501:339;00@@@@@| 501:339;00[' ]| 501:339;00[' ]| <1800-1859> 501:339;00[' ]| 501:339;01[' ]| The death of King*Charles*the*Second took the nation 501:339;02[' ]| by$4$ surprise. His frame was naturally strong, and did 501:339;03[' ]| not appear to$9$ have suffered from excess. He had 501:339;04[' ]| always been mindful of his health even in$4$ his pleasures; 501:339;05[' ]| and his habits were such as promise a long life and a 501:339;06[' ]| robust old age. Indolent as he was on$4$ all occasions 501:339;07[' ]| which$6#1$ required tension of the mind, he was active and 501:339;08[' ]| persevering in$4$ bodily exercise. He had, when young, 501:339;09[' ]| been renowned as a tennis player, and was, even in$4$ the 501:339;10[' ]| decline of life, an indefatigable walker. His ordinary 501:339;11[' ]| pace was such that$3$ those who$6#1$ were admitted to$4$ the 501:339;12[' ]| honour of his society found it difficult to$9$ keep up$5$ with 501:339;13[' ]| him. He rose early, and generally passed three or 501:339;14[' ]| four hours a day in$4$ the open air. He might be seen, 501:339;15[' ]| before the dew was off the grass in$4$ Saint*James's*Park, 501:339;16[' ]| striding among the trees, playing with his spaniels, and 501:339;17[' ]| flinging corn to$4$ his ducks; and these exhibitions 501:340;01[' ]| endeared him to$4$ the common people, who$6#1$ always love 501:340;02[' ]| to$9$ see the great unbend. 501:340;03[' ]| At length, towards the close of the year 1684, he 501:340;04[' ]| was prevented, by$4$ a slight atack of what was supposed 501:340;05[' ]| to$9$ be gout, from rambling as usual. He now spent his 501:340;06[' ]| mornings in$4$ his laboratory, where he amused himself 501:340;07[' ]| with experiments on$4$ the properties of mercury. His 501:340;08[' ]| temper seemed to$9$ have suffered from confinement. He 501:340;09[' ]| had no$2$ apparent cause for$4$ disquiet. His kingdom was 501:340;10[' ]| tranquil; he was not in$4$ pressing want of money; his 501:340;11[' ]| power was greater than it had ever been; the party 501:340;12[' ]| which$6#1$ had long thwarted him had been beaten down; 501:340;13[' ]| but the cheerfulness which$6#1$ had supported him against 501:340;14[' ]| adverse fortune had vanished in$4$ this season of prosperity. 501:340;15[' ]| A trifle now sufficed to$9$ depress those elastic spirits 501:340;16[' ]| which$6#1$ had borne up$5$ against defeat, exile, and penury. 501:340;17[' ]| His irriration frequently showed itself by$4$ looks and 501:340;18[' ]| words such as could hardly have been expected from a 501:340;19[' ]| man so$5#1$ eminently distinguished by$4$ good humour and 501:340;20[' ]| good breeding. It was not supposed, however, that$3$ 501:340;21[' ]| his constitution was seriously impaired. 501:340;22[' ]| His palace had seldom presented a gayer or a more 501:340;23[' ]| scandalous appearance than on$4$ the evening of Sunday 501:340;24[' ]| the first of February 1685. Some grave persons who$6#1$ 501:340;25[' ]| had gone thither, after the fashion of that$6#2$ age, to$9$ pay 501:340;26[' ]| their duty to$4$ their sovereign, and who$6#1$ had expected 501:340;27[' ]| that$3$, on$4$ such a day, his court would wear a decent 501:340;28[' ]| aspect, were struck with astonishment and horror. The 501:340;29[' ]| great gallery of Whitehall, an admirable relic of the 501:340;30[' ]| magnificence of the Tudors, was crowded with revellers 501:340;31[' ]| and gamblers. The King sate there chatting and 501:340;32[' ]| toying with three women, whose charms were the boast, 501:340;33[' ]| and whose vices were the disgrace, of three nations. 