whether I am dressed or not; but at all times she never forgets to send me away while she is powdering, with a consideration not to spoil my clothes, that one would not expect belonged to her high station. Neither does she ever detain me without making a point of reading here and there some little paragraph aloud.... Few minutes elapse ere I am again summoned. I find her then always removed to her state dressing-room, if any room in this private mansion can have the epithet of state. There, in a very short time, her dress is finished. She then says she won’t detain me, and I hear and see no more of her till bedtime.... “At five, we have dinner. Mrs. Schwellenberg and I meet in the eating-room. We are commonly tête-à-tête.... When we have dined, we go upstairs to her apartment, which is directly over mine. Here we have coffee till the _terracing_ is over: this is at about eight o’clock. Our tête-à-tête then finishes, and we come down again to the eating-room. There the equerry, whoever he is, comes to tea constantly, and with him any gentleman that the King or Queen may have invited for the evening; and when tea is over, he conducts them, and goes himself, to the concert-room. This is commonly about nine o’clock. From that time, if Mrs. Schwellenberg is alone, I never quit her for a minute, till I come to my little supper at near eleven. Between eleven and twelve my last summons usually takes place, earlier and later occasionally. Twenty minutes is the customary time then spent with the Queen: half an hour, I believe, is seldom exceeded. I then come back, and after doing whatever I can to forward my dress for the next morning, I go to bed—and to sleep, too, believe me: the early rising, and a long day’s attention to new affairs and occupations, cause a fatigue so bodily, that nothing mental stands against it, and to sleep I fall the moment I have put out my candle and laid down my head.” The best-known writer of that day was wounded at first by having to ‘answer the bell,’ like any chambermaid; and she had cast on her another burden, which even her loyalty could not consider dignified. She had to mix the Queen’s snuff. To perform this task belonged to her place, and it was an inflexible rule with her Majesty that discipline must be preserved. We cannot help thinking that there was a touch of regret in the King’s voice when he said: ‘Miss Burney, I hear you cook snuff very well.’ ‘Miss Burney,’ exclaimed the Princess Elizabeth, ‘I hope you hate snuff; for I hate it of all things in the world.’ Thus we see that disaffection lurked even in members of the Royal House.