George II. died possessed of considerable personal property. Of this he bequeathed 50,000_l._ between the Duke of Cumberland and the Princesses Amelia and Mary. The share received by his daughters did not equal what he left to his last ‘favourite’--Lady Yarmouth. The legacy to that German lady, of whom he used to write to Queen Caroline from Hanover, ‘You must love the Walmoden, for she loves _me_,’ consisted of a cabinet and ‘contents,’ valued, it is said, at 11,000_l._ His son, the Duke of Cumberland, further received from him a bequest of 130,000_l._, placed on mortgages not immediately recoverable. The testator had originally bequeathed twice that amount to his son; but he revoked half, on the ground of the expenses of the war. He describes him as the best son that ever lived, and declares that he had never given him cause to be offended: ‘A pretty strong comment,’ as Horace Walpole remarks, when detailing the incidents of the King’s decease, ‘on the affair of Klosterseven.’ The King’s jewels were worth, according to Lady Suffolk, 150,000_l._: of the best of them, which he kept in Hanover, he made crown jewels; the remainder, with some cabinets, were left to the duke. ‘Two days before the King died,’ says Walpole, ‘it happened oddly to my Lady Suffolk. She went to make a visit at Kensington, not knowing of the review. She found herself hemmed in by coaches, and was close to him whom she had not seen for so many years, and to my Lady Yarmouth; but they did not know her. It struck her, and has made her sensible to his death.’ Intelligence of the King’s decease was sent, as before said, to the Prince of Wales, by the Princess Amelia. The heir-apparent, however, received earlier intimation of the fact through a German _valet-de-chambre_, at Kensington. The latter despatched a note, which bore a private mark previously agreed upon, and which reached the heir to so much greatness as he was out riding. He knew what had happened by the sign. ‘Without surprise or emotion, without dropping a word that indicated what had happened, he said his horse was lame, and turned back to Kew. At dismounting he said to the groom: “I have said this horse was lame; I forbid you to say to the contrary.”’ If this story of Walpole’s be true, the longest reign in England started from a lie.