One morning, soon after the Queen’s death, he woke early and sent for Baron Borgman, one of his Hanoverian suite. When he came the King said, “I hear you have a picture of the Queen, which she gave you, and that it is a better likeness than any in my possession. Bring it to me here.” Borgman brought it to the King, who said it was very like her Majesty, and burst into tears. “Put it,” he said presently, “upon that chair at the foot of my bed, and leave me until I ring the bell.” Two hours passed before he rang, and then he was quite calm. “Take the picture away,” he said to its owner, “I never yet saw a woman worthy to buckle her shoe.” Some little time later, he was playing cards one evening with his daughters. Some queens were dealt to him, and no sooner did he pick up the cards and perceive them than he burst into tears, and was unable to go on with the game. Princess Amelia guarded against a repetition of the scene the following night by privately ordering all the queens to be taken out of the pack. The King was very morbid in his grief, and much given to dwelling upon the material aspect of death. He was very superstitious and a firm believer in ghouls and vampires. Lord Wentworth gives an illustration of this in a letter he wrote to his father, Lord Strafford, shortly after the Queen’s funeral. “Saturday night, between one and two o’clock, the King waked out of a dream very uneasy, and ordered the vault, where the Queen is, to be broken open immediately, and have the coffin also opened; and went in a hackney chair through the Horse Guards to Westminster Abbey, and back again to bed. I think it is the strangest thing that could be.” In a subsequent letter he refers to it again: “The story about the King was true, for Mr. Wallop heard of one who saw him go through the Horse Guards on Saturday night with ten footmen before the chair. They went afterwards to Westminster Abbey.” Thirty-three years later George the Second was buried by his Queen’s side, and as a last proof of his devotion he left orders that one side of her coffin should be removed, and one side of his taken away, so that their bones should mingle, and in death be not divided.[132] Caroline was widely mourned by all classes of her husband’s subjects. Even those disaffected to the House of Hanover admitted the high qualities of the Queen, and the Jacobites tempered their judgment, when they remembered that she had always been on the side of mercy. Only from the Prince of Wales’s household and from those who supported him came any discordant note, and it must be admitted that some of these were very discordant indeed. In the eighteenth century personal and political hatreds were carried beyond the grave, and some of the epigrams and mock epitaphs composed by the Queen’s enemies after her death form anything but pleasant reading. The fact that she did not see the Prince of Wales during her last illness was seized upon as a pretext for attacking her memory.