and melancholy she was. There were even tears in her eyes, and she complained that when one of the princesses was to be married they told her nothing about it or when it was to be. She was eager that her favourite, Colonel Graeme, should be made vice-admiral of Scotland. But the Duke of Grafton bluntly refused, which deeply offended her.

The royal birthdays were always kept with solemnities which must have been fatiguing and oppressive. The queen had to endure a congratulatory oration from the Archbishop of Canterbury, and then hold a long Drawing Room. This was followed by the inevitable " Birthday Ode," performed by the full strength of a royal band and chorus. It was not surprising that the queen broke down under the strain, and had to terminate the ceremonies without receiving all her guests.

Birthday odes are now happily things of the past, and must have been an intolerable burden for the inspired writer as well as for the persons who were thus complimented. The laureate was annually called upon to supply his regular article; he found the verse, and Dr. Boys the music, while the royal victims had to sit patiently and listen for an hour or so to the strophes, antistrophes, recitatives, &c. Thus Mr. William Whitehead, the laureate :—

"The genuine offspring of the Brunswick name
Proved his high birth's hereditary name,
And the applauding nation hailed with joy
Their future hero in the 'intrepid boy.'

"The genuine offspring "is decidedly good; so is the proving the high birth of an hereditary name; also the hailing for joy, and the "intrepid boy."

In the earlier days of the reign, these birthday celebrations were carried out on a very magnificent scale, and at great cost. In 1763, for instance, a superb temple and bridge were erected in the gardens of Buckingham House, with some 4000 coloured lamps; also paintings, transparencies, depicting the glories of the country. A grand orchestra, as it was then thought, of fifty of "the most eminent performers," played in front of the temple. This was a surprise for his Majesty, who knew nothing of what was intended-the preparations being all com pleted within a couple of days. On the night in question, the queen suddenly threw open the shutters of the windows and revealed the dazzling show to her astonished husband. In addition to the laureate's effort, her Majesty, always fond of composition, indited songs. At the queen's illumination at Kew was a large transparent picture, under which were the following lines, written by her Majesty :

:

"Our prayers are heard and Providence restores
A patriot King to bless Britannia's shores;

But not to Britain is the bliss confin'd,

All Europe hails the friend of human kind.

If such the general joy, what words can show

The change to transport, from the depths of woe,
In those permitted to embrace again

The best of fathers, husbands, and of men!"

Personal addresses and epilogues have long since

vanished.

But Miss Brunton might have been proud to come forward at the end of "The Dramatist" and deliver these "apposite lines," their Majesties listening :-

“Ah, Floriville, if you would have pure unsullied love, never travel out of this country-depend on't,

"No foreign climes such high examples prove

Of wedded pleasure-of connubial love,
Long in this isle domestic joys have grown
Nursed in the cottage-cherished on the throne!

When the attempt on the king's life was made at Drury Lane, it has been often told how the adroit Sheridan fashioned an impromptu verse for "God Save the King," though Mr. Burgess has been also credited. with this feat. When Princess Amelia recovered from a serious attack, the event was celebrated by a fête at Frogmore, the decorations of which were designed by Princess Elizabeth, the artist of the royal family. It is evidence of the pleasant, unsophisticated relations of the king with his subjects, that after the banquet those freeand-easy performers, but privileged favourites, Elliston, Quick, and Mrs. Mattocks, were introduced, who delivered some apropos lines written by Lady Sudley.

The good and sensible queen was careful to patronize English wares, and in 1769, as we have seen, she announced that she would always wear an English nightgown, and required Lady C. Finch to do the same. "The king likes it." Formerly no lady could appear before her in a white apron, but this was now tolerated. At one Drawing

Room an incident occurred which caused much talk. Lady Egmont brought a lady to be presented, who wore a bride's dress, and as Lady Northampton, her daughter, had lately been married, every one thought that this was the new Lady Northampton. The lady-in-waiting brought her forward as such, and the queen with smiling cordiality welcomed her with the customary salute. It turned out that it was only a Mrs. Hulst.

Nowadays when we see the palaces and their approaches strongly guarded by police and soldiers, whom it is impossible to pass without the consigne, it seems strange to look back to the almost patriarchal familiarity which obtained between the royal family and their subjects. The police protection of the royal dwellings was of the most indifferent kind, with the result that we hear of constant intrusions and invasions by mad persons and others. Early in the reign a woman actually found her way unnoticed to the queen's room, and, entering unconcernedly, took a quiet survey of her Majesty and the Duchess of Ancaster, who was sitting with her. The two ladies were much taken aback by the visit, but the duchess having rung the bell, one of her pages came and showed the intruder downstairs. Nothing, however, seemed to make the officials exert due vigilance. In 1788 Princess Elizabeth was seated in her room, when she was alarmed by the sudden appearance of a man. She fled in terror by another door and gave the alarm to the attendants. One of the pages came and seized him, but he refused to give any account

of himself or how he got admission. The porter said he could not have passed him. As usual, he was allowed to depart, but returned presently, insisting on seeing the princess, "that he might declare his passion and at her feet press for an equal return.' He proved to be one Spang, a hairdresser, and of course mad. He had climbed the garden wall of the palace. Another of these odd suitors was Stone, who also declared his passion, presenting the queen with letters declaring " that they would make a very happy couple." No notice being taken, he appeared at St. James's, announcing that he considered his proposals as accepted, "for silence always gave consent." He, too, was found to be insane.

On another occasion in 1778, as the king was getting out of his chair near the back stairs of St. James's Palace, a woman rushed forward and attempted to lay hold of him. He with difficulty escaped from her, and then, in his usual quiet fashion, asked her who she was and what she wanted. She said flippantly that "she was Queen Beck." It came out, however, that she was a poor lunatic.

On another occasion a woman with a basket passed the porter at the gate, and contrived to leave the basket in one of the offices. It was found to contain a child two months old. The good-natured king had it brought to him, consigned it to a nurse, and directed it to be called by his own name. When the Perreaus, in 1776, for committing a forgery, were ordered for execution, the unhappy Mrs. Perreau with three of her children, all in