A LITTLE DUKE.

BY ELIZABETH ABERCROMBIE.

In the beautiful old Abbey of Westminster, London, among the tombs of illustrious men and women is a tablet inscribed to "William, Duke of Gloucester, the last surviving son of Queen Anne, together with seventeen of her other infant children."

This little boy was born in 1689, and great were the rejoicings thereat. His sponsors were King William and Queen Mary themselves; for having no children of their own, this royal couple looked upon this baby nephew as the future heir of all their greatness.

It is no slight thing, however, to be born a royal Prince, and this poor child, owing to ill health, had but a sorry time of it from the first. When he was five years old he was still supporting himself as he went up and down stairs by holding on to people's hands. This his father, burly Prince George of Denmark, declared was a shame and disgrace for any heir of England. Accordingly his mother, who had a tender heart, with a sigh, took her boy apart and tried to reason him out of what was thought to be only a stupid habit; but as this did no good, she put a birch rod into her husband's hand, and he whipped his son till the little fellow from sheer pain was forced into running alone. After that he never asked any help when walking, but it seemed, if possible, as though he was oftener ill than ever.

So little was understood about disease in those early days that sometimes odd reasons were assigned for these attacks of the Prince. It had long been the custom of the English court to wear leeks on St. David's Day, out of compliment to the Welsh. One of silk and silver had been given Gloucester for his hat one year, but not satisfied, he insisted on seeing the real thing.

Now his tutor's name was Lewis Jenkins, and as he was a Welshman, Lewis was only too happy at the thought of showing off the famous plant of his country to his royal charge. A bunch of the harmless leeks was at once procured, with which Gloucester amused himself for some time, tying them round the masts of a certain toy ship by which he and his boys were taught something of the great British fleet. But suddenly he threw himself down, and went to sleep.

When he awoke he was terribly ill, and it was many days before he could leave his bed. There was a great outcry in the palace, and you may think how poor Lewis Jenkins quaked in his shoes, for they said this illness was all the fault of the leeks!

Even while Gloucester was in bed, his father's system of education was being carried on, and the plays devised by his attendants were intended to be instructive as well as amusing.

Ever since he could walk the Duke had been the leader of a little company of boy soldiers. These were posted as sentinels at his door, tattoos were beat on the drum, while toy fortifications were built by his bed, and once there had nearly taken place a bona-fide fight over the little prostrate body, not laid down; I fancy, in Prince George's rule.

Mrs. Buss, the nurse, was the cause of the quarrel. Wishing to amuse the invalid, she sent by an unlucky Mr. Wetherby an automaton representing Prince Louis of Baden fighting the Turks. "As the young Duke had given up toys since the preceding summer, his masculine attendants started the idea that the present was a great affront, and it was forthwith sentenced to be torn in pieces—an execution which was instantly performed by the Duke's small soldiers." Still not satisfied, however, they next declared that Mr. Wetherby himself ought to be punished for daring to bring such a thing as a doll to the heir of England.

Wetherby, getting an inkling of how matters stood, ran away, but only to be discovered, captured, and brought into the Duke's presence, who gravely pronounced his sentence. The unhappy man was then bound hand and foot, mounted on a wooden horse, and soused all over with water from enormous syringes and squirts. When nearly half drowned, he was again drawn on his horse into the royal bedroom, and I am sorry to find it on record that the young tyrant enjoyed the sight of the man's sorrowful condition immensely.

Still this little boy often showed great kindness of heart. Like most mothers the Princess Anne was anxious that her son should use no vulgar expressions in conversation. She was much shocked one day to hear him say he was "confounded dry."

"Who taught you those words?" she asked.

"If I say Dick Drury, he will be sent down-stairs," the child whispered to one of the court ladies standing by, then added aloud, "I invented them myself, mamma."

And so Dick Drury was saved from punishment for once in his life, if no more.

"Papa, I wish you and mamma unity, peace, and concord, not for a time, but forever," was Gloucester's grave address to his father and mother when celebrating one of the anniversaries of their wedding day.

"You made a fine compliment to their Royal Highnesses to-day, sir," said Lewis Jenkins, afterward.

"Lewis," earnestly returned the boy, "it was no compliment—it was sincere."

After the death of Queen Mary, King William on one occasion paid a state visit to his little namesake, and was much gratified at being received by the child under arms, with all the military honors which a great field-marshal would pay to his sovereign.

"Have you any horses yet?" asked the King, by way of opening conversation.

"Yes," was the answer, "I have one live one and two dead ones."

"But soldiers always bury their dead horses out of their sight," said his Majesty, laughing. That laugh could not be forgotten. The moment his visitor had gone, the boy insisted on burying his two dead horses (which, of course, were animals of wood) deep down in the ground. This was done amidst much pomp and ceremony, after which Gloucester wrote an epitaph upon his two poor lamented wooden beasts.

Young as he was, this little Duke seems to have known the value of loyalty and truth. Once when a plot was discovered against the King, and it was hard to tell who might not be a traitor at heart, Gloucester sent an address to his uncle which he made every member of his boy regiment and of his household also sign.

"We your Majesty's subjects will stand by you while we have a drop of blood," ran this loyal address, upon reading which I doubt not King William ever after felt perfectly secure and at ease.

A great many stories are told of the battles, sieges, and adventures of the Duke and his boys, and the palace must have rung with their shouts. Still there was plenty of hard work as well as play.

When Gloucester was seven years old, his tutor, whom he loved, Lewis Jenkins, to the great grief of both, was dismissed, and he was placed under the charge of a bishop. Four times a year, too, a strict examination was held by four learned lords of the realm to make sure Bishop Burnet was making his pupil as wise as they thought the future King of England ought to be. Poor child! his answers on jurisprudence, the Gothic laws, and the feudal system were marvels, we are assured, but for all his study, I am afraid he knew really very little about those abstruse subjects, while it is saddening to read how all his happy sprightliness faded away under this severe course.

While visiting one of the great college libraries in Oxford, I was much pleased to discover the quaint and most deliriously funny little composition given below. It had grown yellow with age, lying for so many years stored away in its glass case, together with many other interesting hits of penmanship.

The writing, I am bound to confess, was beautifully clear and good. The composition was given both in Latin and English, while the corrections by Bishop Burnet could plainly be seen in the margin:

"Composition of William, Duke of Gloucester.

"A Tyrant is a savage hideous beast. Imagine that you saw a certain monster armed on all sides with 500 horns on all sides dreadfull fatned with humane intrails drunken with humane blood this is the fatal mischiefe whom they call a Tyrant.

"William. "June 13, 1700."

The pen of this little scholar was soon after laid aside forever. After a short illness of five days, he died, July 30, 1700.