When George heard of the death of his father--to whom he was devoted--he very naturally turned white and sick. “I am afraid, sir, you are not well,” pompously remarked his tutor, Ayscough, who was present when the news was broken, instead of comforting the boy. “I feel,” answered George, with his hand on his heart, “I feel something here, just as I did when I saw the two workmen fall from the scaffold at Kew.” And no doubt the poor fellow did feel a pain at his heartstrings, for he loved his father. Doddington’s diary is almost a chronicle of the events which followed: April 13th. “Lord Limerick consulted with me about walking at the funeral. By the Earl Marshal’s order, published in the common newspaper of the day (which with the ceremonial not published till ten o’clock I keep by me), neither he as an Irish peer nor I as a Privy Councillor, could walk. He expressed a strong resolution to pay his last duty to his royal friend, if practicable. I begged him to stay till I could get the ceremonial; he did, and we there found in a note that we might walk. Which note, published seven or eight hours before, the attendance required was all the notice that lords, their sons, and Privy Councillors had (except those appointed to particular functions) that they would be admitted to walk.” April 13th. “At seven o’clock I went, according to the order, to the House of Lords. The many slights that the poor remains of a much-loved master and friend had met with, and was now preparing the last trouble he could give his enemies, sunk me so low, that for the first hour I was incapable of making any observation. “The procession began, and (except the lords appointed to hold the pall and attend the chief mourner, and those of his own domestics) when the attendants were called in their ranks, there was not one English lord, not _one_ bishop, and only one Irish lord (Limerick), two sons of dukes (Earl of Drumlanrig and Lord Robert Bertie), one Baron’s son (Mr. Edgecumbe), and two Privy Councillors (Sir John Rushout and myself), out of these great bodies to make a show of duty to a prince, so great in rank and expectation. “While we were in the House of Lords it rained very hard, as it has done all the season; when we came into Palace Yard, the way to the Abbey was lined with soldiers, but the managers had not afforded the slightest covering over our heads; but, by good fortune, while we were from under cover, it held up. We went into the south-east door, and turned short into Henry the Seventh’s Chapel. The service was performed without either anthem or organ. So ended the sad day. _Quem semper acerbum--semper honoratum._