To these accounts of the Queen’s illness it may be added that Nichols, in his ‘Reminiscences,’ says that Dr. Sands suggested that a cure might be effected by injecting warm water, and that Dr. Hulse approved of the remedy and method. It was applied, with no one present but the medical men just named; and though it signally failed, they pronounced it as having succeeded. Their terror was great; and when they passed through the outer apartments, where the Duke of Newcastle congratulatingly hugged Hulse, on his having saved the Queen’s life, the doctor struggled with all his might to get away, lest he should be questioned upon a matter which involved, perhaps, more serious consequences than he could, in his bewilderment, then accurately calculate. The Princess Caroline, as soon as the Queen had apparently passed away, put a looking-glass to her lips, and finding it unsullied by any breath, calmly remarked, ‘’Tis over!’ and thenceforward ceased to weep as she had done while her mother was dying. The King kissed the face and hands of his departed consort with unaffected fervour. His conduct continued to be as singular as ever. He was superstitious and afraid of ghosts; and it was remarked on this occasion, that he would have people with him in his bedroom, as if their presence could have saved him from the visitation of a spirit. In private, the sole subject of his conversation was ‘Caroline.’ He loved to narrate the whole history of her early life and his own: their wooing and their wedding, their joys and vexations. In these conversations he introduced something about every person with whom he had ever been in anything like close connection. It was observed, however, that he never once mentioned the name of his mother, Sophia Dorothea, or in any way alluded to her. He purposely avoided the subject; but he frequently named the father of Sophia, the Duke of Zell, who, he said, was so desirous of seeing his grandson grow up into an upright man, that the duke declared he would shoot him if George Augustus should prove a dishonest one! Amid all these anecdotes, and tales, and reminiscences, and praises, there was a constant flow of tears shed for her who was gone. They seemed, however, to come and go at pleasure; for in the very height of his mourning and depth of his sorrow, he happened to see Horace, the brother of Sir Robert Walpole, who was weeping for fashion’s sake, but in so grotesque a manner, that when the King beheld it, he ceased to cry, and burst into a roar of laughter.