Thus lived Hobbes, whether at Hardwick or at Chatsworth, and thus were all his foibles kindly looked upon and administered to, and his life made happy by allowing him in everything—even his attendance on worship in the private chapel, and his leaving before the sermon—to have, literally, “his own way.” In December, 1679, the earl and countess went from Chatsworth to Hardwick Hall, probably with the intention of keeping up their Christmas festivities there, and even at that time the old man—for he was ninety-one years of age—would accompany them. “He could not endure to be left in an empty house, and whenever the earl removed he would go along with him, even to his last stage from Chatsworth to Hardwick; when in a very weak condition he dared not be left behind, but made his way upon a feather bed in a coach, though he survived the journey but a few days. He could not bear any discourse of death, and seemed to cast off all thoughts of it. He delighted to reckon upon long life. The winter before he died he had made a warmer coat, which he said must last him three years, and then he would have such another. In his last sickness his frequent questions were whether his disease was curable; and when intimations were given that he might have ease, but no remedy, he used this expression:—‘I shall be glad then to find a hole to creep out of the world at;’ which are reported to have been his last sensible words, and his lying some days following in a silent stupefaction did seem owing to his mind more than to his body. The only thought of death that he appeared to entertain in time of health was to take care of some inscription on his grave. He would suffer some friends to dictate an epitaph, among which he was best pleased with this honour, ‘_This is the true philosopher’s stone_;’ which, indeed,” adds the bishop, “would have had as much religion in it as that which now remains,” and of which we have just given a copy.