Dear
reader, you want to know also what royal Edward did - said - was thought of
- amongst the Belgravians of old Stadacona, during the three summers he
spent in Quebec.
"How he looked when he danced, when he sat at his ease,
When his Highness had sneezed, or was going to sneeze."
Bear in mind then, that we have to deal with a dashing Colonel of
Fusileers - age twenty-five - status, a prince of the blood; add that he was
ardent, generous, impulsive, gallant; a tall, athletic fellow; in fact,
one of George III.'s big, burly boys - dignified in manner - a bit of a
statesman; witness his happy and successful speech [219] at the hustings
of the Charlesbourg election, and the biting rebuke it contained in
anticipation - for Sir Edmund Head's unlucky post-prandial joke about the
superior race. Would you prefer to know him after he had left our
shores and become Field Marshal the Duke of Kent? Take up his biography by
the Rev. Erskine Neale, and read therein that royal Edward was a truthful,
Christian gentleman - a chivalrous soldier, though a stern disciplinarian -
an excellent husband - a persecuted and injured brother - a neglected son -
the munificent patron of literary, educational and charitable
institutions - a patriotic Prince - in short, a model of a man and a paragon
of every virtue. But was he all that? we hear you say. No doubt of it.
Have you not a clergyman's word for it - his biographer's?
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