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diff --git a/old/52846-0.txt b/old/52846-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ff0b044..0000000 --- a/old/52846-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8781 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Friends at Cambridge and Elsewhere, by -J. Willis Clark - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Old Friends at Cambridge and Elsewhere - -Author: J. Willis Clark - -Release Date: August 18, 2016 [EBook #52846] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD FRIENDS *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks, Chris Curnow and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. The single -instance of blackletter font uses the ‘=’ as a delimiter. - -The footnotes have been re-sequenced for uniqueness across the text, and -positioned to follow the paragraph in which they are referenced. -Footnote 95 (originally footnote 1 on p. 227) has two separate -references in the text, both of which are retained. - -There were very few and minor typographical flaws in the copy from which -this version is derived. These have been corrected, with no further -notice. - - Old Friends at Cambridge - and Elsewhere - - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - - - - - Old Friends at Cambridge - and Elsewhere - - by - - J. Willis Clark, M.A. - - Registrary of the University of Cambridge - formerly Fellow of Trinity College - - - London - - Macmillan and Co. Limited - Cambridge: Macmillan and Bowes - - 1900 - - All Rights reserved - - - - - ~Cambridge:~ - - PRINTED BY J. AND C. F. CLAY, - AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. - - - - - PREFACE. - - -I have frequently been asked to write my _Memoirs_, or I should rather -say, my _Recollections_. I have serious doubts as to whether I recollect -anything of value; and, even if I do, I have no time at present to -commit it to paper. But, as the University, when I first knew it, was a -very different place from what it is now; and as it has fallen to my lot -to write several biographical notices of distinguished Cambridge men, in -the course of which I have noted incidentally a good many of the -constitutional and social changes of later years, I venture to republish -what I have written. Such compositions, many of which were dashed off on -the spur of the moment, under the influence of strong feeling, with no -opportunity for correction or amplification, are, I am aware, defective -as a serious record of lives which ought to have been told at greater -length. But, that they gain in sincerity what they lose in detail, will, -I hope, be conceded by those who take the trouble to read them. - -Most of these articles are reprinted as they were written, with only -obvious and necessary corrections. The Life of Dr Whewell has been -slightly enlarged; and that of Bishop Thirlwall has been revised, though -not substantially altered. Any merit that this Life may possess is due -to the kindness of the late Master of my College, Dr Thompson. I myself -had never so much as seen Thirlwall, and undertook the article with -great reluctance. But my difficulties vanished as soon as I had -consulted Dr Thompson. He had been one of Thirlwall’s intimate friends, -and not only supplied me with information about him which I could not -have learnt from any other source, but revised the article more than -once when in type. - -The article on Dr Luard is practically new. Soon after his death I -contributed a short sketch of his Life to the _Saturday Review_, and -afterwards another, in a somewhat different style, to a Trinity College -Magazine called _The Trident_. Out of these, with some additions, the -present article has been composed. - -It has been suggested to me that an article on Richard Owen, in a series -devoted entirely, with that exception, to Cambridge men, needs -justification. I would urge in my defence that the Senate coopted Owen -by selecting him, in 1859, as the first recipient of an honorary degree -under the new statutes. - -My cordial thanks are due to Dr Jackson, Fellow and Prælector of Trinity -College, for much valuable criticism, and assistance in preparing the -volume for the press. - -I have also to thank the proprietors of the _Church Quarterly Review_, -and those of the _Saturday Review_, for their kindness in allowing me to -reprint articles of which they hold the copyright. - - JOHN WILLIS CLARK. - - SCROOPE HOUSE, CAMBRIDGE. - _1 January, 1900._ - - - - - CONTENTS. - - PAGE - - WILLIAM WHEWELL 1 - - _Church Quarterly Review_, April, 1882. - - CONNOP THIRLWALL 77 - - _Church Quarterly Review_, April, 1883. - - RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON 153 - - _Church Quarterly Review_, July, 1891. - - EDWARD HENRY PALMER 201 - - _Church Quarterly Review_, October, - 1883. - - FRANCIS MAITLAND BALFOUR 282 - - _Saturday Review_, 29 July, 1882. - - HENRY BRADSHAW 292 - - _Saturday Review_, 10 February, 1886. - - WILLIAM HEPWORTH THOMPSON 302 - - _Saturday Review_, 9 October, 1886. - - COUTTS TROTTER 314 - - _Saturday Review_, 10 December, 1887. - - RICHARD OKES 319 - - _Saturday Review_, 1 December, 1888. - - HENRY RICHARDS LUARD 328 - - _Saturday Review_, 9 May, 1891. - - _The Trident_, June, 1891. - - RICHARD OWEN 344 - - _Church Quarterly Review_, July, 1895. - - - - - WILLIAM WHEWELL[1]. - - -Full materials for the life of Dr Whewell are at last before the public. -We say ‘at last,’ because ten years elapsed from his death in 1866 -before the first instalment of his biography appeared, and fifteen years -before the second. Haste, therefore, cannot be pleaded for any faults -which may be found in either of them. Nor, indeed, is it our intention -to carp at persons who have performed a difficult task as well as they -could. Far rather would we take exception to the strange resolution of -Dr Whewell’s executors and friends to have his life written in separate -portions. It was originally intended that there should be three of these -published simultaneously: (1) the scientific, (2) the academic, (3) the -domestic. As time went on, however, it was found impossible to carry out -this scheme; and Mr Todhunter published the first instalment before -anyone had been found to undertake either of the others. At last, after -repeated failures, the second and third portions were thrown together, -and entrusted to Mrs Stair Douglas, Dr Whewell’s niece by marriage. The -defects of such a method are obvious; events scarcely worth telling once -are told twice; documents that would have been useful to one biographer -appear in the work of the other, and the like. For this, however, the -authors before us deserve less blame than the scheme which they were -compelled to follow. - -Few lives, we imagine, have been so many-sided as to need a double, not -to say a triple, narrative in order to set them fully before the public; -and we assert most distinctly that Dr Whewell was the last man whose -biography should have been so treated. His life, notwithstanding his -diverse occupations and his widespread interests, presented a singular -unity, due to his unflinching determination to subordinate his pursuits, -his actions, and his thoughts to what he felt to be his work in the -world, viz. the advancement, in the fullest sense the word can be made -to bear, of his College and his University. He himself made no attempt -to subdivide his time, so as to carry out some special work at the -expense of other occupations. He found time for everything. His -extraordinary energy, and his power of absorbing himself at a moment’s -notice in whatever he had to do, whether scientific research or -University business, enabled him to get through an astonishing amount of -work in a single day. Much of what he did must have been very irksome -and repulsive to him. He particularly disliked detail, especially that -relating to finance. ‘I hate these disgusting details,’ was his way of -putting aside, or trying to put aside, economical discussions at College -meetings; and it was often hard to make him understand the real -importance of these apparently small matters. Again, he always found -time to go into society; to keep himself well acquainted with all that -was going forward in politics, literature, art, music, science; and to -carry on a vast correspondence with relatives, friends, and men of -science in England and on the Continent. A considerable number of these -letters have of course perished; but the extent of the collection is -evident from Mr Todhunter’s statement that he had examined more than -3,500 letters written to Dr Whewell, and more than 1,000 written by him. -His opinion of the latter, after this wide experience, is well worth -quotation: - -‘I do not think that adequate justice can be rendered to Dr Whewell’s -vast knowledge and power by any person who did not know him intimately, -except by the examination of his extensive correspondence; such an -examination cannot fail to raise the opinion formed of him by the study -of his published works, however high that opinion may be. The evidence -of his attainments and abilities which is furnished by the fact that he -was consulted and honoured by the acknowledged chiefs of many distinct -sciences is most ample and impressive. United with this intellectual -eminence we find an attractive simplicity and generosity of nature, an -entire absence of self-seeking and assertion, and a warm concern in the -fortunes of his friends, even when they might be considered in some -degree as his rivals.’ - -The academic side of Dr Whewell’s life has no doubt been imperfectly -related in both the works before us; and the due recognition of his -merits will have to wait until the intellectual history of the -University during the nineteenth century shall one day be written. On -the other hand, we owe our warmest thanks to Mrs Stair Douglas for -having brought prominently into notice, as only an affectionate woman -could do, the softer side of Dr Whewell’s character. No one who did not -know him as she did could have suspected the almost feminine tenderness, -the yearning for sympathy, which were concealed under that rough -exterior. These qualities, though much developed by his marriage, were -characteristic of him throughout his whole life. The following passage, -which has not before been printed, from a letter written in 1836 to the -Marchesa Spineto, his oldest and most valued Cambridge friend, while he -was busy writing his _History of the Inductive Sciences_, shows how -necessary female sympathy was to him even when he was most occupied: - -‘It appears to me long since I have seen you, and I am disposed to write -as if your absence were a disagreeable and unusual privation; although -it is very likely that if you had been here I might have seen just as -little of you and might have felt just as lonely. And perhaps if I send -you this sheet of my ruminations, it will find you in the middle of a -new set of interests and employments, with only a little bit of your -thoughts and affections at liberty to look this way; and so I shall be -little the better for the habit you have taught me of depending upon you -for unvarying kindness and love. Perhaps you will tell me I am unjust in -harbouring such a suspicion, but do not be angry with me if I am; for -you know such thoughts come into my head whether I will or no; and then -go away the sooner for being put into words.’ - -University life changes with such rapidity, that no matter how great a -man may have been, it is inevitable that he should soon become little -more than a tradition to those who succeed him. Few of the present -Fellows of Trinity College can have even seen Dr Whewell; and though his -outward appearance has been handed down to posterity by a picture in the -Lodge, a bust in the Library, and a statue in the Chapel, neither canvas -nor marble, no matter how skilfully they may be handled, can convey the -impression which that king of men made upon his contemporaries. These -portraits give a fairly just idea of his lofty stature, broad shoulders, -and large limbs, but the features are inadequately rendered in all of -them. The proportions are probably correct, but the expression has been -lost. The artists have been so anxious to render the philosopher, that -they have forgotten the man. His expression, except on very solemn -occasions, was never so grave as they have made it. His bright blue eye -had nearly always a merry twinkle in it, and his broad mouth was ever -ready to break into a smile. His nature was essentially joyous; and he -dearly loved a good joke, a funny story, or a merry party of friends, in -which his laugh was always the loudest, and his pleasure the keenest. -Nor did he disdain the pleasures of the table; a good dinner, followed -by a good bottle of port, was not without its charm for him, though it -may be doubted whether he enjoyed these matters for their own sake so -much as for the society they brought with them. He could not bear to be -alone, and was not particular into what company he went, provided he -could get good conversation, and plenty of it. He used to say that he -liked to hear a dinner in ‘full cry’; and, if we may adopt his own -simile without offence to the memory of one whom we love and revere, he -was himself the leader of the pack. He could hardly be called a good -talker; he was too fond of the sound of his own loud cheery voice, and -engrossed the conversation too much. He would take up a subject started -by somebody else, and handle it in a masterly fashion, as if he were in -a lecture room, while the rest sat by and listened. He laid down the -law, too, in a style that did not admit of reply. We remember an -occasion when the conversation turned on Longfellow’s _Golden Legend_, -then just published, and Whewell was asked to say what he thought of it. -‘I think it is a bad echo of a bad original, Goethe’s _Faust_,’ -thundered out the great man; after which, of course, there was a dead -silence. Again, he was no respecter of persons, nor was he too careful -to observe the ordinary rules of politeness. If anybody said a silly -thing, even if the person were a lady, and in her own house, he thought -nothing of crushing her with ‘Madam, no one but a fool would have made -that observation’; but his company was so delightful, his stores of -information so varied and so vast, his readiness to communicate them so -unusual, and his memory so retentive, that these eccentricities in -‘Rough Diamond,’ as a clever University _jeu d’esprit_ called him, were -readily forgiven. He was far too well aware of his own supremacy to be -afraid of unbending; and years after he became Master of Trinity he has -been seen to kneel down on the carpet to play with a Skye terrier. He -was a special favourite with young people, especially with young ladies, -from the heartiness with which he threw himself into their pursuits and -pleasures, talked with them, romped with them, wrote verses and riddles -and translated German poems for their amusement, and assisted -approvingly at the musical parties which were the fashion when he was a -young man. There were indeed several houses in Cambridge and its -neighbourhood in which we should have ventured to say that he was ‘a -tame cat,’ had there been anything feline in that rugged and vehement -nature. - -Those who wish to draw for themselves a life-like portrait of Whewell in -his best days must take into account the fact that his health was always -excellent. There is a legend that as a boy he was delicate; but, if this -were ever the case, which we doubt, he put it aside with other childish -things. When he came to man’s estate no rebellious liver ever troubled -his repose, or made him look upon life with a jaundiced eye. It was his -habit to sit up late; but, notwithstanding, he appeared regularly at -morning chapel, then at 7 a.m., fresh and radiant, and ready for the -day’s work. This vigour of body enabled him to appreciate everything -with a keenness which age could not dull, nor the most poignant grief -extinguish, except for very brief intervals. He thoroughly appreciated -‘the mere joy of living’; and whatever was going