The entire population seemed surprised at having got a young Queen and King to reign over them; and, except an occasional placard or two, denouncing ‘petticoat government,’ and pronouncing against Scotch ministers and Lord George Sackville, there seemed no dissatisfied voice in the whole metropolis. The graces of the young Sovereign were sung by pseudo-poets, and Walpole, in graceful prose, told of his surprise at seeing how completely the whole levée-room had lost its air of a lion’s den. ‘The Sovereign don’t stand in one spot, with his eyes fixed royally on the ground, and dropping bits of German news: he walks about and speaks to everybody. I saw him afterwards on the throne, where he is graceful and genteel; sits with dignity, and reads his answers to addresses well. It was the Cambridge address, carried by the Duke of Newcastle, in his doctor’s gown, and looking like the Médecin malgré lui. He had been vehemently solicitous for attendance, for fear my Lord Westmoreland, who vouchsafes himself to bring the address from Oxford, should out-number him. Lord Litchfield and several other Jacobites have kissed hands. George Selwyn says, “They go to St. James’s because now there are so many Stuarts there.”’

In allusion to the crowds of nobles, gentle and simple, going up to congratulate the King, or to view the processions flocking to the foot of the throne, or surrounding the King, as it were, when he went to the first parliament, Walpole remarks: ‘The day the King went to the house I was three quarters of an hour getting through Whitehall. There were subjects enough to set up half a dozen petty kings: the Pretender would be proud to reign over the footmen only; and, indeed, unless he acquires some of them, he will have no subjects left; all their masters flock to St. James’s.’ In a few words he describes the scene at the theatre on the King’s first visit, alone. ‘The first night the King went to the play, which was civilly on a Friday, not on the opera night, as he used to do, the whole audience sang God save the King in chorus. For the first act the press was so great at the door that no ladies could go to the boxes, and only the servants appeared there, who kept places. At the end of the second act the whole mob broke in and seated themselves.’ The play was ‘Richard the Third,’ in which Garrick represented the king. George III. repeated his visit on the 23rd of December to see ‘King John.’

His Majesty grievously offended Garrick on this night, by a manifestation of what the latter considered very bad taste. The King preferred Sheridan in Faulconbridge to Garrick in King John; and when this reached the ears of Garrick, he was excessively hurt; and, though the boxes were taken for ‘King John,’ for several nights, the offended ‘Roscius’ would not allow the play to have its proper run.

But there were other stages, on which more solemn pageants had to be performed. The Sovereigns had yet to make their first appearance within the city liberties.

The Queen was introduced to the citizens of London on Lord Mayor’s Day; on which occasion they may be said emphatically to have ‘made a day of it.’ They left St. James’s Palace at noon, and in great state, accompanied by all the royal family, escorted by guards, and cheered by the people, whose particular holiday was thus shared in common. There was the usual ceremony at Temple Bar of opening the gates to royalty and giving it welcome; and there was the once usual address made at the east end of St. Paul’s Churchyard, by the senior scholar of Christ’s Hospital School. Having survived the cumbrous formalities of the first, and smiled at the flowery figures of the second, the royal party proceeded on their way, not to Guildhall, but to the house of Mr. Barclay, the patent-medicine-vendor, an honest Quaker whom the King respected, and ancestor to the head of the firm whose name is not unmusical to Volscian ears—Barclay, Perkins, and Co.

Robert Barclay, the only surviving son of the author of the same name, who wrote the celebrated ‘Apology for the Quakers,’ was an octogenarian, who had entertained, in the same house, two Georges before he had given welcome to the third George and his Queen Charlotte. The hearty old man, without abandoning Quaker simplicity, went a little beyond it, in order to do honour to the young Queen; and he hung his balcony and rooms with a brilliant crimson damask, that must have scattered blushes on all who stood near—particularly on the cheeks of the crowds of ‘Friends’ who had assembled within the house to do honour to their Sovereigns. How the King—and he was at the time a very handsome young monarch—fluttered all the female Friends present, and set their tuckers in agitation, may be guessed from the fact that he kissed them all round, and right happy were they to be so greeted. The Queen smiled with dignity, her consort laughed and clapped his hands, and when they had passed into another room, the King’s young brothers followed the example, and in a minute had all the young Quakeresses in their arms—nothing loath. Those were unceremonious days, and ‘a kiss all round’ was a pleasant solemnity, which was undergone with alacrity even by a Quakeress.

