his life in a few days. The particulars are simple and touching. He had
taken a long walk with his equerry and great friend, Captain Conroy, and
came in heated, tired, and with his feet so wet that his companion
suggested the propriety of immediately changing his boots. But the baby of
whom he was so fond and proud came in his way. She was eight months old,
able to stretch out her little arms and laugh back to him. He stayed to
play with her. In the evening it was evident he had caught a chill; he was
hoarse, and showed symptoms of fever. The complaint settled at once on his
lungs, and ran its course with great rapidity. We hardly need to be told
that the Duchess was his devoted nurse, concealing her anxiety and grief
to minister to him in everything.

There is a pathetic little reference to the last illness of the Duke of
Kent in one of the Princess Hohenlohe's letters to the Queen. This elder
sister (Princess Feodora of Leiningen) was then a little girl of nine or
ten years of age, residing with her mother and stepfather. "Indeed, I well
remember that dreadful time at Sidmouth. I recollect praying on my knees
that God would not let your dear father die. I loved him dearly; he always
was so kind to me."

On the afternoon of the 22nd his case was hopeless, and it became a
question whether he had sufficient consciousness to sign his will. His old
friend, General Wetherall, was brought up to the bed. At the sound of the
familiar voice which had always been welcome to him, the sick man,
drifting away from all familiar sounds, raised himself, collected his
thoughts for the last time, and mentioned several places and people
intelligently. The poor Duke had never been negligent in doing what he saw
to be his duty. He had been forward in helping others, even when they were
not of his flesh and blood. He heard the will read over, and with a great
effort wrote the word "Edward," looking at every letter after he wrote it,