The end of every life is the hardest to describe. The time of rest must come, and with it retirement from public work. The parent begins life again in his children, and in making place for them in the world. We have followed the career of an active and energetic man, who thoroughly lived his life, and enjoyed it. We have seen his first great disappointment in the profession that he loved, when an opportunity offered itself for service under Sir Charles Napier in the Baltic Fleet during the Crimean War. To die in action, fighting for England, was his ambition, and the failure of an opportunity for its fulfilment brought with it much depression. Meanwhile, however, he lost no time in vain regrets, or ceased from active and useful work on his estate and in his county. We have read a letter describing old 'Wimple' in 1781; I shall now try to carry on the description in few words from 1855. It was a beloved home; we 'were seven,' and in the adjoining rectory lived my uncle the Hon. and Rev. Archdeacon Yorke, Canon of Ely, with six cousins, a merry party in holiday time. The house was big and the furniture, books and pictures fine, but my father's life would have satisfied the severest of socialist critics by its simplicity. Our own dress was scrupulously simple. Our boots I well remember, they were all made by a little hump-back cobbler who lived at New Wimpole, and used to come by the avenue to the 'Big House,' as it was always called, to measure us. These substantial thick boots and leather gaiters from the village shop, with short linsey skirts, formed our walking attire. And in the Christmas holiday we all tore about the muddy fields in 'paper-chases.' Later on I remember writing a paper for my friends on how to dress on eighty pounds a year, which was my allowance at eighteen. The cottages were beautifully clean and the furniture solid, all the men wore smock-frocks and very thick boots with large nails that lasted a year: no such thing as a blue suit and yellow boots would have been tolerated then. The best dressed wife wore a red cloak and neat black bonnet. The family Bible was found in every cottage, and my uncle gave two cottage Bible-readings every week of his life. There was no attempt at Cathedral services in country churches. The Communion service was reverently given once a month, and on the great feast-days my uncle preached in a black gown. And such a fuss was made when the black waistcoat now commonly worn by the clergy was introduced: it was called the _M. B. Waistcoat_ (mark of the beast). My uncle ultimately adopted it, when promoted to a canonry at Ely. What changes since those days, what luxury has crept in everywhere, and how often one sighs over the simplicity of the past, which certainly produced a stronger, if not a better race.