r the memories that lay in its
folds. It is pleasant to know that George, during his long and various
life, never forgot a coat, however long ago worn, however seldom.

But in the early days of which I speak he had not yet touched that
self-conscious note which, in manner and mode of life, as well as in
costume, he was to touch later. He was too violently enamoured of all
around him, to think very deeply of himself. But he had already realised
the tragedy of the voluptuary, which is, after a little time, not that
he must go on living, but that he cannot live in two places at once.
We have, at this end of the century, tempered this tragedy by the
perfection of railways, and it is possible for our good Prince, whom
Heaven bless, to waken to the sound of the Braemar bagpipes, while the
music of Mdlle. Guilbert's latest song, cooed over the footlights of
the Concerts Parisiens, still rings in his ears. But in the time of our
Princes illustrious great-uncle there were not railways; and we find
George perpetually driving, for wagers, to Brighton and back (he had
already acquired that taste for Brighton which was one of his most
loveable qualities) in incredibly short periods of time. The rustics
who lived along the road were well accustomed to the sight of a high,
tremulous phaeton flashing past them, and the crimson face of the
young Prince bending over the horses. There is something absurd in
representing George as, even before he came of age, a hardened and
cynical profligate, an Elagabalus in trousers. His blood flowed fast
enough through his veins. All his escapades were those of a healthful
young man of the time. Need we blame him if he sought, every day, to
live faster and more fully?

In a brief essay like this, I cannot attempt to write, as I hope one day
to do, in any detail a history of Georges career, during the time when
he was successively Prince of Wales and Regent and King. Merely is it my
wish at present to examine some of the principal accusations that have
been brought against him, and to point out in what ways he has been
harshly and hastily judged. Perhaps the greatest indignation against
him was, and is to this day, felt by reason of his treatment of his two
wives, Mrs. Fitzherbert and Queen Caroline. There are some scandals that
never grow old, and I think the story of Georges married life is one of
them. It was a real scandal. I can feel it. It has vitality. Often have
I wondered whether the blood wit