Note 39: Frederick Augustus, Duke of York and Albany, second son of George III., who at the age of six months was elected to the valuable bishopric of Osnaburg.--Ed. Note 40: Another of the "diurnal prints," dated February 12, 1780, is not so complimentary in its remarks, which run as follows: "A circumstance of rather an embarrassing nature happened at last night's Oratorio. Mrs. R----, decked out in all her finery, took care to post herself in one of the upper boxes immediately opposite the prince's, and by those airs peculiar to herself, contrived at last so to _basilisk_ a certain heir-apparent, that his fixed attention to the beautiful object became generally noticed, and soon after astonished their Majesties, who, not being able to discover the cause, seemed at a loss to account for the extraordinary effect. No sooner, however, were they properly informed than a messenger was instantly sent aloft desiring the dart-dealing actress to withdraw, which she complied with, though not without expressing the utmost chagrin at her mortifying removal."--Ed. Note 41: At this time the Prince of Wales and his brother Frederick Augustus, Duke of York, were living in seclusion at Boner Lodge, Kew, where their education was being conducted by Doctor Hurd, Bishop of Lichfield, Mr. Arnold, and Lord Bruce. A strict discipline was exercised over the princes at this period. It was not until January 1, 1781, that the Prince of Wales was provided with a separate establishment, a part of Buckingham House being allotted to him for that purpose.--Ed. Note 42: Now Margravine of Anspach. Note 43: The most affecting tribute which the memory of a gallant father could receive was the following pathetic and heartfelt effusion of genuine and grateful duty: TO THE MEMORY OF MY LAMENTED FATHER, WHO DIED IN THE SERVICE OF THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA, DECEMBER 5, 1786. Oh, sire, rever'd! ador'd! Was it the ruthless tongue of DEATH That whisp'ring to my pensive ear, Pronounc'd the fatal word That bath'd my cheek with many a tear, And stopp'd awhile my gasping breath? "He lives no more! Far on a foreign shore, His honour'd dust a laurell'd grave receives, While his immortal soul in realms celestial lives!" Oh! my lov'd sire, farewell! Though we are doom'd on earth to meet no more, Still memory lives, and still I must adore! And long this throbbing heart shall mourn, Though thou to these sad eyes wilt ne'er return! Yet shall remembrance dwell On all thy sorrows through life's stormy sea, When fate's resistless whirlwinds shed Unnumber'd tempests round thy head, The varying ills of human destiny!