WILLIAM THE THIRD.

93

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But there were in the crowd those who felt as no English-man could feel, friends of his youth who had been true tohim, and to whom he had been true, through all vicissitudesof fortune; who had served him with unalterable fidelitywhen his Secretaries of State, his Treasury and hisAdmiralty had betrayed him, who had never on any fieldof,battle, or in an atmosphere tainted with loathsome anddeadly disease, shrunk from placing their own lives injeopardy to save his, and whose truth he had at the cost ofhis own popularity rewarded with bounteous munificence.He strained his feeble voice to thank Auverquerque for theaffectionate and loyal services of thirty years. To Albe-marle he gave the keys of his closet, and of his privatedrawers. “Youknow,” hesaid, “ what to do with them.”By this time he could scarcely respire. “ Can this,” hesaid to the physicians, ‘ 1 last long ? ” lie was told that theend was approaching. He swallowed a cordial, and askedfor Bentinck. Those were his last articulate words.Bentinck instantly came to the bedside, bent down, andplaced his ear close to the King’s mouth. The lips of thedying man moved; but nothing could be heard. TheKing took the hand of his earliest friend, and pressed ittenderly to his heart. In that moment, no doubt, all thathad cast a slight passing cloud over their long and purefriendship was forgotten. It was now between seven andeight in the morning. He closed his eyes, and gasped forbreath. The bishops knelt down and read the commen-datory prayer. When it ended William was no more.

CHAP.

_xxv._

noa.