At Baireuth our old Father Margraf has his crotchets, his infirmities and outbreaks; takes more and more to liquor; and does always keep us frightfully bare in money.

No help from Papa here, either, on the finance side; no real hope anywhere (thinks Seckendorf, when we consult him), except only in the Margraf's death: "old Margraf will soon drink himself dead," thinks Seckendorf; "and in the mean while there is Vienna, and a noble Kaiserinn who knows her friends in case of extremity!" thinks he.

[Wilhelmina, ii.

81-111.] Poor Princess, in her weak shattered state, she has a heavy time of it; but there is a tough spirit in her; bright, sharp, like a swift sabre, not to be quenched in any coil; but always cutting its way, and emerging unsubdued.
One of the blessings reserved for her here, which most of all concerns us, was the occasional sight of her Brother.

Brother in a day or two ["18th November," she says; which date is wrong, if it were of moment (see _OEuvres de Frederic,_ xxvii.