catenation a number of harassing events were constantly exciting the unfortunate monarch-the most serious ministerial difficulties, such as the loss of Mr. Pitt; the having persons like Mr. Fox, whose principles he loathed, forced upon him; the pressure of the Catholic claims, which he regarded with a morbid horror. But the most serious affliction of all was his undutiful treatment by his eldest son, who, he knew, was acting as his declared enemy, and even eagerly striving to thrust him from his place.

In February, 1801, the unhappy queen and her family were disturbed by premonitory symptoms of a return of the king's malady. This was, as usual, brought on by agitation, but more particularly by great carelessness as to taking cold or catching chills. While the fit lasted. there were the usual "hurries" and incoherence. One gratifying circumstance was the complete reform in the behaviour of the Duke of York, who devoted himself to his mother and sisters, and separated himself from his elder brother. He was almost worn out by his attendance and watching. The Prince's behaviour was, unfortunately, of the usual kind. Fortunately the malady was of short duration, lasting not longer than three weeks. Not a month later he had a relapse-the attack taking the shape of extreme nervousness.

The Prince of Wales attended, but it was said behaved very rudely to the queen. From this attack, however,

the king once more rallied.

By the year 1804 the queen, whose own nerves had

in at dessert.

been shaken by the dread of the malady, had begun to regard, almost with terror, the wild and sometimes frantic displays to which her unhappy partner gave way, and dreaded now to trust herself in his company, even in his saner moments. His morose sensitiveness was roused by this conduct. She persisted in living entirely separateshe fancied, and perhaps had reason to do so, that it was dangerous to be with him, as some sudden paroxysm might seize on him. She would never receive him without one of the princesses; and would, we are told, "never say in reply a word." Her boudoir door was kept strictly locked against him. He dined by himself at two; she and her daughters an hour or so later. He was allowed to come The queen, we are told by Lord Malmesbury, piqued herself on this" judicious silence,” which might seem to be scarcely judicious, and was only too likely to fortify the evil. But she was a sensible lady, and, there can be little doubt, had good reasons for her course--one of which was certainly the strange talk in which the king would break out, regardless of who might be present. But the result of his ostracism was what might be expected. He deeply resented it, and the once amiable, good-humoured king now began to change into a morose, irritable and suspicious man. He even showed to her a sort of hostility. The princesses naturally ranged themselves on their mother's side. "Within the family," says Lord Auckland, "are strange schisms and cabals, and divisions among his sons and daughters." What inflamed him most was the queen,

on one occasion taking the side of her eldest sonprudently wishing to conciliate him.

These attempts of the king to assert himself and show that he had a will of his own often had the result of throwing the whole household into confusion. He would capriciously turn off retainers and servants—from the Chamberlain to the grooms and footmen. The queen's favourite coachman was dismissed, as well as his own faithful page, Braun, who had nursed him through his illness. This added to the worries of the queen, who, it was noticed, became "cross" and ill. At the drawing-rooms and other public functions it was remarked how pale she looked; and the princesses had all the tokens of weeping and misery. Lord Auckland had heard that the king "never mentions her with disrespect, but he marks unequivocally that he is dissatisfied, and has come to a decided system of checking her knowledge of what is going forward and her interference between him and her son."

The queen's temper in these disastrous circumstances, as we have seen, was noticed to be "fractious" and restless in the extreme. "The prince," we are told, "was highly discontented; the queen and Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth, with the Dukes of Clarence, Kent and Sussex, siding with him; whilst the Dukes of York, Cumberland and Cambridge, and the younger princesses, adhered to the king." "I am told," it was added, "the breach every day grows wider." This explains why the king allowed of all his family only the two younger

princesses to dine with him, which they did alternately.

At the end of October in this year (1804) the king and his family, after spending some time at his favourite Weymouth, went to stay with his friend Mr. Rose at Cuffnells. He rode a great deal, and talked in a very free and interesting way with his host, relating past incidents in his life. During one of these rides an incident occurred which illustrates in a striking way the characters of the royal family. The young Princess Amelia, who was cantering down a hill, was thrown from her horse, falling on her face. She rose at once, wishing to convey that she was not hurt, but, it was evident, was a good deal shaken.

Naturally she shrank from remounting her horse. But the king, in Roman-father fashion, insisted that she should either get into the carriage and be taken home and bled, or else continue her ride. The high-spirited girl at once chose the latter and mounted, though, when she reached Southampton, she had herself privately blooded. The king explained to his host that "he could not bear that any of his family should want courage," to which his friend urged that a certain care and caution on an accident was barely want of courage. "Perhaps it may be so," was the answer of the king, "but I thank Heaven there is but one of my children that wants courage, and I will not name him because he is to succeed me.' There was some truth in his remarkable and pointed statement. The king himself had the

most determined and collected courage: so had the queen and her daughters; they could confront difficulties, trials, and dangers in the most undaunted way; and nearly all his sons, as he truly said, were distinguished in the same way. In fairness to the Prince of Wales, it should be said that he was of a nervous temperament, and his resolution had been enfeebled by excesses. He was also very vacillating and undecided.

Passing over an interval of some years which is without interest for us, we come to the year 1810, than which nothing could be more disastrous for the poor queen. Upon her head horror upon horrors seemed accumulate.

to

By Christmas the king was as bad as ever—often of a night in serious danger. Then set in the old painful incidents-the gathering of the doctors, the sending for Dr. John Willis, and the old battle of conflicting opinions, bulletins, &c., over his unhappy person. A Regency followed as a matter of course, when there was the old contention to make him out better or worse, according to the interests and wishes of the factions. The queen, as before, was to have control of the king, direction of his household, and a council to assist her.

The poor sufferer had always a sort of maniacal horror of Dr. Willis, from the association with his former experience of twenty years before, and he had made the queen solemnly promise him, that if he became again incapacitated, this practitioner, as well as a Doctor Simmons, should never be called in to attend him. The