to stay a few days
and stroll through the streets and squares of one of the finest and
oldest towns of Europe. The engine's whistle sounds again and the train
carries us swiftly onwards to Vienna, the capital of the Emperor Francis
Joseph, who alone is more remarkable than all the sights of the city.

Vienna is a fine and wealthy city, the fourth in Europe, and, like
Berlin, is full of centres of human civilisation, science and art. Here
are found relics of ancient times beside the grand palaces of the
present day, the "Ring" is one of the finest streets in the world, and
the tower of St. Stephen's Church rises up to the sky above the two
million inhabitants of the town. Vienna to a greater extent than Berlin
is a town of pleasure and merry genial life, a grand old aristocratic
town, a town of theatres, concerts, balls, and cafes. The Danube canal,
with its twelve bridges, passes right through Vienna, and outside the
eastern outskirts the Danube itself, in an artificial bed, rolls its
dark blue waters with a melodious murmur, providing an accompaniment to
the famous Viennese waltzes.

If Vienna is, then, one of the centres of human knowledge and
refinement, and if there are a thousand wonderful things to behold
within its walls, yet it contains nothing more remarkable than the old
Emperor. Not because he is so old, or because he still survives as one
of the last of an almost extinct generation, but because by his august
personality he keeps together an empire composed of many different
countries, races, and religious sects. Fifty millions of people are
ranged under his sceptre. There are Germans in Austria, Chechs in
Bohemia, Magyars in Hungary, Polacks in Galicia, and a crowd of other
peoples; nay, even Mohammedans live under the protection of the Catholic
throne.

His life has abounded in cares and vicissitudes. He has lived through
wars, insurrections, and revolutions, and with skill and tact has held
in check all the contending factions which have striven and are still
striving to rend asunder his empire. It is difficult to imagine the
Austro-Hungarian monarchy without him. With him it perhaps stands or
falls; therefore there is no one in the present day whose life is of
greater importance to humanity. He has been the object of murderous
attempts: his wife was assassinated, his only son perished by a violent
death. He is now eighty-two years old, and he has worn the imperial
crown for sixty-four years. Since 186