ardy; anchor." Hardy, upon this, hinted that
Admiral Collingwood would take upon himself the direction of affairs.
"Not while I live, Hardy," said the dying Nelson, ineffectually
endeavoring to raise himself from the bed: "do you anchor." His
previous orders for preparing to anchor had shown clearly he foresaw
the necessity of this. Presently, calling Hardy back, he said to him,
in a low voice, "Don't throw me overboard"; and he desired that he
might be buried by his parents, unless it should please the King to
order otherwise. Then reverting to private feelings: "Take care of my
dear Lady Hamilton, Hardy: take care of poor Lady Hamilton. Kiss me,
Hardy," said he. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek; and Nelson
said, "Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty!" Hardy
stood over him in silence for a moment or two, then knelt again and
kissed his forehead. "Who is that?" said Nelson; and being informed,
he replied, "God bless you, Hardy." And Hardy then left him--forever.
Nelson now desired to be turned upon his right side, and said, "I wish
I had not left the deck; for I shall soon be gone." Death was, indeed,
rapidly approaching. He said to the chaplain, "Doctor, I have _not_
been a _great_ sinner"; and after a short pause, "Remember that I
leave Lady Hamilton and my daughter Horatia as a legacy to my
country." His articulation now became difficult; but he was distinctly
heard to say, "Thank God, I have done my duty!" These words he
repeatedly pronounced; and they were the last words which he uttered.
He expired at thirty minutes after four--three hours and a quarter
after he had received his wound.

The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a
public calamity: men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as
if they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. An object of our
admiration and affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly
taken from us; and it seemed as if we had never till then known how
deeply we loved and reverenced him. What the country had lost in its
great naval hero--the greatest of our own and of all former times--was
scarcely taken into the account of grief. So perfectly, indeed, had he
performed his part, that the maritime war, after the battle of
Trafalgar, was considered at an end. The fleets of the enemy were not
merely defeated, but destroyed; new navies must be built, and a new
race of seamen reared for them, before the possibility of their
invading