hundred, without having formed one idea, I began to scribble. I got on for about seven pages, my hand being almost as incompetent as my head. I hid my scrawl and said not a word, while my doctor and my friends wondered at my increased debility. After a strong opiate I next morning returned to my task, and finished seven pages more, and delivered my almost illegible papers to my friend to transcribe and send away. I got well scolded; but I loved my king, and was carried through by a sort of affectionate impulse."
The eulogy on the religious, moral and domestic virtues of George III. is full of heartfelt love, and is, in vigour and language, a wonderful achievement for a sick woman of seventy-five.
She was in time restored to her usual state of health, and was as bright and vivacious as ever in conversation and correspondence. Sir Thomas Dyke Acland availed himself of this opportunity to get her likeness taken. As one of her letters says:—
"I had intended, as Dogberry says in the play, to bestow my tediousness upon you, but that most despotic of tyrants, and most ardent of friends, Sir Thomas Acland, against my most earnest remonstrances and positive refusals, has sent down Pickersgill to paint my portrait. I dreaded this foolish business so much as to lie awake about it, but I got through it, hitherto, better than usual."
In fact, two portraits were taken, one for Sir
