The writer of this letter soon after lost a son, the Honourable Thomas Fermor. It was a severely felt loss; so severe that some weeks elapsed before the disconsolate mother was able, as she says, ‘to enjoy the kind and obliging concern’ expressed by the Queen’s bedchamber-woman in her late misfortune. Christianity itself, as this charming mother averred, would have authorised her in lamenting such a calamity during the remainder of her life; but then, oh joy! her maternal lamentation was put an end to and Rachel was comforted, and all because--‘It was impossible for any behaviour to be more gracious than that of the Queen on this occasion, who made it _quite fashionable_ to be concerned’ at the death of Lady Pomfret’s son. But there were more bustling scenes at Kensington than such as those described by this fashionably sorrowing lady and the sympathising sovereign. On Sunday, the 26th of October, the Queen and her court had just left the little chapel in the palace of Kensington, when intimation was given to her Majesty that the King, who had left Hanover on the previous Wednesday, was approaching the gate. Caroline, at the head of her ladies and the gentlemen of her suite, hastened down to receive him; and, as he alighted from his ponderous coach, she took his hand and kissed it. This ceremony performed by the regent, a very unceremonious, hearty, and honest kiss was impressed on his lips by the wife. The King endured the latter without emotion, and then, taking the Queen-regent by the fingers, he led her upstairs in a very stately and formal manner. In the gallery there was a grand presentation, at which his Majesty exhibited much ill-humour, and conversed with everybody but the Queen. His ill-humour arose from various sources. He had heated himself by rapid and continual travelling, whereby he had brought on an attack of a complaint to which he was subject, which made him very ill at ease, and which is irritating enough to break down the patience of the most patient of people. On ordinary occasions of his return from Hanover his most sacred Majesty was generally of as sour disposition as man so little heroic could well be. He loved the Electorate better than he did his kingdom, and would not allow that there was anything in the latter which could not be found in Hanover of a superior quality. There was no exception to this: men, women, artists, philosophers, actors, citizens, the virtues, the sciences, and the wits, the country, its natural beauties and productions, the courage of the men and the attractions of the women--all of these in England seemed to him worthless. In Hanover they assumed the guise of perfection.