In the summer of 1737 she suffered so seriously, that at length, on the 26th of August, a report spread over the town that the Queen was dead.[41] The whole city at once assumed a guise of mourning--gay summer or cheerful autumn dresses were withdrawn from the shop windows, and nothing was to be seen in their place but ‘sables.’ The report, however, was unfounded. Her Majesty had been ill, but one of her violent remedies had restored her for the moment. She was thereby enabled to walk about Hampton Court with the King; but she was not equal to the task of coming to London on the 29th of the same month, when her grand-daughter Augusta was christened, and King, Queen, and Duchess of Saxe Gotha stood sponsors, by their proxies, to the future mother of a future Queen of England. At length, in November 1737, the crisis above alluded to occurred, and Caroline’s illness soon assumed a very grave character. Her danger, of which she was well aware, did not cause her to lose her presence of mind, nor her dignity, nor to sacrifice any characteristic of her disposition or reigning passion. It was on Wednesday morning, the 9th of November, that the Queen was seized with the illness which ultimately proved fatal to her. She was distressed with violent internal pains, which Daffy’s Elixir, administered to her by Dr. Tessier, could not allay. The violence of the attack compelled her to return to bed early in the morning; but her courage was great and the King’s pity small, and consequently she rose, after resting for some hours, in order to preside at the usual Wednesday’s drawing-room. The King had great dislike to see her absent from this ceremony; without her, he used to say, there was neither grace, gaiety, nor dignity; and, accordingly, she went to this last duty with the spirit of a wounded knight who returns to the field and dies in harness. She was not able long to endure the fatigue. Lord Hervey was so struck by her appearance of weakness and suffering, that he urged her, with friendly peremptoriness, to retire from a scene for which she was evidently unfitted. The Queen acknowledged her inability to continue any longer in the room, but she could not well break up the assembly without the King, who was in another part of the room, discussing the mirth and merits of the last uproarious burlesque extravaganza, ‘The Dragon of Wantley.’ All London was then flocking to Covent Garden to hear Lampe’s music and Carey’s light nonsense; and Ryan’s Hamlet was not half so much cared for as Reinhold’s Dragon, nor Mrs. Vincent’s Ophelia so much esteemed as the Margery and Mauxalinda of the two Misses Young.