The king and queen then bid her curtsey to Mrs. Delany which she did most gracefully, and they all moved on; each of the princesses speaking to Mrs. Delany as they passed, and condescending to curtsey to her companion.
THE CIPHER BECOMES A NUMBER.
Mrs. Delany was too much fatigued to return to the Lodge to tea; but Mrs. Fielding and her three daughters, Lord Courtown, Mr. Fisher, the general, and the major, made up our set.
Mrs. Schwellenberg was very ill. She declined making tea, and put it into the hands of the general. I had always kept back from that office, as well as from presiding at the table, that I might keep the more quiet, and be permitted to sit silent; which, at first, was a repose quite necessary to my depressed state of spirits, and which, as they grew better, I found equally necessary to keep off the foul fiends of Jealousy and Rivalry in my colleague; who, apparently, never wishes to hear my voice but when we are tete-a-tete, and then never is in good-humour when it is at rest. I could not, however, see this feminine occupation in masculine hands, and not, for shame, propose taking it upon myself. The general readily relinquished it, and I was fain to come forth and do the honours.
Lord Courtown sat himself next me, and talked with me the whole time, in well-bred and pleasant discourse. The Major waited upon me as assiduously as if he had been as much my equerry as the king's, and all went smooth, well, and naturally, except that the poor sick lady grew evidently less and less pleased with the arrangement of things, and less and less in humour with its arrangers: so obvious, indeed, was the displeasure that the cipher should become a number, that had my own mind been easy, I should have felt much vexed to observe what a curb was placed over me: for hitherto, except when she had been engaged herself, and only to Major Price and Mr. Fisher, that cipher had “word spoke never one.” 'Tis wonderful, my dearest Susan, what wretched tempers are to be met with—wretched in and to themselves—wretched to and for all that surround them. However, while only to be stupid and silent will do, we shall not be at variance. Were I happier, perhaps I might comply with more difficulty; so be not sorry, my Susan, nor you, my sweet Fredy, if, bye-and-bye, you should hear me complain. It will be a very good sign.
DISPLAY OF LOYALTY AT LITTLE KEW.
Aug. 8.—An exceedingly pretty scene was exhibited to-day to their majesties. We came, as usual on every alternate Tuesday, to Kew. The queen's Lodge is at the end of a long meadow, surrounded with houses, which is called Kew green; and this was quite filled with all the inhabitants of the place—the lame, old, blind, sick, and infants, who all assembled, dressed in their Sunday garb, to line the sides of the roads through which their majesties passed, attended by a band of musicians, arranged in the front, who began “God save the King!” the moment they came upon the green, and finished it with loud huzzas. This was a compliment at the expense of the better inhabitants, who paid the musicians themselves, and mixed in with the group, which indeed left not a soul, I am told, in any house in the place.
This testimony of loyal satisfaction in the king's safe return, after the attempted assassination, affected the queen to tears: nor were they shed alone; for almost everybody's flowed that witnessed the scene. The queen, speaking of it afterwards, said,