you for letting Lady Gower take place of you as lady to the Princess of Brunswick. I had a mind to speak to you on the spot, but would not, for fear of saying anything I should repent of, _though I should have thought it_. The Princess of Brunswick has nothing to do here, and I insist on your recovering the precedence you gave up. One day or other my son will be married, and then I shall have his wife’s ladies pretending to take place in my palace, which they shall not do.’ The Princess of Brunswick left England in a naturally angry mood. The King, reluctantly and tardily, paid both her journeys, and gave her 1,000_l._ besides. Her mother left her nothing. The death of a woman of less note caused some conversation in Queen Charlotte’s circle, soon after the demise of the Princess-dowager of Wales, and it may be fittingly noticed here. Petronilla Melusina was the illegitimate daughter of George I. and Mdlle. von der Schulenburg (Duchess of Kendal). It was the discovery of her birth (in 1693) that stirred Sophia Dorothea to the resolution to leave Hanover. Petronilla came to England, passed as her mother’s niece, and was created Countess of Walsingham. She became acquainted in this country with Lady Huntingdon, and that good, active, eccentric, but earnest apostle of the Gospel, Whitfield. With the latter Petronilla maintained a long correspondence, and she is spoken of as being a gem in the crown which metaphor placed upon the preacher’s brow. In 1733, this lady married the Earl of Chesterfield, and in her name her husband is said to have compelled George II. to pay him a very large sum, which also, according to report, was bequeathed her by George I. in the will which was destroyed. She led as gay and careless a life as her lord, but not for so long a period as he. She was in the very height of her enjoyment of the splendour of the great world, when, attracted by curiosity to the obscurely lighted drawing-room of Lady Huntingdon, where Whitfield was preaching, she learned, for the first time, to heed as well as hear the story of the brighter splendour of a greater, and the night and anguish of a more terrible, world than the one in which she was the chief lady of the revels, and the fascinator, not to be resisted, of every man in it except her husband. It was here she first felt that all was not so well with her heart, nor so safe for her soul, as should be. She was a woman of strong mind, and she at once braved all the storm with which fools and fine gentlemen pelted her, by boldly declaring the difference which had come over her views, and that which should in future mark her practice. She would fain have retired altogether from the world, but in obedience to her husband, who exacted from her a service which he never repaid, she went occasionally to court. At each visit it was remarked that her costume diminished in finery, but increased in taste. At her last visit among the gay