Wilhelm von Mohenzollern, alias the Hermit of Doorn, alias the Emperor of Germany, alias the All-highest, can count himself the most fortunate political exile in history. Word comes that he is to receive seven and a half millions of dollars from the German republic in addition to one of the former imperial castles. He has already lived seven years at Doorn not without luxury, amusing himself by growing a beard, and the general public by sawing wood for exercise. The fates who pursue fallen great men to the end seem to have lost their grip. This latest development makes him, by any economic standards, comfortably well off. There are not lacking hints that he will occupy the newly acquired castle in person; in which case, he will be able to entertain distinguished foreigners by the score who eare to listen to his diagnosis of the war and his reminiscences of how Margot Asquith knocked his foot out of the stirrup on Rotten Row.

Pompey fell with a great crash and was executed by his treacherous freedman. Napoleon ate his heart out in solitude at St. Helenn. Charles I went to his death after a revolution. William II's career stopped as dramatically as any of these; why has he not suffered a similar fate? It may be that the fates are too busy to pursue a man his size. The lot of an arrogant country gentleman seems to fit him better than that of the most powerful monarch of his time.