501:340;34[' ]| Barbara*Palmer, Duchess*of*Cleveland, was there, no$2$ 501:340;35[' ]| longer young, but still retaining some traces of that$6#2$ 501:340;36[' ]| superb and voluptuous loveliness which$6#1$ twenty years 501:340;37[' ]| before overcame the hearts of all men. There too was 501:340;38[' ]| the Duchess*of*Portsmouth, whose soft and infantine 501:340;39[' ]| features were lighted up$5$ with the vivacity of France. 501:340;40[' ]| Hortensia*Mancini, Duchess*of*Mazarin, and niece of the 501:341;01[' ]| great Cardinal, completed the group. She had been early 501:341;02[' ]| removed from her native Italy to$4$ the court where her 501:341;03[' ]| uncle was supreme. His power and her own attractions 501:341;04[' ]| had drawn a crowd of illustrious suitors round her. 501:341;05[' ]| Charles himself, during his exile, had sought her hand 501:341;06[' ]| in$4$ vain. No$2$ gift of nature or of fortune seemed to$9$ be 501:341;07[' ]| wanting to$4$ her. Her face was beautiful with the rich 501:341;08[' ]| beauty of the South, her understanding quick, her 501:341;09[' ]| manners graceful, her rank exalted, her possessions 501:341;10[' ]| immense; but her ungovernable passions had turned 501:341;11[' ]| all these blessings into curses. She had found the 501:341;12[' ]| misery of an ill assorted marriage intolerable, had fled 501:341;13[' ]| from her husband, had abandoned her vast wealth, and, 501:341;14[' ]| after having astonished Rome and Piedmont by$4$ her 501:341;15[' ]| adventures, had fixed her abode in$4$ England. Her 501:341;16[' ]| house was the favourite resort of men of wit and 501:341;17[' ]| pleasure, who$6#1$, for$4$ the sake of her smiles and her 501:341;18[' ]| table, endured her frequent fits of insolence and ill 501:341;19[' ]| humour. Rochester and Godolphin sometimes forgot 501:341;20[' ]| the cares of state in$4$ her company. Barillon and Saint*Evremond 501:341;21[' ]| found in$4$ her drawing*room consolation for$4$ 501:341;22[' ]| their long banishment from Paris. The learning of 501:341;23[' ]| Vossius, the wit of Waller, were daily employed to$9$ 501:341;24[' ]| flatter and amuse her. But her diseased mind required 501:341;25[' ]| stronger stimulants, and sought them in$4$ gallantry, in$4$ 501:341;26[' ]| basset, and in$4$ usquebaugh. While Charles flirted with 501:341;27[' ]| his three sultanas, Hortensia's French page, a handsome 501:341;28[' ]| boy, whose vocal performances were the delight of 501:341;29[' ]| Whitehall, and were rewarded by$4$ numerous presents 501:341;30[' ]| of rich clothes, ponies, and guineas, warbled some 501:341;31[' ]| amorous verses. A party of twenty courtiers was 501:341;32[' ]| seated at cards round a large table on$4$ which$6#1$ gold was 501:341;33[' ]| heaped in$4$ mountains. Even then the King had complained 501:341;34[' ]| that$3$ he did not feel quite well. He had no$2$ 501:341;35[' ]| appetite for$4$ his supper; his rest that$6#2$ night was broken; 501:341;36[' ]| but on$4$ the following morning he rose, as usual, early. 501:341;37[' ]| To$4$ that$6#2$ morning the contending factions in$4$ his 501:341;38[' ]| council had, during some days, looked forward with 501:341;39[' ]| anxiety. The struggle between Halifax and Rochester 501:341;40[' ]| seemed to$9$ be approaching a decisive crisis. Halifax, 501:342;01[' ]| not content with having already driven his rival from 501:342;02[' ]| the Board*of*Treasury, had undertaken to$9$ prove him 501:342;03[' ]| guilty of such dishonesty or neglect in$4$ the conduct of 501:342;04[' ]| the finances as ought to$9$ be punished by$4$ dismission from 501:342;05[' ]| the public service. It was even whispered that$3$ the 501:342;06[' ]| Lord*President would probably be sent to$4$ the Tower. 