Woodcote Lodge,
September 21, 1915.
… My old friend Pattisson, our Treasurer at the Lister, is dead, and most of our men have joined the war in one or other capacity. So much lies on my shoulders, and though pretty broad, they are old, and I feel the responsibility of chairmanship.
He attended the meeting of the Lister Institute which has been referred to in one of his previous letters. The result disappointed him, but as it was not wholly unexpected, it but slightly, if at all, disturbed his usual philosophic calm. The death of his friend Rücker, the first Principal of the London University, a man whom he greatly respected and admired, which occurred on November 1st, was a far more serious blow, and affected him greatly.
He had retired to rest at his customary hour, in his usual serene and happy condition of mind and health, after spending a couple of hours in his daughter’s society in the drawing-room reading or amusing himself, as was his wont, on the pianola with one of Beethoven’s sonatas or some other classical piece. He had been thinking of his approaching birthday, and had suggested a little gathering of a chosen few of his old students whom he knew would be glad to celebrate it with him. But this was not to be. Diis aliter visum. Shortly after daybreak on the morning of December 18, 1915, he was seized with an attack of angina pectoris, and passed away with scarcely a struggle. With
No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.
What was mortal of him was laid to rest in Brookwood Cemetery in the grave which held the cherished partner of his life.