e prior occasion? And above all, What it is they will now propose
to do in the sequel of it! Dig gold-nuggets, and rally the IGnoble of
us?--

George's poor lean Mistress, coming on at the usual rate of the road,
was met, next morning, by the sad tidings. She sprang from her carriage
into the dusty highway; tore her hair (or headdress), half-frantic;
declared herself a ruined woman; and drove direct to Berlin, there
to compose her old mind. She was not ill seen at Court there; had her
connections in the world. Fieldmarshal Schulenburg, who once had the
honor of fighting (not to his advantage) with Charles XII., and had
since grown famous by his Anti-Turk performances in the Venetian
service, is a Brother of this poor Maypole's; and there is a Nephew of
hers, one of Friedrich Wilhelm's Field-Officers here, whom we shall meet
by and by. She has been obliging to Queen Sophie on occasions; they can,
and do, now weep heartily together. I believe she returned to England,
being Duchess of Kendal, with heavy pensions there; and "assiduously
attended divine ordinances, according to the German Protestant form,
ever afterwards." Poor foolish old soul, what is this world, with all
its dukeries!--

The other or fat Mistress, "Cataract of fluid Tallow," Countess of
Darlington, whom I take to have been a Half-Sister rather, sat sorrowful
at Isleworth; and kept for many years a Black Raven, which had come
flying in upon her; which she somehow understood to be the soul,
or connected with the soul, of his Majesty of happy memory. [Horace
Walpole, _Reminiscences._] Good Heavens, what fat fluid-tallowy stupor,
and entirely sordid darkness, dwells among mankind; and occasionally
finds itself lifted to the very top, by way of sample!--

Friedrich Wilhelm wept tenderly to Brigadier Dubourgay, the British
Minister at Berlin (an old military gentleman, of diplomatic merit,
who spells rather ill), when they spoke of this sad matter. My poor
old Uncle; he was so good to me in boyhood, in those old days, when I
blooded Cousin George's nose! Not unkind, ah, only proud and sad;
and was called sulky, being of few words and heavy-laden. Ah me, your
Excellenz; if the little nightingales have all fallen silent, what may
not I, his Son and nephew, do?--And the rugged Majesty blubbered with
great tenderness; having fountains of tears withal, hidden in the rocky
heart of him, not suspected by every one. [Dubourgay's Despatches, in
the State-Paper Office