In the apartment to which the King and Queen had retired the latter was waited on by a youthful grand-daughter of Mr. Barclay, who kissed the royal hand with much grace, but would not kneel to do so, a resolute observance of consistent principle which made the young Queen smile. Later in the day, when Mr. Barclay’s daughters served the Queen with tea, they handed it to the ladies-in-waiting, who presented it kneeling to their Sovereign—a form which Rachel and Rebecca would never have submitted to. From the windows of this house, which was exactly opposite Bow Church, the Queen and consort witnessed the Lord Mayor’s procession pass on its way to Westminster, and had the patience to wait for its return.

The Princess of Wales was a spectator of the show on this occasion, with her son, King George, and her daughter-in-law, Queen Charlotte. Her husband, Frederick, Prince of Wales, once stood among the crowd in Cheapside to view the return of the Mayor’s procession to Guildhall. He was recognised by some members of the Saddlers Company, by whom he was invited into their ‘stand,’ erected in the street. He accepted their invitation, and made himself so agreeable that the company unanimously elected him their ‘Master,’ an office which he accepted with great readiness.

Queen Charlotte and George III. were the last of our sovereigns who thus honoured a Lord Mayor’s Show. And as it was the last occasion, and that the young Queen Charlotte was the heroine of the day, the opportunity may be profited by, to show how that royal lady looked and bore herself in the estimation of one of the Miss Barclays, whose letter descriptive of the scene appeared forty-seven years subsequently, in 1808. ‘About one o’clock papa and mamma, with sister Western to attend them, took their stand at the street-door, where my two brothers had long been to receive the nobility, more than a hundred of whom were then waiting in the warehouse. As the royal family came, they were conducted into one of the counting-houses, which was transformed into a very pretty parlour. At half-past two their Majesties came, which was two hours later than they intended. On the second pair of stairs was placed our own company, about forty in number, the chief of whom were of the Puritan order, and all in their orthodox habits. Next to the drawing-room doors were placed our own selves—I mean papa’s children, none else, to the great mortification of visitors, being allowed to enter; for, as kissing the King’s hand without kneeling was an unexampled honour, the King confined that privilege to our own family, as a return for the trouble we had been at. After the royal pair had shown themselves at the balcony, we were all introduced, and you may believe, at that juncture, we felt no small palpitations. The King met us at the door (a condescension I did not expect), at which place he saluted us with great politeness. Advancing to the upper end of the room, we kissed the Queen’s hand, at the sight of whom we were all in raptures, not only from the brilliancy of her appearance, which was pleasing beyond description, but being throughout her whole person possessed of that inexpressible something that is beyond a set of features, and equally claims our attention. To be sure she has not a fine face, but a most agreeable countenance, and is vastly genteel, with an air, notwithstanding her being a little woman, truly majestic; and I really think, by her manner is expressed that complacency of disposition which is truly amiable; and though I could never perceive that she deviated from that dignity which belongs to a crowned head, yet on the most trifling occasions she displayed all that easy behaviour that negligence can bestow. Her hair, which is of a light colour, hung in what is called coronation-ringlets, encircled in a band of diamonds, so beautiful in themselves, and so prettily disposed, as will admit of no description. Her clothes, which were as rich as gold, silver, and silk could make them, was a suit from which fell a train supported by a little page in scarlet and silver. The lustre of her stomacher was inconceivable. The King I think a very personable man. All the princes followed the King’s example in complimenting each of us with a kiss. The Queen was upstairs three times, and my little darling, with Patty Barclay and Priscilla Ball, were introduced to her. I was present and not a little anxious on account of my girl, who kissed the Queen’s hand with so much grace that I thought the princess-dowager would have smothered her with kisses. Such a report was made of her to the King, that Miss was sent for, and afforded him great amusement, by saying ‘that she loved the King, though she must not love fine things, and her grandpapa would not allow her to make a curtsy.’ Her sweet face made such an impression on the Duke of York, that I rejoiced she was only five instead of fifteen. When he first met her, he tried to persuade Miss to let him introduce her to the Queen; but she would by no means consent till I informed her he was a prince, upon which her little female heart relented, and she gave him her hand—a true copy of the sex. The King never sat down, nor did he taste anything during the whole time. Her Majesty drank tea, which was brought her on a silver waiter by brother John, who delivered it to the lady-in-waiting, and she presented it kneeling. The leave they took of us was such as we might expect from our equals; full of apologies for our trouble for their entertainment—which they were so anxious to have explained, that the Queen came up to us, as we stood on one side of the door, and had every word interpreted. My brothers had the honour of assisting the Queen into her coach. Some of us sat up to see them return, and the King and Queen took especial notice of us as they passed. The King ordered twenty-four of his guard to be placed opposite our door all night, lest any of the canopy should be pulled down by the mob, in which there were one hundred yards of silk damask.’

