"WINDSOR CASTLE is a place to receive monarchs in; Buckingham Palace to set fashion in; Kensington Palace a place to drink tea in." So writes Leigh Hunt, and adds that the reigns that flourished there were all tea-drinking reigns. We, however, venture to think that that of William the Third scarcely deserves this epithet. Literally speaking, but little tea could have been drunk, for " Tay," as it was then called, cost sixty shillings a pound ! But 's reign, at least as regards the Palace, was decidedly a tea-drinking one. We fancy that chocolate was 's favouritebeverage, but there is a gossiping odour about

On the death of her brother-in-law, Anne and her husband, Prince George, took possession of the royal apartments at Kensington with an alacrity which William's courtiers declared was " scarce decent."

England had not been ruled by a woman since the time of Elizabeth, and no greater contrast could be imagined than that which existed between good Queen Bess and good .

Anne was fat, slow, and dull, with an amiable face and a kind heart, but with very little brains, and still less energy of mind; a good wife, a devoted and sorrowing mother, a warm friend, and a very lukewarm enemy, firmly attached to the Church of England and the Tory party, and above all, a terrible gourmand.

When in good humour, says , she was meekly stupid, and when in bad humour, she was sulkily stupid.

Her husband resembled her in more than one respect.

"If," says Earl Stanhope, " there were in England any person duller than her Majesty, that person was her Majesty's consort, Prince George of Denmark."

In gluttony, he was fully equal to his wife, and cared more for his claret and calvered salmon, than for all the interests of Europe.

In William the Third's time, Kensington had served the purpose of a regal town-house, for that monarch spent much of the summer months in his own beloved Holland. But in Anne's reign, Kensington became the summer Palace, and St. James's the town residence. The Queen always spent the early summer at Kensington, and paid it casual visits during the remainder of the year.

She made many improvements in the house and gardens. One of her first acts was to commence the banqueting-room which stands a few yards to the north of the Palace, and now serves as an occasional greenhouse. In its present condition it is a striking illustration of the well-known definition of rubbish-" matter in its wrong place." A wooden shed or a temporary glasshouse would answer equally well for its present purposes. Standingamong the heterogeneous mixture of plants which it now contains, we cannot but fancy that the old niches, friezes, and cornices look mournfully down on the mud-stained floor, thinking, perhaps

At each end of the banqueting-room are two small circular appartments-one was a drawing-room and the other a music-room, while the centre itself originally served for a ball-room. In fact the banquetingroom deserves its name about as much as the German "banquet," which often consists of speeches, dancing, and beer. But gastronomy was certainly more suitable to Anne's character than dancing, though that exercise was once recommended to her as a cure for her attacks of gout. In this room the Queen gave concerts and balls, on which occasions the public were

Sometimes the programme was varied by music, and, D'Urfey, the poet-laureate of that time wrote, "'Twas within a mile of Edinboro' town" especially for one of these concerts. Dramatic performances, too, occasionally took place here. The author of "Robinson Crusoe," Daniel De Foe, notes that "after the

The Queen's every day life at Kensington was a strange compound of routine and excitement; of state concerns and of court etiquette. Here she held her cabinet councils, gave or took back the seals of her Lord Keepers, and the white staves of her Lord Treasurers. Here received his deanery, and here the Duchess of Marlborough had her last interview. Here, too, rolled on that unvarying round of court ceremonies, so precise and numerous as to be almost distressing. Fortunately Anne was fond of such matters. She could not dress without one person to hand her her clothes and another to put them on-a page, a lady of the bedchamber, and an attendant to help her wash her hands, while it took the same number of persons to hand her her wine glass at the dinnertable. Such a proceeding would certainly take all the "fiz" off a glass of champagne; only fortunately that wine did not become a fashionable beverage till more than half-a-century later. Dinner was the great event

"Where thou, great Anna, whom three realms obey, Did sometimes council take, and sometimes tea."

Only, as we have said before, Anne's favourite beverage was chocolate, which she took late in the evening, just before retiring to rest. The Queen cared for little beyond the routine of the court, and found pleasure in this humdrum, monotonous life. Only when engaged in card-playing did she cease to remember the little details of regal etiquette, which it was her peculiar delight to see carried out to the letter. When seated at the basset table, she was often so jostled by the players that she could scarcely put her hand in her pocket, and yet so absorbed would she be in the chances of the game that she would scarcely notice the indignity.

