159.] Poor Wilhelmina, beaten upon by Papa in this manner, takes to bed in miserable feverish pain, is ordered out by Mamma to evening party, all the same; is evidently falling very ill.

"Ill?
I will cure you!" says Papa next day, and makes her swallow a great draught of wine.

Which completes the thing: "declared small-pox," say all the Doctors now.

So that Wilhelmina is absent thenceforth, as Fassmann already told us, from the magnanimous paternal sick-room; and lies balefully eclipsed, till the paternal gout and some other things have run their course.
"Small-pox; what will Prince Fred think?
A perfect fright, if she do live!" say the English Court-gossips in the interim.

But we are now arrived at a very singular Prussian-English phenomenon; and ought to take a new Chapter..