There was great excitement in the palace when the king entered Queen Charlotte's apartments one day, and exclaimed quite joyously, "Well, here I am, safe and well, though I have had a very narrow escape from being stabbed." He then proceeded to tell how a woman had presented him with a paper, just as he was about to enter his carriage at the gate of St. James's Palace, and as he proceeded to open it she struck at him with a knife, which pierced his clothing, but fortunately did him no injury. She was about to repeat the thrust, when a yeoman of the guard caught her arm and wrenched the knife from her grasp. She was proved to be insane in the examination which followed, and sent to an asylum; but Queen Charlotte was so alarmed for the safety of her husband that she could not bear to see him go about unattended, as he often did, and every time he went to London she watched for his return with the utmost anxiety.

A.D. 1787. It was a great comfort to the queen when a reconciliation took place with the Prince of Wales, after a coldness that had prevented his attending several of the drawing-rooms. Miss Burney gives an instance of his playfulness when he was visiting at Windsor to celebrate the return of his brother, the Duke of York, to England, after an absence of seven years. "At near one o'clock in the morning, while the wardrobe-woman was pinning up the queen's hair, there was a sudden rap-tap at the drawing-room door. Extremely surprised, I looked at the queen to see what should be done; she did not speak. I had never heard such a sound before, for at the royal doors there is always a peculiar kind of scratching or rattling of the knob instead of tapping. I heard it, however, again, and the queen called out: 'What is that?' I was really startled, not conceiving who could take such a liberty as to come to the queen's apartment without being announced by a page; and no page, I was very sure, would make such a noise. Again the rapping was repeated, but more smartly. I grew quite alarmed, imagining some serious evil at hand, either regarding the king or some of the princesses. The queen, however, bade me open the door. I did so; and what was my surprise to see there a large man, in an immense wrapping great-coat buttoned up around his chin, so that his face was almost hidden. I stood quite motionless for a moment;—but he, as if also surprised, drew back; I felt quite sick with sudden terror. I really thought some ruffian had broken into the house,—or a madman. 'Who is it?' cried the queen. 'I do not know, ma'am,' I answered. 'Who is it?' she called aloud, just as the man took off his hat, and I beheld the Prince of Wales. The queen laughed heartily, and so did I, too, happy at this unexpected explanation. He told her eagerly that he only came to inform her there were the most beautiful northern lights to be seen that could possibly be imagined, and begged her to come to the gallery windows to see them."

This is a long story about a trifling matter; but it proves that the prince was at that period on friendly terms with his mother, and that he felt privileged to lay aside court etiquette when such was the case.

A.D. 1788. Everything was forgotten by Queen Charlotte, except the alarming illness that now threatened the king. He tried to conceal it as long as possible, and by so doing became much worse, until at last the disease affected his brain, and he was seized with delirium. This lasted so long that it was thought death would result; and the politicians, belonging both to the government and the opposition party, began to speculate as to how far they, individually, would be affected. The Prince of Wales and his brother of York did not behave with common decency at this time, but gayly flew about from club to club, party to party, without even pretending to care that their father was ill and suffering. Their shameful conduct was universally discussed, for they acted like men with little feeling and less brains. The poor queen had a succession of fainting spells that prostrated her almost as low as her royal husband. Between these attacks she would pace her room, too nervous to rest, and if by way of solace she attempted to read aloud to her children, she would stop in the midst of it and burst into an agony of tears.

The royal patient constantly bewailed the fact that he could not sleep, and would pray aloud for that blessing; then he would declare that he needed no physician but the queen, adding: "She is my best friend; where could I find a better?"

One night he got out of bed, and with a candle in his hand, walked to the queen's couch to make sure that she had not left him; then he sat and conversed with her, at times rather incoherently and hoarsely, for nearly an hour. The sufferer was occasionally better, but relapses were so frequent that at last the queen was advised to remove to a room in another part of the palace,—the one she had occupied adjoining the king's being required for the medical men and others, who, with the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, kept watch.

