Then, as reward for stolen lays,
His neck encircle with a rope.
When this is done, his look will show it,
Which he's most like,—a thief or poet."
Besides card-playing and court receptions, there were operas and dramas, and of these the king and his whole court were very fond. We must give an account of a funny scene that took place one night at a theatre. John James Heidegger, was a Swiss, who lived in England and superintended operas and masquerades. He soon amassed a fortune, and made himself very popular by devoting part of it to charity. He lived extravagantly, dressed well, and visited in the best society; but he was so eccentric that he was occasionally made the victim of practical jokes. Once he was invited to an entertainment given by the Duke of Montague, and the wine, of which he drank freely, was drugged so that he soon fell sound asleep. He was then placed upon a bed, and a cast was taken of his face and made into a mask. This was done without Heidegger's being aware of it.
The duke then hired a man just the size of the manager, dressed him the same, put the mask on him, and took him to the next masquerade, when the king, who had been previously apprised of the plot, was to be present. As his majesty entered, Heidegger ordered the orchestra to play "God save the King." No sooner was his back turned than the impostor, imitating his voice and manner, ordered "Charlie over the Water,"—a song that referred to Charles Edward, the Pretender, and ought certainly not to have been played in presence of George. Heidegger was horrified; he raved and swore at the musicians, and made them recommence the loyal tune. A few bars of "God save the King" were no sooner performed than the impostor found an opportunity to again order "Charlie over the Water." The orchestra thought their master must be drunk, but obeyed. By this time the house was in a perfect uproar, and cries of "Shame! shame!" arose from every part of it. The king's officers wanted to kick the musicians out; but the Duke of Cumberland, who was in the secret, restrained them.
Heidegger was beside himself with rage and fright, but he came boldly forward and offered to discharge the band, then and there. The impostor appeared at his side and said, in a plaintive voice, looking toward the king: "Sire, the whole fault lies with that devil in my likeness."
That was too much. Poor Heidegger fairly gasped for breath when he gazed upon his double. He turned pale and stared; astonishment had struck him dumb. At last, thinking that his joke had been carried far enough, the Duke of Montague ordered his man to unmask, and the mystery was explained. Heidegger was in a perfect frenzy; he stamped his feet, retired from the stage, and fell, in a state of exhaustion, into an arm-chair, then commanded his servants to extinguish the lights at once, swearing that he would never again superintend a masquerade until that mask lay crushed to atoms at his feet.
A.D. 1735. Queen Caroline had made up her mind that the Prince of Wales should marry; so, after gaining the king's consent, she employed Lord Hervey to tell the prince of his intended fate. There was no princess in view; but the queen spoke about the coming marriage just as though there was, purchased clothing for the wedding, and ordered several costly presents for the bride, from various, jewellers. The king was then in Hanover, and so it was arranged that he was to see Augusta of Saxe-Gotha, and if he liked her then negotiations for a marriage with the heir-apparent would be begun. He sent a favorable report a few weeks later, and Frederick was told to prepare for the reception of his bride. He received the order with an indifferent sort of resignation, but obeyed. This gratified the queen, because her son had such contradictory qualities that he was never to be counted on. There was nothing either to admire or to hate in him. He was neither great nor vicious, and his behavior was such that although he gained good wishes, no one esteemed him, for he was false and deceitful; and it was suspected that his supremely condescending manners were prompted by a desire for popularity. His heart was bad; his head was weak; and he was unfortunate in having a father who abhorred him, a mother who despised him, sisters who betrayed him, a brother set up against him in public life, and servants who neglected him, and were incapable of being useful to him.
A.D. 1736. Lord Delawar was sent to demand the hand of Princess Augusta from her brother, the Duke of Saxe-Gotha. As the young lady, who was very bright and pretty, could speak neither English nor French, it was suggested to her mother that it would be well for her to take a few lessons in both languages. But as the Hanoverian family had been on the throne of England for a score of years or more, the Duchess of Saxe-Gotha concluded that all the people there spoke or understood German, and would not bother her child to study two languages that seemed to her not worth the pains spent upon the work.