excite a vulgar or irreligious laugh, seem to be considered sufficient for the most

awful purposes.

"I have not seen the King so well for some time. His Majesty asked me yesterday how I had contrived to keep the knowledge of my alarming illness from you. I said that when at the worst I had contrived to write you a few lines daily.

"He seemed astonished that I could have done so. Thanks be to God, it is, I hope, now quite over.

"Yours, &c.

"W. K."

CHAPTER XVI.

Sir William Knighton's dangerous relapse.-Interest taken by the King in his recovery.-Letter to his Daughter.— Letters from Mr. Canning and Lord (then Mr.) Brougham. -Letter from the King, stating his own infirmities-From Mr. Stapleton on Mr. Canning's illness-From Basil Montagu, Esq.; Sir Walter Scott; the Duke of Clarence, &c.

SIR WILLIAM's return to town was followed by a most dangerous relapse: he was long confined to his bed. During this illness his sick-chamber was visited by some of the most distinguished persons: amongst these was the late Earl of Liverpool, then at the head of the government. He passed an hour by Sir William's bedside only one day previously to his own. fatal attack. Sir William had the most exalted opinion of his lordship.

The interruption in the duties of his

situation with the King was much felt by his Majesty, as is evidenced by the following letter.

66 DEAR FRIEND,

"FOR God's sake, for all our sakes, pray, pray take care of yourself, and do not think, upon any account, of stirring until to-morrow morning. It is true, I am jaded and quite worn out, and writing from my bed, where I have laid down for a little rest; but to-morrow will be quite time enough. Little or no advance, I

regret to say, has as yet been made, amidst, perhaps, almost unravelable perplexities.

"Yours affectionately,

"St. James's Palace,

Friday, April 6, 1827.

"G. R."

TO HIS ELDEST DAUGHTER.

"Sunday night, Hanover Square.

I

"I THINK I Owe you a letter: it is a great happiness to me to write to you, for you are one of my principal comforts. came to town last night, and although my evenings are lonely and silent, yet I so employ myself, that, like everything connected with time, they pass quickly away. I have scarcely been well since I left Hampshire; I have had continued colds, in consequence of which I have experienced what I consider an embarrassment about the heart however, they say it is no such thing, and amongst the number is Sir Henry Halford, which, as far as it goes, is satisfactory. I am better to-day after church, I walked out to see Wilkie, which has done me good. I cannot sit down to talk with common minds: it is a misfortune, almost a vice; but, whatever the fault may be, I cannot help it. I have never cultivated the feeling; it was born

with me. I remember, when a child, putting on my poor mother's white apron, and getting upon a chair to harangue the country domestics, because I thought I could improve them. This must have been at six years of age; so you see the early principle. Who fixed it there? I did not!

"My little drawing-room looks comfortable and companionable from my pictures. Every little specimen is a little history to me, and becomes a tale of time past. Ah! that quick passage of days leads rapidly to the grave. What then? What we must all hope for!-something better. I have been reading to-night St. Paul's narrative, which I had in my hand for the morning portion of Scripture when at Blendworth. I have been much struck at his worldly management throughout the whole of that business which led to his journey and residence at Rome. Common sense is evident throughout; and that sense separates itself in a remarkable

VOL. I.

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