One night the king suddenly appeared among them, and roughly asked what they were there for. They endeavored to pacify him, but in vain; he treated them all as enemies. His second son had slipped out as the father entered, and that made a favorable impression on the poor invalid, who said, touchingly, "Freddy is my friend,—yes, he is my friend!" At last, after a good deal of maneuvering and whispering on the part of the gentlemen present, one of' them with gentle firmness led him back to bed.

Everything was badly managed at Windsor just at this time; for the simple reason that the queen, rather from necessity than choice, submitted to the Prince of Wales and depended on him, and he lost no time in making her feel that he was supreme master. Nothing was done but by his orders; and the queen spent her time in patient sorrow and retirement with her daughters, whose conduct formed a pleasing contrast to that of the sons.

The Prince of Wales was desirous that his father should be removed from Windsor to Kew; but the question arose as to how he could be induced to make the change. On being assured that the quiet and fresh air of the country were necessary for the patient, the queen decided to go at once. She proceeded, without state, accompanied by her daughters, to Kew. On arriving there she found half the apartments locked up by the prince's orders, while on the doors of the few allotted to the queen and her modest retinue the names of those who were to occupy them were scratched in chalk. It was night before the king arrived. He had not been permitted to see his wife and daughters for some weeks, and he was wheedled away from Windsor by being told that they were at Kew, and by a promise that they should be admitted to his presence. He made the journey, therefore, in silent content, but the promise was broken. The queen was assured it was for the best, and the royal patient spent the night in violence and raving because of the cruel disappointment to which he had been subjected.

Meanwhile preparations were going on to name the prince-regent, the king's friends taking great pains that, in case of his recovery, his rights should not be infringed upon. And he did recover this time; for Dr. Willis, of Lincoln, a man who had devoted himself to the study of nervous diseases, was summoned. He arrived with his two sons, and took the royal patient in charge, with such good result that on the tenth of December he walked in the garden alone.

A.D. 1789. On the first day of the new year the queen was gratified with a most favorable report; for Miss Burney, whose duty it was to make inquiries about the royal patient the first thing every morning, was informed that during the night he had prayed aloud for his own recovery. On the eighteenth he remembered that it was the queen's birthday, and expressed a desire to see her; but that pleasure was still denied him. A few days later, Miss Burney was walking in the garden, when she suddenly and most unexpectedly encountered the king, who, she supposed, had been taken to Richmond Gardens. As her majesty, acting by the doctor's advice, had ordered everybody to keep out of the patient's way, and not to address him on any account, Miss Burney no sooner recognized him than she fairly took to her heels. The king called her by name, and was so delighted at the sight of an old familiar face that he ran after her. The Willises, father and sons, followed close behind, somewhat in alarm. Miss Burney kept on in breathless affright, until the older doctor peremptorily ordered her to stop, with the assurance that further agitation would be injurious to the patient. She then turned and advanced to meet the king, as though she had not before been aware of his presence. He put his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek, then held her lest she should run away from him while he spoke, rapidly, hoarsely, and at times incoherently, about family matters, politics, foreign affairs, art, and music,—singing something from his favorite Handel, but so falsely that his hearers were alarmed. He showed plainly that he was aware of his condition, and named those whom he meant to promote and to discharge as soon as he was well.

At last, after various vain attempts, Dr. Willis induced him to return to the house; and Miss Burney ran to relate to the queen all that had happened. Her majesty listened with breathless interest, and made the young lady repeat every word of her recital again and again. All that the poor queen heard filled her with encouragement, and she was not to be disappointed; for the following month the king was well enough to write a letter to Mr. Pitt, informing him that he was prepared to resume the government of his realm, and appointing a day for an interview with his council.

A message to parliament, informing them of the king's recovery, was followed by bonfires, illuminations, and other demonstrations of public rejoicing. On the seventeenth of March the queen caused Kew Palace to be decorated with thousands of colored lanterns, and a transparency, beneath which were these lines that she herself had composed:—

"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!"

