make rapid progress, and some time in
September he was tapped; twenty-two pints of water were drawn.
from him. This operation was kept secret, for the Duke did not
like that his situation should be known. He recovered from the
operation and regained his strength; no more water formed in his
body, but there was still water in his system, and a constant
discharge from his legs, which occasioned him great pain and made
wounds which were always open and extending. These wounds again
produced gangrene, but they always contrived to stop its
progress, and put the legs in a healing condition. As often,
however, as the legs began to heal the water began to rise, and
the medicines that were given to expel the water drove it again
to the legs, through which it made its way, making fresh sores
and entailing fresh mortification. In this way he went on, the
strength of his constitution still supporting him, till towards
the end of December, when the constitution could resist no
longer; his appetite totally failed, and with loss of appetite
came entire prostration of strength, and in short a complete
break-up. From that moment it was obvious that his recovery was
impossible, but he continued to struggle till the 5th of January,
although he had tasted no solid food whatever for above a
fortnight. At all the different periods at which his state was
critical it was always made known to him, and he received the
intimation with invariable firmness and composure. He said that
he enjoyed life but was not afraid to die. But though perfectly
acquainted with his own danger he never could bear that other
people should be informed of it, and so far from acknowledging
it, he always told his friends that he was better, and his
language was invariably that of a man who did not doubt of his
recovery. He was particularly anxious that nobody should know he
had been tapped, and it was not till many weeks after that
operation that he talked of it one day to me. Up to the last
moment that I saw him (the day week before he died) he told me he
was better, and he desired me to tell Montrond, who had called
upon him, that he would see him as soon as he was well enough. He
held the same language to everybody until the day previous to his
death, when he sent for Taylor and Stephenson into his room. He
could then hardly speak, but he took hold of Stephenson's hand,
and looking at Taylor, said, 'I am now dying.' He tried to
articulate something else, but he wa