Anne was just the sort of person to fall under the dominion of any one whose will was stronger than her own. The Queen, in fact, was queen but in name. It was Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, who managed the affairs of the kingdom, and who regulated the royal household. It was the Duchess of Marlborough who turned out the Tories, and put the Whig party in office, who gave away the places of sempstress to the Queen, of page of the backstairs, and of royal coffeebearer.

Sarah was a very different woman to her royal mistress. Rough, rude, over-bearing, of shrewish temper and undignified manners, over-riding, or attempting to over-ride, the noblest ladies of England; avaricious, grasping, and heedless of everything that did not immediately concern herself; possessing an utter disregard for truth, and perfectly unscrupulous as to the means she employed, so long as her own selfish ends were secured. In a word, she stands prominently forward as the most unlovely picture of the fair sex that English history can produce. Such a woman was Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, and such a woman she was both proud and pleased to be. In her published

The Duchess was in the hey-dey of her influence when her mistress ascended the throne. She was appointed Groom of the State, Mistress of the Robes, Keeper of the Privy Purse, Ranger of Windsor Park. Anne, the Queen, treated her as Anne the Princess had done. In their correspondence, all court etiquette was laid aside. The Duchess assumed the name of Mrs. Freeman, while her royal mistress signed herself, "your faithful Morley," which after the death of the Duke of , became" your poor unfortunate faithful Morley;" Prince George was Mr. Morley, and the Duke, Mr. Freeman. On many points Mr. and disagreed, on one at least they were perfectly at accord, the Queen was made for their benefit. She was a

Such was the state of affairs at Kensington at the time of the accession of Anne. The war with France commenced a few months later, and Marlborough was placed at the head of the allied forces.

Kensington, of course, has nothing to do with Marlborough's victories; but it has a great deal to do with the ultimate object of the war. The traveller may hear on the banks of the Danube how the French lost 40,000 men at Blenheim, or he may be shown, on the grassy plains of South Brabant, the site of the battle of Ramilles. What a thrill of exultation passes through our hearts as we speak of Oudenarde or Malplaquet! We may, however, very naturally ask what did England gain by all these victories, all this loss of men, and of money? Looking at the provisions of peace of Utrecht, we find that the only substantial benefit derived from the war, was the acquisition of Gibraltar; and even that fortress may be considered somewhat dear at the price of seventy millions sterling. How

Sarah, indeed, had begun to lose ground. She, her self, introduced the enemy. This was Abigail Hill, the daughter of a poor relation, a decayed City mer chant. The Duchess made her a bed-chamber woman to the Queen as an inexpensive means of providing for her. Abigail, who by her marriage with one of the Prince's gentlemen, afterwards became Mrs. Masham, supplanted her patroness. The conflict soon began in earnest. The first pitched battle was fought in the summer of , not long before the victory of Oude

At this stage, the Duchess made her appearance in, as she herself confesses, or rather boasts, an exasperated condition. For once Anne acted as a queen, and a stern " Withdraw," forced the intruder to leave the room. In a few minutes Prince George had ceased to breathe, and the widowed Queen stood weeping and wringing her hands by the bedside of her dead consort.

The reign of the Marlboroughs was indeed nearly over. The Oueen's spirit, weak as it was, had suffered much insolence to pass unnoticed; but she now rebelled against a favourite who sought to rule her by fear rather than by love. Month after month Sarah vainly endeavoured to obtain an interview, the fact being that the Queen dreaded nothing more than the biting tongue and fierce invectives of her former friend. But the Duchess seized her opportunity. She despatched a billet to Anne at Kensington, stating that she herself would follow, " and

"I was going," said the Queen, "to write to you."

" Upon what, madam ?" demanded the Duchess.

" I did not open your letter till just now, and I was going to write to you," replied Anne.

" Was there anything in it, madam, that you had a mind to answer ?" asked Sarah.

"I think there is nothing you can have to say, but you may write it," replied the Queen.

To all the Duchess's angry expostulations and attempted explanations, the Queen would give but one reply

"You said you required no answer, and I will give you none."

The interview lasted more than an hour, and the Duchess, finding her immovable, left her with the parting recrimination, "that she was sure Her Majesty would suffer for her inhumanity."

The battle of Kensington, fought on the , was over. The fate of nations was decided. In vain did the Duchess threaten to publish her private correspondence with Anne; in vain did the Duke of Marlborough throw himself on his knees before the Queen. He was dismissed from his offices, and was told he must demand the Gold Key of the Mistress of the Robes from his wife. Sarah threw it at his head. Out went the Whigs; in came the Tories. The war languished, peace was concluded, and that stormy interview of one hour, between a termagant and her mistress, did more to change the destinies of Europe than the war which had lasted for half-a-generation. Let us look reverently, then, on the Palace, O Fellow Rambler, for here that great struggle was fought.

