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en vérité on étouffe. Pray, open a little these windows.

LORD LIFFORD. Has-a your Majesty hear-a de news?

QUEEN. What news, my dear lord? LORD L. Dat my Lord Hervey, as he was coming last night to tone, was rob and murdered by highwaymen, and tron in a ditch.

P. CAROLINE. Eh, grand Dieu ! QUEEN (striking her hand upon her knee). Comment, est il veritablement mort? Purcel, my angel, shall I not have a little breakfast?

MRS PURCEL. What would your Majesty please to have?

QUEEN. A little chocolate, my soul, if you give me leave; and a little sour cream and some fruit.

(Exit MRS PURCEL.) QUEEN (to Lord Lifford). Eh bien! my Lord Lifford, dites nous un peu comment cela est arrivée. I cannot imagine what he had to do to be putting his nose there.

LORD L. Madame, on sçait quelque chose de cela de Mon. Maran qui d'abord qu'il a vu de voleurs s'est enfui et venu à grand galoppe à Londres, and after dat a waggoner take up de body and put it in his cart.

QUEEN (to Princess Emily). Are you not ashamed, Amalie, to laugh?

P. EMILY. I only laughed at the cart,

mamma.

QUEEN. Ah, that is a very fade plaisanterie.

P. EMILY. But if I may say it, mamma, I am not very sorry.

QUEEN. Fi done! Eh bien, my Lord Lifford My God, where is this chocolate, Purcel?

(Re-enter MRS PURCEL, with the chocolate and fruit.) QUEEN (to Mrs Purcel). Well, I am sure Purcel now is very sorry for my Lord Hervey have you heard it?

:

MRS P. Yes, madam; and I am always sorry when your Majesty loses anything that entertains you.

QUEEN. Look you there, now, Amalie; I swear now Purcel is a thousand times better as you.

P. EMILY. I did not say I was not sorry for mamma; but I am not sorry for him.

QUEEN. And why not?

P. EMILY. What, for that creature? P. CAROLINE. I cannot imagine why one should not be sorry for him: I think it very dure not to be sorry for him. I

own he used to laugh malapropos sometimes, but he was mightily mended; and for people that were civil to him, he was always ready to do anything to oblige then; and for my part I am sorry, I

assure.

P. EMILY. Mamma, Caroline is duchtich: for my part, I cannot paroître.

QUEEN. Ah, ah! You can paroître and be duchtich very well sometin.es: but this is no paroître; and I think you are very great brutes. I swear now he was very good, poor my Lord Hervey; and with people's lives that is no jest. My dear Purcel, this is the nastiest fruit I have ever tasted; is there none of the Duke of Newcastle's? or that old fool Johnstone's? Il était bien joli quelquefois, my Lord Hervey, was he not, Lifford?

LORD L. (taking snuff). Ees, ended he vas ver pretty company sometimes. P. EMILY (shrugs her shoulders and laughs again).

QUEEN (to Princess Emily). If you did not think him company, I am sorry for your taste. (To Princess Caroline)

My God, Caroline, you will twist off the thumbs of your glove! Mais, my Lord Lifford, qui vous a conté tout ça des voleurs, du ditch, et des waggoners?

LORD L. I have hear it at St James's, et tout le monde en parle.

QUEEN (to Mrs Purcel). Have you sent, Purcel, to Vickers about my clothes?

MRS P. He is here, if your Majesty pleases to see the stuffs.

QUEEN. No, my angel, I must write now. Adieu, adieu, my Lord Lifford !

ACT II.

Scene. The Queen's dressing-room. The Queen is discovered at her toilet cleaning her teeth; Mrs Purcel dressing her Majesty's head. The Princesses, Lady Burlington and Lady Pembroke, Ladies of the Bedchamber, and Lady Sundon, Woman of the Bedchamber, standing round. Morning prayers saying in the next room.

1ST PARSON (behind the scenes). From pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy, from envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness

2D PARSON. Good Lord, deliver us!*

QUEEN. I pray, my good Lady Sundon, shut a little that door; those creatures pray so loud one cannot hear one's self speak. (Lady Sundon goes to shut the door.) So, so, not quite so much; leave it enough open for those parsons

*It was the pious custom of the period to read prayers in the anteroom, while the Queen dressed: thus saving at once time and appearances.

to think we may hear, and enough shut that we may not hear quite so much. (To Lady Burlington) What do you say, Lady Burlington, to poor Lord Hervey's death? I am sure you are very sorry.

