ILLNESS AND DEATH OF THE KING—REMARKS ON HIS CHARACTER.
Ever since his accession to the throne, the king’s health had in general been good. In the course of the present spring, however, symptoms of decline began to show themselves; and they increased so rapidly, that by the beginning of June his situation became one of serious alarm to his family. His majesty continued to transact business, but it was under such oppressive weakness, that it was clear to his medical attendants that his end was approaching. There was no active disease, indeed, but a general languor and weakness, which foretokened dissolution. His last days were spent in preparing for eternity; nothing seemed to give him greater pleasure than the presence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who attended him, and from whose hands he received the sacrament. His deportment at this solemn ceremony, as related by a church dignitary, was fully edifying. He says:—“His majesty had already experienced the blessed consolations of religion, and removed the doubts his anxious attendants were entertaining, by eagerly desiring the queen to send for the archbishop, seeming, as it were, anxious to ratify the discharge of his earthly by the performance of his spiritual duties. His grace promptly attended, attired in his robes, and at a quarter to eleven administered the sacrament to his majesty and the queen, Lady Mary Fox communicating at the same time. The king was very calm and collected; his faculties were quite clear, and he paid the greatest attention to the service, following it in the prayer-book, which lay on the table before him. His voice indeed failed, but his humble demeanour and uplifted eyes gave expression to the feeling of devotion and of gratitude to the Almighty which his faltering lips refused to utter. The performance of this act of religion, and this public attestation of his communion with that church, for the welfare and prosperity of which he had more than once during his illness ejaculated short but fervent prayers, was the source of great and manifest comfort to his majesty. Though the shorter form had been adopted by the archbishop, his majesty was nevertheless rather exhausted by the duration and solemnity of the ceremony; but as his grace retired, the king said, with that peculiar kindness of manner by which he was so much distinguished, and at the same time gently moving his hand and inclining his head, ‘God bless you! a thousand, thousand thanks!’ There cannot be more certain evidence of the inward strength and satisfaction which the king derived from this office of religion than that, in spite of great physical exertion, his majesty, after the lapse of an hour, again requested the attendance of the archbishop, who, in compliance with the wishes of the queen, read the prayer for the evening service, with the happiest effect on the king’s spirits. This being done, the archbishop, naturally fearing the consequences of so much mental exertion on his majesty’s debilitated frame, was about to retire, when the king motioned him to sit down at the table, on the opposite side of which he himself was seated. His majesty was too weak to hold any conversation, but his spirits seemed soothed and comforted by the presence of the archbishop, on whose venerable, benign countenance his majesty’s eye reposed with real pleasure. The king at this interview stretched his hand across the table, and taking that of the archbishop, pressed it fervently, saying in a tone of voice which was only audible to the queen, who was seated near his majesty, ‘I am sure the archbishop is one of those persons who pray for me.’ The afternoon of this day witnessed a still further diminution of his majesty’s strength; but in proportion to the decay of his bodily power, was the increase of his spiritual hope and consolation. At nine o’clock in the evening the archbishop was again summoned by his majesty’s desire. The king was now still less able to converse than on the last occasion; but his grace remained more than three quarters of an hour, supplying by his presence the same comfort to the king, and receiving from his majesty the same silent though expressive proof of his satisfaction and gratitude. At length, on the suggestion of the queen that it was already late, and the archbishop might become fatigued, the king immediately signified his assent that he should retire; and crossing his hands upon his breast, and inclining his head, said, as his grace left the room, ‘God bless thee, dear, excellent, worthy man! a thousand, thousand thanks!’” This was on Sunday, the 18th of June, the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, which the king remembered, expressing his desire that the Duke of Wellington should hold his usual banquet on the morrow. That was the day on which his majesty breathed his last. He had spent a tranquil night, but no corresponding effect was produced upon his health. Decaying nature could no longer be recruited by ordinary sources of strength and sustenance. His majesty rose at seven o’clock, for during his illness he had not been wholly confined to his bed, but there was much in his language and manner which bespoke his sense of approaching death. “I shall get up once more,” he said to the queen, “to do the business of the country.” After joining in the service for the visitation of the sick, performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, in which his majesty’s demeanour was characterised by the most genuine spirit of devotion. Sir Herbert Taylor was summoned, and was directed to get all things ready. As it was Monday, however, there were no papers, and consequently there was no business to transact. In the evening the archbishop visited his majesty for the last time: at half-past ten the king was seized with a fainting fit, on which he was removed into his bed, and from this time his voice was not heard, except to pronounce the name of his valet. In less than an hour death reigned in the palace of the English monarchs. His majesty expired without a struggle, and without a groan, the queen kneeling at the bedside and still affectionately holding his hand, unwilling to believe the reality of the sad event. “Thus expired, in the seventy-third year of his age, in firm reliance on the merits of his Redeemer, King William IV., a just and upright king, a forgiving enemy, a sincere friend, and a most gracious and indulgent master.”
Few monarchs, indeed, have possessed the love of their subjects in a greater degree than King William IV. By the common consent of all parties he had the welfare of his country truly at heart. There was but one opinion of his character, and that was expressive of his kindness and amiability. He does not appear to have had a personal enemy in the world, although he sanctioned measures to which a large section of the community were inimical: this is praise as singular as it is high when applied to a king. His intellectual faculties may not have been of a superior order; but he had what more than counterbalanced this defect—a heart which beat high with love for his country.