Welwyn, the road to Buckden, and Buckden itself seem quite lonely without this figure of all the virtues and the graces. Spelt “Bugden” in other times, the inhabitants still pronounce its name in this way. There is a well-defined air of aristocracy about this village, due partly to the ruined towers of the old palace of the Bishops of Lincoln, and to the sturdy old red-brick walls that enclose the grounds in which they stand. They are walls with a thickness and lavish use of material calculated to make the builder of “desirable villa residences” gasp with dismay at such apparently wanton extravagance. But the Bishops of Lincoln, who built those walls in the fifteenth century, had not obtained their land on a building lease; and, moreover, they were building for their own use, which makes a deal of difference, it must be conceded. You cannot help noticing these walls, for they run for some distance beside the road. Through a gateway is seen a pleasant view of lawns and the front of a modern mansion. The Bishops have long left Buckden, and have gone to reside at their palace at Lincoln, Buckden Palace having been wantonly demolished when the Order in Council, authorising these Right Reverend Fathers in God to alienate the property, was obtained. The church adjoins their roofless old gatehouse, and is a fine old place of worship, with a stone spire of the Northants type. In this church will be found a singular example of modesty. It is an epitaph without the name of the person:— “Sacred to the memory of AN OFFICER, who sincerely regarded this his native village and caused an asylum to be erected, to protect Age, and to reward Industry. Reader, ask not his name. If thou approve a deed which succours the helpless, go and emulate it. Obiit 1834, aet 65.”