LADY P. (sighing and lifting up her eyes). I swear it is a terrible thing.

LADY B. I am just as sorry as I believe he would have been for me. QUEEN. How sorry is that, my good Lady Burlington?

LADY B. Not so sorry as not to admit of consolation.

QUEEN. I am sure you have not forgiven him his jokes upon Chiswick. Enter LORD GRANTHAM.

QUEEN. But what news do you bring us, my Lord Grantham? LORD G. Your Majesty has hear de news of poor my Lord Hervey ?

QUEEN. Ah, mon cher my Lord, c'est une viellerie: il y a cent ans qu'on le sçait.

LORD G. I have just been talking of him to Sir Robert. Sir Robert is prodigiously concerned; he has seen Monsieur-how you call?-Marant.

QUEEN. Maran vous voudrez dire. I pray, my good child, take away all these things, and let Sir Robert come in.

(LORD GRANTHAM brings in SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, and all but SIR ROBERT and the QUEEN go out.) QUEEN. Come, come, my good Sir Robert, sit down. Well, how go matters ?

SIR R. Everything very well, madam, pure and well. I have just had intelligence out of the city—all is very quiet

there.

QUEEN. But we must hang some of these villains.

SIR R. We will if we can, madam. But what news from Hanover,

madam ?

QUEEN. There is a letter of five-andforty pages from the King; I have not time now, but there are some things in it that I must talk to you about.

SIR R. I have had a long letter, too, from Horace.

QUEEN. Oh! mon Dieu! not about his silly ladder-story again. My good Sir Robert, I am so tired and so sick of

all that nonsense that I cannot bear to talk or think of it any more. Apropos poor my Lord Hervey, I swear I could cry!

Sir R. Your Majesty knows I had a great partiality for him; and really,

madam, whatever faults he might have, there was a great deal of good stuff in him. I shall want him, and your Majesty will miss him.

QUEEN. Oh so I shall. Adieu, my good Sir Robert, I believe it is late. Í must go a moment into the drawingroom; do you know who is there?

SIR R. I saw the Duke of Argyle, madam.

QUEEN. Oh mon Dieu! I am so weary of that Felt-Marshal and his tottering head and his silly stories about the bishops, that I could cry whenever I am obliged to entertain him. And who is there more?

SIR R. There is my Lord President, madam.

QUEEN. Oh, that's very well. I shall talk to him about his fruit, and some silly council at the Cock-pit, and the Plantations; my Lord President loves the Plantations. But who is there beside? Adieu, adieu, my good Sir Robert; I must go, though you are to-day excellent conversation.

ACT III.

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Scene changes to great drawing-room. All the courtiers ranged in a circle. Enter the QUEEN, led by Lord GranTHAM, followed by the Princesses and all her train. QUEEN curtsies very slightly: Drawing-room bows and curtsies very low.

QUEEN(to the Duke of Argyle). Where have been, my lord? One has not had the pleasure to see you a great while, and one always misses you.

DUKE OF A. I have been in Oxfordshire, madam, and so long that I was asking my father, Lord Selkirk, how to behave. I know nobody that knows the ways of a Court so well, or that has known them so long.

LORD SELKIRK. By God! my lord, I know nobody knows them better than the Duke of Argyle.

DUKE OF A. All I know, father, is as your pupil; but I told you I was grown a country gentleman.

LORD S. You often tell me things I do not believe.

QUEEN (laughing). Ha! ha! ha! you are always so good together, and my Lord Selkirk is always so lively. (Turning to Lord President) I think, my lord, you are a little of a country gentleman, too-you love Chiswick mightily; you have very good fruit there, and are very curious in it; you have very good plums.

LORD PRESIDENT. I like a plum, madam, mightily; it is a very pretty fruit.

QUEEN. The greengage, I think, is very good.

LORD PRES. There are three of that

sort, madam; there is the true green gage, and there is the Drap d'Or, that has yellow spots; and there is the Reine Claude, that has red spots.

QUEEN. Ah, ah! One sees you are very curious, and that you understand these things perfectly well; upon my word, I did not know you was so deep in these things. You know the plums as Solomon did the plants, from the cedar to the hyssop.

QUEEN (to 1st Court Lady). I believe you found it very dusty?