Gog and Magog have never looked down on so glorious a scene and so splendid a banquet as enlivened Guildhall, at which the Queen and her consort were royally entertained, at a cost approaching 8000l. Both Sovereigns united in remarking that ‘for elegance of entertainment the city beat the court end of the town.’ A foreign minister present described it as a banquet such only as one king could give another. And it was precisely so. The King of the City exhibited his boundless hospitality to the King of England. The majesty of the people had the chief magistrate for a guest.

The majesty of the people, however, if we may credit the Earl of Albemarle, the author of the ‘Memoir of the Marquis of Rockingham and his Contemporaries,’ was by no means so civil to the royal guests as the occasion warranted.

On the 9th of November, George III., who had been married only two months, went in state with his youthful Queen, to dine with the Lord Mayor. It was their Majesties’ first visit to the city. Mr. Pitt, yielding to Lord Temple’s persuasions, and, as he afterwards declared, ‘against his better judgment,’ went with him in his carriage, and joined the procession. Pitt, the ‘great commoner,’ the terrible ‘Cornet of Horse,’ hated and dreaded by Sir Robert Walpole, had only just resigned office, because he could not get his colleagues to agree with him in an aggressive policy against Spain, to be at war with which power was then a passion with the people. For this reason Pitt was their idol and the court party their abomination. Hence, the result of Pitt’s joining the procession might partly have been anticipated. The royal bride and bridegroom were received by the populace with indifference, and Pitt’s late colleague with cries of ‘No Newcastle salmon!’ As for Lord Bute, he was everywhere assailed with hisses and execrations, and would probably have been torn in pieces by the mob, but for the interference of a band of butchers and prize-fighters, whom he had armed as a body-guard. All the enthusiasm of the populace was centred in Mr. Pitt, who was ‘honoured45 with the most hearty acclamations of people of all ranks; and so great was the feeling in his favour, that the mob clung about every part of the vehicle, hung upon the wheels, hugged his footman, and even kissed his horses.’

The royal bride must have been astonished, and the bridegroom was indignant at what, a few days after the banquet, he called ‘the abominable conduct of Mr. Pitt.’ The court members of parliament were directed to be personally offensive to him in the house, and all the fashionable ladies in town went to see the noble animal baited.

The year of pageants ended with matters of money. Parliament settled on Queen Charlotte 40,000l. per annum, to enable her the better to support the royal dignity; with a dowry of 100,000l. per annum, and Richmond Old Park and Somerset House annexed, in case she should survive his Majesty. On the 2nd of December the King went in state to the House to give the royal assent to the bill. The Queen accompanied him; and when the royal assent had been given, her Majesty rose from her seat and curtsied to him the grateful acknowledgments which were really due to the representatives of the people who gave the money.

Somerset House was but an indifferent town residence for either Queen or queen-dowager, and the King showed his taste and gratified Queen Charlotte when, in lieu of the above-named residence, he purchased for her that red-brick mansion which stood on the site of the present Buckingham Palace, and was then known as ‘Buckingham House.’ It was subsequently called the ‘Queen’s House.’ The King bought it of Sir Charles Sheffield for 21,000l., and settled it on his consort by an act of parliament obtained some years afterwards. Therein were all the children born, with the exception of their eldest son, George, Prince of Wales, who was born at St. James’s Palace; who demolished the old house in 1825, and erected on its site one of the ugliest palaces by which the sight was ever offended. Queen Victoria has had some difficulty to make it a comfortable residence; to render it beautiful was out of the power even of her Majesty’s architect, Mr. Blore. The edifice of his predecessor, Nash, defied all his efforts.