501:342;07[' ]| The King had promised to$9$ enquire into the matter. 501:342;08[' ]| The second of February had been fixed for$4$ the investigation; 501:342;09[' ]| and several officers of the revenue had 501:342;10[' ]| been ordered to$9$ attend to$4$ their books on$4$ that$6#2$ day. 501:342;11[' ]| But a great turn of fortune was at hand. 501:342;12[' ]| Scarcely had Charles risen from his bed when his 501:342;13[' ]| attendants perceived that$3$ his utterance was indistinct, 501:342;14[' ]| and that$3$ his thoughts seemed to$9$ be wandering. Several 501:342;15[' ]| men of rank had, as usual, assembled to$9$ see their 501:342;16[' ]| sovereign shaved and dressed. He made an effort to$9$ 501:342;17[' ]| converse with them in$4$ his usual gay style; but his 501:342;18[' ]| ghastly look surprised and alarmed them. Soon his 501:342;19[' ]| face grew black; his eyes turned in$4$ his head; he 501:342;20[' ]| uttered, a cry, staggered, and fell into the arms of one 501:342;21[' ]| of his lords. A physician who$6#1$ had charge of the royal 501:342;22[' ]| retorts and crucibles happened to$9$ be present. He had 501:342;23[' ]| no$2$ lancet; but he opened a vein with a penknife. The 501:342;24[' ]| blood flowed freely; but the King was still insensible. 501:342;25[' ]| He was laid on$4$ his bed, where, during a short time, 501:342;26[' ]| the Duchess*of*Portsmouth, hung over him with the 501:342;27[' ]| familiarity of a wife. But the alarm had been given. 501:342;28[' ]| The Queen and the Duchess*of*York were hastening 501:342;29[' ]| to$4$ the room. The favourite concubine was forced to$9$ 501:342;30[' ]| retire to$4$ her own apartments. Those apartments had 501:342;31[' ]| been thrice pulled down and thrice rebuilt by$4$ her lover 501:342;32[' ]| to$9$ gratify her caprice. The very furniture of the 501:342;33[' ]| chimney was massive silver. Several fine paintings, 501:342;34[' ]| which$6#1$ properly belonged to$4$ the Queen, had been transferred 501:342;35[' ]| to$4$ the dwelling of the mistress. The side-boards 501:342;36[' ]| were piled with richly wrought plate. In$4$ the 501:342;37[' ]| niches stood cabinets, the masterpieces of Japanese art. 501:342;38[' ]| On$4$ the hangings, fresh from the looms of Paris, were 501:342;39[' ]| depicted, in$4$ tints which$6#1$ no$2$ English tapestry could 501:342;40[' ]| rival, birds of gorgeous plumage, landscapes, hunting 501:343;01[' ]| matches, the lordly terrace of Saint*Germains, the 501:343;02[' ]| statues and fountains of Versailles. In$4$ the midst of 501:343;03[' ]| this splendour, purchased by$4$ guilt and shame, the 501:343;04[' ]| unhappy woman gave herself up$5$ to$4$ an agony of grief, 501:343;05[' ]| which$6#1$, to$9$ do her justice, was not wholly selfish. 501:343;06[' ]| And now the gates of Whitehall, which$6#1$ ordinarily 501:343;07[' ]| stood open to$4$ all comers, were closed. But persons 501:343;08[' ]| whose faces were known were still permitted to$9$ enter. 501:343;09[' ]| The antechambers and galleries were soon filled to$4$ 501:343;10[' ]| overflowing; and even the sick*room was crowded with 501:343;11[' ]| peers, privy councillors, and foreign ministers. All 501:343;12[' ]| the medical men of note in$4$ London were summoned. 