He never, indeed, seems to have liked riding. He used to say he had once been out on a steeplechase at Arundel, and sometimes he went out shooting there, but these were exceptional occasions. His chief active amusements, gardening and architecture, were insufficient to compensate the depression caused by the tremendous strain of half the year at Westminster.
In the year 1856 he was exceedingly unwell, and the failure in his health became very appreciable, his physician telling him that he had 'the heart of an overworked brain.' Within two years after this, the violence of his grief at Mrs. Hope-Scott's death further disordered him. He had an illness in 1865, and again a serious one in 1867, which, however, he got over, and went on as usual, but became more unwieldy, and suffered much from impeded circulation.
It happened also, soon after this, that the breaking up of some very dear associations, or sure signs of it, began to give warning that the end of all things was at hand. On March 29, 1868, rather suddenly, died Mr. Badeley, the most affectionate and faithful friend of so many years. On hearing of his illness Mr. Hope-Scott had hastened home from Hyères to assist him, and was with him each day till the last. Dr. Newman wrote the following letter on this occasion:—
The Very Rev. Dr. Newman to J. R. Hope-Scott, Esq., Q.C.
Rednall: March 31, 1868.
My dear Hope-Scott,—What a heavy, sudden, unexpected blow! I shall not see him now till I cross the stream which he has crossed. How dense is our ignorance of the future! a darkness which can be felt, and the keenest consequence and token of the Fall. Till we remind ourselves of what we are—in a state of punishment—such surprises make us impatient, and almost angry, alas!
But my blow is nothing to yours, though you had the great consolation of sitting by his side and being with him to the last. What a fulness of affection he poured out on you and yours! and how he must have rejoiced to have your faithful presence with him while he was going! This is your joy and your pain.
Now he has the recompense for that steady, well-ordered, perpetual course of devotion and obedience which I ever admired in him, and felt to be so much above anything that I could reach. All or most of us have said mass for him, I am sure, this morning; certainly we two have who are here.
I did not write to you during the past fortnight, thinking it would only bother you, and knowing I should hear if there was anything to tell. But you have been as much surprised as any one at his sudden summons. I knew it was the beginning of the end, but thought it was only the beginning. How was it his medical men did not know better?
I suppose the funeral is on Saturday. God bless and keep and sustain you.