In Queen Charlotte’s time Mr. Wyatt erected a grand staircase. West’s pictures soon filled the great gallery, and that artist at least would not complain, as so many others did, that the Queen and King were mean patrons of art, seeing that the latter, to gratify his consort, paid West no less than 40,000l. for his labours. The principal of these pictures are now at Hampton Court. The ‘Regulus’ brought West a very liberal pension. The dining-room was adorned with pictures by Zucchero, Vandyke, Lely, Zoffani, Mytens, and Houseman. The Queen’s house, although intended as a simple asylum for its royal owners from the oppressive gorgeousness and ceremony of St. James’s, did not lack a splendour of its own. The crimson drawing-room, the second drawing-room, and the blue-velvet room, were magnificent apartments, adapted for the most showy of royal pageants, and adorned with valuable pictures. Queen Charlotte had hardly been installed in this her own ‘House,’ when her husband commenced the formation of that invaluable library which her son, on demolishing her house, made over to the nation, and is now in the British Museum.

The son just alluded to was George IV. Under the pretence of being about to repair Buckingham House, he applied to the Commons to afford the necessary supplies. These were granted under the special stipulation that repairs (and not rebuilding) were intended. The King and his architect, Nash, however, went on demolishing and reconstructing until the fine old mansion disappeared, and a hideous palace took its place, at a tremendous cost to the public. Neither of the children of Charlotte who lived to ascend the throne resided in this palace. The old building was the property of a queen-consort, the new one was first occupied by a Queen-regnant, the daughter of Charlotte’s third son, Edward. The first great event in Queen Charlotte’s life, after she became mistress of Buckingham House, was her becoming the mother of him who destroyed it—George Augustus Frederick, Prince of Wales.

In 1762 Horace Walpole says: ‘The King and Queen are settled for good and all at Buckingham House, and are stripping the other palaces to furnish it. In short, they have already fetched pictures from Hampton Court, which indicates their never living there; consequently Strawberry Hill will remain in possession of its own tranquillity, and not become a cheese-cake house to the palace. All I ask,’ says the cynic in lace ruffles, ‘all I ask of princes is not to live within five miles of me.’ Even thus early in the reign, the King’s health gave rise to some disquietude. ‘The King,’ writes Walpole to Mann, ‘had one of the last of those strong and universally epidemic colds, which, however, have seldom been fatal. He had a violent cough, and oppression on his breast, which he concealed, just as I had; but my life was of no consequence, and having no physicians in ordinary, I was cured in four nights by James’s powder, without bleeding. The King was blooded seven times and had three blisters. Thank God, he is safe, and we have escaped a confusion beyond what was ever known on the accession of the Queen of Scots. Nay, we have not even a successor born. Fazakerly, who has lived long enough to remember nothing but the nonsense of the law, maintained, according to its wise tenets, that, as the King never dies, the Duke of York must have been proclaimed King; and then be unproclaimed again on the Queen’s delivery. We have not even any standing law for the regency; but I need not paint you all the difficulties there would have been in our situation.’

The difficulty was overcome; the King recovered, the royal couple lived quietly, and when they were disposed to be gay and in company, they already exhibited a spirit of economy which may illustrate the saying, that any virtue carried to excess becomes a vice. On the 26th of November the Queen and the King saw ‘a few friends’; the invitations only included half a dozen strangers, and the entire company consisted of not more than twelve or thirteen couple. The six strangers were Lady Caroline Russell, Lady Jane Stewart, Lord Suffolk, Lord Northampton, Lord Mandeville, and Lord Grey. Besides these were the court habitués, namely the Duchess of Ancaster and her Grace of Hamilton, who accompanied the Queen on her first arrival. These ladies danced little: but on the other hand, Lady Effingham and Lady Egremont danced much. Then there were the six maids of honour, Lady Bolingbroke—who could not dance because she was in black gloves, and Lady Susan Stewart in attendance upon ‘Lady Augusta.’ The latter was that eldest daughter of Frederick, Prince of Wales, at whose birth there had been such a commotion, and who was commonly called the Lady Augusta, in obedience to her father’s wishes, who was fond of this old-fashioned English style of naming our princesses. The noblemen in waiting were Lords March, Eglintoun, Cantilupe, and Huntingdon. There were ‘no sitters-by,’ except the King’s mother, the Duchess of Bedford, and Lady Bute. At this select party, which commenced between half-past six and seven, the King danced the whole time with the Queen; and the Lady Augusta, future mother of the next Queen of England, with her four younger brothers. The dancing went on uninterruptedly till one in the morning: the hungry guests separated without supper; and so ended the young couple’s first and not very hilarious party.

