ght make dem do dat,'
said Mrs. Schwellenberg.

" 'Oh, by ----, I will! Here, you' (to the footman). 'bring champagne; I'll
drink the king's health again, if I die for it. Yes, I have done it pretty
well already; so has the king, I promise you! I believe his majesty was
never taken such good care of before; we have kept his spirits up, I
promise you; we have enabled him to go through his fatigues; and I should
have done more still, but for the ball and Mary;--I have promised to dance
with Mary. I must keep sober for Mary.' "

Indefatigable Miss Burney continues for a dozen pages reporting H.R.H.'s
conversation, and indicating, with a humour not unworthy of the clever
little author of _Evelina_, the increasing state of excitement of the
young sailor prince, who drank more and more champagne, stopped old Mrs.
Schwellenberg's remonstrances by giving the old lady a kiss, and telling
her to hold her potato-trap, and who did not "keep sober for Mary". Mary
had to find another partner that night, for the royal William Henry could
not keep his legs.

Will you have a picture of the amusements of another royal prince? It is
the Duke of York, the blundering general, the beloved commander-in-chief
of the army, the brother with whom George IV had had many a midnight
carouse, and who continued his habits of pleasure almost till death seized
his stout body.

In Pueckler Muskau's _Letters_, that German prince describes a bout with
H.R.H., who in his best time was such a powerful toper that "six bottles
of claret after dinner scarce made a perceptible change in his
countenance".

"I remember," says Pueckler, "that one evening,--indeed, it was past
midnight,--he took some of his guests, among whom were the Austrian
ambassador, Count Meervelt, Count Beroldingen, and myself, into his
beautiful armoury. We tried to swing several Turkish sabres, but none of
us had a very firm grasp; whence it happened that the duke and Meervelt
both scratched themselves with a sort of straight Indian sword so as to
draw blood. Meervelt then wished to try if the sword cut as well as a
Damascus, and attempted to cut through one of the wax candles that stood
on the table. The experiment answered so ill, that both the candles,
candlesticks and all, fell to the ground and were extinguished. While we
were groping in the dark and trying to find the door, the duke's aide de
camp stammered out in great agitation, 'By G----, sir, I remember the sword
is poisoned