In 1863 his chief work was in connection with the Trinity House, Faraday continuing to report upon the value of the magneto-electric light for lighthouses, and visiting yet again, as he had frequently done for years past, Dungeness and other stations for the purpose. Despite his incapacity for sustained mental work owing to his failing memory, Faraday continued fairly hale in body, and was yet active, for in February of 1863 he was at Dungeness, and in the autumn of the same year he was in Scotland for a fortnight, and wrote from Glasgow to one who for over forty years had been his loving companion, a letter breathing an affection unaltered by the lapse of years, unless indeed it were, to use his own expression, that it had grown _deeper_. We have seen the letters which he wrote in the early years of his marriage; it is fitting that we should quote from this one to show how unchanged he was, despite the many years which had passed over him. "I long to see you, dearest," he wrote, "and to talk over things together, and call to mind all the kindness I have received. My head is full and my heart also, but my recollection rapidly fails, even as regards the friends that are in the room with me. You will have to resume your old function of being a pillow to my mind, and a rest, a happy-making wife.... Dearest, I long to see and be with you. Whether together or separate, your husband, very affectionate, "M. FARADAY." In 1865 he felt compelled to relinquish the active work in connection with the Trinity House, without altogether retiring from his position, for after thirty years' work, during which he had been treated by the Brethren with uniform kindness and consideration, he did not like to altogether sever his connection with friends with whom he had been so long and so harmoniously working. In accordance with Faraday's wishes Professor Tyndall undertook this work for him. In the same year he felt it necessary to communicate with the managers of the Royal Institution, expressing his desire to be allowed, without severing his connection with it, to give up his active work for the Institution. The last two years of his life were thus passed "waiting" as he once or twice expressed it. To an old friend of very many years' standing he had said, "Barlow, you and I are waiting--that is what we have to do now; and we must try to do it patiently." And again, in reply to a friend who inquired as to how he was, he simply replied, "Just waiting." Thus gradually and quietly the end approached. One of his nieces writes of her annual visit in 1867: "I spent June at Hampton Court. Dear uncle kept up rather better than sometimes; but oh! there was always pain in seeing afresh how far the mind had faded away. Still the sweet unselfish disposition was there, winning the love of all around him....