That young couple certainly began life in a prosaically business-like way. To suit the King’s convenience, one opera night was changed from Tuesdays to Mondays, because the former was ‘post-day’ and his Majesty too much engaged to attend; and the Queen would not have gone on Tuesdays without him. There was more questionable taste exhibited on other occasions. Eight thousand pounds were expended on a new state-coach, which was ‘a beautiful object crowded with improprieties.’ The mixture of palm-trees and Tritons was laughed at; the latter as not being adapted to a land-carriage; the former as being as little aquatic as the Tritons were terrestrial.

It was, perhaps, with reference to the Queen’s first supperless party that Lord Chesterfield uttered a bon mot, when an addition to the peerage was contemplated. When this was mentioned in his presence, some one remarked: ‘I suppose there will be no dukes made.’ ‘Oh, yes, there will!’ exclaimed Chesterfield, ‘there is to be one’ ‘Is? who?’ ‘Lord Talbot; he is to be created Duke Humphrey, and there is to be no table kept at court but his.’

The young nobility, who had formed great expectations of the splendour and gaiety that were to result, as they thought, from the establishment of a new court, with a young couple at the head of it, were miserably disappointed that pleasure alone was not the deity enshrined in the royal dwelling. To the Queen’s palace they gave the name of Holyrood House, intending to denote thereby that it was the mere abode of chill, gloom, and meanness. But, be this as it may, the English court was now the only court in Europe at which vice was discountenanced, and virtue set as an example and insisted on in others. With respect to the routine followed there, it certainly lacked excitement, but was hardly the worse for that. The Queen passed most of her mornings in receiving instruction from Dr. Majendie in the English tongue. She was an apt scholar, improved rapidly, and though she never spoke or wrote with elegance, yet she learned to appreciate our best authors justly, and was remarkable for the perfection of taste and manner with which she read aloud. Needle-work followed study, and exercise followed needle-work. The Queen usually rode or walked in company with the King till dinner-time; and in the evening she played on the harpsichord, or sang aloud—and this she could do almost en artiste; or she took share in a homely game of cribbage, and closed the innocently spent day with a dance. ‘And so to bed,’ as Mr. Pepys would say—without supper.

The routine was something changed when her Majesty’s brother, Prince Charles of Strelitz, became a visitor at the English court in February 1762. He was a prince short of stature, but well-made, had fine eyes and teeth, and a very persuasive way with him. So persuasive, indeed, that he at one time contrived to express from the King 30,000l. out of the civil-list revenue, to pay the debts the prince had contracted with German creditors.

