xxxvi MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR 



shooting, and it was remarked at the time how well 

 he had been doing. On the Sunday morning he was 

 obviously very unwell, and could barely take the 

 services in the church, but he managed to struggle 

 through with them somehow or other. On the 

 Monday he was worse, and, on the Monday morning 

 following, he died. It was how he wished to die — 

 in the full possession of his strength and faculties. 

 The crov?ds that assembled at his funeral, the dis- 

 tressing scenes that were witnessed (many of his 

 parishioners being moved to tears), all testified to 

 the love and respect they had for the " old Eector." 

 The parishioners subscribed over ^300 for a memorial, 

 which took the shape of a reading room endowed in 

 perpetuity for the use of the villagers, and a mural 

 tablet inside records the fact that it was so endowed 

 in memory of him. 



Sproughton Church still stands, Sproughton's 

 river still wanders like a silver thread through 

 the long green meadows ; but gone are the roses 

 of Sproughton now, gone are the long, long rows of 

 them that were the Rector's delight ; and gone, too, 

 is the dear, kind-hearted old Eector and his greatly- 

 loved wife. Ah, well, tempora mutant ur ; they sleep 

 together, just as they wished to do, in one grave — 

 between the church, which they loved so well and 

 served so faithfully, and the silent river. 



K. P.-M. 



January 26, 1910. 



