deplore this exaggerated tyranny, by reason of
its evil effect upon his moral nature, we cannot but feel glad that it
existed, to afford a piquant contrast to the life awaiting him. Had he
passed through the callow dissipations of Eton and Oxford, like other
young men of his age, he would assuredly have lacked much of that
splendid, pent vigour with which he rushed headlong into London life.
He was so young and so handsome and so strong, that can we wonder if all
the women fell at his feet? 'The graces of his person,' says one whom he
honoured by an intrigue, 'the irresistible sweetness of his smile, the
tenderness of his melodious, yet manly voice, will be remembered by me
till every vision of this changing scene are forgotten. The polished
and fascinating ingenuousness of his manners contributed not a little
to enliven our promenade. He sang with exquisite taste, and the tones of
his voice, breaking on the silence of the night, have often appeared
to my entranced senses like more than mortal melody.' But besides his
graces of person, he had a most delightful wit, he was a scholar who
could bandy quotations with Fox or Sheridan, and, like the young men
of to-day, he knew all about Art. He spoke French, Italian, and German
perfectly. Crossdill had taught him the violoncello. At first, as was
right for one of his age, he cared more for the pleasures of the table
and of the ring, for cards and love. He was wont to go down to Ranelagh
surrounded by a retinue of bruisers--rapscallions, such as used to
follow Clodius through the streets of Rome--and he loved to join in the
scuffles like any commoner. Pugilism he learnt from Angelo, and he was
considered by some to be a fine performer. On one occasion, too, at an
exposition d'escrime, when he handled the foils against the maitre, he
'was highly complimented upon his graceful postures.' In fact, despite
all his accomplishments, he seems to have been a thoroughly manly young
fellow. He was just the kind of figure-head Society had long been in
need of. A certain lack of tone had crept into the amusements of the
haut monde, due, doubtless, to the lack of an acknowledged leader. The
King was not yet mad, but he was always bucolic, and socially out of the
question. So at the coming of his son Society broke into a gallop.
Balls and masquerades were given in his honour night after night.
Good Samaritans must have approved when they found that at these
entertainments great ladies and co