With the exception of such squabbles the wearisome routine which composed the sum total of Anne's life, was broken only by occasional visits to St. Paul's,

The Queen's consort, Prince George, died, as we have already seen, in , and six years later Anne followed him to the grave. She had long been troubled with gout. The , had been a most harassing day. The Prime Minister, Oxford, had been dismissed, and much state business had been gone through. The Queen was carried to bed, anxious and unwell. She herself felt that death was at hand. "I shall never survive it" was her remark to her physician. Then the whole Palace was in an uproar. Both parties were taken by surprise. The Jacobites in one chamber, and the favourers of the Hanoverian succession in another, held councils and plotted and schemed. The Queen was fast sinking. The gout had flown to her head. But even while in this condition state affairs must not be neglected. The new Prime Minister, Bolingbroke, was suspected of favouring the cause of the Queen's brother, the Pretender. The dying Queen herself placed the white staff of Lord Treasurer in the hands of the Duke of Shrewsbury, a staunch supporter of the Protestant succession. Tra

The Queen breathed her last between seven and eight o'clock on the following morning, Sunday, the 1st of August. A few hours later and the people were shouting for King George, of whom they knew nothing, forgetting the poor queen who had won their regard by long years of faultless domestic life, and who, if she does not deserve the poet's epithet of great, is yet certainly entitled to the name which her loving subjects had bestowed upon her of the "Good Queen Anne."

was dead. On that summer Sabbath that was news indeed, however trite the announcement may seem to-day. Readers of Thackeray will remember how Esmond came along the Kensington Road on that memorable morning; how, " early as the hour was, there was a bustle in the street, and

If some three months later we were to pass through the Palace gates, past the sentries, and walk under the portico, and enter the gallery leading to the great black marble staircase, afterwards so richly decorated by Kent,-as Esmond's descendant, George Warrington, did years after,-we should find ourselves in the presence of His Gracious Majesty, George the First, a man of middle height, with a tolerably amiable and rather pale face. He is dressed in a brown-coloured suit, without any ornament, except the blue ribbon of the Garter. On his head is a well-powdered flowing periwig of large ringlets. This is our new sovereign, just imported from Germany. We had to choose between King James and his Jesuits, and King George and his German favourites. Of these two evils the

Well might Byron, writing a century later, exclaim:

"Oh, Germany, how much to thee we owe !

* * * *

Who sent us-so be pardoned all her faults A dozen dukes, some kings, a queen, and Waltz."

We are not going to decide on the relative merits of the kings and the Waltz-at all events the latter was the more popular. Our ancestors would have been satisfied with a king, but his German favourites, with touching fidelity, followed him " to the throne of his ancestors," as he called England, and received the reward of virtue in the shape of pensions, titles, and places.

A regular German invasion took place. " It was with them," says Thackeray, " as with Blucher, one hundred years afterwards, when he looked down from

And yet, after all, could the new master of Kensington be expected to do otherwise? He was old, dull, and perfectly unused to English ways. What could he care for people whose language he did not understand ? Lady Mary Wortley Montagu says he " could speak no English, and was past the learning of it." There was, it is said, but one Englishman at Court

did not see much of George, though it was he who added the eastern front designed by Kent. On one or two occasions in this reign, however, a camp was formed in Hyde Park, and this brought many visitors to the Old Court Suburb. The first festival of this description was in honour of the

Another camp was formed seven years later in honour of the King's birthday. Pope, in one of his letters, tells a certain fair correspondent that she "will be infinitely delighted with the camp, which is speedily to be formed in Hyde Park." In another place he adds that "women of quality, and all the town, resort to magnificent entertainments given by the officers. The matrons, like those of Sparta, attend their sons to the field, to be the witnesses of their glorious deeds; and the maidens, with all their charms displayed, provoke the spirit of the soldiers. Tea and coffee supply the place of Lacedaemonian black broth.

In general the King saw but little of his subjects, and as he had quarrelled with his eldest son and the Princess of Wales, there was no one in the royal family to brighten up the place. We look back with regret to the days of that great man, "Little Will," or even to the dull times of good , both of whom, at least, spoke English. We do not like to look up at the old Palace and think of it as filled with Germans instead of English, of Mustapha and Mahomet, the King's two Turkish valets, taking the place of our old friend Lewis Jenkins, and would rather hear