* * * * * No. 11. JERMYN STREET, _May_ 19, 1775. Imagine, my dear father, the shock I have received on hearing this moment, on my arrival here, that the Queen of Denmark is dead. I am wrapt in horror, sorrow, and consternation. I went to St. James's Coffee House, where Lord Hertford confirmed to me the sad news. A purple fever carried her off. The courier arrived yesterday, late at night. His Majesty is said to be much hurt by this so unexpected a blow. No doubt remains of its unhappy authenticity. As to me, indeed, I feel as I ought, the loss I sustain by her Majesty's death. I was even attached to her, and interest conspires in the nobler emotions to make me weep at the funeral of so young, so amiable, so unhappy a queen. What will be the consequences to me I can't say exactly. That she should die at this critical time, at the very moment, when she would, no doubt, have recommended me so strongly to the king, is one of those events which may overcome a temper more steady and uniform than mine. No wonder now that I have no answer to the long letter which I addressed to her three or four weeks ago, and which she graciously assured me at my departure from Zell, she would certainly answer. My head sinks for a moment under this very unexpected stroke; but it is really sorrow, more than the mean consideration of self loss, that bend it down. True, I have lost my patroness, my royal mistress; but, I have a hundred times told you, that no accidents of fortune can permanently stagger me. I am prepared to live or die; to be prosperous, or to stem the tide of adversity--yet, I confess it lies heavy at my heart. I must have done. To-morrow I'll write more, be assured. Don't you be hurt, my dear father at this news! Fear not for me. I can't be depressed. His Majesty may yet patronise me; nay, I fear not that he will do it. My spirit is unbroken, and ten times defeated I shall rally, and conquer in the end. Good night! I weep for the poor departed queen. Little did I think this, when she so kindly bade me adieu, not two months since, in her library at midnight. I remember her parting words, her look. She held the door a moment in her hand before she went out. But I did not see, I did not know that death followed her step, and shut the door for ever between her and me. P.S.--Lord Lumley (Lord Harborough's son) told me 'tis believed the queen was poisoned. * * * * * No. 12. I have this very moment received a mournful letter from Baron de Seckendorf, from Zell. I join my tears to his, on the loss of our royal mistress, the gracious and amiable deceased queen. He says, the Baron de Lichtenstein pledges himself that I shall be at least reimbursed my expenses from his Majesty here. He mentions no circumstances of her Majesty, the queen's death. He was too much oppressed with sorrow. Depend on it, that in the end some notice from the throne will be taken of me. It must be so, I think.