‘DEAR MRS. FAWCETT,—Excuse me in not writing you sooner, on the sad death of your dear lamented husband. Several of his old friends at the Brighton Railway Works has wished me to ask you privately how you are situated in a pecuniary sense. We always thought that the Professor was a poor man, and only had what he earned by his talents; his three years of office could not have brought in much money for you and the family to live in ease and comfort for the rest of your days. It is our opinion that you are richly entitled to a public pension. ‘Failing this, would you accept a public subscription, say a penny one, from the working classes of this country, for the many good and noble deeds your noble partner done for the working classes of this country. His advice was always sound, good and practical, and full of sympathy, a good private friend to all men. ‘I see you had a plentiful supply of flowers, but those flowers soon fade and are no support to the poor and fatherless ones. I am confident, if you could make up your mind to accept a penny testimonial the working classes would give cheerfully, not in the shape of charity, but for public and striking services rendered by one of the best men since Edmund Burke. We only wish he had lived twenty years longer. ‘Pray excuse my plain way of writing to you, as an honest workman, one of his supporters from first to last. His last letter to me a month back was full of sound and good advice concerning our Provident Society.—Believe me, your sincere friend and well-wisher, JOHN SHORT, Senior.’ Mrs. Fawcett, profoundly touched by this letter, was able to say that she could not properly accept the generous offer, as her husband had left her adequately provided for. Mr. Short, who had written the letter, replied to Mrs. Fawcett, ‘our men of the railway works say that you are entitled to all honour for refusing a pension or a public subscription from the working men; also that your dear husband and our best friend has practised what he always preached to us, private thrift!’ [Sidenote: Burial.] Fawcett was buried in the churchyard at Trumpington, near Cambridge, by the little old church, with its square tower, which he had so often passed on his joyful walks and rides. He was followed to his resting-place by representatives of all the classes and the peoples who had loved him. Those humble folk who were so dear to him mingled with statesmen of all parties and many countries, delegates from learned bodies and universities, his colleagues, and the undergraduates from his beloved Cambridge. [Sidenote: The significance of Fawcett’s life.]