501:343;13[' ]| So$5#1$ high did political animosities run that$3$ the presence 501:343;14[' ]| of some Whig physicians was regarded as an extraordinary 501:343;15[' ]| circumstance. One Roman*Catholic whose 501:343;16[' ]| skill was then widely renowned, Doctor*Thomas*Short, 501:343;17[' ]| was in$4$ attendance. Several of the prescriptions have 501:343;18[' ]| been preserved. One of them is signed by$4$ fourteen 501:343;19[' ]| Doctors. The patient was bled largely. Hot iron 501:343;20[' ]| was applied to$4$ his head. A loathsome volatile salt, 501:343;21[' ]| extracted from human skulls, was forced into his mouth. 501:343;22[' ]| He recovered his senses; but he was evidently in$4$ a 501:343;23[' ]| situation of extreme danger. 501:343;24[' ]| The Queen was for$4$ a time assiduous in$4$ her attendance. 501:343;25[' ]| The Duke*of*York scarcely left his brother's 501:343;26[' ]| bedside. The Primate and four other Bishops were 501:343;27[' ]| then in$4$ London. They remained at Whitehall all day, 501:343;28[' ]| and took it by$4$ turns to$9$ sit up$5$ at night in$4$ the King's 501:343;29[' ]| room. The news of his illness filled the capital with 501:343;30[' ]| sorrow and dismay. For$3$ his easy temper and affable 501:343;31[' ]| manners had won the affection of a large part of the 501:343;32[' ]| nation; and those who$6#1$ most disliked him preferred his 501:343;33[' ]| unprinciple levity to$4$ the stern and earnest bigotry of 501:343;34[' ]| his brother. 501:343;35[' ]| On$4$ the morning of Thursday the fifth of February, 501:343;36[' ]| the London*Gazette announced that$3$ His*Majesty was 501:343;37[' ]| going on$5$ well, and was thought by$4$ the physicians to$9$ 501:343;38[' ]| be out of danger. The bells of all the churches rang 501:343;39[' ]| merrily; and preparations for$4$ bonfires were made in$4$ 501:343;40[' ]| the streets. But in$4$ the evening it was known that$3$ a 501:344;01[' ]| relapse had taken place, and that$3$ the medical attendants 501:344;02[' ]| had given up$5$ all hope. The public mind was greatly 501:344;03[' ]| disturbed; but there was no$2$ disposition to$4$ tumult. 501:344;04[' ]| The Duke*of*York, who$6#1$ had already taken on$4$ himself 501:344;05[' ]| to$9$ give orders, ascertained that$3$ the City was perfectly 501:344;06[' ]| quiet, and that$3$ he might without difficulty be proclaimed 501:344;07[' ]| as soon as his brother should expire. 501:344;08[' ]| The King was in$4$ great pain, and complained that$3$ he 501:344;09[' ]| felt as if a fire was burning within him. Yet he bore 501:344;10[' ]| up$5$ against his sufferings with a fortitude which$6#1$ did not 501:344;11[' ]| seem to$9$ belong to$4$ his soft and luxurious nature. The 501:344;12[' ]| sight of his misery affected his wife so$5#1$ much that$3$ such 501:344;13[' ]| fainted, and was carried senseless to$4$ her chamber. The 501:344;14[' ]| Prelates who$6#1$ were in$4$ waiting had from the first exhorted 501:344;15[' ]| him to$9$ prepare for$4$ his end. They now thought it their 501:344;16[' ]| duty to$9$ address him in$4$ a still more urgent manner. 501:344;17[' ]| William*Sancroft, Archbishop*of*Canterbury, an honest 501:344;18[' ]| and pious, though narrow-minded, man, used great 501:344;19[' ]| freedom. 501:344;19[W ]| ""It is time,"" 501:344;19[' ]| he said, 501:344;19[W ]| ""to$9$ speak out; for$3$, Sir, 501:344;20[W ]| you are about to$9$ appear before a Judge who$6#1$ is no$2$ 501:344;21[W ]| respecter of persons."" 