Accordingly, on the 23rd of May he came to London to transact some business, and to take the chair next day at a meeting of the Royal Society of Literature, of which he was a vice-president. This meeting took place in the afternoon, and he addressed a crowded assembly, which greeted him with great warmth. Those who were present, and saw his bright eyes and heard his ringing voice, could have no suspicion that they would see him again no more. His intimate friends alone perceived that he was making a superlative effort. There followed a very bad night, and he went down to Batsford next day, going straight to his bed, from which he never rose again. His condition, at first, gave rise to little alarm. The disease, which proved to be catarrhal jaundice, took its course; but for a long time his spirit and his unconsciousness of danger sustained him and filled those around him with hope. There was no disturbance of mind to the very last. In a shaky hand, with his stylograph, he continued to correspond with certain friends, about politics, and books, and even about _Veluvana_. In the beginning of August there seemed to be symptoms of improvement, but these were soon followed by a sudden and final relapse. Even after this, Lord Redesdale’s interest and curiosity were sustained. In his very last letter to myself, painfully scrawled only one week before his death, he wrote: “Have you seen Ernest Daudet’s book just published, ‘Les auteurs de la guerre de 1914’? Bismarck is the subject of the first volume; the second will deal with the Kaiser and the Emperor Joseph; and the third with ‘leurs complices.’ I know E. D.; he is a brother of Alphonse, and is a competent historian. His book is most illuminating. Of course there are exaggerations, but he is always well _documenté_, and there is much in his work that is new. I don’t admire his style. The abuse of the historic present is bad enough, but what can be said in favour of the historic future with which we meet at every step? It sets my teeth on edge.” But he grew physically weaker, and seven days later he passed into an unconscious state, dying peacefully at noon of the 17th of August, 1916. He was saved, as he had wished to be, from all consciousness of decrepitude. EDMUND GOSSE. _August, 1917._ FURTHER MEMORIES VELUVANA