“How the devil should you sleep when you will never lie still a moment!” he exclaimed on one occasion, when her continual shifting in bed, owing to her ailment and her wound, worried him. But he was equally annoyed when she would lie quite still; looking straight before her as sick persons will at nothing: “_Mon Dieu!_” he exclaimed irritably, exasperated at her quietness. “What are you looking at? What makes you fix your eyes like that? Your eyes look like a calf’s when it is going to have its throat cut!” All this, of course, was very suitable to the decorum of the death-bed of a Queen, but perhaps after all the little man was worn out with the continuous watching. Then came Sunday, and each hour the Queen grew weaker, so that it came to be a wonder that she had survived the last; but she lingered on until the evening, and then asked Dr. Tesier, her physician: “How long can this last?” “I think,” he replied, “that your Majesty will soon be relieved from suffering.” “The sooner the better,” she answered. Lord Hervey thus describes the last scene: “About ten o’clock on Sunday night--the King being in bed and asleep on the floor at the foot of the Queen’s bed, and the Princess Emily in a couch-bed in a corner of the room--the Queen began to rattle in her throat; and Mrs. Purcel, giving the alarm that she was expiring, all in the room started up, Princess Caroline was sent for and Lord Hervey, but before the last arrived the Queen was just dead. All she said before she died was: “I have now got an asthma. Open the window.” Then she added: “_Pray._” Upon which the Princess Emily began to read some prayers, of which she scarcely repeated ten words when the Queen expired. The Princess Caroline held a looking-glass to her lips, and, finding there was not the least damp upon it, cried: “’Tis over!” The King kissed the face and hands of the lifeless body several times, but in a few minutes left the Queen’s apartment. Thus died Caroline, by some called “The Illustrious,” by some even “The Great,” but whose character was such a mixture of great and little things that it is most difficult to give an accurate estimate of its virtues or vices. That she began well as a young girl cannot be doubted; she was beautiful and brilliant, and entered life with the very best intentions. Indeed, not one word has ever been said against her character as a wife. Perhaps the very greatest misfortune which ever happened to her was to have married George Augustus, Electorial Prince of Hanover, and therefore in due course to have become Queen of England. Perhaps as the consort of the Prince of some petty German State she might have shone as a wife and mother, and brought up her children with good honest affection. As it was, she early fell under the influence of such men as Sir Robert Walpole--soulless, godless. No, not godless, because their God was Ambition, before which no sacrifice was too great, Honour, Truth, or even the lives of men.