501:344;21[' ]| The King answered not a word. 501:344;22[' ]| Thomas*Ken, Bishop*of*Bath*and*Wells, then tried 501:344;23[' ]| his powers of persuasion. He was a man of parts and 501:344;24[' ]| learning, of quick sensibility and stainless virtue. His 501:344;25[' ]| elaborate works have long been forgotten; but his 501:344;26[' ]| morning and evening hymns are still repeated daily in$4$ 501:344;27[' ]| thousands of dwellings. Though, like$4$ most of his order, 501:344;28[' ]| zealous for$4$ monarchy, he was no$2$ sycophant. Before he 501:344;29[' ]| became a Bishop, he had maintained the honour of his 501:344;30[' ]| gown by$4$ refusing, when the court was at Winchester, 501:344;31[' ]| to$9$ let Eleanor*Gwynn lodge in$4$ the house which$6#1$ he 501:344;32[' ]| occupied there as a prebendary. The King had sense 501:344;33[' ]| enough to$9$ respect so$5#1$ manly a spirit. Of all the prelates 501:344;34[' ]| he liked Ken the best. It was to$4$ no$2$ purpose, however, 501:344;35[' ]| that$3$ the good Bishop now put forth all his eloquence. 501:344;36[' ]| His solemn and pathetic exhortation awed and melted 501:344;37[' ]| the bystanders to$4$ such a degree that$3$ some among them 501:344;38[' ]| believed him to$9$ be filled with the same spirit which$6#1$, in$4$ 501:344;39[' ]| the old time, had, by$4$ the mouths of Nathan and Elias, 501:344;40[' ]| called sinful princes to$4$ repentance. Charles, however, 501:345;01[' ]| was unmoved. He made no$2$ objection indeed when the 501:345;02[' ]| service for$4$ the Visitation*of*the*Sick was read. In$4$ 501:345;03[' ]| reply to$4$ the pressing questions of the divines, he said 501:345;04[' ]| that$3$ he was sorry for$4$ what he had done amiss; and he 501:345;05[' ]| suffered the absolution to$9$ be pronounced over him 501:345;06[' ]| according to$4$ the forms of the Church*of*England: but, 501:345;07[' ]| when he was urged to$9$ declare that$3$ he died in$4$ the Communion 501:345;08[' ]| of that$6#2$ Church, he seemed not to$9$ hear what 501:345;09[' ]| was said; and nothing could induce him to$9$ take the 501:345;10[' ]| Eucharist from the hands of the Bishops. A table with 501:345;11[' ]| bread and wine was brought to$4$ his bedside, but in$4$ vain. 501:345;12[' ]| Sometimes he said that$3$ there was no$2$ hurry, and sometimes 501:345;13[' ]| that$3$ he was too weak. 501:345;14[' ]| Many attributed this apathy to$4$ contempt for$4$ divine 501:345;15[' ]| things, and many to$4$ the stupor which$6#1$ often precedes 501:345;16[' ]| death. But there were in$4$ the palace a few persons 501:345;17[' ]| who$6#1$ knew better. Charles had never been a sincere 501:345;18[' ]| member of the Established*Church. His mind had 501:345;19[' ]| long oscillated between Hobbism and Popery. When 501:345;20[' ]| his health was good and his spirit high, he was a 501:345;21[' ]| scoffer. In$4$ his few serious moments he was a Roman*Catholic. 501:345;22[' ]| The Duke*of*York was aware of this, but was 501:345;23[' ]| entirely occupied with the care of his own interests. 501:345;24[' ]| He had ordered the outports to$9$ be closed. He had 501:345;25[' ]| posted detachments of the Guards in$4$ different parts of 501:345;26[' ]| the City. He had also procured the feeble signature 501:345;27[' ]| of the dying King to$4$ an instrument by$4$ which$6#1$ some 501:345;28[' ]| duties, granted only till the demise of the Crown, were 501:345;29[' ]| let to$4$ farm for$4$ a term of three years. These things 501:345;30[' ]| occupied the attention of James to$4$ such a degree that$3$, 501:345;31[' ]| though, on$4$ ordinary occasions, he was indiscreetly and 501:345;32[' ]| unseasonably eager to$9$ bring over proselytes to$4$ his 501:345;33[' ]| Church, he never reflected that$3$ his brother was in$4$ 501:345;34[' ]| danger of dying without the last sacraments. This 501:345;35[' ]| neglect was the more extraordinary because the Duchess*of*York 501:345;36[' ]| had, at the request of the Queen, suggested, 501:345;37[' ]| on$4$ the morning on$4$ which$6#1$ the King was taken ill, the 