could do. The premier might now have less leisure and licence than hitherto for blowing feathers, and nursing sofa-cushions, and serenely swearing in the face of deputations; but he was entering on a new term of power, and was safe for the present-whatever sarcastic enemies, and wearied friends, and the indignant people might say about the incapacity of the Melbourne ministry to carry on the business of the country.

CHAPTER IX.

Illness of the King-His Death-Accession of Queen Victoria-Severance of Hanover from England-The Council-William IV.-His Funeral-Queen Victoria-Queen proclaimed-Continuance of the Melbourne Ministry.

THE history of our Whig administrations is almost made up of obstruction on the part of their adversaries, and powerlessness on their own; but never were the Whig rulers reduced to more desperate straits than in the spring of 1837. They were supposed to have staked their existence on carrying their measures for Ireland; but they could not carry them. In the House of Lords the Tories cried out that the country was without a government; and the Radical members in the other House repeated the cry. The ministers were believed to desire earnestly the dissolution of the parliament formed during the short Peel administration; but the king would not hear of it. The king was believed to desire earnestly the resignation of the ministers; but the ministers did not appear to think of giving up. It was a state of things which could not endure long. When the change came, it was not exactly in the way that had been looked for.

The king's health had been better for the seven years since his accession than for a long previous period; and, he enjoyed a remarkable exemption from the annual attack of hay-fever-as it is called--which had before regularly come on in June. At the beginning of 1837,

his family had observed that his strength was not what it had been; but he was upwards of seventy, and some decline might be looked for. When May came in, he appeared to be aging rapidly. On the 17th, he was seated at the levee, for the first time, and looked worn and feeble. On returning to Windsor, he had difficulty in mounting the stairs, and sat down on the first sofa. He held a drawing-room the next day, was again seated, and observed to look still worse; but he was less fatigued in the evening, and was in high spirits the next daywhich was the anniversary of the battle of La Hogue. He talked a great deal about our naval warfare, and was carried away by the favourite subject of our victories at sea during the last century. He was stopped two or three times by difficulty of breathing, but went on again. The next morning, Saturday the 20th, he was much the worse for the exertion-could take no breakfast, and fell back fainting at lunch-time, and again at dinner. It was clear that evening that he could not go to town in the morning, to be present at the reopening of the Chapel Royal. It was ten at night before he gave it up, and he then left the drawing-room, never to enter it again. On Monday and Tuesday, he saw the ministers. On Wednesday there was a grand ball at St. James's, given by the king in celebration of the Princess Victoria attaining her majority. The ball was none of the merriest, from the absence of the king and queen; but the king sent tokens of his kindly sympathy. He presented the princess with a magnificent pianoforte, as his birthday-offering. He held a council on the Saturday; but was wheeled in a chair into the council-room, as he could no longer walk. When June arrived, he and those about him called his illness the old hay-fever. Whatever it was, it disappointed him of meeting the great parties he had invited for the Eton regatta on the 5th, and Ascot races afterwards. As he sat in his easy-chair, breathing with difficulty and sinking in weakness, the kind-hearted old man thought of various things which might add to the pleasure and comfort of the Eton lads, and others of his guests below; and many were the orders he gave. He insisted on the queen's going to Ascot on the race-day, that there might

be as little disappointment to the public as possible. She was not gone long; and when she returned, she observed a considerable change for the worse, in those two hours. The dinner in St. George's Hall the next day was dull and sad; but there was talk of the king being removed to Brighton in the morning, when perhaps the sea-air might revive him. When the morning came, he was too ill to stir; and the guests at the castle all went away after breakfast. An extraordinary stillness prevailed; and now, the king's danger was freely spoken of there and in London. The danger was supposed to be extreme; but he revived a little, and transacted some business with Sir Herbert Taylor the next day (the 9th), signing papers with much difficulty, but showing all necessary clearness of mind.