A.D. 1790. Then the queen held a drawing-room, and afterwards attended the theatre, so anxious was she to prove to the nation that the king had really recovered. As she entered the play-house shouts of welcome from an immense audience greeted her, the orchestra struck up "God save the King," and so great was the enthusiasm that it was repeated five times, and succeeded by an anthem, in which the spectators took part. A visit to St. Paul's was made by the royal family in April, when an immense concourse of people assembled to take part in the ceremonies, and the king seemed fully absorbed in his devotions during the service. He was heard afterwards to say that his illness had been a perfect bliss to him, because it had proved how confidently he might rely on the support of his people. Strange to say, the king's sons were the last to acknowledge his sanity, and the least rejoiced at his restoration to health. They did their utmost to keep as many people as possible away from congratulatory balls; and at one given by the French ambassador they would neither dance nor remain to supper, because they desired to appear inattentive to their mother, who was present. The reason for this conduct was that her majesty had opposed an unqualified regency for the prince, and neither he nor his brothers could forgive her for standing between them and the power they coveted.

No sooner did the king resume the reins of government than, contrary to the Prince of Wales's expectations, he conveyed to parliament his approval of all the actions of his ministers during his long illness, and removed from office all those who had opposed his cause with a view to gaining favor with the heir-apparent.

Queen Charlotte had a mania for the collection of precious stones, as some people have for porcelain, coins, or stamps; and at the first drawing-room which she held, just after the king's recovery, she fairly glittered in a blaze of diamonds. Around her neck was a double row of these gems, to which was suspended a medallion. Across her shoulders were festooned three rows of costly pearls, and a portrait of the king was hung on the back of her skirt from five rows of brilliants, producing a gorgeous effect. The tippet was of fine lace, fastened with the letter G in diamonds of immense value, and in her majesty's hair was "God save the King," in letters formed of the same costly gems. The princesses were beautifully attired, and all the noble ladies wore emblematical designs, painted, as fancy or loyalty dictated, on the satin part of their headdresses.

Towards the close of the year Frederick, Duke of York, married Frederica, eldest daughter of the King of Prussia. The bride was in her twenty-fourth year, the groom in his twenty-eighth. She was good, handsome, accomplished, and kind-hearted; far too superior a person for so vicious a spendthrift as the prince. They were married in Berlin, but the ceremony was repeated in London by the Archbishop of Canterbury in presence of the whole royal family. Notwithstanding that the duke's income was increased to thirty-five thousand pounds a year on his marriage, he ran into debt so deeply that he could never extricate himself, and the poor duchess became so disgusted with his shameless dissipation and cruel neglect of herself, that at the end of six years of misery she left him and went to live in retirement. She was so good and charitable that she was warmly beloved by a large number of people, and she was universally styled "The poor soldiers' Friend," because she helped so many sick and wounded representatives of the army.

A.D. 1794. Napoleon's brilliant successes at this time cast a gloom over England, until Lord Howe won his splendid naval victory. The royal family visited the triumphant fleet on its return, when the king presented a

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diamond-hilted sword to the admiral, and splendid gold chains to various officers under his command.

Sovereigns may be popular one year and the reverse the next. So it was with George III., though both the idolatry and the hatred of his subjects were undeserved. The attack against his life by the mad lieutenant was followed by others which threatened to be more successful. A crowd of people assembled in the park one day when the king set out in state from St. James's to attend a parliament meeting. At first a sullen silence was observed, and few hats were removed; but presently shouts of "Give us bread!" "No war!" "No king!" and many others arose. His majesty entered his coach and was driven off. No sooner, however, had he reached a certain narrow street than a ball, either of lead or marble, was hurled through the window, but fortunately passed out at the other side without damage, excepting to the glass. George evinced the utmost calmness, and read his speech with even less hesitation than usual. When he was disrobing afterwards the gentlemen in attendance talked about the ball that had been thrown at the royal carriage, whereupon the king, who joined in the conversation, said: "Well, my lords, one person is proposing this, and another is supposing that, forgetting that there is One above us all who disposes of everything, and on whom alone we depend." On his return the mob threw stones at the coach, which was nearly demolished, and several of them hit the king, though without doing him serious injury.

A.D. 1796. Two other attempts were made on the king's life,—one when he was reviewing his troops, and the other just as he entered his box at the theatre. On the latter occasion he behaved with so much courage and presence of mind, that the audience were aroused to the highest pitch of excitement, and shouted "God save the King!" several times, and then the following stanza by Sheridan, the distinguished orator and dramatist, was sung:—

"From every latent foe,

From the assassin's blow,

God save the king!

