The duke of Newcastle professed to be so disconsolate for the loss of the late king, that he gave out that he meant to retire from court and the world; but, at the same time, he meant nothing less, though now sixty-six years of age, and he not only consented to remain at the head of the treasury, but paid most fulsome and abject court to Bute, hoping, he said, to see him at the head of the government, and feeling proud not only to serve with him, but under him. Whereupon a witty lady observed, "That the only question was, whether the king's chamber should be warmed with Scotch coal, Newcastle coal, or Pitt coal?"
On the 31st of October George highly gratified the serious part of the nation by issuing a proclamation "For the encouragement of piety and virtue, and for preventing and punishing vice, profaneness, and immorality;" and though his example in some of these respects had not been quite so immaculate as historians represent, his after life certainly gave force to his orders, and the conduct of both himself and his queen produced the greatest change in the social aspect of the nation. They were the unswerving maintainers of morality and decorum, though they had not the good fortune to secure these qualities in their sons. Lady Yarmouth, the late king's mistress, having now disappeared from court, the archbishop of Canterbury, whose face had rarely been seen there, now became a frequent attendant. Other immediate acts of his majesty were not so much admired. He struck out of the liturgy the names of his uncle, the duke of Cumberland, who certainly had great need of prayer on his behalf, and his aunt, the princess Amelia. This was excused, however, on the ground that they must have been put down below the duke of York; and they were, therefore, considerately merged into the mass of "all the Royal Family." The rangership of Windsor Park was next taken from the princess Amelia and conferred on Bute; but then it was said that she was, in reality, glad to give it up, having made herself unpopular by endeavouring to stop up one of the roads across the park. The privation, at all events, did not want a plausible reason.
The next occurrence occasioned equally disagreeable surmises. The late king had left behind him a sum of from three to four hundred thousand pounds, and after leaving to the countess of Yarmouth a cabinet containing ten thousand pounds, he had made the duke of Cumberland and his daughters, Amelia and Mary, heirs to the remainder; but this balance had mysteriously become reduced to about ninety thousand pounds, which, after the payment of ten thousand pounds to lady Yarmouth, was divided betwixt Cumberland and the princesses, and of the rest of the money nothing more ever was heard. It was openly asserted at the time that George had made good use of his secret return to the palace, as regarded this sum, and though his admirers warmly defended him from the charge, no denial was ever made by the king, and the fact of his afterwards appropriating the whole of the proceeds of the duchies of Cornwall and Lancaster during the minority of his son, the prince of Wales, whose patrimony it was, only too completely seemed to give some colour to the charge of his seizure of his uncle and aunts’ legacy.
On the 11th of November the remains of George II. were deposited in Westminster Abbey with the usual regal ceremony. According to Horace Walpole, the scene was at once melancholy and ludicrous. The duke of Cumberland, now a mere bloated ruin from excess, his face distorted by the effects of a paralytic stroke, stood looking gloomily into the vault, so soon, to a certainty, to receive his own corpse; and the duke of Newcastle, first flinging himself into one of the stalls in the chapel, and making an uproarious display of grief, and then running about with his glass to spy who were at the funeral, "spying with one hand, and mopping his eyes with the other," was the object of universal attention.
Parliament, which had been prorogued for a few days on account of the demise of the king, assembled on the 18th of November. The attendance was crowded, and the king was received with the most enthusiastic acclamations. He delivered a speech, composed by lord Hardwicke, and revised by Pitt, and containing a passage, said to be inserted by himself, as follows: — "Born and educated in this country, I glory in the name of Briton!" This word he is said to have written "Englishman," but that lord Bute altered it to "Briton;" which, if true, was one of the most sensible things he ever did; for though the term was criticised by those who were averse to the Scots, it was worthy of the king of Great Britain to make no distinctions, but to assume the broadest appellation. The sentence then continued: — "And the peculiar happiness of my life will ever consist in promoting the welfare of a people, whose loyalty and warm attachment to me I consider the greatest and most permanent security of my throne." In the addresses these words produced the most enthusiastic responses. "What a lustre," exclaimed the lords, "doth it cast upon the name of Briton, when you, sir, are pleased to esteem it amongst your glories!" The commons accepted "with the liveliest sentiments of duty, gratitude, and exultation of mind, those most affecting and animating words." For the rest, the speech expressed the royal determination to prosecute the war with all vigour; praised the magnanimity and perseverance of his good brother, the king of Prussia; and recommended unanimity of action and opinion in parliament. Nothing could appear more unanimous or more liberal than parliament. It voted another subsidy to Prussia of six hundred and seventy thousand pounds; fixed the civil list for the reign at eight hundred thousand pounds; and granted the hitherto unexampled supplies of nearly twenty millions. All parties and shades of opinion seemed obliterated. Tories and Jacobites flocked again to court, and, through the influence of Bute, many of them received posts in the new household.
But the smoothness was only on the surface—beneath were working the strongest political animosities and the most selfish desires. The little knot of aristocratic families which had so long monopolised all the sweets of office, now saw with indignation tribes of aspirants crowding in for a share of the good things. The aspirants crowded the antechamber of Bute, the angry and disappointed resorted to Newcastle, who was in a continual state of agitation by seeing appointments made to new men without his knowledge; members rushing in to offer their support to government at the next election, who had hitherto stood aloof, and were now received and encouraged. Yet, whilst he fumed