501:345;38[' ]| propriety of procuring spiritual assistance. For$4$ such 501:345;39[' ]| assistance Charles was at last indebted to$4$ an agency 501:345;40[' ]| very different from that$6#2$ of his pious wife and sister-in-law. 501:346;01[' ]| A life of frivolity and vice had not extinguished in$4$ 501:346;02[' ]| the Duchess*of*Portsmouth all sentiments of religion, 501:346;03[' ]| or all the kindness which$6#1$ is the glory of her sex. 501:346;04[' ]| The French ambassador Barillon, who$6#1$ had come to$4$ 501:346;05[' ]| the palace to$9$ inquire after the King, paid her a visit. 501:346;06[' ]| He found her in$4$ an agony of sorrow. She took him 501:346;07[' ]| into a secret room and poured out her whole heart to$4$ 501:346;08[' ]| him. 501:346;08[V ]| ""I have,"" 501:346;08[' ]| she said, 501:346;08[V ]| ""a thing of great moment to$9$ tell 501:346;09[V ]| you. If it were known, my heard would be in$4$ danger. 501:346;10[V ]| The King is really and truly a Catholic; but he will$1$ 501:346;11[V ]| die without being reconciled to$4$ the Church. His bed-chamber 501:346;12[V ]| is full of Protestant clergymen. I cannot 501:346;13[V ]| enter it without giving scandal. The Duke is thinking 501:346;14[V ]| only of himself. Speak to$4$ him. Remind him that$3$ there 501:346;15[V ]| is a soul at stake. He is master now. He can clear 501:346;16[V ]| the room. Go this instant, or it will$1$ be too late."" 501:346;17[' ]| Barillon hastened to$4$ the bedchamber, took the Duke 501:346;18[' ]| aside, and delivered the message of the mistress. The 501:346;19[' ]| conscience of James smote him. He started as if 501:346;20[' ]| roused from sleep, and declared that$3$ nothing should 501:346;21[' ]| prevent him from discharging the sacred duty which$6#1$ 501:346;22[' ]| had been too long delayed. Several schemes were 501:346;23[' ]| discussed and rejected. At last the Duke commanded 501:346;24[' ]| the crowd to$9$ stand aloof, went to$4$ the bed, stooped 501:346;25[' ]| down, and whispered something which$6#1$ none of the 501:346;26[' ]| spectators could hear, but which$6#1$ they supposed to$9$ be 501:346;27[' ]| some question about affairs of state. Charles answered 501:346;28[' ]| in$4$ an audible voice, 501:346;28[W ]| ""Yes, yes, with all my heart."" 501:346;29[' ]| None of the bystanders, except the French*Ambassador, 501:346;30[' ]| guessed that$3$ the King was declaring his wish to$9$ be 501:346;31[' ]| admitted into the bosom of the Church*of*Rome. 501:346;32[W ]| ""Shall I bring a priest?"" 501:346;32[' ]| said the Duke. 501:346;32[W ]| ""Do, 501:346;33[W ]| brother,"" 501:346;33[' ]| replied the sick man. 501:346;33[W ]| ""For$4$ God's sake do, 501:346;34[W ]| and lose no$2$ time. But no$7$; you will$1$ get into trouble."" 501:346;35[W ]| ""If it costs me my life,"" 501:346;35[' ]| said the Duke, 501:346;35[W ]| ""I will$1$ fetch a 501:346;36[W ]| priest."" 501:346;37[' ]| To$9$ find a priest, however, for$4$ such a purpose, at a 501:346;38[' ]| moment's notice, was not easy. For$3$, as the law then 501:346;39[' ]| stood, the person who$6#1$ admitted a proselyte into the 501:346;40[' ]| Roman*Catholic*Church was guilty of a capital crime. 