Despotic power, that root of bitterness, That tree of death that spreads its baleful arms Almost from pole to pole, beneath whose cursed shade No good thing thrives, and every ill finds shelter, Had found no time for its detested growth But for the follies and the crimes of men. But ‘Drury’ did not often offend in this guise, and even George and Caroline might have gone to see ‘Junius Brutus,’ and have been amused. The Queen, who well knew the corruption of the senate, might have smiled as Mills, in Brutus, with gravity declared that the senators-- Have heaped no wealth, though hoary grown in honours, and George might have silently assented to the reply of Cibber, Jun., in ‘Messala,’ that-- On crowns they trample with superior pride; They haughtily affect the pomp of princes. The Queen’s vice-chamberlain asserts that the King’s heart still beat for Caroline as warmly as his temper did against her. This assertion is not proved, but the contrary, by the facts. These facts were of so painful a nature to the Queen that she did not like to speak of them, even to Sir Robert Walpole. One of them is a precious instance of the conjugal warmth of heart pledged for by Lord Hervey. The night before the King had last left Hanover for England he supped gaily, in company with Madame Walmoden and her friends, who were not so _nice_ as to think that the woman who had deserted her husband for a King who betrayed his consort had at all lost _caste_ by such conduct. Towards the close of the banquet, the frail lady, all wreathed in mingled tears and smiles, rose, and gave as a toast, or sentiment, the ‘next 29th of May.’ On that day the old libertine had promised to be again at the feet of his new concubine; and as this was known to the select and delicate company, they drank the ‘toast’ amid shouts of loyalty and congratulations. The knowledge of this fact gave more pain to Caroline than all the royal fits of ill-humour together. The pain was increased by the King’s conduct at home. It had been his custom of a morning, at St. James’s, to tarry in the Queen’s rooms until after he had, from behind the blinds, seen the guard relieved in the court-yard below: this took place about eleven o’clock. This year he ceased to visit the Queen or to watch the soldiers; but by nine o’clock in the morning he was seated at his desk, writing lengthy epistles to Madame Walmoden, in reply to the equally long letters from the lady, who received and despatched a missive every post. ‘He wants to go to Hanover, does he?’ asked Sir Robert Walpole of Lord Hervey; ‘and to be there by the 29th of May. Well, he shan’t go for all that.’