The able and renowned diplomatist, Lord Malmesbury, having received the instructions of the King to demand the hand of the Princess Caroline of Brunswick for the Prince of Wales, proceeded to the duchy--a lover by proxy--to perform his mission. He had no discretionary powers allowed him. That is, although little was known of the Princess at the English court, he was not commissioned to give any information to that court which might have ultimately saved two persons from being supremely miserable. He was commissioned to fetch the Princess. The fitness of the Princess was the last thing thought of. The bride herself used often to say, in after life, to the attendants--who, while they served, sneered at her--that, had she only been allowed to have paid a visit to England, to have first made the acquaintance of the Prince, what a world of misery they might both have been spared! The fact was, no time was to be lost. All the marriageable princesses in Germany were learning English, for the express purpose of bettering their chances of becoming Princess of Wales. They all waited for an offer; and that offer, after all, was made to a Princess who had not made the English language her particular study. The hymeneal envoy reached Brunswick on the 28th of November 1794. Nine years before, namely, on the 21st of December 1785, the Prince whom he represented was married to Mrs. Fitzherbert (a Roman Catholic, and twice a widow) in her own drawing-room, by a Protestant clergyman, and in presence of two of her relatives. The court of Brunswick thought nothing of this matter. Lord Malmesbury was received with as hilarious a welcome as that which was given to the Earl of Macclesfield at Hanover, when he appeared there with the Act of Settlement which opened the throne of England to the Electoral Family. There was the same hospitality, the same offer of service; and the business was opened, as so much earthly business is, with a grand banquet at court, on the same night, at which Lord Malmesbury saw the future Queen of England for the first time. She was embarrassed on being presented to him, but the experienced diplomatist was not so. He looked at and studied the appearance of the Princess, and saw ‘a pretty face--not expressive of softness; her figure not graceful; fine eyes; good hair; tolerable teeth, but going; fair hair, and light eyebrows; good bust; short; with what the French call “des épaules impertinentes.” _Vastly happy with her future expectations._’ She had got over an omission on the part of the Prince which had for a moment pained her. With the offer or demand in marriage there came no greeting from the suitor. The Princess naturally felt disappointed, and she said in a plaintive little voice: ‘le Prince n’a donc rien écrit!’ She was at the time a pretty woman; she had delicately-formed features, and her complexion was good. Those who can only remember her as she appeared when on her last visit to