501:347;01[' ]| The Count*of*Castel*Melhor, a Portuguese nobleman, 501:347;02[' ]| who$6#1$, driven by$4$ political troubles from his native land, 501:347;03[' ]| had been hospitably received at the English court, 501:347;04[' ]| undertook to$9$ procure a confessor. He had recourse to$4$ 501:347;05[' ]| his countrymen who$6#1$ belonged to$4$ the Queen's household; 501:347;06[' ]| but he found that$3$ none of her chaplains knew Engligh 501:347;07[' ]| or French enough to$9$ shrive the King. The Duke and 501:347;08[' ]| Barillon were about to$9$ send to$4$ the Venetian minister 501:347;09[' ]| for$4$ a clergyman, when they heard that$3$ a Benedictine 501:347;10[' ]| monk, named John*Huddleston, happened to$9$ be at 501:347;11[' ]| Whitehall. This man had, with great risk to$4$ himself, 501:347;12[' ]| saved the King's life after the battle of Worcester, and 501:347;13[' ]| had, on$4$ that$6#2$ account, been, even since the Restoration, 501:347;14[' ]| a privileged person. In$4$ the sharpest proclamations 501:347;15[' ]| which$6#1$ had been put forth against Popish priests, when 501:347;16[' ]| false witnesses had inflamed the nation to$4$ fury, 501:347;17[' ]| Huddleston had been excepted by$4$ name. He readily 501:347;18[' ]| consented to$9$ put his life a second time in$4$ peril for$4$ his 501:347;19[' ]| prince; but there was still a difficulty. The honest 501:347;20[' ]| monk was so$5#1$ illiterate that$3$ he did not know what he 501:347;21[' ]| ought to$9$ say on$4$ an occasion of such importance. He 501:347;22[' ]| however obtained some hints, through the intervention 501:347;23[' ]| of Castel*Melhor, from a Portuguese ecclesiastic, and, 501:347;24[' ]| thus intructed, was brought up$4$ the back*stairs by$4$ 501:347;25[' ]| Chiffinch, a confidential servant, who$6#1$, if the satires of 501:347;26[' ]| that$6#2$ age are to$9$ be credited, had often introduced 501:347;27[' ]| visitors of a very different description by$4$ the same 501:347;28[' ]| entrance. The Duke then, in$4$ the King's name, commanded 501:347;29[' ]| all who$6#1$ were present to$9$ quit the room, except 501:347;30[' ]| Lewis*Duras, Earl*of*Feversham, and John*Granville, 501:347;31[' ]| Earle*of*Bath. Both these Lords professed the Protestant*Religion; 501:347;32[' ]| but James conceived that$3$ he could 501:347;33[' ]| count on$4$ their fidelity. Feversham, a Frenchman of 501:347;34[' ]| noble birth, and nephew of the great Turenne, held 501:347;35[' ]| high rank in$4$ the English army, and was chamberlain 501:347;36[' ]| to$4$ the Queen. Bath was Groom of the Stole. 501:347;37[' ]| The Duke's orders were obeyed; and even the 501:347;38[' ]| physicians withdrew. The back door was then opened; 501:347;39[' ]| and Father*Huddleston entered. A cloak had been 501:347;40[' ]| thrown over his sacred vestments; and his shaven 501:348;01[' ]| crown was concealed by$4$ a flowing wig. 501:348;01[W ]| ""Sir,"" 501:348;01[' ]| said the 501:348;02[' ]| Duke, 501:348;02[W ]| ""this good man once saved your life. He now 501:348;03[W ]| comes to$9$ save your soul."" 501:348;03[' ]| Charles faintly answered, 501:348;04[W ]| ""He is welcome."" 501:348;04[' ]| Huddleston went through his part 501:348;05[' ]| better than had been expected. He knelt by$4$ the bed, 501:348;06[' ]| listened to$4$ the confession, pronounced the absolution, 501:348;07[' ]| and administered extreme*unction. He asked if the 501:348;08[' ]| King wished to$9$ receive the Lord's supper. 501:348;08[W ]| ""Surely,"" 501:348;09[' ]| said Charles, 501:348;09[W ]| ""if I am not unworthy."" 