The new King took the throne of Frederick the Great, not as his successor, “Frederick the Third,” as he was acclaimed, but more modestly, with the title of Frederick William the Third. His wife assured the delegation of citizens who waited upon her to offer the congratulations of Berlin, that she was most grateful for every proof of their love, and that she and the King would both endeavor to deserve it; for, said she: “The love of his subjects is the softest pillow for a royal head.” The residence and mode of life of the royal pair remained unchanged. The King still refrained, as before, from all stiff formalities and vain and ostentatious display. His father, who had had extravagant tastes, left him nothing but debts, and now they were obliged to retrench. But even had it been otherwise, Frederick William the Third and his Louise were happiest in living a simple life. On a serving-man’s opening both the folding doors for His Majesty to pass through, he asked: “Have I grown suddenly so stout that one door is not wide enough for me?” And when the _chef_ put two more courses on the King’s bill-of-fare than he had served to the Crown-prince, the King struck them off, with the words: “Does he think my stomach has grown larger since yesterday?” It was an old court custom that two generals should serve standing during meals, and that the chamberlain should be obliged to attend the ruler until he had tasted his first glass of wine. At his first state dinner, when Frederick William the Third saw the Master of Ceremonies standing behind his chair, he said to him: “You may sit down.” “I am not allowed to,” was the answer, “until Your Majesty has taken the first drink.” “Is any particular beverage mentioned?” asked the King. “Not so far as I know,” replied the Master of Ceremonies. “Wait,” said the King. He reached for the nearest glass of water, drank, and said: “Now I have had my drink, and you may be seated!” Queen Louise in the same manner retained her simple habits. She appeared in robes of state only when the dignity of her station demanded it. Her usual dress at balls and festivals was a dainty muslin gown, her beautiful hair decked only with a diadem, and about her neck a long string of pearls. In the course of time, by setting a new example, she also brought about the disappearance of trains yards in length, of the great hooped skirts, and towers of artificial hair. With her fine tact she knew how to banish all stiff formality from social life, and to secure natural and unaffected intercourse.