O'er him Thine arm extend,

For Britain's sake defend,

Our father, prince, and friend,

God save the king!"

We have scarcely mentioned Prince William, Duke of Clarence, third son of George III. and Queen Charlotte. At the age of thirteen he was sent as midshipman on board a man-of-war, and told to fight his way. He obeyed by having a wrestle with another "middy" soon after he was afloat, and in this way secured the respect of his fellow-officers. He was present in several important actions, under different admirals, and when a certain Spanish commander was brought prisoner on board the "Prince George," this smart, active, young midshipman, whom he observed on duty at the gangway, was pointed out to him as a prince of the blood, he exclaimed, "Well may England be queen of the seas, when the son of her sovereign is engaged in such duty!" Prince William was the least courteous of the queen's Sons,—owing, perhaps, to the fact of his having spent so many years among sailors, enjoying the freedom of a life on the ocean wave; but he was certainly coarse in manners and speech. Once he disappointed his sister, Princess Mary, very much by drinking champagne until he was too intoxicated to dance a minuet with her at the drawing-room, as he had promised. We shall tell more about this prince hereafter, when he becomes King of England.

Of the marriage of the Prince of Wales with Princess Caroline of Brunswick, which took place about this time, we need only say that it began, continued, and ended miserably; but the particulars of it and of the remainder of their lives will be considered in the ensuing reign.

A.D. 1801. We pass over five years, and find the prince in full opposition against the crown and Pitt, which, with other matters, weighed so heavily on the mind of the king that a return of his malady was the consequence. He improved, after a few weeks, enough to be able to open parliament in person; but he required constant watching, and could not attend any of the entertainments he was in the habit of honoring with his patronage. He lived with the utmost regularity, but was excessively careless about taking cold, though it was always a prelude to the attacks of brain fever that had perceptibly impaired his mind.

A.D. 1804. He was living at Windsor with his family when he again became suddenly and alarmingly ill. His attack was called rheumatic, but his mind was more affected than his body, and no wonder; for he was constantly on the rack between public affairs, changes, and quarrels in the ministry and the conduct of his sons. He recovered after several weeks, only to continue the contest which had begun between himself and the Prince of Wales, relative to the residence and education of the Princess Charlotte, daughter, of the Prince and Princess of Wales. The monarch wished her to be placed under the supervision of the queen at Windsor, in order that she might be brought up properly; but the prince objected merely for the sake of opposition. After years of estrangement the father and son had an interview on the subject; but the latter was so insulting in his tone and manner that the poor king was more annoyed than ever.

A.D. 1805. The remaining years of his life were spent in retirement, except on rare occasions; and the queen, who watched over him with a true wife's devotion, beheld the gradual but certain decay of his mental faculties, the details of which are too painful to be interesting.

The Queens of England. A gorgeous entertainment, the expense of which exceeded fifty thousand pounds, was given by the king at Windsor on the installation of the Knights of the Order of the Garter; but his conduct was so undignified, and so different from what that of a monarch should have been on such an occasion, that the queen looked at him in amazement, and perhaps wondered whether it was all due to his disordered mind.

A.D. 1809. The venerable monarch was not able to attend the grand fÊte given by Queen Charlotte, at Frogmore, in celebration of his having reached the fiftieth year of his reign. His sight had grown so dim that, although he rode out every day, his horse was led by a servant, and when he walked he felt his way along the terrace by means of a stick. London and all the principal cities of the kingdom were illuminated at the time of the jubilee, and large sums of money were raised by subscription for the benefit of the poor. In this way many were made happy, but the king was sad and dejected. He would often shed tears during the performance of Handel's "Total Eclipse,"—a composition of which he was very fond, even though it reminded him of his increasing blindness. One morning the Prince of Wales entered his father's apartment unannounced, and heard him reciting the following well-known lines of Milton:—

"Oh dark! dark! dark! amid the blaze of noon!

Irrevocably dark! Total eclipse

Without all hope of day!

Oh first created beam, and Thou great word,

Let there be light, and light was over all;

Why am I thus deprived, thy prime decree?"

