One day last week, the King-Emperor slipped on his silk stockings, donned regal robes and with the Queen-Empress drove from Buckingham Palace to the Palace of Westminster, where sit at their Parliamentary sessions the Lords & Commons.
Through the streets of London stirred a cold fuliginous fog. The King's coach, drawn by eight superb horses, moved gingerly. The Beefeaters from the Tower of London who marched beside it seemed like ghosts who now and again disappeared into a slowly rolling gust of fog. Ghostly, too, was the scant crowd which peered at...
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