and with the due emotion.

The Prussian Royalties, and select few, took boat down the River, on the
morrow; towards Lichtenburg Hunting-Palace, for one day's slaughtering
of game. They slaughtered there about one thousand living creatures,
all driven into heaps for them,--"six hundred of red game" (of the stag
species), "four hundred black," or of the boar ditto. They left all
these creatures dead; dined immensely; then did go, sorrowfully sated;
Crown-Prince Friedrich in his own carriage in the rear; Papa in his,
preceding by a few minutes; all the wood horns, or French horns, wailing
sad adieu;--and hurried towards Berlin through the ambrosial night.
[28th June, 1730: _Helden-Geschichte,_ i. 205.]

And so it is all ended. And August the Strong--what shall we say of
August? History must admit that he attains the maximum in several
things. Maximum of physical strength; can break horse-shoes, nay
half-crowns with finger and thumb. Maximum of sumptuosity; really a
polite creature; no man of his means so regardless of expense. Maximum
of Bastards, three hundred and fifty-four of them; probably no mortal
ever exceeded that quantity. Lastly, he has baked the biggest Bannock
on record; Cake with 5,000 eggs in it, and a tun of butter. These things
History must concede to him. Poor devil, he was full of good-humor too,
and had the best of stomachs. His amputated great-toe does not mend:
out upon it, the world itself is all so amputated, and not like mending!
August the Strong, dilapidated at fifty-three, is fast verging towards a
less expensive country: and in three years hence will be lodged gratis,
and need no cook or flunky of either sex.

"This Camp of Radewitz," says Smelfungus, one of my Antecessors,
finishing his long narrative of it, "this Camp is Nothing; and after all
this expense of King August's and mine, it flies away like a dream. But
alas, were the Congresses of Cambrai and Soissons, was the life-long
diplomacy of Kaiser Karl, or the History of torpid moribund Europe in
those days, much of a Something? The Pragmatic Sanction, with all its
protocolling, has fled, like the temporary Playhouse of King August
erected there in the village of Strohme. Much talk, noise and imaginary
interest about both; but both literally have become zero, WERE always
zero. As well talk about the one as the other."---Then why not SILENCE
about both, my Friend Smelfnngus? He answers: "That truly is the thing
to be aimed at;--and if we