Samuel Butler: The Way of All Flesh

86. CHAPTER LXXXVI (continued)

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 little worries, and now that Joey is married too, I don't know what I should do if one or other of them did not come sometimes and take care of me. My only comfort is that Charlotte will make her husband happy, and that he is as nearly worthy of her as a husband can well be.--Believe me, Your affectionate father,

"THEOBALD PONTIFEX."

I may say in passing that though Theobald speaks of Charlotte's marriage as though it were recent, it had really taken place some six years previously, she being then about thirty-eight years old, and her husband about seven years younger.