A bulletin was now first issued; but on the morrow, the king was so much better as to lead even his own attendants to think that the attack might be got over for the time. The improvement was, however, merely owing to medicines which temporarily relieved the breathing. During his severest suffering he was eminently patient, thankful for kind offices, and ever cheerful; and when he was relieved, it became evident how great had been the suffering which he had borne so quietly. His spirits rose, and he was full of thanksgiving. He was fully conscious of his danger throughout, and sincerely believing that, from the youth of the Princess Victoria, it was desirable that he should live some years longer, he prayed for life-not for his own sake, but for that of the country. He had prayers read very frequently; and they always revived him. On the 13th, he chose to see the Hanoverian minister on business; and on the 14th, the Duke of Cumberland-he and they, no doubt, being fully aware that the connection between the kingdoms of Hanover and England was hourly dissolving with his failing breath. Possibly, his desire to live ten years longer for the public good might have as much reference to Hanover as to Great Britain. For a few days more he fluctuated between life and death-now appearing to be breathing his last, and then signing a paper or two as he could rally his strength for the effort. His last act of sove

reignty was signing the pardon of a condemned criminal. On the Sunday, he received the sacrament from the hands of the Archbishop of Canterbury; and he appeared to derive so much solace from the mere presence of the primate, though unable to speak or to listen much, that the archbishop remained in the room till late into the night. The anniversary of Waterloo was always a great day with the king. The Duke of Wellington would not have held his usual banquet without complete assurance of the queen's wishes; but the good old king's thoughtfulness settled the matter the day before. He sent a message to the duke, to desire that the dinner might take place as usual, and to wish the host and guests a pleasant day. On the 19th, he saw all his children, and let them understand how fully aware he was that his death was just at hand. His last distinct and deliberate words appear to have been those which he addressed to the primate at the moment of their final parting: 'Believe me, I am a religious man.' He sank during the night, and died soon after two in the morning.

And then took place that immediate opposite action— that sudden revulsion of feeling-which the demise of royalty seems to necessitate, but which can never, under any circumstances, fail to be painful to every reflective person. Three carriages instantly drove up; and into those carriages went the primate, the Earl of Albemarle, and Sir Henry Halford, the royal physician. It was not five o'clock when they arrived at Kensington Palace. The doors were thrown open before them; in the morning sunshine stood the young queen and her mother, expecting the news, and ready for that day's impressive business

that birth to regality which, like the natural birth, can take place but once. Having delivered their news, the messengers proceeded to London, to wake up the government and the nation with tidings of the accession of their queen.

How widely were those tidings to extend? In a few hours they would spread in all directions to the sea in a few days the Irish on their wild western coast, and the fishermen in the straits of the Orkneys, would be wondering how the young girl looked, and what she said when

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told that she held the highest rank and the largest power on earth. In a few weeks, her subjects in the furthest Canadian provinces of her dominions would be assembling in the clearings of the forest under the summer night, or in the broad moonlight on the prairie, to ask if any one knew how the queen looked, and what she said when told the news. In a few months, turbaned messengers would be posting over the plains of India with the tidings; and, in shaded rooms, or under the shelter of tents, people would be speculating in like manner on the first feelings of a young queen, and soldiers would swear to themselves and to each other to fight and die in her service. Somewhat later, the solitary shepherd on the Australian plains would be musing on the news dropped by a passenger from the coast, and would, if an exile through poverty, or through crime, speculate on whether want or temptation could still oppress men so cruelly, now that a young queen, with a heart full of mercy, and power in her hands to do what she would, was to rule over a devoted people. It was an occasion which appealed to all hearts -a time when romantic expectation took possession of many who never knew romance before, and some who had believed that they should never know expectation again. What every one most wanted to learn was whether such exaltation and such hope were in the bosom of the young sovereign herself. Every movement, every tone, was eagerly and lovingly watched, on this extraordinary day of her life, and for some time afterwards; and on this day, her demeanour was all that could be wished.

By nine o'clock Lord Melbourne was at Kensington, was instantly admitted, and stayed half-an-hour, arranging for the assembling of the privy-council at eleven. Before noon came the lord mayor, with aldermen and other members of the corporation, to offer their duty on behalf of the city of London. Next arrived the King of Hanover -the Ernest, Duke of Cumberland, whose confidential agent had propounded to the loyal Orangemen the scheme of setting aside this young girl from her inheritance, because she was a girl and young. Lord Lyndhurst lent him his carriage, that no time might be lost; but he left the palace in his own state-coach-to start as soon as