In the summer of 1880 my father left London, and went to live at
Harting, a village in Sussex, but on the confines of Hampshire. I
think he chose that spot because he found there a house that suited
him, and because of the prettiness of the neighborhood. His last
long journey was a trip to Italy in the late winter and spring of
1881; but he went to Ireland twice in 1882. He went there in May
of that year, and was then absent nearly a month. This journey did
him much good, for he found that the softer atmosphere relieved
his asthma, from which he had been suffering for nearly eighteen
months. In August following he made another trip to Ireland, but
from this journey he derived less benefit. He was much interested
in, and was very much distressed by, the unhappy condition of the
country. Few men know Ireland better than he did. He had lived
there for sixteen years, and his Post Office word had taken him
into every part of the island. In the summer of 1882 he began his
last novel, The Landleaguers, which, as stated above, was unfinished
when he died. This book was a cause of anxiety to him. He could not
rid his mind of the fact that he had a story already in the course
of publication, but which he had not yet completed. In no other
case, except Framley Parsonage, did my father publish even the
first number of any novel before he had fully completed the whole
tale.

On the evening of the 3rd of November, 1882, he was seized with
paralysis on the right side, accompanied by loss of speech. His
mind had also failed, though at intervals his thoughts would return
to him. After the first three weeks these lucid intervals became
rarer, but it was always very difficult to tell how far his mind
was sound or how far astray. He died on the evening of the 6th of
December following, nearly five weeks from the night of his attack.