Planning and constructing houses, gardens, walls, paths, rockeries, etc., were great hobbies of his, and he often spent hours making scale drawings of some new house or of alterations to an existing one, and scheming out the details of construction. At other times he would devise schemes for new rockeries or waterworks, and he would always talk them over with us and tell us of some splendid new idea he had hit upon. As Mr. Sharpe has noted, he was always very optimistic, and if a scheme did not come up to his expectations he was not discouraged but always declared he could do it much better next time and overcome the defects. He was generally in better health and happier when some constructional work was in hand. He built three houses, "The Dell" at Grays, "Nutwood Cottage" at Godalming, and the "Old Orchard" at Broadstone. The last he actually built himself, employing the men and buying all the materials, with the assistance of a young clerk of works; but though the enterprise was a source of great pleasure, it was a constant worry. He also designed and built a concrete garden wall, with which he was very pleased, though it cost considerably more than he anticipated. He had not been at Parkstone long before he set about the planning of "alterations" with his usual enthusiasm. We were both away from home at this time, and consequently had many letters from him, of which one is given as a specimen. His various interests are nearly always referred to in these letters, and in not a few of them his high spirits show themselves in bursts of exuberance which were very characteristic whenever a new scheme was afoot. The springs of eternal youth were for ever bubbling up afresh, so that to us he never grew old. One of us remembers how, when he must have been about 80, someone said, "What a wonderful old man your father is!" This was quite a shock, for to us he was not old. The letter referred to above is the following: * * * * * TO MR. W.G. WALLACE _Parkstone, Dorset, February 1, 1891._ My dear Will,--Another week has passed away into eternity, another month has opened its eyes on the world, and still the illustrious Charles [bricklayer] potters about, still the carpenter plies the creaking saw and the stunning hammer, still the plumber plumbs and the bellhanger rattles, still the cisterns overflow and the unfinished drains send forth odorous fumes, still the rains descend and all around the house is a muddle of muck and mire, and still there is so much to do that we look forward to some far distant futurity, when all that we are now suffering will be over, and we may look back upon it as upon some strange yet not altogether uninteresting nightmare!