And so matters went on, progressively worse, until Sunday the 20th --the last day which Caroline was permitted to see upon earth. The circumstances attending the Queen’s death were not without a certain dignity. ‘How long can this last?’ said she to her physician, Tessier. ‘It will not be long,’ was the reply, ‘before your Majesty will be relieved from this suffering.’ ‘The sooner the better,’ said Caroline. And then she began to pray aloud: and her prayer was not a formal one, fixed in her memory by repeating it from the Book of Common Prayer, but a spontaneous and extemporary effusion, so eloquent, so appropriate, and so touching, that all the listeners were struck with admiration at this last effort of a mind ever remarkable for its vigour and ability. She herself manifested great anxiety to depart in a manner becoming a great Queen; and as her last moment approached, her anxiety in this respect appeared to increase. She requested to be raised in bed, and asked all present to kneel and offer up a prayer in her behalf. While this was going on she grew gradually fainter; but, at her desire, water was sprinkled upon her, so that she might revive, and listen to, or join in, the petitions which her family (all but her eldest son, who was not present) put up to Heaven in her behalf. ‘Louder!’ she murmured more than once, as some one read or prayed, ‘Louder, that I may hear.’ Her request was complied with; and then one of her children repeated audibly the Lord’s Prayer. In this Caroline joined, repeating the words as distinctly as failing nature would allow her. The prayer was just concluded when she looked fixedly for a moment at those who stood weeping around her, and then uttered a long-drawn ‘So----!’ It was her last word. As it fell from her lips the dial on the chimney-piece struck eleven. She calmly waved her hand--a farewell to all present and to the world; and then tranquilly composing herself upon her bed, she breathed a sigh, and so expired. Thus died Caroline; and few Queens of England have passed away to their account with more of mingled dignity and indecorum. On Thursday, the 15th of November 1757, Sir Robert Walpole wrote as follows to his brother Horace: ‘The Queen was taken ill last Wednesday.... It was explicitly declared and universally believed to be gout in the stomach.... The case was thought so desperate that Sir Hans Sloane and Dr. Hulse were on Friday sent for, who totally despaired. Necessity at last discovered and revealed a secret which had been totally concealed and unknown. The Queen had a rupture which is now known not to have been a new accident.... But will it ever be believed that a life of this importance should be lost, or run thus near, by concealing human infirmities?’