1ST COURT LADY. Very dusty, madam. QUEEN (to 2d Court Lady). Do you go soon into the country, madam?

2D COURT LADY. Very soon, madam. QUEEN (to 3d Court Lady). The town is very empty, I believe, madam?

3D COURT LADY. Very empty, madam.

QUEEN (to 4th Court Lady). I hope all your family is very well, madam?

4TH COURT LADY. Very well, madam. QUEEN (to 5th Court Lady). We have had the finest summer for walking in the world.

5TH COURT LADY. Very fine, madam.

Enter LORD GRANTHAM, in a

hurry.)

LORD GRANTHAM. Ah, dere is my Lord Hervey in your Majesty gallery; he is in de frock and de bob, or he should have come in.

QUEEN. Mon Dieu! my Lord Grantham, you are mad!

LORD G. He is dere, all so live as he was; and has play de trick to see as we should all say.

QUEEN. Then he is mad. Allons voir qu'est ce que c'est que tout ceci.

(Exeunt omnes.)

We are sorry that want of space compels us to cut out from this clever jeu d'esprit the conversation with Sir Robert Walpole, in which Caroline gives her opinion of the difficulties of English law and the disadvantages of English liberty. Enlightened as she was, an occasional gleam of understanding of the real blessings of the English Constitution, or at least of its comparative advantages as a thing unique in the world, now and then crossed her understanding; but it is scarcely to be supposed that a

woman brought up in a despotic little German Court, and brought up to reign, should have so entirely cast away prejudice and prepossession as to receive it, with its unquestionable imperfections, as the ideal government.

"I have heard her," says Lord Hervey, "at different times speak with great indignation against the asserters of the people's rights; have heard her call the King, not without some despite, the humble servant of Parliament-the pensioner of his people-a puppet of sovereignty that was forced to go to them for every shilling he wanted, that was obliged to court them that were always abusing him, and could do nothing of himself. At other times she was more on her guard; I have heard her say, she wondered how the English could imagine that any sensible prince would take away their liberty if he could. 'Mon Dieu!' she cried, what a figure would this poor island make in Europe if it were not for its government. It is its excellent free government that makes all its inhabitants industrious, as they know that what they get nobody can take from them-it is its free government, too, that makes foreigners send their money thither, because they know it is secure, and that the prince cannot touch it and since it is its freedom to which this kingdom owes everything that makes it great, what prince who had his senses, and knew that his own greatness depended on the greatness of the country over which he reigned, would wish to take away what made both him and them considerable? I had as lief,' she added, be Elector of Hanover as King of England if the government was the same. Quel diable, that had anything else would take you all, or think you worth having, if you had not your liberties? Your island might be a very pretty thing in that case for Bridgeman and Kent to cut out into gardens; but for the figure it would make in Europe it would be of no more consequence here in the West than Madagascar in the East; and for this reason, as impudent and as insolent as you all are with your troublesome liberty, your princes, if they are sensible, will rather bear with your impertinencies than cure them—a way that would lessen their influence in

Europe full as much as it would increase their power at home.'

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Her education and early ways of thinking made it also very difficult

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for the Queen to sympathise in the insular policy which, in Sir Robert Walpole's hands, had already come into being. She was not convinced that it was for the interest of England to stand apart and take no share in the wars of the Continent -an opinion in which perhaps by this time many of us are again beginning to join. In respect to this a curious little circumstance is related to us, which proves oddly enough at once the Queen's faithfulness to her political adviser, even when she did not agree with him, and the powerful nature of her agency. What is very surprising, yet what I know to be true," says Lord Hervey, referring to this question of non-intervention in the quarrels of the Continental nations-" the arguments of Sir Robert Walpole, conveyed through the Queen to the King, so wrought upon him that they quite changed the colour of his Majesty's sentiments, though they did not tinge the channel through which they flowed"—a singular instance surely of candid dealing, and that rarest of all forms of truthfulness, the perfectly honest transmission by one mind of the arguments of another. Partly in spite of his royal clients, partly with their consent, Sir Robert kept the peace, and achieved the position of peacemaker and final umpire for England, which had been the height of his hopes. His arbitration, it is true, was not for the moment successful, but that was a secondary matter. England and Holland were the maritime powers which literally, as well as figuratively, lay on their oars, and waited for the moment to propose terms of peace, which should bring France and Spain and the Holy Empire, and poor Italy, always dismembered and bleeding, once more to amicable terms. Curious junction! strange change! though indeed there may be doubts whether England, shut up in her insularity, is not almost as little likely now to hold the

