The King--to return to that royal widower--indubitably mourned over his loss, and regarded with some rag, as it were, of the dignity of affection her memory, and that with a tearful respect. He was for ever talking of her, even to his mistress; and Lady Yarmouth (as Madame Walmoden was called), as well as others, had to listen to the well-conned roll of her queenly virtues, and to the royal conjectures as to what the advice of Caroline would have been in certain supervening contingencies. There was something noble in his remark, on ordering the payment to be continued of all salaries to her officers and servants, and all her benefactions to benevolent institutions, that, if possible, nobody should suffer by her death but himself. We almost pity the wretched but imbecile old man too, when we see him bursting into tears at the sight of Walpole, and confessing to him, with a helpless shaking of the hands, that he had lost the rock of his support, his warmest friend, his wisest counsellor, and that henceforth he must be dreary, disconsolate, and succourless, utterly ignorant whither to turn for succour or for sympathy. This feeling never entirely deserted him; albeit, he continued to find much consolation where he had done better not to have sought it. Still, the old memory would not entirely fade, the old fire would not entirely be quenched. ‘I hear,’ said he, once to Baron Brinkman, as he lay sleepless, at early morn, on his couch, ‘I hear you have a portrait of my wife, which was a present from her to you, and that it is a better likeness than any I have got. Let me look at it.’ The portrait was brought, and so placed before the King that he could contemplate it leisurely at his ease. ‘It _is_ like her,’ he murmured. ‘Place it nearer me and leave me till I ring.’ For two whole hours the baron remained in attendance in an adjoining room, before he was again summoned to his master’s presence. At the end of that time, he entered the King’s bedroom, on being called. George looked up at him, with eyes full of tears, and muttered, pointing to the portrait: ‘Take it away; take it away! I never yet saw the woman worthy to buckle her shoe.’ And then he arose, and went and breakfasted with Lady Yarmouth.