He spoke English perfectly, with the most politely insolent manner that I have ever had to listen to; and eight servants, each of whom we had, in turn, mistaken for a prince royal, bowed at him all the brief time he talked over our heads.

He sent us to the bureau for correspondents, where they gave me a badge and a pocketbook, with my photo in it.

They are good for nothing, except to get through the police lines.

No one at the bureau gave us the least encouragement as to my getting in at the coronation.

We were frantic, and I went back to Breckenridge, our Minister, and wrote him a long letter explaining what had happened, and that what I wrote would "live," that I was advertised and had been advertised to write this story for months.