This was a day of some bustling and confusion, inasmuch as in addition to the inevitable derangement of the household, consequent upon removal I was obliged to attend the funeral of Mr Bates, fixed for twelve o’clock, as M Van de Weyer expressly called yesterday to mention. It proved to be a perfect counterpart to that which I witnessed from the same house little more than fifteen months ago. The persons present were scarcely more numerous. Messr T. Baring, and Baring Young, with Russell Sturgis of the partners. Messr R M Mason, Abbot Lawrence, J. C Bates, R Minturn, C. Eliot and two others whom I did not know. The mourners, M Van de Weyer his two sons and son in law. The same ponderous funeral apparatus, the same long and slow movement to Kendall Green, and the same formal service at the internment. A life of nearly half a century spent in amassing a fortune of millions with the retention of a blameless character terminates in England with a mark of respect from four Englishmen, two of whom were associates in trade. This is because he was a native of a foreign land and sympathized in heart with that which he had voluntarily renounced. His family will now be engrafted upon English stock, and his wealth will go to those who will not object to have his memory obliterated. The only monument he has made for himself will remain in Boston, where Americans will not cease to be grateful to him for the beneficent endowment he gave to the public library. I did not get home until nearly four, when I found almost all the family gone. Mr Kuhn and Louisa remained to go in the carriage, and I was last to take the train at Portland road to Ealing. Thus we all found ourselves reunited at Hanger Hill House, at a late dinner, which proved however a very much more comfortable one than I ever experienced before on a similar undertaking.