501:348;09[' ]| The host was 501:348;10[' ]| brought in$5$. Charles feebly strove to$9$ rise and kneel 501:348;11[' ]| before it. The priest bade him lie still, and assured 501:348;12[' ]| him that$3$ God would accept the humiliation of the soul, 501:348;13[' ]| and would not require the humiliation of the body. 501:348;14[' ]| The King found so$5#1$ much difficulty in$4$ swallowing the 501:348;15[' ]| bread that$3$ it was necessary to$9$ open the door and procure 501:348;16[' ]| a glass of water. This rite ended, the monk held 501:348;17[' ]| up$5$ a crucifix before the penitent, charged him to$9$ fix 501:348;18[' ]| his last thoughts on$4$ the sufferings of the Redeemer, 501:348;19[' ]| and withdrew. The whole ceremony had occupied 501:348;20[' ]| about three quarters of an hour; and, during that$6#2$ 501:348;21[' ]| time, the courtiers who$6#1$ filled the outer room had communicated 501:348;22[' ]| their suspicions to$4$ each other by$4$ whispers 501:348;23[' ]| and significant glances. The door was at length thrown 501:348;24[' ]| open, and the crowd again filled the chamber of 501:348;25[' ]| death. 501:348;26[' ]| It was now late in$4$ the evening. The King seemed 501:348;27[' ]| much relieved by$4$ what had passed. His natural children 501:348;28[' ]| were brought to$4$ his bedside, the Dukes*of*Grafton, 501:348;29[' ]| Southampton, and Northumberland, sons of the Duchess*of*Cleveland, 501:348;30[' ]| the Duke*of*Saint*Albans, son of Eleanor*Gwynn, 501:348;31[' ]| and the Duke*of*Richmond, son of the Duchess*of*Portsmouth. 501:348;32[' ]| Charles blessed them all, but spoke 501:348;33[' ]| with peculiar tenderness to$4$ Richmond. One face which$6#1$ 501:348;34[' ]| should have been there was wanting. The eldest and 501:348;35[' ]| best beloved child was an exile and a wanderer. His 501:348;36[' ]| name was not once mentioned by$4$ his father. 501:348;37[' ]| During the night Charles earnestly recommended the 501:348;38[' ]| Duchess*of*Portsmouth and her boy to$4$ the care of 501:348;39[' ]| James; 501:348;39[W ]| ""And do not,"" 501:348;39[' ]| he good-naturedly added, 501:348;39[W ]| ""let 501:348;40[W ]| poor Nelly starve."" 501:348;40[' ]| The Queen sent excuses for$4$ her 501:349;01[' ]| absence by$4$ Halifax. She said that$3$ she was too much 501:349;02[' ]| disordered to$9$ resume her post by$4$ the couch, and implored 501:349;03[' ]| pardon for$4$ any offence which$6#1$ she might unwittingly 501:349;04[' ]| have given. 501:349;04[W ]| ""She ask my pardon, poor woman!"" 501:349;05[' ]| cried Charles; 501:349;05[W ]| ""I ask hers with all my heart."" 501:349;06[' ]| The morning light began to$9$ peep through the windows 501:349;07[' ]| of Whitehall, and Charles desired the attendants to$9$ 501:349;08[' ]| pull aside the curtains, that$3$ he might have one more 501:349;09[' ]| look at the day. He remarked that$3$ it was time to$9$ wind 501:349;10[' ]| up$5$ a clock which$6#1$ stood near his bed. These little 501:349;11[' ]| circumstances were long remembered, because they 501:349;12[' ]| proved beyond dispute that$3$, when he declared himself 501:349;13[' ]| a Roman*Catholic, he was in$4$ full possession of his 501:349;14[' ]| faculties. He apologised to$4$ those who$6#1$ stood round him 501:349;15[' ]| all night for$4$ the trouble which$6#1$ he had caused. He had 501:349;16[' ]| been, he said, a most unconscionable time dying; but 501:349;17[' ]| he hoped that$3$ they would excuse it. This was the last 501:349;18[' ]| glimpse of that$6#2$ exquisite urbanity, so$5#1$ often found potent 501:349;19[' ]| to$9$ charm away the resentment of a justly incensed 501:349;20[' ]| nation. Soon after dawn the speech of the dying man 501:349;21[' ]| failed. Before ten his senses were gone. Great numbers 501:349;22[' ]| had repaired to$4$ the churches at the hour of morning 501:349;23[' ]| service. When the prayer for$4$ the King was read, loud 501:349;24[' ]| groans and sobs showed how deeply his people felt for$4$ 501:349;25[' ]| him. At noon on$4$ Friday, the sixth of February, he 501:349;26[' ]| passed away without a struggle. ~~ <\History*of*England\.>