Lord Collingwood, [he wrote in 1810] has sacrificed his life to his country and to the full as much as has done his friend and commander Lord Nelson. But Nelson's death was glorious; he fell in the hour of victory amidst a nation's tears. Poor Collingwood resigned his life to his country, because she required his services; he yielded himself as a victim to a painful disease, solely occasioned by his incessant and anxious attention to his duties, when he knew from his physician that his existence might be spared if he were allowed to return to the quiet of domestic life. Must not his mind have sometimes recurred to his home; to his two daughters, now grown to the age of womanhood, but whom he remembered only as little children; so long had he been estranged from his country! Must he not have felt how delightfully he could spend his old age in the society of his family, at his own house at Chirton, the ancient possession of his ancestors, which had been left to him by my uncle, and in the enjoyment of a large fortune, which he had gained during his professional career! What a contrast did the reverse of the picture show! A lingering disease, a certain death. He repeatedly represented the state of his health to the Admiralty, but in vain; his country demanded his services; he gave her his life; and without even the consolation of thinking that the sacrifice he was making would be appreciated. "If Lord Mulgrave knew me," said he in one of his letters to my father, "he would know that I did not complain without sufficient cause."