forgotten in her desire to recover or retain her power. She promised to obey the minister in all he had enjoined upon her; but Walpole, well as he knew her, very excusably conjectured that there _must_ still be enough of the mere woman in her, to induce her to refuse to perform what she had promised to accomplish. He was, however, mistaken. It is true, indeed, that her heart recoiled at what the head had resolved, but she maintained her resolution. She conversed calmly with Walpole on the best means of carrying it out. But the minister put no trust in her assertions until such a letter as he had recommended had actually been despatched by her to the King. She rallied Walpole on his doubts of her, but praised him for his abominable counsel. It was this commendation which alarmed him. He could believe in her reproof; but he affirmed that he was always afraid when Caroline ‘_daubed_.’ However, he was now obliged to believe, for the Queen spoke calmly of the coming of her rival, allotted rooms for her reception, devised plans and projects for rendering her comfortable, and even expressed her willingness to take her into her own service! Walpole opposed this, but she cited the case of Lady Suffolk. Upon which the minister observed, with infinite moral discrimination, that there was a difference between the King’s making a mistress of the Queen’s servant, and making a Queen’s servant of his mistress. The people might reasonably look upon the first as a very natural condition of things, while the popular virtue might feel itself outraged at the second. Caroline said nothing, but wrote certainly the most singular letter that ever wife wrote to a husband. It was replied to by a letter also the most singular that ever husband addressed to a wife.[27] The King’s epistle was full of admiration at his consort’s amiable conduct, and of descriptions of her rival’s bodily and mental features. He extolled the virtues of his wife, and then expressed a wish that he could be as virtuous as she! ‘But,’ wrote he, in very elegant French, ‘you know my passions, my dear Caroline; you know my weaknesses; there is nothing in my heart hidden from you; and would to God,’ exclaimed the mendacious, blaspheming libertine, ‘would to God that you could correct me with the same facility with which you apprehend me! Would to God that I could imitate you as well as I admire you, and that I could learn of you all the virtues which you make me see, feel, and love!’