After about a month's trial of Brighton, he
came back to the London doctors who told him that "in six months he
would be numbered with his forefathers."
He went home to Langham to die. Through the summer of 1848 he lingered
on, "in the 'room of a thousand columns,' with the mimic sky, and birds,
and flowers, above and around him, where he chose to lie upon a
mattress, placed on the ground, and there, almost in darkness, often in
pain, and without occupation, he lay--cheerful and uncomplaining, and at
times even humorous." His daughters frequently read aloud to him, and he
always asked for fresh flowers. At the last he became delirious, though
continuing to dictate pages of talk and reflection. On the morning of
August 9th, 1848, he expired in perfect quiet.
"Although not handsome," says Mrs Lean, "Captain Marryat's personal
appearance was very prepossessing. In figure he was upright and
broad-shouldered for his height, which measured 5ft. 10in. His hands,
without being undersized, were remarkably perfect in form, and modelled
by a sculptor at Rome on account of their symmetry. The character of his
mind was borne out by his features, the most salient expression of which
was the frankness of an open heart. The firm decisive mouth, and massive
thoughtful forehead were redeemed from heaviness by the humorous light
that twinkled in his deep-set grey eyes, which, bright as diamonds,
positively flashed out their fun, or their reciprocation of the fun of
others.
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