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of restored vigor and prolonged life as the reward of a six months or year's absence.
He agreed to my view, but said, “It is useless; I must go. My duty requires it.”
On his last morning in
London he breakfasted at the Westminster deanery, the guest of
Dean and
Lady Augusta Stanley.
It was Monday, November 11, when the tidings of the great fire in
Boston had just come.
Lady Augusta inquired about Trinity Church, then on Summer Street, where the funeral rites of her brother,
Sir Frederick Bruce, had been performed, and
Sumner said, ‘We know not whether Trinity Church now exists.’
It was indeed a ruin.
Mr. Story adds his recollections of this breakfast at the deanery:—
The last time I saw Sumner was at the breakfast-table of Dean Stanley.
It was a delightful company, and Sumner was in great force, enjoying it thoroughly.
We were all gay together, and tried to forget that our parting was so near; but at last the cab was announced which was to carry Sumner to the station on his way to America, and we were to say farewell.
We gathered about him; he tried to smile, but the tears were in his eyes.
A grasp of the hand, an earnest “God bless you!” —and he was gone, never again to be seen by any of us. Sumner was a great loss to me, and a great loss to his country; a braver, more high-minded, purer character never informed this mortal clay.
Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam cari capitis?. . .
cui pudor, et justitiae soror
Incorrupta fides, nudaque veritas,
Quando ullum inveniet parem?
Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit:
Nulli flebilior, quam mihi.
A few moments after parting with friends at the deanery, he was on the train to visit the
Duke of
Devonshire at
Chatsworth, leaving the great city for the last time.
It had been his purpose to visit the Argylls at Inverary, but he had not the time to go so far north.
The duchess had written him several letters, expressing the most earnest desire that he should not fail to come.
When she found that he was unable to visit
Scotland even for a day, she wrote: ‘I cannot wish you to spoil your time of rest by a fatiguing journey, but I assure you it is a great disappointment to me.’
At last, as he sailed, she replied to his farewell letter in a note of plaintive tone: ‘If the time has done you good, perhaps you will come again.
I should not like to think I am ’