A.D. 1810. The royal household was indeed a sorrowful one when the death of the Princess Amelia occurred, for she was the youngest of the children and had always been a pet. Nothing could have been more touching than the appearance of the afflicted father, aged and almost blind, as he leaned over the couch of his dying child, whispering to her words of consolation and hope of future glory. When the princess bade the king farewell, just before she died, she placed a ring on his finger, on which were inscribed these words, "Remember me."

From that period the king's mental state became gradually worse, and the following year the Prince of Wales was appointed regent, though the queen still retained the care of her husband, with the assistance of the council, who were constantly at Windsor. At times his majesty would appear better, then he would relapse into a state that offered little hope. The queen's position was by no means a pleasant one. She was constantly brought in contact with the Princess of Wales, whom she thoroughly disliked; and her heart was torn by the sad scenes in which her poor, afflicted consort played the leading part. Thus one day she entered his room and found him singing a hymn to the accompaniment of a harpsichord, on which he was performing himself. On concluding the hymn, he knelt down, prayed for his family and the nation, and finally that God would restore to him the reason which he felt he had lost. At other times he was heard begging that he might die; then he would imagine that he really had departed this life, and ask for a suit of black, that he might wear mourning for the old king. Such pathetic scenes Queen Charlotte witnessed constantly. And she had other matters to worry her; for the public distress was so great that she became excessively unpopular, not because she had been guilty of any wrong, but simply because indignation had to be vented on somebody.

A.D. 1815. One day, when she was going to attend her last drawing-room, she was hissed and insulted by a mob that actually had the audacity to stop her chair. She was equal to the occasion, and showed a great deal of pluck. Quietly letting down the window of the chair, she spoke without agitation to those nearest to her: "I am about seventy years of age," she said, sorrowfully; "I have been more than half a century Queen of England, and I never was hissed by a mob before." The vulgar are easily silenced by true dignity and courage, and so the venerable lady was allowed to pass on unmolested. The Prince of Wales sent several aides-de-camp to escort his mother back home in safety; but she said to them: "You have left Carlton House by his royal highness's orders; return there by mine, or I will leave my chair and go home on foot."

A.D. 1818. Queen Charlotte appeared in public no more, for her health was declining, and she went to Bath to try and restore it, without avail. Towards the close of the year she was again at Kew, where she was confined to her bed with dropsy. She could not see the king, for he was at Windsor, and it was deemed unsafe for her to move. At last her case was pronounced hopeless, and she expired on the sixteenth of November. Her last breath was drawn in the arms of her eldest son, who, during her final illness, had been unremitting in his attentions.

The queen's funeral took place on the 2d of December, the procession consisting of horse and foot soldiers, as if they had been escorting a warrior to the tomb instead of a woman. The arrangements throughout were very inappropriate, and few members of the peerage felt called upon to do honor to their late sovereign. Her will, which had been made only on the day preceding her death, was a very sensible one, but she left debts to the amount of nine thousand pounds. These were contracted for purposes of charity, and were of course paid, for Queen Charlotte was exceedingly benevolent without the least ostentation. Her superb diamonds, valued at a million of pounds, were divided by her request among her four daughters. George III. survived his wife two years, but was never informed of her death, because he was not in a condition to bear the sad news when he could have understood it, which was only at rare intervals. He now occupied a long suite of rooms, in which were pianos and harpsichords; on these he would occasionally play a few notes from some composition of Handel's, and then stroll on. His bodily health was good and his appetite was excellent, and this made the loss of his reason only the more pitiable. He generally wore a blue robe-de-chambre fastened with a belt in the morning, and changed it for a costume of brocaded silk in the afternoon. As he wandered through his apartments, which he could do even though he had become totally blind, the old king would speak to the dear ones, whom he fancied were near him, but always made the replies himself, or he would address an imaginary parliament, and, when exhausted, fall back in a kind of delirium.

A.D. 1820. As the new year opened the health of George III. began to fail, and he was soon reduced almost to a skeleton. For a month he was confined to his bed, and on the 29th of January breathed his last, without the slightest pain. He was nearly eighty-two years of age at the time of his death.