This model for English noblemen had received the honour of a dukedom in 1694, the preamble to his patent containing some of the highest compliments from William and Mary ever offered from a monarch to a subject. He was one of the few who was honoured with an equal respect and confidence by their successor. Unhappily for the Whig party, to whom his influence was consistently given, this peer did not enjoy his restored fortunes, and high favour, many years after the accession of Anne. His deathbed was instructive, as the last scene of a life which, exhibiting the most generous and heroic qualities, had displayed, nevertheless, sundry irregularities. The love of pleasure and the love of virtue are sometimes strangely conjoined in the same character. Courteous, though commanding; in person at once attractive and stately; accomplished in the ornamental arts—poetry, painting, music; standing on a high eminence, and living, from his youth upwards, in public life;—the errors of the Duke of Devonshire were attributable to the pervading spirit of the times. What we call virtue in private life was not then recognised by the great and fashionable. The Duke, like most other men of his class, had fallen into those received notions which exempt men from the purity, and decorum, which are at once the restraint and the safeguard of woman. On his deathbed the man of pleasure and of the world felt that he had driven off his repentance too late. Happily, his senses were spared to him. He sent for Dr. Kennet, and entreated that prelate “to pray heartily with him to God that he would accept of his repentance.” He declared himself ready to ask pardon of all whom he had offended, and also to forgive others. At every successive visit from his reverend adviser, he reiterated his repentance. His prayers for the “peace of God” were earnest, and, as it seemed, effectual. After the many agonising struggles of a wounded and chastened mind—after evincing his real piety by acts of justice and of charity, (beautiful planets, which should ever shine upon the deathbed,) peace was given to him. Fortitude and patience were added to that inward conviction of pardon. He fixed the probable hour of his departure, and asked what was the easiest way of dying. His soul departed, as it seemed, in a peaceful slumber. “And thus,” says his biographer, “he fell asleep, not merely like an ancient Roman, but rather like a good Christian.”[402] The death of Cavendish raised up a memorable controversy among the clergy, upon the propriety of receiving deathbed repentance, and of ratifying it with the administration of the sacraments. The question, as was usually the case in those days, was raised by party clamour rather than by religious zeal; and Dr. Kennet, who preached the funeral sermon of the Duke, was branded with opprobrium by the whole body of the clergy, for a contempt of discipline.[403]