He lived until about twelve months ago, when he was found dead in
his bed on the morning after having written the following letter to
his son:
"DEAR ERNEST,- I've nothing particular to write about, but your
letter has been lying for some days in the limbo of unanswered
letters, to wit my pocket, and it's time it was answered.
"I keep wonderfully well and am able to walk my five or six miles
with comfort, but at my age there's no knowing how long it will
last, and time flies quickly. I have been busy potting plants all
the morning, but this afternoon is wet.
"What is this horrid Government going to do with Ireland? I don't
exactly wish they'd blow up Mr. Gladstone, but if a mad bull would
chivy him there, and he would never come back any more, I should not
be sorry. Lord Hartington is not exactly the man I should like to
set in his place, but he would be immeasurably better than Gladstone.
"I miss your sister Charlotte more than I can express. She kept my
household accounts, and I could pour out to her all my little
worries, and now that Joey is married too, I don't know what I
should do if one or other them did not come sometimes and take care of
me.
Pages:
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684