Three days later the King made an evening visit. The Diary describes the mode of his reception on these occasions. ‘The etiquette always observed on his entrance is, first of all, to fly off to distant quarters; and next, Miss Port goes out, walking backwards, for more candles, which she brings in, two at a time, and places upon the tables and pianoforte. Next she goes out for tea, which she then carries to his Majesty, upon a large salver, containing sugar, cream, and bread and butter and cake, while she hangs a napkin over her arm for his fingers. This, it seems, is a ceremony performed, in other places, always by the mistress of the house; but here neither of their Majesties will permit Mrs. Delany to attempt it.’ While drinking his tea, the King ran on, in his usual discursive vein, about authors, actors, books, and plays. Concerning the tendency of Voltaire’s works, and the personal character of Rousseau, he expressed the current opinions of English society; calling the former a monster, and telling anecdotes to illustrate ‘the savage pride and insolent ingratitude’ of the latter. He vexed Miss Burney by pronouncing Mrs. Siddons the most excellent player of his time, not even excepting the divine Garrick. From players he went to plays, and having deplored the immorality of the old English comedies, and the poverty of the new ones, he came at length to Shakspeare. “‘Was there ever,’ cried he, ‘such stuff as great part of Shakspeare? only one must not say so! But what think you? What? Is there not sad stuff? What? What?’ “‘Yes, indeed, I think so, sir, though mixed with such excellences, that——’ “‘Oh!’ cried he, laughing good-humouredly; ‘I know it is not to be said! but it’s true. Only it’s Shakspeare, and nobody dares abuse him.’ “Then he enumerated many of the characters and parts of plays that he objected to; and, when he had run them over, finished with again laughing, and exclaiming: ‘But one should be stoned for saying so!’” The following afternoon, the Queen came, and was also in a mood for literary criticism. She talked of the ‘Sorrows of Werter,’ and Klopstock’s ‘Messiah,’ and mentioned, with praise, another book, saying: ‘I picked it up on a stall. Oh, it is amazing what good books there are on stalls!’ ‘It is amazing to me,’ said Mrs. Delany, ‘to hear that.’ ‘Why, I don’t pick them up myself; but I have a servant very clever; and if they are not to be had at the bookseller’s, they are not for me any more than for another.’