FBIEDRICH WILHELM IS KING.

With the death of old King Friedrich, there occurred at once vast
changes in the Court of Berlin; a total and universal change in
the mode of living and doing business there. Friedrich Wilhelm,
out of filial piety, wore at his father's funeral the grand French
peruke and other sublimities of French costume; but it was for the
last time: that sad duty once done, he flung the whole aside, not
without impatience, and on no occasion wore such costume again.
He was not a friend to French fashions, nor had ever been; far the
contrary. In his boyhood, say the Biographers, there was once a
grand embroidered cloth-of-gold, or otherwise supremely
magnificent, little Dressing-gown given him; but he would at no
rate put it on, or be concerned with it; on the contrary, stuffed
it indignantly "into the fire;" and demanded wholesome useful
duffel instead.

He began his reform literally at the earliest moment.
Being summoned into the apartment where his poor Father was in the
last struggle, he could scarcely get across for KAMMERJUNKER,
KAMMERHERRN, Goldsticks, Silversticks, and the other solemn
histrionic functionaries, all crowding there to do their sad
mimicry on the occasion: not a lovely accompaniment in Friedrich
Wilhelm's eyes. His poor Father's death-struggle once done, and
all reduced to everlasting rest there, Friedrich Wilhelm looked in
silence over the Unutterable, for a Short space, disregardful of
the Goldsticks and their eager new homaging; walked swiftly away
from it to his own room, shut the door with a slam; and there,
shaking the tears from his eyes, commenced by a notable duty,--the