Brother, Bishop as they call him, once a little Boy that trotted
at my knee with blithe face, will have some human pity on me!
So they rushed along all day, as at the gallop, his few attendants
and he; and when the shades of night fell, and speech had now left
the poor man, he still passionately gasped some gurgle of a sound
like "Osnabruck;" --hanging in the arms of Fabrice, and now
evidently in the article of death. What a gallop, sweeping through
the slumber of the world: To Osnabruck, Osnabruck!

In the hollow of the night (some say, one in the morning), they
reach Osnabruck. And the poor old Brother,--Ernst August, once
youngest of six brothers, of seven children, now the one survivor,
has human pity in the heart of him full surely. But George is
dead; careless of it now. [Coxe (i. 266) is "indebted to his
friend Nathaniel Wraxall" for these details,--the since famous Sir
Nathaniel, in whose Memoirs (vague, but NOT
mendacious, not unintelligent) they are now published more at
large. See his Memoirs of the Courts of Berlin, Dresden,
&c. (London. 1799), i. 35-40; also
Historical Memoirs (London, 1836), iv. 516-518.]
After sixty-seven years of it, he has flung his big burdens,--
English crowns, Hanoverian crownlets, sulkinesses, indignations,
lean women and fat, and earthly contradictions and confusions,--
fairly off him; and lies there.

The man had his big burdens, big honors so called, absurd enough
some of them, in this world; but he bore them with a certain
gravity and discretion: a man of more probity, insight and general
human faculty than he now gets credit for. His word was sacred to
him. He had the courage of a Welf, or Lion-Man; quietly royal in