This was probably the last letter Reeve wrote with his own hand. For several months he had been very much of an invalid, though he had persisted in continuing his work, in which he found distraction and relief. And no complaint passed his lips. 'The kindest thing you can do for me,' he said to his anxious wife, 'is to leave me alone.' He made a point of coming down to breakfast; but his strength was gradually failing, and he moved with difficulty. His medical attendant recommended an operation, but this he was unwilling to undergo, feeling doubtful whether at his advanced age it could be successful. Sunday, October 13th, he passed in the library among the books he prized. He dictated a letter, listened to the Psalms of the day, and asked his wife to read also the First Epistle General of St. Peter. In the afternoon Dr. Roberts Thomson and Dr. Davison saw him, and after a consultation wrote to the distinguished specialist, Mr. Buckston Browne, to be prepared to come on receipt of a telegram. On Monday Reeve was unable to get up; he consented to undergo the operation, and Mr. Browne was telegraphed for. On his arrival, about 7 o'clock in the evening, it was decided to lose no more time. The operation was successfully performed, under chloroform, and everything, the surgeons hoped, would go well. And this they repeated for the next few days; the wound, they thought, was closing nicely. At 82, however, wounds do not close readily, and Reeve's system was weakened by some years of bad health. He never regained entire consciousness; and though from time to time he gave some directions about the 'Review,' they were not intelligible to those who heard; they probably had no meaning even to himself. On Monday, October 21st, at half-past one in the morning, 'the one last change was made,' and he passed away peacefully and without suffering. In a letter of sympathy to Mrs. Reeve Dr. Roberts Thomson wrote:-- 'I was very much struck with your husband's wonderful patience when I saw him, and the calm way in which he was able to face the future--whatever it had in store for him. It is some consolation to know that he did not suffer much, and that perhaps, had he recovered from the illness, his health would have been so affected that great valetudinarianism would have been inevitable. To him, this would have been suffering; and for his sake we are thankful that he was spared it.' His remains were interred in the Brookwood cemetery at Woking on October 24th. He died, literally in harness. On Saturday, October 12th, he dictated a last letter on the business of the 'Review;' and his indistinct words during the few days of partial unconsciousness showed that his mind was still endeavouring to fix itself on what had occupied it for so many years.