You desire to know how I vary my occupation and amusements in this residence. I get up between seven and eight o'clock; take a walk in the garden if the weather permits; give my instructions to the gardener for the day; observe his men at work with that contented mind which is a perpetual feast; return to my castle for breakfast; dress myself from ten to eleven; appear in my little circle at twelve; retire to my apartment about one; read, and take an airing till dinner; walk again about an hour in the garden with the ladies of my retinue; drink tea, play upon the harpsichord, sometimes a little party at quadrille before supper; and, am commonly in bed before twelve. Every Monday, I receive petitions from real objects of compassion, and delight in relieving their necessities according to my power; and thus, every week passes in a regular rotation of rational conversation, _lectures amusantes et instructives_, musical entertainments, walks, and a little curious needlework. I see everybody happy around me, and vie with each other in proofs of zeal and affection for my person. Now, I can truly say, I cultivate friendship and philosophy, which are strangers to the throne. I expect to see you soon, according to your promise; this visit will add greatly to the comfort of your most affectionate sister, CAROLINE MATILDA. But all these efforts were impotent to dispel the expression of gnawing sorrow, which was imprinted on the countenance of the queen, and was spread over her whole manner. Toward the middle of 1774, a great pleasure, however, was caused the queen, by the receipt of a portrait of her son, the crown prince Frederick, which was sent her from Copenhagen. Shortly after she had received the picture, her grande maîtresse, Madame d'Ompteda, entered the room, because she had heard the queen speaking loudly, and was much surprised at finding her alone. With tears in her eyes, but with the sweet smile which, even in sorrowful moments, played round her mouth, she said to the grand mistress: "You cannot account for hearing me speaking loudly and yet not finding any one with me? Well, do you know with whom I was conversing? It was with this dear picture." And she then produced the portrait of the youthful prince. "And now that you have surprised me," the queen continued, "you shall also know what I was saying to the picture. I employed the words which you a few days ago placed in the mouth of a daughter who had found her lost father again, except that I have altered them as follows: Eh! qui donc comme moi gouterait la douceur De t'appeler mon fils, d'être chère a ton cœur! Toi, qu'on arrache aux bras d'une mère sensible, Qui ne pleure que toi, dans ce destin terrible."[48]