Endless jealousies, which seem to us as frivolous as they were rabid;
and contentions, of which even the origin is still unexplained, had long
severed the queen from her eldest son. George II. had always loved his
mother: his affection for the unhappy Sophia Dorothea was one of the
very few traits of goodness in a character utterly vulgar, sensual, and
entirely selfish. His son, Frederick, Prince of Wales, on the other
hand, hated his mother. He loved neither of his parents: but the queen
had the preeminence in his aversion.
The king, during the year 1736, was at Hanover. His return was
announced, but under circumstances of danger. A tremendous storm arose
just as he was prepared to embark at Helvoetsluys. All London was on the
look out, weather-cocks were watched; tides, winds, and moons formed the
only subjects of conversation; but no one of his majesty's subjects was
so demonstrative as the Prince of Wales, and his cheerfulness, and his
triumph even, on the occasion, were of course resentfully heard of by
the queen.
During the storm, when anxiety had almost amounted to fever, Lord Hervey
dined with Sir Robert Walpole. Their conversation naturally turned on
the state of affairs, prospectively.
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