This little incident, which occurred once in the review-ground on the outskirts of Berlin, will suffice to mark his temper in that respect.

It was in the spring of 1719; our little Fritz then six years old, who of course heard much temporary confused commentary, direct and oblique, triumphant male laughter, and perhaps rebellious female sighs, on occasion of such a feat.
Count Rothenburg, Prussian by birth, [Buchholz, _Neueste Preuwssisch-Brandenburgische Geschichte,_ i.

28.] an accomplished and able person in the diplomatic and other lines of business, but much used to Paris and its ways, had appeared lately in Berlin, as French envoy,--and, not unnaturally, in high French costume; cocked-hat, peruke, laced coat, and the other trimmings.

He, and a group of dashing followers and adherents, were accustomed to go about in that guise; very capable of proving infectious to mankind.

What is to be done with them?
thinks the anxious Father of his People.