man, addicted to gallantry. The good people
of Harwich nearly pulled down his lodgings in
their eagerness to see him. Even the Quakers
went slightly crazed; one Friend, indeed,
actually forced his way in, doffed his hat, in
defiance of old Penn, kissed the prince's hand,
declared that though on principle he did not
fight himself, he liked those who could, blessed
him, and departed. The marriage rites were
so jealously restricted, that not even a
congratulatory salute was fired. The bridal pair
supped humbly at Leicester House, and the
prince was driven to court the Opposition—                                                            foolish Newcastle, heroic Chatham, and the
butcher Duke of Cumberland. At Brunswick
the couple were welcomed on their return by
the Countess of Yarmouth, the ugly mistress
of George the Second, the bride's grandfather.
So much for German propriety!

On August 16th, 1821, H.M.S. Glasgow
sailed from Harwich with the dead body of
the imprudent and unhappy Queen Caroline.
It was a singular fact that the naval officer
who was charged to carry back the queen's
body was the same man who from the main
chains of the Jupiter (fifty-gun ship) had
handed her a rope when she embarked in the
Elbe, a hopeful, reckless, and happy bride-
elect, twenty-nine years before. That cruel
scene at the coronation killed her. She had
claimed to be crowned, or at least to share in
the ceremonial. The Privy Council of course
decided against her, in spite of even the
eloquence and subtlety of Brougham. She was
repulsed at every door by the half-frightened
constables, grenadiers, and door-keepers. That
cruel and unfortunate ceremony took place on
the 19th of July. On the 7th of August,
the poor, foolish, high-spirited woman, died
broken-hearted at Hammersmith. How could
the marriage have been expected to be happy?
Caroline was the daughter of a foolish frivolous
woman, and of a brave, handsome, vicious
man. She grew up smart, clever, thoughtless,
and imprudent. She arrived in England
a romping, coarse, vulgar, dirty German
woman, the first approach of whom drove the
prince to instantly ask Lord Harris for some
brandy. The Regent was already married, and
had been in love with the most beautiful and
accomplished women in England. The polished
scoundrel! he had promised Mrs. Fitzherbert
ten thousand pounds a year, and had just
settled her in splendid infamy in a mansion in
Park-lane! On his very first visit to the
punctilious, snuffy, dull, dreary old court at Windsor,
he took down the pretty, pouting, spiteful
Lady Jersey with his bride. The prince had
only married this wilful German frau in order
to get money to pay his enormous debts, which
included such items as forty thousand pounds
to his farrier, and fourteen hundred pounds a
year to Mrs. Crouch, the actress, one of his
innumerable ex-mistresses. The husband and
wife hated each other at the first sight, and the
more they knew of each other, the more just and
the more virulent the hatred became. After the
disgraceful marriage, at which the prince was so
drunk that he had to be propped up by two of
his affectionate and equally respectable brothers,
there was a dismal supper at Buckingham
House, and at midnight the happy pair drove
off to Carlton House, wrangling with each
other by the way, so at least court rumour said.
Poor, poor woman!

Her funeral procession to Harwich was
troublous and disgraceful! The King by
Divine Right was just starting to glorify
Ireland, and settle everthing there by a flying
visit. Lord Liverpool, determined there should
be no exhibition of popular enthusiasm for the
crushed and tortured woman, ordered an escort
of cavalry to accompany the body at once
to Harwich, in spite of the remonstrances and
entreaties of Lady Hood, Lord Hood, and
Alderman Wood. The London mayor and
corporation wished to carry the corpse with
all civic honours through the city. Lord
Liverpool, in his small, timid, mean way, resolved
to smuggle it by the New Road to Romford
and to Harwich, or else by water direct; but
he was afraid of a riot at London-bridge. On
the 14th of August—a wet and stormy day—
the miserable, tawdry procession set out. At
Kensington church the cavalry tried to sidle
off towards Bayswater. Then the city went
mad, a barricade was instantly thrown up, and,
in spite of the Life Guards, the cortége was
hurried on by force towards the city. At Hyde
Park-gate and Park-lane there were fresh
outbreaks. At the corner of Edgeware-road the
Life Guards, losing their temper, fired at the
people, wounded several, and shot two men
dead. At Tottenham-court-road, however, the
people, passively stubborn, forced the
procession down Drury-lane into the Strand. After
the riot had lasted seven hours, the people
shook London with their shouts of triumph.
The civic authorities accompanied the heedless
corpse as far as Whitechapel, the eastern limit
of the city " liberties." At Romford the
mourners passed the night, but the royal corpse
was sent on, and rested in St. Peter's church,
Colchester. During the night a silver plate,
describing the deceased as " the injured" or " the
murdered queen of England" was affixed to the
coffin-lid, but afterwards removed. At
Harwich seven vessels awaited the body; the coffin
was carelessly swung into a barge, the squadron
set sail under a salute from Landguard Fort,
and passed straight to Cuxhaven. At
Brunswick some hundreds of the citizens drew the
funeral car to the cathedral gates. The
unhappy and unfortunate woman lies, says Dr.
Doran, in the cathedral of St. Blaize, between
two heroes—her old father, who fell fighting
at Jena for ungrateful Prussia; and her brother,
who, at the head of the savage Black
Brunswickers, fell avenging him at Waterloo.

Harwich has so fine a harbour that it is said
that one hundred sail of the line and four
hundred sail of colliers could anchor there
together at the same time. Yet in spite of the
two lighthouses, warning vessels from the
shoal of the West Rocks, the navigation
requires a pilot. Still, somehow or another, the