In the meantime, matters of costume, as connected with court etiquette, were not considered beneath her Majesty’s notice. Her birth-day was kept on the 18th of January, to make it as distinct as possible from the King’s, kept in June, and to encourage both winter and summer fashions. For the latter anniversary a dress was instituted of ‘stiff-bodied gowns and bare shoulders;’ and invented, it was said, ‘to thin the drawing-room.’ ‘It will be warmer, I hope,’ says Walpole, in March, ‘by the King’s birth-day, or the old ladies will catch their deaths. What dreadful discoveries will be made both on fat and lean! I recommend to you the idea of Mrs. Cavendish when half stark!’ The Queen’s drawing-rooms, however, were generally crowded by the ladies; and no wonder, when seventeen English and Scotch unmarried dukes might be counted at them. The especial birthday drawing-room on the anniversary of the King’s natal day was, however, ill attended, less on the King’s account than on that of his minister, Lord Bute. Meanwhile, court was made to the Queen by civilities shown to a second brother who had come over to visit her, allured by affection and the success which had attended the elder brother. Lady Northumberland’s fête to this wandering prince was a ‘pompous festine;’ ‘not only the whole house, but the garden was illuminated, and was quite a fairy scene. Arches and pyramids of lights alternately surrounded the enclosure; a diamond necklace of lamps edged the rails and descent, with a spiral obelisk of candles on each hand; and dispersed over the lawn with little bands of kettle-drums, clarinets, fifes, &c., and the lovely moon who came without a card.’ Queen Charlotte knew how to perform a graceful action gracefully as well as any queen who ever shared the throne. Thus, Lady Bolingbroke having been trusted by the Duchess of Bedford with a superb enamelled watch to exhibit to her Majesty, the latter desired her to put it on, that she might the better judge of its ornamental effect. She was obeyed, and thereupon she made a present of it to the happy lady, remarking, that the watch looked so well upon her ‘it ought to remain by Lady Bolingbroke’s side.’

But the great event of the year was the birth of the heir-apparent. It occurred at St. James’s Palace, on the 12th of August. In previous reigns such events generally took place in the presence of many witnesses; but on the present occasion the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chancellor alone were present in that capacity.

‘Many rejoiced,’ writes Mrs. Scott, the sister of Elizabeth Montagu, ‘but none more than those who have been detained all this hot weather in town to be present at the ceremony. Among them, no one was more impatient than the chancellor, who, not considering any part of the affair as a point of law, thought his presence very unnecessary. His lordship and the archbishop must have had a fatiguing office; for, as she was brought to bed at seven in the morning, they must have attended all night, for fear they should be absent at the critical moment. I wish they were not too much out of humour before the prince was born to be able to welcome it properly.’

The royal christening will be, however, of more interest than details of the birth of the prince. The ceremony was performed in the grand council chamber, the Archbishop of Canterbury—‘the right rev. midwife, Thomas Secker,’ as Walpole calls him—officiating. Walpole, describing the scene, on the day after, says: ‘Our next monarch was christened, last night, George Augustus Frederick. The Princess (Dowager of Wales), the Duke of Cumberland, and the Duke of Mecklenburgh, sponsors. The Queen’s bed, magnificent and, they say, in taste, was placed in the drawing-room; though she is not to see company in form, yet it looks as if they had intended people should have been there, as all who presented themselves were admitted, which were very few, for it had not been notified; I suppose to prevent too great a crowd. All I have heard named, besides those in waiting, were the Duchess of Queensberry, Lady Dalkeith, Mrs. Grenville, and about four other ladies.’

It was precisely at the period of the christening of this royal babe that the marriage of her who was to be the mother of his future wife was first publicly spoken of. In September Walpole expresses a hope to his friend Conway that the hereditary Prince of Brunswick is ‘recovering of the wound in his loins, for they say he is to marry the Princess Augusta.’ Walpole, however, would have nothing to do with the new Prince of Wales. ‘With him,’ he says, ‘I am positive never to occupy myself. I kissed the hand of his great-great-grandfather; would it not be preposterous to tap a volume of future history, of which I can never see but the first pages?’

Poor Queen Charlotte did not escape scandal. Less than twenty years after her death a M. Gailliardet published, in 1836, a memoir of the celebrated Chevalier d’Eon, founded, it is said, on family papers. In this book, the young Queen Charlotte was described, in the year 1763, as giving interviews by night to the chevalier, and the Prince of Wales, just named, was said to be their son. Many years after Gailliardet’s book had appeared a M. Jourdan published ‘Un Hermaphrodite,’ which was a wholesale plagiarism from Gailliardet. Jourdan denied this fact; when Gailliardet declared that the whole story about the Queen and the chevalier was pure fiction! Jourdan then affirmed that he had nothing to do with ‘Un Hermaphrodite,’ and had only put his name to it. In this way is calumny propagated. If we may judge from a letter written about this time, by Mrs. Scott, the Queen was not a person to attract chevaliers. The Queen’s ‘person,’ she says, ‘is not the only thing that displeases. There is a coarseness and vulgarity of manners that disgust much more. She does not seem to choose to fashion herself at all.’