A soft answer is less effectual than a prompt clear one, to turn away wrath.

"A _Candidatus Theoligiae,_ your Majesty," answered a handfast threadbare youth one day, when questioned in this manner.--"Where from ?" "Berlin, your Majesty."-- "Hm, na, the Berliners are a good-for-nothing set." "Yes, truly, too many of them; but there are exceptions; I know two."-- "Two?
which then ?" "Your Majesty and myself!"-- Majesty burst into a laugh: the Candidatus was got examined by the Consistoriums, and Authorities proper in that matter, and put into a chaplaincy.
This King did not love the French, or their fashions, at all.

We said he dismissed the big Peruke,--put it on for the last time at his Father's funeral, so far did filial piety go; and then packed it aside, dismissing it, nay banishing and proscribing it, never to appear more.
The Peruke, and, as it were, all that the Peruke symbolized.

For this was a King come into the world with quite other aims than that of wearing big perukes, and, regardless of expense, playing burst-frog to the ox of Versailles, which latter is itself perhaps a rather useless animal.

Of Friedrich Wilhelm's taxes upon wigs; of the old "Wig-inspectors," and the feats they did, plucking off men's periwigs on the street, to see if the government-stamp were there, and to discourage wiggery, at least all but the simple scratch or useful Welsh-wig, among mankind: of these, and of other similar things, I could speak; but do not.