio." Some wandering musicians, with the extraordinary flair of their kind, had followed us on foot-that was why they had not appeared when we were lunching. You hear them everywhere on the Littoral; they are in harmony with the country. They carry about a little of its sun, and it is that sun which makes their eyes so bright and their voices so vibrating.

In this wise the time flew by, and the deep violet shadows were creeping up as we started on the return homewards. The fading light enveloped all Nature in its melancholy majesty, and we all felt its influence.

In front of his hotel Edward VII. left us. We said "Au revoir" gaily. Peter careered about gleefully, as though not sorry to get back.

CHAPTER VI

ROYAL CHILDREN'S MONEY-BOXES

IN the sixties and the seventies, and in 1889, a dead set was made against the Monarchy by the extreme Radicals. The most active, and certainly the most talented, of the grumblers during the first portions of the period indicated were Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, Sir Charles Dilke, and Mr. Bradlaugh. The names of others it is needless to mention. There were two main pretexts for the hubbub: Queen Victoria's seclusion and the cost of maintaining the Monarchy. When opportunity arose brickbats were thrown in the direction of the Prince of Wales, who took them without flinching. In 1889-91 the most hostile critics of the Prince of Wales's Children Bill were Mr. Labouchere and Mr. Stead. The question at issue was the "Royal Grants," in which the future King Edward was greatly interested.

2

In 1889 Mr. Stead was telling us, in the

1 By 1889 Mr. Chamberlain had become "plus Royaliste que le Roi," and was accusing his former supporters of being "the Nihilists of English politics." Nihilists! It amused the Prince, who remembered that only six years before "Joe" had been the Tories' bogy-man.

2 In consideration of his services to the Monarchy, Mr. Stead in 1891 was graciously permitted to pose as the apologist of the Prince of Wales.