ill then be publicly announced, and that the strictest
privacy for a few days will be observed, as far as proper decency and
decorum may require; and that after that the day will be announced when
I shall make my public _entree_, and when all public ceremonies and
rejoicings will commence."[67]

[67] Knighton's "Memoirs," p. 91.

This careful attention to decency and decorum disproves all the
reckless allegations that have been put forward of the King's
indifference, or, as some writers have asserted, exultation, when
intelligence reached him of the serious nature of the Queen's
indisposition. It proceeded further than is indicated in the extract
just quoted; for, when he put to sea with the intention of returning to
England, his Majesty and all the royal suite had a narrow escape from a
watery grave. The scene is thus graphically described by his Majesty's
hand:

"We sailed again yesterday morning between four and five o'clock, with
a most promising breeze in our favour, to make the Land's End. About
two or three in the evening the wind shifted immediately in our teeth,
a violent hurricane and tempest suddenly arose, the most dreadful
possible of nights and of scenes ensued, the sea breaking everywhere
over the ship. We lost the tiller, and the vessel was for some minutes
down on her beam-ends; and nothing, I believe, but the undaunted
presence of mind, perseverance, experience, and courage of Paget
preserved us from a watery grave. The oldest and most experienced of
our sailors were petrified and paralysed; you may judge somewhat, then,
of what was the state of most of the passengers; every one almost flew
up in their shirts upon deck in terrors that are not to be
described."[68]

[68] Knighton's "Memoirs," p. 94.

In this position the Royal yacht and her amateur sailors must have made
a study for a marine painter, than which nothing, we believe, more
striking has ever appeared on canvas. The King subsequently sailed on
his intended visit to the sister island, and arrived off the coast in
due course. On his Majesty's landing, the inhabitants of Dublin and of
the neighbourhood, says a chronicler of these events, "escorted him
with the most tumultuous acclamations to the vice-regal lodge, from the
steps of which he thus addressed them:--'This is one of the happiest
days of my life. I have long wished to visit you. My heart has always
been Irish; from the day it first beat I loved Ireland, and this day