balance straight in a distracted world, or to act as umpire in an imperial quarrel, as Holland itself. We have left untouched one of the very worst points in Caroline's life, her supposed hatred of, and certain estrangement from, her eldest son. She had seven children; and to all the others it is evident that she was a tender and judicious mother. But she was not the kind of woman with whom love is blind. There is not one trace of wilful unkindness to Prince Frederick throughout the close narrative of her life which we have been following. Though he conducted himself on every occasion with the most insolent disregard of his parents' wishes, and though it is evident that Caroline's heart was alienated from him, and that the weak and treacherous young profligate had forfeited every claim upon her affection, it is also clear that she treated him throughout with a great deal of the same almost unearthly tolerance which she showed to his father. Affairs came to an actual breach between them only after two acts of his which left no alternative possible between peace and war, his application to Parliament for an increase of the income which came to him through his father's hands, and the unpardonable insult offered to both his parents on the occasion of the birth of his first child.

were

This inconceivable piece of folly, with all its revolting details, was enough to alienate and disgust the most patient of mothers. The Royal family and their attendants were at Hampton Court enjoying such country pleasures as possible to them, "hunting twice a-week,," no doubt, as usual, and spending their evenings over ombre, commerce, and quadrille, as was their custom. On one of these quiet, not to say dull, evenings, while the Royal party sat tranquil over their cards, the poor little Princess of Wales-a young submissive creature, with no will of her own-was dragged out of the palace by her

husband and carried off to London, while actually suffering from the acutest of human pangs. Her child was born about an hour after her arrival. When an express came from St James's in the middle of the night to intimate this unlooked-for birth, Caroline, confounded, called for her "night-gown" and her coach, and set off at half-past two in the morning to see into the incomprehensible affair. But neither at that exciting moment nor at any previous period does she seem to have either done or said anything unmotherly or unkind. On her second visit, her son and her son's wife, and all the parasites surrounding them, gave her to perceive that she was unwelcome; and after that, for the first time it is recorded that the Queen, following the example of her husband, who for years had never exchanged a word with his undutiful son, ceased to speak to him when they met on public occasions, or even when they dined together in public. There is nothing revolting, nothing unnatural in her behaviour. She was the medium of communication, such communication as there could be, between the King and the Prince, even after this supreme affront. But it is utterly impossible to conceive that even the affection of a mother could sustain such a stroke unmoved. Mothers can bear much but it is the foolish youth, the prodigal, the young creature led astray, the child who still may return, and between whom and herself no chasm of natural separation has been made, for whom and from whom a woman endures everything. When the son is a mature man, with separate connections, separate interests, a standing in the world utterly distinct from hers, it is not in nature that the mother should continue as blind to his faults and as infatuated in his favour as in the days of his youth. Caroline's son had placed himself at the head of a faction against her; he had repudiated her influence, and set her

authority, her affection, herself, at nought; he was her political enemy, building his own hopes of success on the overthrow of hers. Under such changed relations, the maternal tie cannot but undergo some corresponding change.

During these later years of her life, the Queen and her favourite and affectionate child, Caroline, talk together with tears and indignation of the unmannerly and unmanly lout. There is nobody who approves of him, even among his own friends. The Princess Royal Anne marries, with a kind of fierce determination, the unlovely Prince of Orange, in order that she may not be left in her brother's power. The family is of one mind on the subject. And when, on his return from Germany, King George is supposed to have been shipwrecked and lost at sea, the anxiety of the Queen as to her son's treatment of her shows how entirely all faith in him either as son or man has left her. But yet Caroline makes no reprisals, nor even reproaches. She treats with a certain contemptuous kindness his poor little obedient wife, believing her entirely under his sway. She bids God bless the "little rat of a girl" who was painfully brought into a disagreeable world after the flight above recorded. There is nothing in her conduct to the rebel household which the spectator even at this long distance can find fault with. She is not an all-believing, all-hoping, all-enduring mother. Such a rôle was impossible to her. But even in the midst of her revolted affection, her indignation and displeasure, and inevitable contempt, she is always considerate and tolerant- never harsh or

cruel.

In the year 1737 the quarrel came to a public climax when the dispute between the Prince of Wales and the King in the question of his income, was brought before Parliament. There seems little doubt

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