forward attracted him -so powerfully that he was never satisfied until he had found out all -about it. He went everywhere: to public ceremonials and exhibitions; to -new plays, new music, new pictures; to London drawing-rooms and smart -country houses; to quiet parsonages and canonical residences; to foreign -cities and English cathedrals; always deriving the keenest enjoyment -from what he saw, and delighting in new experiences because they were -new. There was but one exception to the universality of his interests. -When he was a resident Fellow of Trinity, it was the fashion for College -Dons to dabble in politics, and more than one of his Trinity friends -made their fortune by their Liberal opinions. He did not imitate their -example. He always described himself as no politician. As a young man he -seemed inclined to take a Liberal line, for he opposed a petition from -the University against the Roman Catholic claims in 1821, and in the -following year voted against ‘our dear, our Protestant Bankes’ for the -same reason. But in those stormy days of the Reform Bill, when so many -ancient friendships were destroyed, he took no decided line; and -latterly he abstained from politics altogether. We do not mean that he -shut his eyes to what was going forward in the world—far from it, but he -seemed to consider that one Administration was as good as another, and -provided no violent change was threatened, he left the destinies of the -Empire to take care of themselves. As he grew older, his mind became -engrossed by thoughts of the suffering which even the most glorious -achievements must of necessity entail. The events of the Indian Mutiny, -for instance, were followed by him with the closest interest; but he was -more frequently heard to deplore the severity dealt out to the natives -than to admire the heroism of their victims. - -Whewell’s natural good health was no doubt maintained by his love of -open air exercise. No matter how busy he was, or how bad the weather, he -rarely missed his daily ride. On most afternoons he might be seen on his -grey horse ‘Twilight,’ usually with his inseparable friend Dr Worsley, -either galloping across country, or joining quieter parties along the -roads. He was never a good rider, but a very bold one, as will be seen -from the following story, the accuracy of which we once tested by -reference to Sebright, the veteran huntsman of the Fitzwilliam hounds. -Whewell was staying with Viscount Milton, we believe in 1828. One -morning his host said to him at breakfast, ‘We are all going out -hunting; what would you like to do?’ He replied, ‘I have never been out -hunting, and I should like to go too.’ So he was mounted on a first-rate -horse, well up to his weight, and told to keep close to the huntsman. -Whewell did as he was bid, and followed him over everything. They had an -unusually good run across a difficult country, in the course of which -Sebright took an especially stout and high fence. Looking round to see -what had become of the stranger, he found him at his side, safe and -sound. ‘That, sir, was a rasper,’ he said. ‘I did not observe that it -was anything more than ordinary,’ replied Whewell. So on they went, till -at last his horse pulled up, quite exhausted, to Whewell’s great -indignation, who exclaimed, ‘I thought a hunter never stopped.’ - -We are not presumptuous enough to suppose that we can add any new facts -to those which have been already collected in the volumes before us; but -we think that even after their publication there is room for a short -essay, which shall bring into prominence certain points in Whewell’s -academic career, and attempt to determine the value of what he did for -science in general, and for his own College and University in -particular. His life divides itself naturally into three periods of -about equal length, the first extending from his birth in 1794 to his -appointment as assistant-tutor of Trinity College in 1818, the second -from 1818 to his appointment as Master in 1841, and the third from 1841 -to his death in 1866. - -Whewell came up to Cambridge at the beginning of the Michaelmas -Term, 1812. Those who are familiar with the exciting spectacle -presented by the splendid intellectual activity of the Cambridge of -to-day—accommodating itself with flexibility and readiness to -requirements the most diverse, appointing new teachers in -departments of study the most unusual and the most remote on the -bare chance of their services being required, flinging open its -doors to all comers, regardless of sex, creed, or nationality, and -thronged with students whose numbers are increasing year by year, -eager to take advantage of the instruction which their elders are -equally eager to supply them with—will find it difficult, if not -impossible, to imagine the totally different state of things which -existed at that time. Were we asked to express its characteristic by -a single word, we should answer, dulness. It must be remembered that -communication in those days was slow; news did not arrive until it -was stale; travelling, especially for passengers, was expensive, so -that, at least for the shorter vacations, many persons did not leave -Cambridge at all; and some remained there during the whole year—we -might say, in some cases, during their whole lives. For the same -reasons strangers rarely visited the University. The same people -dined and supped together day after day, with no novelty to -diversify their lives or their conversation. No wonder that they -became narrow, prejudiced, eccentric, or that their habits were -tainted with the grosser vices which there was no public opinion to -repudiate. The undergraduates, most of whom came from the upper -classes, were few. In the fifteen years between 1800 and 1815 the -yearly average of those who matriculated did not exceed 205: less -than one-fourth of those who now present themselves[2]. The only -road to the Honour Degree was through the Mathematical Tripos. The -amusements were as little varied as the studies. There was riding -for those who could afford it; and a few boated and played cricket -or tennis; but the majority contented themselves with a walk. With -the undergraduates, as with their seniors, the habit of hard -drinking was unfortunately still prevalent. But the great changes -through which the country passed between 1815 and 1834 produced a -totally different state of things. The old order changed; slowly and -almost imperceptibly at first, but still it changed. As the wealth -of the country increased, a new class of students presented -themselves for education; ideas began to circulate with rapidity; -old forms of procedure and examination were given up; academic -society was purified from its coarseness and vulgarity, and lost -much of its exclusiveness; new studies were admitted upon an all but -equal footing with the old ones; and, lastly, the new political -principles asserted themselves by gradually sweeping away, one after -another, all restrictive enactments. This last change, however, was -not consummated until 1871. The other changes with which what may be -called modern Cambridge was inaugurated are thus enumerated with -characteristic force by Professor Sedgwick in one of his ‘Letters to -the Editor of the _Leeds Mercury_,’ written in 1836, with which he -demolished that infamous slanderer of the University, Mr R. M. -Beverley: - -‘It is most strange that in a letter on the present state of Cambridge -no notice should be taken of the noble institutions which have of late -years risen up within it; of the glories of its Observatory; of the -newly-chartered body, the Philosophical Society, organized among its -resident members in the year 1819, and now known to the world of science -by its “Transactions,” the records of many important original -discoveries; of the new Collections in Natural History; of the -magnificent new Press; of the new School and Museum of Comparative -Anatomy; of the noble extension of the collegiate buildings, made at -some inconvenience and much personal cost to the present Fellows, and -entailing on them and their successors the weight of an enormous debt; -of the general spirit of inquiry pervading the members of the academic -body, young and old; of the eight or nine _new courses_ of public -lectures (established within the last twenty-five years) both on the -applied sciences and the ancient languages; of the general activity of -the professors, and of their correspondence with foreign establishments -organized for objects like their own, whereby Cambridge is now, at -least, an integral part of the vast republic of literature and science; -of the crowded class at the lecture of Modern History [by Professor -Smyth]; of the great knowledge of many of our younger members in modern -languages; of the recent Professorship of Political Economy bestowed on -a gentleman [Mr Pryme] who had been lecturing for years, and was a firm -and known supporter of Liberal opinions.’ - -When Whewell came to the University these improvements had not been so -much as thought of. He was himself to be the prime mover in bringing -several of them about. It must be remembered, however, while we confess -to a special enthusiasm for our hero, that he did not stand alone as the -champion of intellectual development in the University. Indeed it will -become evident as we proceed that he was not naturally a reformer. He -had so strong a respect for existing institutions that he hesitated long -before he could bring himself to sanction any change, no matter how -self-evident or how salutary. As a young man, however, he found himself -one of a large body of enthusiastic workers, who, while they differed -widely, almost fundamentally, on the methods to be employed, were all -animated by the same spirit, and stimulated one another to fresh -exertions in the common cause. It was one of the most remarkable -characteristics of the period of which Professor Sedgwick has sketched -the results, that it was hardly more distinguished for the changes -produced than for the men who brought them about. - -But to return to the special subject of our essay. Of Whewell’s boyhood, -school days, and undergraduateship, few details have been preserved. His -father was a master carpenter, residing at Lancaster, where William, the -eldest of his seven children, was born in 1794. His father is mentioned -as a man of probity and intelligence; but his mother, whom he -unfortunately lost when he was only eleven years old, appears to have -been a woman of superior talents and considerable culture, who enriched -the ‘Poet’s Corner’ of the weekly _Lancaster Gazette_ with occasional -contributions in verse. William was about to be apprenticed to his -father, when his superior intelligence attracted the attention of Mr -Rowley, curate of the parish and master of the grammar school. The -father objected at first: ‘He knows more about parts of my business than -I do,’ he said, ‘and has a special turn for it.’ However, after a week’s -reflection, he yielded, mainly out of deference to Mr Rowley, who -further offered to find the boy in books, and educate him free of -expense. Of his school experiences, Professor Owen, who was one of his -schoolfellows, has contributed some delightful reminiscences. After -mentioning that he was a tall, ungainly youth, he adds: - -‘The rate at which Whewell mastered both English grammar and Latin -accidence was a marvel; and before the year was out he had moved upward -into the class including my elder brother and a dozen boys of the same -age. Then it was that the head-master, noting to them the ease with -which Whewell mastered the exercises and lessons, raised the tale and -standard. Out of school I remember remonstrances in this fashion: “Now, -Whewell, if you say more than twenty lines of Virgil to-day, we’ll -wallop you.” But that was easier said than done. I have seen him, with -his back to the churchyard wall, flooring first one, then another, of -the “walloppers,” and at last public opinion in the school interposed. -“Any two of you may take Whewell in a fair stand-up fight, but we won’t -have any more at him at once.” After the fate of the first pair, a -second was not found willing. My mother thought “it was extremely -ungrateful in _that boy Whewell_ to have discoloured both eyes of her -eldest so shockingly.” But Mr Rowley said, “Boys will be boys,” and he -always let them fight it fairly out.’ - -In after years Whewell spoke of the good training he had received in -arithmetic, geometry, and mensuration from Mr Rowley; but it is believed -that his recollections of his first school were not wholly agreeable; -and probably he was not sorry when he was removed to the grammar school -at Heversham, in Westmoreland. This took place in 1810. The reason for -it was that he might compete for an exhibition of 50_l._ per annum, at -Trinity College, which he was so fortunate as to obtain. At his second -school he paid great attention to classical studies, and practised -versification in Greek and Latin. - -In October 1812 he commenced residence at Trinity College as a -sub-sizar. His first University distinction was the Chancellor’s gold -medal for English Verse, the subject being ‘Boadicea.’ In after years he -was fond of expressing the theory that ‘a prize-poem should be a -prize-poem’: by which he probably meant that the subject should be -treated in a conventional fashion, with no eccentric innovations of -style or metre. It must be admitted that his own work conformed exactly -to this standard. The poem was welcomed with profound admiration in the -family circle at home; but his old master took a different view of the -question. Professor Owen relates that Mr Rowley called one day at his -mother’s house, and began as follows: - -‘“I’ve sad news for you, Mrs Owen, to-day. I’ve just had a letter from -Cambridge; that boy Whewell has ruined himself, he’ll never get his -Wranglership now!” “Why, good gracious, Mr Rowley, what _has_ Whewell -been doing?” “Why, he has gone and got the Chancellor’s gold medal for -some trumpery poem, ‘Boadicea,’ or something of that kind, when he ought -to have been sticking to his mathematics. I give him up now. Taking -after his poor mother, I suppose.”’ - -The letters which he wrote home give us some pleasant glimpses of his -College life, which he evidently thoroughly enjoyed. For the first time -in his life he had access to a good library—that of Trinity College—and -he speaks of ‘an inconceivable desire to read all manner of books at -once,’ adding that at that very moment there were two folios and six -quartos of different works upon his table. The success which he -afterwards achieved is a proof that he entered heartily into the studies -of the place; and among his friends were men who were studious then, and -afterwards became eminent. Among these we may mention Mr, afterwards Sir -John, Herschel, Mr Richard Jones, Mr Julius Charles Hare, and Mr Charles -Babbage. A correspondent of his, writing so late as 1841, recalls the -‘Sunday morning philosophical breakfasts,’ at which they used to meet in -1815; and there are indications in the letters of similar feasts of -reason and flows of soul. It must, on the other hand, be admitted that a -few indications of an opposite character may be produced. He admits, in -a half-bantering, half-serious way, that he had laid himself open to the -charge of idleness; and he describes the diversions of himself and his -friends during the long vacation of 1815 as ‘dancing at country fairs, -playing billiards, tuning beakers into musical glasses,’ and the like. -It need be no matter of surprise that a young man of high spirits and -strong bodily frame, brought up in the seclusion of Lancashire, should -have taken the fullest advantage of the first opportunity which -presented itself of appreciating the lighter and brighter side of -existence. This, however, was all. Whewell knew perfectly well where to -stop. No scandal ever attached itself to his name; and he ‘wore the -white flower of a blameless life’ through a period when the customs -prevalent in the University were such as are more honoured in the breach -than in the observance. - -He proceeded to the degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1816, when he was -second Wrangler and second Smith’s Prize-man. On both occasions he was -beaten by a Mr Jacob, of Caius College, who was his junior by two years. -It is a Cambridge tradition that Mr Jacob’s success was a surprise to -everybody, for he had intentionally affected to be an idle man, and -showed himself on most days riding out in hunting costume, the truth -being that he kept his books at a farm-house, where he pursued his -studies in secrecy and quiet. He was a young man of the greatest -promise; and it was expected that he would achieve a conspicuous success -at the Bar. But his lungs were affected, and he died of consumption at -an early age. As Mr Todhunter remarks, his fame rests mainly on the fact -that he twice outstripped so formidable a competitor as the future -Master of Trinity. Whewell mentions him as ‘a very pleasant as well as a -very clever man,’ and adds, ‘I had as soon be beaten by him as by -anybody else.’ - -The labours of reading for the degree over, Whewell had leisure to turn -his studies in any direction whither his fancy led him. No doubt he -fully appreciated the, to him, unusual position, for he tells his sister -that few people could be ‘more tranquilly happy than your brother, in -his green plaid dressing-gown, blue morocco slippers, and with a large -book before him.’ The time had come, however, when he was to experience -the first of the inevitable inconveniences of a College life. Two of his -most intimate friends, Herschel and Jones, left Cambridge, and he -bitterly deplores their loss. Indeed it probably needed all the -attachment to the place, which he proclaims in the same letter, to -prevent his following their example. He appears at one time to have -thought seriously of going to the Bar. He began, however, to take -pupils: an occupation which becomes a singularly absorbing one, -especially when the tutor takes the interest in them which apparently he -did. One of those with whom he spent the summer of 1818, in Wales, Mr -Kenelm Digby, afterwards author of the _Broadstone of Honour_, who -admits that he was so idle that his tutor would take no remuneration -from him, has recorded that— - -‘I had reason to regard Whewell as one of the most generous, -open-hearted, disinterested, and noble-minded men that I ever knew. I -remember circumstances that called for the exercise of each of those -rare qualities, when they were met in a way that would now seem -incredible, so fast does the world seem moving away from all ancient -standards of goodness and moral grandeur.’ - -This testimony is important, if only for comparison with the far -different feelings with which his more official pupils regarded him in -after years. In these occupations he spent the two years succeeding his -degree; for the amount of special work done for the Fellowship -Examination was probably not great. He was elected Fellow in October -1817; and in the summer of the following year was made one of the -assistant-tutors. With this appointment the first part of his University -career ends, and the second begins. - -His connexion with the educational staff of Trinity College, first as -assistant-tutor, then as sole tutor, lasted for just twenty years. These -were the most occupied of his busy life; and in justification of what we -said at the outset of the multifarious nature of his occupations, we -proceed to give a rapid chronological sketch of them. His career as an -author began, in 1819, with an _Elementary Treatise on Mechanics_. It -went through seven editions, in each of which, as Mr Todhunter says, -‘the subject was revolutionized rather than modified; and the preface to -each expounded with characteristic energy the paramount merits of the -last constitution framed.’ The value of the work was greatly impaired by -these proceedings, for an author can hardly expect to retain the -unwavering confidence of his readers while his own opinions are in -constant fluctuation. In 1820 he was Moderator, and travelled abroad for -the first time. In 1821 he was working at geology seriously, and took a -geological tour in the Isle of Wight with Sedgwick, who had been made -Woodwardian Professor three years before. Later in the year he explored -the Lake Country, and was introduced to Mr Wordsworth. Their -acquaintance subsequently ripened into a friendship, which appears in -numerous letters, and notably in the dedication prefixed to the -_Elements of Morality_. A _Treatise on Dynamics_ was published in 1823, -which was treated in much the same fashion as its fellow on _Mechanics_. -The summer vacation was spent in a visit to Paris for the first time, -and an architectural tour in Normandy with Mr Kenelm Digby. In 1824 he -took a prominent part in the resistance to the Heads of Colleges in -their attempt to nominate to the Professorship of Mineralogy; and later -in the year he went again to Cumberland with Sedgwick, ‘rambling about -the country, and examining the strata’; visiting Southey and Wordsworth; -and, in the intervals of geology, seeing cathedrals and churches. In -1825, as the chair of Mineralogy was about to be vacated by Professor -Henslow, promoted to that of Botany, Whewell announced himself a -candidate; and by way of preparation spent three months in Germany, -studying crystallography at the feet of Professor Mohs, of Freiburg: a -subject on which he had already made communications to the Royal Society -and to the Cambridge Philosophical Society. This was his first -introduction to Germany, in whose language and literature he -thenceforward took the greatest interest. He even modified his way of -writing English in accordance with German custom, as is shown by the -plentiful scattering of capitals through his sentences, and by a certain -ponderosity of style which savours of German originals. The dissensions -as to the mode of election to the Mineralogical chair caused it to -remain vacant for three years; so that Whewell, about the choice of whom -there never seems to have been any doubt, had no immediate opportunity -of turning to account his newly-acquired knowledge. He therefore, with -even more than characteristic energy, turned his attention to two most -opposite subjects, Theology, and the Density of the Earth. - -In the summer of 1826 he commenced a series of investigations on the -latter subject at Dolcoath Mine, Cornwall, in conjunction with Mr Airy. -The essential part of the process was to compare the time of vibration -of a pendulum at the surface of the earth with the time of vibration of -the same pendulum at a considerable depth below the surface. -Unfortunately the experiments, which were renewed in 1828, failed to -lead to any satisfactory result, partly through an error in the -construction of the pendulum, partly through a singular fatality, by -which, on both occasions, they were frustrated by a serious accident. -The account he gives of himself, and of the way in which the researches -were regarded by the Cornishmen, is too amusing not to be quoted. It is -contained in a letter to his friend Lady Malcolm, and is dated -‘Underground Chamber, Dolcoath Mine, Camborne, Cornwall, June 10, 1826: - -‘I venture to suppose that you never had a correspondent who at the time -of writing was situated as your present one is. I am at this moment -sitting in a small cavern deep in the recesses of the earth, separated -by 1,200 feet of rock from the surface on which you mortals tread. I am -close to a wooden partition which has been fixed here by human hands, -through which I ever and anon look, by means of two telescopes, into a -larger cavern. That larger den has got various strange-looking machines, -illumined here and there by unseen lamps, among which is visible a clock -with a face most unlike common clocks, and a brass bar which swings to -and fro with a small but never-ceasing motion. I am clad in the garb of -a miner, which is probably more dirty and scanty than anything you may -have happened to see in the way of dress. The stillness of this -subterranean solitude is interrupted by the noise, most strange to its -walls, of the ticking of my clock, and the chirping of seven watches. -But besides these sounds it has noises of its own which my ear catches -now and then. A huge iron vessel is every quarter of an hour let down -through the rock by a chain above a thousand feet long, and in its -descent and ascent dashes itself against the sides of the pit with a -violence and a din like thunder; and at intervals, louder and deeper -still, I hear the heavy burst of an explosion when gunpowder has been -used to rend the rock, which seems to pervade every part of the earth -like the noise of a huge gong, and to shake the air within my prison. I -have sat here for some hours, and shall sit five or six more, at the end -of which time I shall climb up to the light of the sky in which you -live, by about sixty ladders, which form the weary upward path from -hence to your world. I ought not to omit, by way of completing the -picturesque, that I have a barrel of porter close to my elbow, and a -miner stretched on the granite at my feet, whose yawns at being kept -here so many hours, watching my inscrutable proceedings, are most -pathetic. This has been my situation and employment every day for some -time, and will be so for some while longer, with the alternation of -putting myself in a situation as much as possible similar, in a small -hut on the surface of the earth. Is not this a curious way of spending -one’s leisure time? I assure you I often think of Sir John’s favourite -quotation from Leyden, “Slave of the dark and dirty mine! What vanity -has brought thee here?” and sometimes doubt whether sunshine be not -better than science. - -‘If the object of my companion and myself had been to make a sensation, -we must have been highly gratified by the impression which we have -produced upon the good people in this country. There is no end to the -number and oddity of their conjectures and stories about us. The most -charitable of them take us to be fortune-tellers; but for the greater -part we are suspected of more mischievous kinds of magic. A single loud, -insulated, peal of thunder, which was heard the first Sunday after our -arrival, was laid at our door; and a staff which we had occasion to -plant at the top of the cliff, was reported to have the effect of -sinking all unfortunate ships which sailed past. - -‘I could tell you many more such histories; but I think this must be at -least enough about myself, if I do not wish to make the quotation from -Leyden particularly applicable.’ - -Whewell had been ordained priest on Trinity Sunday, 1826, and this -circumstance had probably directed him to a more exact study of theology -than he had previously attempted. The result was a course of four -sermons before the University in February 1827. The subject of these, -which have never been printed, may be described as the ‘Relation of -Human to Divine Knowledge.’ They attracted considerable attention when -delivered; and it was even suggested that the author ought to devote -himself to theology as a profession, and try to obtain one of the -Divinity Professorships; but the advice was not taken. A theological -tone may, however, be observed in most of his scientific works; he loved -to point out analogies between scientific and moral truths, and to show -that there was no real antagonism between science and revealed religion. - -In 1828 the new Professor of Mineralogy entered upon his functions, and -after his manner rushed into print with an _Essay on Mineralogical -Classification and Nomenclature_, in which there is much novelty of -definition and arrangement. He was conscious that he had been somewhat -precipitate; for he writes to his friend, Mr Jones, who was trying to -make up his mind on certain problems of political economy, and declined -to print until he had done so: - -‘I avoid all your anxieties about authorship by playing for lower stakes -of labour and reputation. While you work for years in the elaboration of -slowly-growing ideas, I take the first buds of thought and make a -nosegay of them without trying what patience and labour might do in -ripening and perfecting them[3].’ - -At the beginning of the year 1830 there appeared an anonymous -publication entitled _Architectural Notes on German Churches, with -Remarks on the Origin of Gothic Architecture_. The author need not have -tried to conceal his name; in this, as in other similar attempts, his -style betrayed his identity at once. The work went through three -editions, in each of which it was characteristically altered and -enlarged, so that what had appeared as an essay of 118 pages in 1830, -was transformed into a work of 348 pages in 1842. Architecture had been -from the first one of Whewell’s favourite studies. In a letter to his -sister in 1818 he speaks of a visit to Lichfield and Chester for the -purpose of studying their cathedrals; many of his subsequent tours were -undertaken for similar objects; and his numerous note-books and -sketch-books (for he was no mean draughtsman) contain ample evidence of -the pains he bestowed on perfecting himself in architectural details. -The theory, or ‘ground-idea,’ as his favourite Germans would have called -it, which he puts forward, is, that the pointed arch, even if it was -really introduced from the East, which he evidently doubts, was improved -and developed through the system of vaulting, which the Gothic builders -learnt from the Romans. This theory has not been generally accepted; but -the mere statement of it may have been of value, as the author suggests, -‘in the way of bringing into view relations and connexions which really -exerted a powerful influence on the progress of architecture’; and the -sketch of the differences between the classical and the Gothic styles is -certainly extremely good. It has been sometimes suggested that the whole -book was written in a spirit of rivalry to the _Remarks on the -Architecture of the Middle Ages_, by Professor Willis. A glance at the -dates of publication is enough to refute this view; for the work of -Professor Willis was published in 1835, the first edition of Dr -Whewell’s in 1830. In the course of this summer he made an architectural -tour with Mr Rickman in Devon and Cornwall; and, as if in order that his -occupations might be as sharply contrasted as possible, investigated -also the geology of the neighbourhood of Bath. - -In 1831 we find Whewell reviewing three remarkable books: Herschel’s -_Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy_; Lyell’s _Principles of -Geology_, vol. i.; and Jones _On the Distribution of Wealth_. As Mr -Todhunter remarks, scarcely any person but himself could have ventured -on such a task. These reviews are not merely critical; they contain much -of the author’s own speculations, much that went beyond the interest of -the moment, and might be considered to possess a permanent value. -Herschel was delighted with his own share. He writes to Whewell, -thanking him for ‘the splendid review,’ and declaring that he ‘should -have envied the author of any work, if a stranger, which could give -occasion for such a review.’ Lyell wrote in much the same strain; and we -are rather surprised that he did so; for his reviewer not only -stubbornly refused to accept his theory of uniformity of action, in -opposition to the cataclysmic views of the Huttonians, but treated the -whole question in a spirit of good-humoured banter, in which even -Herschel thought that he had gone too far. The article on his friend Mr -Jones’ work—which appeared in the _British Critic_—is rather an -exposition of his views, which were original, than a criticism. It was -Whewell’s first appearance in print on any question of political -economy, except a short memoir in the Transactions of the Cambridge -Philosophical Society, called a _Mathematical Exposition of some -Doctrines of Political Economy_; and therefore marks a period when he -had added yet one more science to those which he had already mastered. -In this year he gave much time to a controversy which was agitating the -University on the question of the best plans to be adopted for a new -Public Library; and contributed a bulky pamphlet to the literature of -the subject, in opposition to his friend Mr Peacock. The whole question -is a very interesting one; but our space will not allow us to do more -than mention it, as another instance of the diversity of Whewell’s -interests. - -The next year (1832) was even a busier one than its predecessor; he was -occupied in revising some of his mathematical text-books; in drawing up -a Report on Mineralogy for the British Association, described as ‘an -example of the unrivalled power with which he mastered a subject with -which his previous studies had had but little connexion’; and in writing -one of the Bridgewater Treatises, a work which, with most men, would -have been enough to occupy them fully during the whole of the three -years which had elapsed since the President of the Royal Society had -selected him as one of the eight writers who should carry out the -intentions of the Earl of Bridgewater. The subject of his treatise is -_Astronomy and General Physics considered with reference to Natural -Theology_. It is one of Whewell’s most thoughtful and justly celebrated -works, on which he must have bestowed much time. During the intervals, -however, of its composition, he had not only written the reviews we have -mentioned, and others also, to which we can only allude, but had -commenced those researches on the Tides, which are embodied in no fewer -than fourteen memoirs in the Transactions of the Royal Society, and for -which he afterwards received the Royal Medal. No wonder that even he -began to feel overworked, and resigned the Professorship of Mineralogy -early in the year. He writes to his friend Mr Jones, whom he was always -striving to inspire with some of his own restless activity of thought -and composition: - -‘I am plunging into term-work, hurried and distracted as usual; the only -comfort is the daily perception of what I have gained by giving up the -Professorship. If I can work myself free so as to have a little command -of my own time, I think I shall be wiser in future than to mortgage it -so far. Quiet reflexion is as necessary as fresh air, and I can scarcely -get a breath of it.’ - -His friend must have smiled as he read this, for he probably knew what -such resolutions were worth. Whewell might have said, with Lord Byron— - - ‘I make - A vow of reformation every spring, - And break it when the summer comes about’; - -for, notwithstanding these promises and many others like them, we shall -find that in future years he took upon himself a greater rather than a -less amount of work, which he did not merely _get through_ in a -perfunctory fashion, but discharged with a thoroughness as rare as it is -marvellous. - -The Bridgewater Treatise appeared in 1833, a year in which he delivered -an address to the British Association, at its meeting at Cambridge; -contributed a paper _On the Use of Definitions_ to the Philological -Museum; and increased his stock of architectural and geological -knowledge by tours with Messrs Rickman, Sedgwick, and Airy. He was now -generally recognized as the first authority on scientific language; and -we find Professor Faraday deferring to him on the nomenclature of -electricity. In 1834 he invented an _anemometer_, or instrument for -measuring the force and direction of the wind; it was employed for some -time at York, by Professor Phillips, but has since been superseded by -more convenient contrivances. - -The real meaning of his longing for leisure soon became manifest. In -July 1834 he expounds to his friend Mr Jones the plan of the _History -and Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences_, which he was prosecuting -vigorously. This great work occupied him, _almost_ to the exclusion of -other matters, for the whole of 1835 and 1836. We say _almost_, because, -even at this time, with his usual habit of taking up some new subject -just before he had completed an extensive labour on an old one, he was -beginning to study systematic morality, and in 1835 published a preface -to Sir James Mackintosh’s _Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical -Philosophy_, a subject which he further considered in 1837, when he -preached before the University _Four Sermons on the Foundation of -Morals_. In this year he succeeded Mr Lyell as President of the -Geological Society, an office which must have been given to him rather -in recognition of his general scientific attainments and the work he had -done in the kindred science of mineralogy, than on account of any -special publications on geology. He seems to have made an excellent -President. Sir Charles Lyell[4] speaks of him with enthusiasm, and -points out his sacrifices of time, not only in attending the meetings of -the Society, but in supervising the details of its organization. The -extra work which the office involved is thus described in a letter to -his sister, dated November 18, 1837: - -‘My old complaint of being overwhelmed with business, especially at this -time of year, is at present, I think, rather more severe than ever. For, -besides all my usual employments, I have to go to London two days every -fortnight as President of the Geological Society, and am printing a book -which I have not yet written, so that I am obliged often to run as fast -as I can to avoid the printers riding over me, so close are they at my -heels. I am, in addition to all this, preaching a course of sermons -before the University; but this last employment, though it takes time -and thought, rather sobers and harmonizes my other occupations than adds -anything to my distraction.’ - -In this same year (1837) the _History of the Inductive Sciences_ was -published, to be followed in less than three years by the _Philosophy_ -of the same. This encyclopædic publication—for the two books must be -considered together—marks the conclusion of that part of his life which -had been devoted, in the main, to pure science; and it gives the reason -for his having thrown himself into occupations so diverse. It was not -his habit to write on that which he had not completely mastered; and he -therefore thought, wrote, and published on most of the separate sciences -while tracing their history and developing their philosophy. - -In this rapid sketch we have not been able to do more than indicate the -principal works which Whewell had had in hand. It must not be forgotten -that at the same time he was engaged in a large and ever-increasing -correspondence; writing letters—which, as he used to say himself, ought -to be ‘postworthy’—not merely to scientific men, as we know from Mr -Todhunter’s book, but—as we now know from Mrs Stair Douglas—to his -sisters and other ladies, on all sorts of subjects which he thought -would interest them. Then he was a wide reader, as is proved by notes he -made on the books which he had read from 1817 to 1830: ‘books in almost -all the languages of Europe; histories of all countries, ancient or -modern; treatises on all sciences, moral and physical. Among the notes -is an epitome of Kant’s _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_, a work which -exercised a marked influence on all his speculations in mental -philosophy.’ Whatever he read, he read thoroughly. Mr Todhunter -illustrates this by a story given on the authority of one of his oldest -friends. He was found reading Henry Taylor’s _Philip van Artevelde_, -which then had just appeared. Not content with the poem alone, however, -he had Froissart by his side, and was carefully comparing the modern -drama with the ancient chronicle. Lastly—and we put the subject we are -now about to mention last, not because it was least, but because it was, -or ought to have been, the most important of all his occupations—he held -the office of tutor of one of the three _sides_, as they were called, -into which Trinity College was then divided, first alone, and next in -conjunction with Mr Perry, from 1823 to 1838. - -At that time the College was far smaller than it is at present, and a -tutor was able, if he chose, to see much more of his pupils, to form -some appreciation of their tastes and capacities, and personally to -direct their studies. A man who combines the varied qualities which a -thoroughly good tutor ought to possess is not readily found. It is a -question of natural fitness rather than of training. In the first place, -he must be content to forego all other occupations, and to be at the -beck and call of his pupils and their parents whenever they may choose -to come to him. Secondly, he must never forget that the dull, the idle, -and the vicious demand even more care and time than the clever and the -industrious. It may seem almost superfluous to mention that nothing -which concerns his pupils must be beneath his notice. Petty details -which concern their daily life, their rooms, their bills, their domestic -relations, their amusements, have all to be referred to the tutor; and -the most trivial of these may not seldom be of the greatest importance -in giving occasion for exercising influence or administering advice. We -are sorry to have to admit that Whewell was hardly so successful as he -ought to have been in discharging these arduous duties. The period of -his tutorship was, as we have shown, precisely that during which he was -most occupied with his private studies; he threw his energies into them, -and disposed of his College work in a perfunctory fashion. His letters -are full of such passages as: ‘I have got an infinitude of that trifling -men call business on my hands’; ‘During the last term I have been almost -too busy either to write or read. I took upon myself a number of -employments which ate up almost every moment of the day’; and the like; -and his delight at having transferred the financial part of the work to -his colleague Mr Perry, in 1833, was unbounded. The result was -inevitable; he could not give the requisite time to his pupils, and, in -fact, hardly knew some of them by sight. A story used to be current -about him which is so amusing that we think it will bear repeating. We -do not vouch for its accuracy; but we think that it would hardly have -passed current had it not been felt to be applicable. One day he gave -his servant a list of names of certain of his pupils whom he wished to -see at a wine-party after Hall, a form of entertainment then much in -fashion. Among the names was that of an undergraduate who had died some -weeks before. ‘Mr Smith, sir; why he died last term, sir!’ objected the -man. ‘You ought to tell me when my pupils die,’ replied the tutor -sternly; and Whewell could be stern when he was vexed. Again, his -natural roughness of manner was regarded by the undergraduates as -indicating want of sympathy. They thought he wanted to get rid of them -and their affairs as quickly as possible. Those who understood him -better knew that he was really a warm-hearted friend; and we have seen -that with his private pupils he had been exceedingly popular; but those -who came only occasionally into contact with him regarded him with fear, -not with affection. On the other hand, he was inflexibly just, whatever -gossip or malevolence may have urged to the contrary. He had no -favourites. No influence of any kind could make him swerve from the -lofty standard of right which he had prescribed for himself. - - * * * * * - -We left Whewell completing the _Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences_; -and for the future we shall find him turning his attention -exclusively—so far as he could be said to do anything exclusively—to -Moral Philosophy. In 1838 he was elected to the Knightbridge -Professorship, founded in 1677 by the Rev. John Knightbridge, who -directed his Professor of ‘Moral Theology or Casuistical Divinity,’ as -he termed it, to read five lectures in the Public Schools in every term, -and, at the end of it, to deliver them, fairly written out, to the -Vice-Chancellor. Various pains and penalties were enjoined against those -who failed to perform these duties; but, notwithstanding, the office had -remained a sinecure for more than a century; indeed we are doubtful -whether it had ever been anything else. The suggestion that Whewell -should become a candidate for it was made by his old friend, Dr Worsley, -Master of Downing, who was Vice-Chancellor in that year, and, by virtue -of his office, one of the electors. Whewell determined to inaugurate a -new era, and at once commenced a course of lectures, which were -regularly continued in subsequent years. We have seen that he had -prepared himself for these pursuits by previous studies; and his letters -show that he had made up his mind to devote himself to them for some -years to come. In 1845 he produced his _Elements of Morality_, wherein -the subject is treated systematically; and subsequently he wrote, or -edited, works devoted to special parts of it, as _Lectures on the -History of Moral Philosophy in England_; _Grotius de Jure Belli et -Pacis_; and the _Platonic Dialogues for English Readers_. The permanent -influence which Grotius exercised upon his mind is marked by his -munificent foundation of a Professorship and Scholarships in -International Law, in connexion with two additional courts for Trinity -College, one of which was built during his life-time, while for the -other funds were provided by his Will. The most sober-minded of men may -sometimes be a visionary; and the motto _Paci sacrum_, which Whewell -placed on the western façade of his new buildings, would seem to prove -that he seriously believed that his foundation would put an end to war, -and inaugurate ‘a federation of the world.’ - -As time went on, and Whewell approached his fiftieth year, he began to -feel that ‘College rooms are no home for declining years.’ His friends -were leaving, or had left; he did not make new ones; and he was -beginning to lead a life of loneliness which was very oppressive to him. -In 1840 he thought seriously of taking a College living, but his friend -Mr Hare dissuaded him; and the letters that passed between them on this -subject are among the most interesting in Mrs Stair Douglas’ volume. In -1841 he made up his mind to settle in Cambridge as a married man, with -his Professorship and his ethical studies as an employment. The lady of -his choice was Miss Cordelia Marshall. They were married on October 12, -1841, and on the very same day, Dr Wordsworth, Master of Trinity, wrote -to him at Coniston, where he was spending his honeymoon, announcing his -intention of resigning, ‘in the earnest _desire_, _hope_, and _trust_, -that _you_ may be, and _will_ be, my successor.’ The news, which seems -to have been quite unexpected, spread rapidly among the small circle of -Whewell’s intimate friends; and succeeding posts brought letters from Dr -Worsley and others, urging him ‘not to linger in his hymeneal Elysium,’ -but to go up to London at once, and solicit the office from the Prime -Minister, Sir Robert Peel. Dr Whewell describes himself as ‘vehemently -disturbed’; most probably he was unwilling to comply with what seems to -us to have been extraordinary advice. He did comply, however, and went -to London, where he found a letter from Sir Robert, offering him the -Mastership. It is pleasant to be able to record that the offer was made -spontaneously, before any solicitations had reached the Minister. -Whewell accepted it on October 18; had an interview with Sir Robert on -the 19th; returned to Coniston by the night mail; and on the 23rd -(according to Mr Todhunter) had sufficiently recovered from his -excitement to sit down to compose the first lecture of a new course on -Moral Philosophy. - -The appointment was felt to be a good one, though it must be admitted -that there were dissentient voices. It was notorious that Dr Wordsworth -had resigned soon after the fall of Lord Melbourne’s administration, in -order to prevent the election of either Dean Peacock or Professor -Sedgwick, both of whom were very popular with the Fellows. The feeling -in College, therefore, was rather against the new Master than with him. -Nor was he personally popular. We now know, from the letters which, in -reply to congratulations, he wrote to Lord Lyttelton, Bishop Thirlwall, -Mr Hare, and others, how diffident he was of his fitness for the office, -and how anxious to discharge its high duties becomingly. Mr Hare had -evidently been giving advice with some freedom, as was his wont, for -Whewell replies: - -‘I perceive and feel the value of the advice you give me, and I have no -wish, I think, either to deny or to defend the failings you point out. -In a person holding so eminent a station as mine will be, everything -impatient and overbearing is of course quite out of place; and though it -may cost me some effort, my conviction of this truth is so strong that I -think it cannot easily lose its hold. As to my love of disputation, I do -not deny that it has been a great amusement to me; but I find it to be -so little of an amusement to others that I should have to lay down my -logical cudgels for the sake of good manners alone.’ - -The writer of these sentences was far too straightforward not to have -meant every word that he wrote; and we feel sure that he tried to carry -out his good intentions. We are compelled, however, to admit that he -failed. He _was_ impatient and he _was_ overbearing; or he was thought -to be so, which, so far as his success as a Master went, came to the -same thing. He had lived so long as a bachelor among bachelors—giving -and receiving thrusts in argument, like a pugilist in a fair fight—that -he had become somewhat pachydermatous. It is probable, too, that he was -quite ignorant of the weight of his own blows. He forgot those he -received, and expected his antagonist to have an equally short memory. -Again, the high view which he took of his position as Master laid him -open to the charge of arrogance. We believe the true explanation to be -that he was too conscientious, if such a phrase be admissible; too -inflexible in exacting from others the same strict obedience to College -rules which he imposed upon himself. There are two ways, however, of -doing most things; and he was unlucky in nearly always choosing the -wrong one. For instance, his hospitality was boundless; whenever -strangers came to Cambridge, they were entertained at Trinity Lodge; -and, besides, there were weekly parties at which the residents were -received. The rooms are spacious, and the welcome was intended to be a -warm one; but the parties were not successful. Even at those social -gatherings he never forgot that he was Master; compelling all his guests -to come in their gowns, and those who came only after dinner to wear -them during the entire evening. Then an idea became current that no -undergraduate might sit down. So far as this notion was not wholly -erroneous, it was based on the evident fact that the great drawing-room, -large as it is, could not contain more than a very limited number of -guests, supposing them all to sit; and that the undergraduates were -obviously those who ought to stand. A strong feeling against anybody, -however, resembles a popular panic; argument is powerless against it; -and the victim of it must be content to wait until his persecutors are -weary with fault-finding. In Dr Whewell’s case it seemed to matter very -little what he did, or what he left undone; he was sure to give offence. -The inscription commemorating himself on the restored oriel window of -the Lodge[5]; the motto, _Lampada tradam_, which he adopted for his -arms; his differences with Her Majesty’s judges about their -entertainment at the Lodge; his attempts to stop the disorderly -interruptions of undergraduates in the Senate House; and a hundred other -similar matters, were all made occasions for unfavourable comment both -in and out of College. The comic literature of the day not unfrequently -alluded to him as the type of the College Don and the University Snob; -and in 1847, when he actively promoted the election of the Prince -Consort as Chancellor, a letter in the _Times_ newspaper, signed -‘Junius,’ informed Prince Albert that he had been made ‘the victim -chiefly of one man of notoriously turbulent character and habits. Ask -how HE is received by the University whenever he appears,’ &c.; and a -second letter, signed ‘Anti-Junius,’ affecting to reply to these -aspersions, described in ironical language, with infinite humour, ‘the -retiring modesty, the unfeigned humility, the genuine courtesy’ of the -‘honoured and beloved Whewell[6].’ We are happy to be able to say that -he outlived much of this obloquy; his temper grew gradually softer—a -change due partly to age, partly to the genial influence of both his -wives; and before the end came he had achieved respect, if not -popularity. The notion that he was arrogant and self-asserting may still -be traced in the epigrams to which the essay on _The Plurality of -Worlds_ gave occasion. Sir Francis Doyle wrote: - - ‘Though you through the regions of space should have travelled, - And of nebular films the remotest unravelled, - You’ll find, though you tread on the bounds of infinity, - That God’s greatest work is the Master of Trinity.’ - -Even better than this was the remark that ‘Whewell thinks himself a -fraction of the universe, and wishes to make the denominator as small as -possible.’ These, however, were harmless sallies, at which he was -probably as much amused as any one. - -No one who knew Whewell well can avoid admitting, as we have done, that -there was much in his manner and conduct that might with advantage have -been different. But what we wish to maintain is that these defects were -not essential to his character: that they arose either from a too -precise adherence to views that were in themselves good and noble, or -from a certain vehemence and impulsiveness that swept him away in spite -of himself, and landed him in difficulties over which he had to repent -at leisure. And in this place let us draw attention to one of his most -pleasing traits—his generosity. We do not merely refer to the numerous -cases of distress which he alleviated, delicately and secretly, but to -the magnanimity of temperament with which he treated those from whom he -had differed, or whose conduct he had condemned. He had no false notions -of dignity. If he felt that he had said what he had better have left -unsaid, or overstepped the proper limits of argument, he would sooth the -bruised and battered victims of his sledgehammer with some such words as -these: ‘I am afraid that I was hasty the other day in what I said to -you. I am very sorry.’ He never bore a grudge, or betrayed remembrance -of a fault, or repeated a word of scandal. There was nothing small or -underhand about him. He would oppose a measure of which he disapproved, -fairly and openly, by all legitimate expedients; but, when beaten, he -cordially accepted the situation, and never alluded to the subject -again. - -His conduct at the contested election for a University Representative in -1856 affords a good illustration of what we have here advanced. The -candidates were Mr Walpole and Mr Denman; and it was decided, after -conference with their rival committees, that the poll should extend over -five days, on four of which votes were to be taken in the Public Schools -from half-past seven to half-past eight in the evening, in addition to -the usual hours in the Senate House, namely, from ten to four. The -proceedings excited an unusual interest among the undergraduates, who on -the first morning occupied the galleries of the Senate House in force, -and made such a noise that the University officers could not hear each -others’ voices, and the business was transacted in dumb show. In -consequence they represented to the Vice-Chancellor that they could not -do their work unless he ‘took effectual means for the prevention of this -inconvenience.’ Whewell hated nothing so much as insubordination, and -had on former occasions addressed himself to the repression of this -particular form of it. It is therefore probable that he was not -indisposed to take the only step that, under the circumstances, seemed -likely to be effectual, namely, to exclude the undergraduates from the -Senate House for the rest of the days of polling. On the second and -third days peace reigned within the building, but, when the -Vice-Chancellor appeared outside, he was confronted by a howling mob, -through which he had to make his way as best he could. He was advised to -go by the back way; but, with characteristic pluck, he rejected this -counsel, and went out and came in by the front gate of his College. A -few Masters of Arts acted as a body-guard; but further protection was -thought necessary, and on the third afternoon the University beheld the -extraordinary spectacle of the Vice-Chancellor proceeding along Trinity -Street with a prize-fighter on each side of him. On the evening of that -day Mr Denman withdrew from the contest, a step which probably averted a -serious riot. When the excitement had subsided a little Whewell drew up -a printed statement, which, though marked _Private_, is in fact an -address to the undergraduate members of the University. He points out -the necessity for acting as he had done, both as regards the business in -hand and because it was his duty to enforce proper behaviour in a public -place as a part of education. He concludes with the following passage: - -‘I the more confidently believe that the majority of the -Undergraduates have a due self-respect, and a due respect for just -authority temperately exercised, because I have ever found it so, both -as Master of a College, and as Vice-Chancellor. One of the happiest -recollections of my life is that of a great occasion in my former -Vice-Chancellorship[7], when I had need to ask for great orderliness -and considerable self-denial on the part of the Undergraduates. This -demand they responded to with a dignified and sweet-tempered obedience -which endeared them to me then, as many good qualities which I have -seen in successive generations of students have endeared them to me -since. And I will not easily give up my trust that now, as then, the -better natures will control and refine the baser, and that it will be -no longer necessary to put any constraint upon the admission of -Undergraduates to the Galleries of the Senate-house.’ - -After the poll had been declared the Proctors brought him a list of the -rioters. He said, ‘The election is over, they will not do it again,’ and -threw the record into the fire. Not long afterwards he went, as was his -frequent custom, to a concert of the University Musical Society. The -undergraduates present rose and cheered him. Whewell was so much -affected, that he burst into tears, and sat for some time with his face -hidden in the folds of his gown. - -Those who recollect Whewell, or even those who know him only by his -portraits, will smile incredulously at an assertion we are about to -make. But it is true, no matter how severely it may be criticised. -Whewell was, in reality, an extremely humble-minded man, diffident of -himself, and sure of his position only when he had the approval of his -conscience for what he was doing. Then he went forward, regardless of -what might bar his passage, and too often regardless also of those who -chanced to differ from him. The few who were admitted to the inner -circle of his friendship alone knew that he really was what his enemies -called him in sarcastic mockery, modest and retiring. If he appeared to -be, as one virulent pamphlet said he was, an ‘imperious bully[8],’ the -manner which justified such a designation was manner only, and due not -to arrogance but to nervousness. He disliked praise, even from his best -friends, if he thought that it was not exactly merited. For instance, -when Archdeacon Hare spoke enthusiastically of his condemnation of -‘Utilitarian Ethics’ in the _Sermons on the Foundation of Morals_, and -exclaimed: ‘May the mind which has compast the whole circle of physical -science find a lasting home, and erect a still nobler edifice, in this -higher region! May he be enabled to let his light shine before the -students of our University, that they may see the truth he utters[9],’ -Whewell requested that the passage might be altered in a new edition. He -wrote (26 February, 1841): - -‘You have mentioned me in a manner which I am obliged to say is so -extremely erroneous that it distresses me. The character which you have -given of me is as far as possible from that which I deserve. You know, I -think, that I am very ignorant in all the matters with which you are -best acquainted, and the case is much the same in all others. I was -always very ignorant, and am now more and more oppressed by the -consciousness of being so. To know much about many things is what I -never aspired at, and certainly have not succeeded in. If you had called -me a persevering framer of systems, or had said that in architecture, as -in some other matters, by trying to catch the principle of the system, I -had sometimes been able to judge right of details, I should have -recognised some likeness to myself; but what you have said only makes me -ashamed. You will perhaps laugh at my earnestness about this matter, for -I am in earnest; but consider how you would like praise which you felt -to be the opposite of what you were, and not even like what you had -tried to be[10].’ - -It would be unbecoming to intrude domestic matters into an essay like -the present, in which we have proposed to ourselves a different object; -but we cannot wholly omit to draw attention to the painful, but deeply -interesting, chapters in which Mrs Stair Douglas describes her uncle’s -grief at the loss of his first wife in 1855, and of his second wife in -1865. His strong nature had recovered after a time from the first of -these terrible shocks, under which he had wisely distracted his mind by -the composition of his essay on _The Plurality of Worlds_, and by again -accepting the Vice-Chancellorship. The second, however, fell upon him -with even greater severity. He was ten years older, and therefore less -able to bear up against it. Lady Affleck died a little before midnight -on Saturday, April 1, 1865; and her heart-broken husband, true to his -theory that the chapel service ought to be regarded as family prayers, -appeared in his place at the early service on Sunday morning, not -fearing to commit to the sympathies of his College ‘the saddest of all -sights, an old man’s bereavement, and a strong man’s tears[11].’ We can -still recall the look of intense sorrow on his face; a look which, -though he tried to rouse himself, and pursue his usual avocations, never -completely wore off. He survived her for rather less than a year, dying -on March 6, 1866, from injuries received from a fall from his horse on -February 24 previous. It was at first hoped that these, like those he -had received on many similar occasions, for he used to say that he had -measured the depth of every ditch in Cambridgeshire by falling into it, -were not serious; but the brain had sustained an injury, and he -gradually sank. His last thoughts were for the College. On the very last -morning he signified his wish that the windows of his bedroom might be -opened wide, that he might see the sun shine on the Great Court, and he -smiled as he was reminded that he used to say that the sky never looked -so blue as when framed by its walls and turrets. Among the numerous -tributes to his memory which then appeared, none we think are more -appropriate than the following lines, the authorship of which we believe -we are right in ascribing to the late Mr Tom Taylor[12]: - - ‘Gone from the rule that was questioned so rarely, - Gone from the seat where he laid down the law; - Gaunt, stern, and stalwart, with broad brow set squarely - O’er the fierce eye, and the granite-hewn jaw. - - ‘No more the Great Court shall see him dividing - Surpliced crowds thick round the low chapel door; - No more shall idlers shrink cowed from his chiding, - Senate-house cheers sound his honour no more. - - ‘Son of a hammer-man: right kin of Thor, he - Clove his way through, right onward, amain; - Ruled when he’d conquered, was proud of his glory,— - Sledge-hammer smiter, in body and brain. - - ‘Sizar and Master,—unhasting, unresting; - Each step a triumph, in fair combat won— - Rivals he faced like a strong swimmer breasting - Waves that, once grappled with, terrors have none. - - ‘Trinity marked him o’er-topping the crowd of - Heads and Professors, self-centred, alone: - Rude as his strength was, that strength she was proud of, - Body and mind, she knew all was her own. - - ‘“Science his strength, and Omniscience his weakness,” - So _they_ said of him, who envied his power; - Those whom he silenced with more might than meekness, - Carped at his back, in his face fain to cower. - - ‘Milder men’s graces _might_ in him be lacking, - Still he was honest, kind-hearted, and brave; - Never good cause looked in vain for his backing, - Fool he ne’er spared, but he never screened knave. - - ‘England should cherish all lives from beginning - Lowly as his to such honour that rise; - Lives, of fair running and straightforward winning, - Lives, that so winning, may boast of the prize. - - ‘They that in years past have chafed at his chiding, - They that in boyish mood strove ’gainst his sway, - Boys’ hot blood cooled, boys’ impatience subsiding, - Reverently think of “the Master” to-day. - - ‘Counting his courage, his manhood, his knowledge, - Counting the glory he won for us all, - Cambridge—not only his dearly loved College— - Mourns his seat empty in chapel and hall. - - ‘Lay him down here—in the dim ante-chapel, - Where NEWTON’S statue looms ghostly and white, - Broad brow set rigid in thought-mast’ring grapple, - Eyes that look upward for light—and more light. - - ‘So should he rest—not where daisies are growing: - NEWTON beside him, and over his head - Trinity’s full tide of life, ebbing, flowing, - Morning and evening, as he lies dead. - - ‘Sailors sleep best within boom of the billow, - Soldiers in sound of the shrill trumpet call: - So his own Chapel his death-sleep should pillow, - Loved in his life-time with love beyond all.’ - -We have not thought it necessary to go through the events of Whewell’s -Mastership in order, because progressive development of thought and -occupation had by that time ended, and his efforts were chiefly directed -towards establishing in the University the changes which his previous -studies had led him to regard as necessary, and which, from the -vantage-ground of that influential position, he was enabled to enforce. -In his own College, so far as its education was concerned, he had little -to do except to maintain the high standard which already existed. As -tutor he had been successful in increasing the importance of the paper -of questions in Philosophy in the Fellowship Examination; and -subsequently he had introduced his _Elements of Morality_, his preface -to Mackintosh’s _Ethical Philosophy_, and his edition of Butler’s _Three -Sermons_ into the examination at the end of the Michaelmas Term. None, -however, of those fundamental measures which have achieved for Trinity -College its present position of pre-eminence will in the future be -associated with his name, unless the abolition of the Westminster -Scholars be thought sufficiently important to be classed in this -category. On the contrary, it is remarkable what slight influence he -exerted on the College while Master. He saw but little of any of the -Fellows, and became intimate with none. In theory he was a despot, but -in practice he deferred to the College officers; and, with the exception -of certain domestic matters, such as granting leave to studious -undergraduates to live in College during the Long Vacation, and the -formation of a cricket-ground for the use of the College, to which he -and Lady Affleck both contributed largely, he originated nothing. As -regards the constitution of the College, he was strongly opposed to -change. The so-called Reform of the Statutes in 1842 amounted to nothing -more than the excision of certain obsolete usages, and the accommodation -in some few other points of the written law to the usual practice of the -College. The proposals for a more thorough reform brought forward by -certain of the Fellows in 1856, when called together in accordance with -the Act of Parliament passed in that year, met with his vehement -disapproval. It was a mental defect with him that he could never be -brought to see that others had as much right as himself to hold special -views. If he saw no defect in a statute or a practice, no one else had -any right to see one. Here is a specimen of the language he used -respecting the junior Fellows, all, it must be remembered, men of some -distinction, whom he himself had had a hand in electing: - -‘It is a very sad evening of my College life, to have the College pulled -in pieces and ruined by a set of schoolboys. It is very nearly that kind -of work. The Act of Parliament gives all our Fellows equal weight for -certain purposes, and the younger part of them all vote the same way, -and against the Seniors. Several of these juveniles are really boys, -several others only Bachelors of Arts, so we have crazy work, as I think -it[13].’ - -As regards the University, as distinct from the College, he deserves -recognition as having effected important educational changes. These -range over the whole of his life, commencing with the novelties which he -introduced, in conjunction with Herschel, Peacock, and Babbage, into the -study of mathematics, so early as 1819. It was his constant endeavour, -whatever office he held—whether Moderator, Examiner, or College -lecturer—to keep the improvement and development of the Mathematical -Tripos constantly before the University. But, before we enumerate the -special improvements or developments with which he may be credited, let -us consider what was his leading idea. He held that every man who was -worth educating at all, had within him various faculties, such as the -mathematical, the philological, the critical, the poetical, and the -like; and that the truly liberal education was that which would develop -all of these, some more, some less, according to the individual nature. -A devotion to ‘favourite and selected pursuits’ was a proof, according -to him, of ‘effeminacy of mind.’ We are not sure that he would have been -prepared to introduce one or more classical papers into the Mathematical -Tripos, though he held that a mere mathematician was not an educated -man; but he was emphatic in wishing to preserve the provisions by which -classical men were obliged to pass certain mathematical examinations. He -did not want ‘_much_ mathematics’ from them, he said, writing to -Archdeacon Hare in 1842; ‘but a man who either cannot or will not -understand Euclid, is a man whom we lose nothing by not keeping among -us.’ He was no friend to examinations. He ‘repudiated emulation as the -sole spring of action in our education,’ but did not see his way to -reducing it. It was probably this feeling that made him object to -private tuition so strongly as he always did. In opposition to private -tutors, he wished to increase attendance at Professors’ lectures; and -succeeded in ‘connecting them with examinations,’ as he called it; in -other words, in making attendance at them compulsory for precisely those -men who were least capable of deriving benefit from the highest teaching -which the University can give, namely, the candidates for the Ordinary -Degree. - -The first definite novelty in the way of public examinations which he -promoted was the examination in Divinity called, when first established, -the Voluntary Theological Examination. Whewell was a member of the -Syndicate which recommended it, in March, 1842; and subsequently, he -took a great interest in making it a success. As Vice-Chancellor, he -brought it under the direct notice of the Bishops. Subsequently, in -1845, he advocated, in his essay _Of a Liberal Education in General_, -the establishment of ‘a General Tripos including the Inductive Sciences, -or those which it was thought right by the University to group together -for such a purpose.’ The basis of University education was still to be -the Mathematical Tripos; but, after a student had been declared a Junior -Optime, he was free to choose his future career. He might become a -candidate either for the Classical Tripos, or for the suggested new -Tripos, or for any other Tripos that the University should subsequently -decide to establish. With these views it was natural that Whewell should -be in favour of the establishment of a Moral Sciences Tripos (to include -History and Law), and of a Natural Sciences Tripos; and in consequence -we find him not only a member of the Syndicate which suggested them, but -urging their acceptance upon the Senate (1848). Further, he offered two -prizes of £15 each, so long as he was Professor, to be given annually to -the two students who shewed the greatest proficiency in the former -examination. It is worth noticing that he did not insist upon a -candidate becoming a Junior Optime before presenting himself for either -of these new Triposes, but was satisfied with the Ordinary Degree. He -wished to encourage, by all reasonable facilities, the competition for -Honours in them; but when the Senate (in 1849) threw open the Classical -Tripos to those who had obtained a first class in the examination for -the Ordinary Degree, he deplored it as a retrograde step. Before many -years, however, had passed, he had modified his views to such an extent -that he could sign (in 1854) a Report which began by stating ‘that much -advantage would result from extending to other main departments of -study, generally comprehended under the name of Arts, the system which -is at present established in the University with regard to Candidates -for Honours in the Mathematical Tripos’; and proceeded to advocate the -establishment of a Theological Tripos, and the concession, with -reference to the Classical Tripos, the Moral Sciences Tripos, and the -Natural Sciences Tripos, that in and after 1857 students who obtained -Honours in them should be entitled to admission to the degree of -Bachelor of Arts. We may therefore claim Whewell as one of the founders -of the modern system of University education. - -Whewell’s wish to develop Professorial tuition has been already alluded -to. It may be doubted if he would have been so earnest on the subject -had he foreseen the development of teaching by the University as opposed -to teaching by the colleges, which a large increase in the number of -Professors was certain to bring about. So far back as 1828, he had -brought before the University the want of proper lecture-rooms and -museums; and, as a matter of course, he promoted the erection of the -present museums in 1863. We are justified, therefore, in claiming for -him no inconsiderable share in that development of natural science which -is one of the glories of Cambridge; and when we see the crowds which -throng the classes of the scientific professors, lecturers, and -demonstrators, we often wish that he could have been spared a few years -longer to enter into the fruit of his labours. - -As regards the constitution of the University he earnestly deprecated -the interference of a Commission. He held that ‘University reformers -should endeavour to reform by efforts within the body, and not by -calling in the stranger.’ He therefore worked very hard as a member of -what was called the ‘Statutes Revision Syndicate,’ first appointed in -1849, and continued in subsequent years. His views on these important -matters have been recorded by him in his work on a Liberal Education. It -is worth remarking that while he was in favour of so advanced a step as -making College funds available for University purposes, he strenuously -maintained the desirability of preserving that ancient body, the -_Caput_. One of the most vexatious provisions of its constitution was -that each member of it had an absolute veto on any grace to which he -might object. As the body was selected, the whole legislative power of -the University was practically vested in the Heads of Houses, who are -not usually the persons best qualified to understand the feeling of the -University. Dr Whewell has frequently recorded, in his correspondence, -his vexation when graces proposed by himself were rejected by this body; -and yet, though he knew how badly the constitution worked, his -attachment to existing forms was so great, that he could not be -persuaded to yield on any point except the mode of election. - -We have spoken first of Whewell’s work in his College and University, -because it was to them that he dedicated his life. We must now say a -word or two on his literary and scientific attainments. He wrote an -excellent English style, which reflects the personality of the writer to -a more than usual extent. As might be expected from his studies and tone -of mind, he always wrote with clearness and good sense, though -occasionally his periods are rough and unpolished, defects due to his -habit of writing as fast as he could make the pen traverse the paper. -But, just as it was not natural to him to be grave for long together, we -find his most serious criticisms and pamphlets—nay, even his didactic -works—lightened by good-humoured banter and humorous illustrations. On -the other hand, when he was thoroughly serious and in earnest, his style -rose to a dignified eloquence which has rarely been equalled, and never -surpassed. For an illustration of our meaning we beg our readers to turn -to the final chapters of the _Plurality of Worlds_. He was always fond -of writing verse; and published more than one volume of poems and -translations, of which the latter are by far the most meritorious. Nor -must we forget his valiant efforts to get hexameters and elegiacs -recognized as English metres. Example being better than precept, he -began by printing a translation of Goethe’s _Hermann und Dorothea_, in -the metre of the original, which he at first circulated privately among -his friends; but subsequently he discussed the subject in several -papers, in which he laid down the rules which he thought were required -for successful composition of the metre. His main principle is to pay -attention to accent, not to quantity, and to use trochees where the -ancients would have used spondees; in other words, where according to -the classical hexameter we should have two strong syllables, we are to -have a strong syllable followed by a weak one. Here is a short specimen -from the _Isle of the Sirens_: - - ‘Over the broad-spread sea the thoughtful son of Ulysses - Steered his well-built bark. Full long had he sought for his father, - Till hope, lingering, fled; for the face of the water is trackless. - Then rose strong in his mind the thought of his home and his island; - And he desired to return; to behold his Ithacan people, - Listen their just complaints, restrain the fierce and the lawless.’ - -Mrs Stair Douglas has acted wisely in reprinting the elegiacs written -after the death of Mrs Whewell. We cannot believe that the metre will -ever be popular; but in the case of this particular poem eccentricities -of style will be forgiven for the sake of the dignified beauty of the -thoughts. With the exception of _In Memoriam_, we know of no finer -expression of Christian sorrow and Christian hope. We will quote a few -lines from the first division of the poem, in which the bereaved husband -describes the happiness which his wife had brought to him: - - ‘Blessed beyond all blessings that life can embrace in its circle, - Blessed the gift was when Providence gave thee to me: - Gave thee, gentle and kindly and wise, calm, clear-seeing, thoughtful, - Thee to me as I was, vehement, passionate, blind: - Gave me to see in thee, and wonder I never had seen it, - Wisdom that shines in the heart dearer than Intellect’s light; - Gave me to find in thee, when oppressed by loneliness’ burden, - Solace for each dull pain, calm from the strife of the storm. - For O, vainly till then had I sought for peace and contentment, - Ever pursued by desires, yearnings that could not be still’d; - Ever pursued by desires of a heart’s companionship, ever - Yearning for guidance and love such as I found them in thee.’ - -It is painful to be obliged to record that Whewell’s executors found -that the copyright of his works had no mercantile value. He perhaps -formed a true estimate of his own powers when he said that all that he -could do was to ‘systematize portions of knowledge which the consent of -opinions has brought into readiness for such a process[14].’ His name -will not be associated with any great discovery, or any original theory, -if we except his memoir on Crystallography, which is the basis of the -system since adopted; and his researches on the Tides, which have -afforded a clear and satisfactory view of those of the Atlantic, while -it is hardly his fault if those of the Pacific were not elucidated with -equal clearness[15]. It too often happens that those who originally -suggest theories are forgotten in the credit due to those who develop -them; and we are afraid that this has been the fate of Whewell. Even as -a mathematician he is not considered really great by those competent to -form a judgment. He was too much wedded to the geometrical fashions of -his younger days, and ‘had no taste for the more refined methods of -modern analysis[16].’ In science, as in other matters, his strong -conservative bias stood in his way. He was constitutionally unable to -accept a thorough-going innovation. For instance, he withstood to the -last Lyell’s uniformity, and Darwin’s evolution[17]. Much, therefore, of -what he wrote will of necessity be soon forgotten; but we hope that some -readers may be found for his _Elements of Morality_, and that his great -work on the Inductive Sciences may hold its own. It is highly valued in -Germany; and in England Mr John Stuart Mill, one of the most cold and -severe of critics, who differed widely from Whewell in his scientific -views, has declared that ‘without the aid derived from the facts and -ideas contained in the _History of the Inductive Sciences_, the -corresponding portion of his own _System of Logic_ would probably not -have been written.’ - -We have felt it our duty to point out these shortcomings; but it is a -far more agreeable one to turn from them, and conclude our essay by -indicating the lofty tone of religious enthusiasm which runs through all -his works. As Dr Lightfoot pointed out in his funeral sermon, ‘the world -of matter without, the world of thought within, alike spoke to him of -the Eternal Creator the Beneficent Father; and even his opponent, Sir -David Brewster, who more strongly than all his other critics had -denounced what he termed the paradox advanced in _The Plurality of -Worlds_, that our earth may be ‘the oasis in the desert of the solar -system,’ was generous enough to admit that posterity would forgive the -author ‘on account of the noble sentiments, the lofty aspirations, and -the suggestions, almost divine, which mark his closing chapter on the -future of the universe.’ - - - - - CONNOP THIRLWALL[18]. - - -Until a few years ago biographies of Bishops were remarkable for that -decent dullness which Sydney Smith has noted as a characteristic of -modern sermons. The narrative reproduced, with painful fidelity, the -oppressive decorum and the conventional dignity; but kept out of sight -the real human being which even in the Georgian period must have existed -beneath official trappings. But in these matters, as in others, there is -a fashion. The narratives which describe the lives of modern Bishops -reflect the change that has come over the office. As now-a-days ‘a -Bishop’s efficiency is measured, in common estimation, by his power of -speech and motion[19],’ his biography, if he has overtopped his brethren -in administration, or eloquence, or statesmanship, becomes an -entertaining, and sometimes even a valuable, production. It reflects the -ever-changing incidents of a bustling career; it is spiced with good -stories; and it reveals, more or less indiscreetly, matters of high -policy in Church and State, over which a veil has hitherto been drawn. -In a word, it is the portrait of a real person, not of a lay figure: -and, if the artist be worthy of his task, a portrait which faithfully -reproduces the original. The life of Bishop Thirlwall could not have -been treated in quite the same way as the imaginary biography we have -just indicated; but, in good hands, it might have been made quite as -entertaining, and much more valuable. Dr Perowne has told us that his -life was not eventful. It was not, in the ordinary sense of that word. -He rarely quitted his peaceful retreat at Abergwili; but, paradoxical as -it sounds, he was no recluse. He took part in spirit, if not in bodily -presence, in all the important events, political, religious, and -literary, of his time; and when he chose to break silence, in speech or -pamphlet, no one could command a more undivided attention, or exercise a -more powerful influence. - -What manner of man was this? By what system of education had his mind -been developed? What were his tastes, his pursuits, his daily life? To -these questions, which are surely not unreasonable, the editors of the -five volumes before us vouchsafe no adequate reply, for the meagre -thread of narrative which connects together the _Letters Literary and -Theological_, may be left out of consideration. Thirlwall’s life, as we -understand the word, has yet to be written; and we fear that death has -removed most of those who could perform the task in a manner worthy of -the subject. For ourselves, all that we propose to do is to try to set -forth his talents and his character, by the help of the materials before -us, and of such personal recollections as we have been able to gather -together. - -Connop Thirlwall was born February 11, 1797. His father, the Rev. Thomas -Thirlwall, minister of Tavistock Chapel, Broad Court, Long Acre, -Lecturer of S. Dunstan, Stepney, and chaplain to the celebrated Thomas -Percy, Lord Bishop of Dromore, resided at Mile End. We can give no -information about him except the above list of his preferments; and of -Connop’s mother we only know that her husband describes her as ‘pious -and virtuous,’ and anxious to ‘promote the temporal and eternal welfare’ -of her children. She had the satisfaction of living long enough to see -her son a bishop[20]. Connop must have been a fearfully precocious -child. In 1809 the fond father published a small duodecimo volume -entitled ‘_Primitiæ; or, Essays and Poems on Various Subjects, -Religious, Moral, and Entertaining_. By Connop Thirlwall, eleven years -of age.’ The first of these essays is dated ‘June 30, 1804. Seven years -old’; and in the preface the father says: - -‘In the short sketch which I shall take of the young author, and his -performance, I mean not to amuse the reader with anecdotes of -extraordinary precocity of genius; it is, however, but justice to him to -state, that at a very _early_ period he read English so well that he was -taught Latin at three years of age, and at four read Greek with an ease -and fluency which astonished all who heard him. From that time he has -continued to improve himself in the knowledge of the Greek, Latin, -French, and English languages. His talent for composition appeared at -the age of seven, from an accidental circumstance. His mother, in my -absence, desired his elder brother to write his thoughts upon a subject -for his improvement, when the young author took it into his head to ask -her permission to take the pen in hand too. His request was of course -complied with, without the most remote idea he could write an -intelligible sentence, when in a short time he composed that which is -first printed, “On the Uncertainty of Life.” From that time he was -encouraged to cultivate a talent of which he gave so flattering a -promise, and generally on a Sunday chose a subject from Scripture. The -following essays are selected from these lucubrations.’ - -We will quote a passage from one of these childish sermons, written when -he was eight years old. The text selected is, ‘Behold, I will add unto -thy days fifteen years’ (Isaiah xiii. 6); and, after some commonplaces -on the condition of Hezekiah, the author takes occasion from the day, -January 1, 1806, to make the following reflections: - -‘I shall now consider what resolutions we ought to form at the beginning -of a new year. The intention of God in giving us life was that we might -live a life of righteousness. The same ever is His intention in -preserving it. We ought, then, to live in righteousness, and obey the -commandments of God. Do we not perceive that another year is come, that -time is passing away quickly, and eternity is approaching? and shall we -be all this while in a state of sin, without any recollection that the -kingdom of heaven is nearer at hand? But we ought, in the beginning of a -new year, to form a resolution to be more mindful of the great account -we must give at the last day, and live accordingly: we ought to form a -resolution to reform our lives, and walk in the ways of God’s -righteousness; to abhor all the lusts of the flesh, and to live in -temperance; and resolve no more to offend and provoke God with our sins, -but repent of them. In the beginning of a new year we should reflect a -little: although we are kept alive, yet many died in the course of last -year; and this ought to make us watchful[21].’ - -There is not much originality of thought in this; indeed, it is -impossible to avoid the suspicion that the paternal sermons, to which -the author doubtless listened every Sunday, suggested the form, and -possibly the matter, of these essays. What meaning could a child of -eight attach to such expressions as ‘the lusts of the flesh,’ or -‘repentance,’ or ‘eternity’? Still, notwithstanding this evident -imitation of others in the matter, the style has a remarkable -individuality. Indeed, just as the portrait of the child which is -prefixed to the volume recalls forcibly the features of the veteran -Bishop at seventy years of age, we fancy that we can detect in the style -a foreshadowing of some of the qualities which rendered that of the man -so remarkable. There is the same orderly arrangement of what he has to -say, the same absence of rhetoric, the same logical deduction of the -conclusion from the premisses. As we turn over the pages of the volume -we are struck by the extent of reading which the allusions suggest. The -best English authors, the most famous men of antiquity, are quoted as if -the writer were familiar with them. The themes, too, are singularly -varied. We find ‘An Eastern Tale,’ which, though redolent of _Rasselas_, -is not devoid of originality, and has considerable power of description; -an ‘Address’ delivered to the Worshipful Company of Drapers at their -annual visit to Bancroft’s School, which is not more fulsome than such -compositions usually are; and, lastly, half a dozen poems, which are by -far the best things in the book. Let us take, almost at random, a few -lines from the last: ‘Characters often Seen, but little Marked: a -Satire.’ A young lady, called Clara, is anxious to break off a match, -and lays her plot in the following fashion: - - ‘The marriage eve arrived, she chanced to meet - The unsuspecting lover in the street; - Begins an artful, simple tale to tell. - “I’m glad to see your future spouse so well, - But I just heard—” “What?” cries the curious swain. - “You may not like it; I must not explain.” - “What was the dear, delusive creature at?” - “Oh! nothing, nothing, only private chat.” - “A pack of nonsense! it cannot be true! - As if, dear girl, she could be false to you[22]!”’ - -Here, again, there may not be much originality of thought, but the -versification is excellent, and the whole piece of surprising merit, -when we reflect that it was written by a child of eleven. Yet, whatever -may be the worth of this and other pieces in the volume before us as a -promise of future greatness, we cannot but pity the poor little fellow, -stimulated by the inconsiderate vanity of his parents to a priggish -affectation of teaching others when he ought to have been either -learning himself or at play with his schoolfellows; and we can -thoroughly sympathize with the Bishop’s feelings respecting the book. -The lady to whom the _Letters to a Friend_ were written had evidently -asked him for a copy, and obtained the following answer: - -‘I am sure that if you knew the point in my foot which gives me pain you -would not select that to kick or tread upon; and I am equally sure that -if you had been aware of the intense loathing with which I think of the -subject of your note you would not have recalled it to my mind. When Mrs -P——, in the simplicity of her heart, and no doubt believing it to be an -agreeable topic to me, told me at dinner on Thursday that she possessed -the hated volume, it threw a shade over my enjoyment of the evening, and -it was with a great effort that, after a pause, I could bring myself to -resume the conversation. If I could buy up every copy for the flames, -without risk of a reprint, I should hardly think any price too high. Let -me entreat you never again to remind me of its existence[23].’ - -In 1809 young Thirlwall was sent as a day-scholar to the Charterhouse, -the choice of a school having very likely been determined by the fact -that his father resided at the east end of London. The records of his -school days are provokingly incomplete; nay, almost a blank. We should -like to know whether he was ever a boy in the ordinary sense of the -word; whether he played at games[24], or got into mischief, or obtained -the distinction of a flogging. As far as his studies were concerned, he -was fortunate in going to the Charterhouse when that excellent scholar -Dr Raine was head master, and in being the contemporary of several boys -who afterwards distinguished themselves, among whom may be specially -mentioned his life-long friend, Julius Charles Hare, and George Grote, -with whom, in after years, he was to be united in a common field of -historical research. His chief friend, however, at this period was not -one of his schoolfellows, but a young man named John Candler[25], a -Quaker, resident at Ipswich. Several of the letters addressed to him -during the four years spent at Charterhouse have fortunately been -preserved. When we remember that these were written between the ages of -twelve and sixteen, they must be regarded as possessing extraordinary -merit. They are studied and rather stilted compositions, evidently the -result of much thought and labour, as was usual in days when postage -cost eightpence; but they reveal a wonderfully wide extent of reading, -and an interest in passing events not usual in so ardent a student as -the writer evidently had even then become. Young Candler was ‘a friend -to liberty,’ and an admirer of Sir Francis Burdett. His correspondent -criticizes with much severity the popular hero and the mob, who, ‘after -having broken the ministerial windows and pelted the soldiers with -brickbats, have gone quietly home and left him to his meditations upon -Tower Hill.’ Most thoughtful boys are fond of laying down the lines of -their future life in their letters to their schoolfellows; but how few -there are who do not change their opinions utterly, and end by adopting -some profession wholly different from that which at first attracted -them! This was not the case with Thirlwall. We find him writing at -twelve years old in terms which he would not have disdained at fifty. ‘I -shall never be a bigot in politics,’ he says; ‘whither my reason does -not guide me I will suffer myself to be led by the nose by no man[26].’ -‘I would ask the advocates for confining learning to the breasts of the -wealthy and the noble, in whose breasts are the seeds of sedition and -discontent most easily sown? In that of the unenlightened or -well-informed peasant? In that of a man incapable of judging either of -the disadvantages of his station or the means of ameliorating it?... -These were long since my sentiments[27].’ And, lastly, on the burning -question of Parliamentary Reform: ‘Party prejudice must own it rather -contradictory to reason and common sense that a population of one -hundred persons should have two representatives, while four hundred -thousand are without one. These are abuses which require speedy -correction[28].’ He had evidently been taken to see Cambridge, and was -constantly looking forward to his residence there. His anticipations, -however, were not wholly agreeable. At that time he did not care much -for classics. He thought that they were not ‘objects of such infinite -importance that the most valuable portion of man’s life, the time which -he passes at school and at college, should be devoted to them.’ In -after-life he said that he had been ‘injudiciously plied with Horace at -the Charterhouse,’ and that, in consequence, ‘many years elapsed before -I could enjoy the most charming of Latin poets[29].’ He admits, however, -that he is looking forward ‘with hope and pleasing anticipation to the -time when I shall immure myself’ at Cambridge; and he makes some really -admirable reflections, most unusual at that period, on University -distinctions and the use to be made of them: - -‘There is one particular in which I hope to differ from many of those -envied persons who have attained to the most distinguished academical -honours. Several of these seem to have considered the years which they -have spent at the University, not as the time of preparation for studies -of a more severe and extended nature, but as the term of their labours, -the completion of which is the signal for a life of indolence, -dishonourable to themselves and unprofitable to mankind. Literature and -science are thus degraded from their proper rank, as the most dignified -occupations of a rational being, and are converted into instruments for -procuring the gratification of our sensual appetites. This will not, I -trust, be the conduct of your friend. Sorry indeed should I be to accept -the highest honours of the University were I from that time destined to -sink into an obscure and useless inactivity[30].’ - -An English translation of the _Pensées_ of Pascal had fallen in his way; -and, in imitation of that great thinker, he had formed a resolution, of -which he begs his friend to remind him in future years, to devote -himself wholly to such studies (among others to the acquisition of a -knowledge of Hebrew) as would fit him for the clerical profession. We -shall see that he never really faltered from these intentions; for, -though he was at one time beset with doubts as to his fitness to perform -the practical duties of a clergyman, he was from first to last a -theologian, and only admitted other studies as ancillary to that central -object. - -Thirlwall left Charterhouse in December 1813, and proceeded to Trinity -College, Cambridge, in October of the following year. How he spent the -interval has not been recorded: possibly, like many other boys educated -at a purely classical school, he was doing his best to acquire an -adequate knowledge of mathematics, to his deficiency in which there are -frequent references. He was so far successful in his efforts that he -obtained the place of 22nd senior optime in 1818, when he proceeded in -due course to his degree. Meanwhile, however great his distaste for the -classics might have been at school, he had risen to high distinction in -them; for he obtained the Craven University scholarship when only a -freshman, as well as a Bell scholarship, and in the year of his degree -the first Chancellor’s medal[31]. In the autumn of the same year he was -elected Fellow of his college. It is provoking to have to admit that our -history of what may be termed the first part of his Cambridge career -must begin and end here. Of the second portion, when he returned to his -college and became assistant tutor, we shall have plenty to say -hereafter; but of his undergraduate days no record has been preserved. -He had the good fortune to know Trinity College when society there was -exceptionally brilliant; among his contemporaries were Sedgwick, -Whewell, the two Waddingtons, his old friend Hare, who gained a -Fellowship in the same year as himself, and many others who contributed -to make that period of University history a golden age. We can imagine -him in their company ‘moulding high thought in colloquy serene,’ and -taking part in anything which might develop the general culture of the -place; but beyond the facts that he was secretary to the Union Society -in 1817, when the ‘debate was interrupted by the entrance of the -proctors, who laid on its members the commands of the Vice-Chancellor to -disperse, and on no account to resume their discussions[32],’ and that -he had acquired a high reputation for eloquence as a speaker there[33], -we know nothing definite about him. He does not appear to have made any -new friends; but as Julius Hare was in residence during the same period -as he was, the two doubtless saw much of each other; and it is probably -to him that Thirlwall owed the love of Wordsworth which may be detected -in some of his letters, his fondness for metaphysical speculation, and -his wish to learn German. The only letters preserved are addressed to -his old correspondent Mr Candler, and to his uncle Mr John Thirlwall, -and they give us no information relevant to Cambridge. In writing to the -latter he dwells on his fondness for ancient history, on his preference -for that of Greece over that of Rome; he records the addition of the -Italian and German languages to his stock of acquirements; and he -describes with enthusiasm his yearning for foreign travel, which each -year grew stronger: - -‘I certainly was not made to sit at home in contented ignorance of the -wonders of art and nature, nor can I believe that the restlessness of -curiosity I feel was implanted in my disposition to be a source of -uneasiness rather than of enjoyment. Under this conviction I peruse the -authors of France and Italy, with the idea that the language I am now -reading I may one day be compelled to speak, and that what is now a -source of elegant and refined entertainment may be one day the medium -through which I shall disclose my wants and obtain a supply of the -necessaries of daily life. This is the most enchanting of my day dreams; -it has been for some years past my inseparable companion. And, apt as -are my inclinations to fluctuate, I cannot recollect this to have ever -undergone the slightest abatement[34].’ - -The letter from which we have selected the above passage was written to -his uncle in 1816; in another, written a few months later to his friend -Mr Candler, he enters more fully into his difficulties and prospects. -The earlier portion of the letter is well worth perusal for the insight -it affords into the extent of his reading and the originality of his -criticisms; but it is the concluding paragraph which is specially -interesting to a biographer. We do not know to what influences the -change was due, but it is evident that his mind was passing through a -period of unrest; his old determinations had been, at least for the -moment, uprooted, and he looked forward with uncertain eyes to an -unknown future. ‘My disinclination to the Church,’ he says, ‘has grown -from a motive into a reason.’ The Bar had evidently been suggested to -him as the only alternative, and on that dismal prospect he dilates with -unwonted bitterness. It would take him away from all the pursuits he -loved most dearly, and put in their place ‘the routine of a barren and -uninteresting occupation,’ in which not only would the best years of his -life be wasted, but—and this is what he seems to have dreaded most—his -loftier aspirations would be degraded, and, when he had become rich -enough to return to literature, he would feel no inclination to do so. - -The Fellowship examination of 1818 having ended in Thirlwall’s election, -he was free to go abroad, and at once started alone for Rome. At that -time Niebuhr was Prussian Envoy there, and Bunsen his Secretary of -Legation. Thirlwall was so fortunate as to bring with him a letter of -introduction to Madame Bunsen, who had been a Miss Waddington, cousin to -Professor Monk, and had married Bunsen about a year before Thirlwall’s -visit. The following amusing letter from Madame Bunsen to her mother -gives an interesting picture of Thirlwall in Rome: - -‘_March 16, 1819._—Mr Hinds and Mr Thirlwall are here.... My mother has, -I know, sometimes suspected that a man’s abilities are to be judged of -in an _inverse ratio_ to his Cambridge honours; but I believe that rule -is really not without exception, for Mr Thirlwall is certainly no dunce, -although, as I have been informed, he attained high honours at Cambridge -at an earlier age than anybody except, I believe, Porson. In the course -of their first interview Charles heard enough from him to induce him to -believe that Mr Thirlwall had studied Greek and Hebrew in good earnest, -not merely for _prizes_; also, that he had read Mr Niebuhr’s Roman -History proved him to possess no trifling knowledge of German; and, as -he expressed a wish to improve himself in the language, Charles ventured -to invite him to come to us on a Tuesday evening, whenever he was not -otherwise engaged, seeing that many Germans were in the habit of calling -on that day. Mr Thirlwall has never missed any Tuesday evening since, -except the _moccoli_ night and one other when it rained dogs and cats. -He comes at eight o’clock, and never stirs to go away till everybody -else has wished good night, often at almost twelve o’clock. It is -impossible for any one to behave more like a man of sense and a -gentleman than he has always done—ready and eager to converse with -anybody that is at leisure to speak to him, but never looking fidgety -when by necessity left to himself; always seeming animated and -attentive, whether listening to music, or trying to make out what people -say in German, or looking at one of Goethe’s songs in the book, while it -is sung. And so there are a great many reasons for our being _very much_ -pleased with Mr Thirlwall; yet I rather suspect him of being very cold, -and very dry; and although he seeks, and seeks with general success, to -understand everything, and in every possible way increase his stock of -ideas, I doubt the possibility of his understanding anything that is to -be _felt_ rather than _explained_, and that cannot be reduced to a -system. I was led to this result by some most extraordinary questions -that he asked Charles about _Faust_ (which he had borrowed of us, and -which he greatly admired nevertheless, attempting a translation of one -of my favourite passages, which, however, I had not pointed out to him -as being such), and also by his great fondness for the poems of -Wordsworth, two volumes of which he insisted on lending to Charles. -These books he accompanied with a note, in which he laid great stress -upon the necessity of reading the author’s _prose essays on his own -poems_, in order to be enabled to relish the latter. Yet Mr Thirlwall -speaks of Dante in a manner that would seem to prove a thorough taste -for his poetry, as well as that he has really and truly studied it; for -he said to me that he thought no person who had taken the trouble to -understand the whole of the _Divina Commedia_ would doubt about -preferring the “Paradiso” to the two preceding parts, an opinion in -which I thoroughly agree[35]. - -‘As Mr Thirlwall can speak French sufficiently well to make himself -understood, and as he has _something to say_, Charles found it very -practicable to make him and Professor Bekker acquainted, though -Professor Bekker has usually the great defect of _never_ speaking but -when he is prompted by his own inclination, and of never being _inclined -to speak_ except to persons whom he has long known—that is, to whose -faces and manners he has become accustomed, and whose understanding or -character he respects or likes.... In conclusion, I must say about Mr -Thirlwall, that I was prepossessed in his favour by his having made up -in a marked manner to Charles, rather than to myself. I had no -difficulty in getting on with him, but I had all the advances to make; -and I can never think the worse of a young man, just fresh from college -and unused to the society of women, for not being at his ease with them -at first[36].’ - -It is vexatious that Thirlwall’s biographers should have failed to -discover—if indeed they tried to discover—any information about his -Roman visit, to which he always looked back with delight, occasioned as -much by the friends he had made there as by ‘the memorable scenes and -objects’ he had visited[37]. So far as we know, the above letter is the -only authority extant. We should like to have heard whether Thirlwall -had, or had not, any personal intercourse with Niebuhr, whom we have -reason to believe he never met; and to what extent Bunsen influenced his -future studies. We find it stated in Bunsen’s life that he determined -Thirlwall’s wavering resolutions in favour of the clerical -profession[38]. This, as we shall presently shew, is clearly a mistake; -but, when we consider the strong theological bias of Bunsen’s own mind, -it does seem probable that he would direct his attention to the modern -school of German divinity. We suspect that Thirlwall had been already -influenced in this direction by the example, if not by the direct -precepts, of Herbert Marsh, then Lady Margaret’s Professor of Theology -at Cambridge[39], who had stirred up a great controversy by translating -Michaelis’ _Introduction to the New Testament_, and by promoting a more -free criticism of the Gospels than had hitherto been thought -permissible. However this may be, it is certain that the friendship -which began in Rome was one of the strongest and most abiding influences -which shaped Thirlwall’s character, and just half a century afterwards -we find him referring to Bunsen as a sort of oracle in much the same -language that Dr Arnold was fond of employing. - -We must pass lightly and rapidly over the next seven years of -Thirlwall’s life. He entered as a law student at Lincoln’s Inn in -February 1820, and in 1827 returned to Cambridge. In the intervening -period he had given the law a fair trial; but the more he saw of it the -less he liked it. It is painful to think of the weary hours spent over -work of which he could say, four years after he had entered upon it, ‘It -can never be anything but loathsome to me[40]’; ‘my aversion to the law -has not increased, as it scarcely could, from the first day of my -initiation into its mysteries’; or to read his pathetic utterances to -Bunsen, describing his wretchedness, and the delight he took in his -brief excursions out of law into literature, consoling himself with the -reflection that perhaps he gained in intensity of enjoyment what he lost -in duration. With these feelings it would have been useless for him to -persevere; but we doubt if the time spent in legal work was so entirely -thrown away as he imagined. It might be argued that much of his future -eminence as a bishop was due to his legal training. As a friend has -remarked, ‘he carried the temper, and perhaps the habit, of Equity into -all his subsequent work’; and to the end of his life he found a special -delight in tracking the course of the more prominent _causes célèbres_ -of the day, and expressing his judgment upon them[41]. Even in these -years, however, law was not allowed to engross his whole time. From the -beginning he had laid this down as a fixed principle. He spent his -vacations in foreign travel, and every moment he could snatch from his -enforced studies was devoted to a varied course of reading, of which the -main outcome was a translation of Schleiermacher’s _Critical Essay on -the Gospel of S. Luke_[42], to which his friend Hare had introduced him. -Why should Thirlwall have selected, as a specimen of the new school of -German theology, a work which, at this distance of time, does not appear -to be specially distinguished for merit or originality[43]? It is -evident, from what he says in his _Introduction_, that he had a sincere -admiration for the talents of Dr Schleiermacher, whom he describes as -‘this extraordinary writer,’ whose fate it has been ‘to open a new path -in every field of literature he has entered, and to tread all alone.’ -But the real motive for the selection is to be found, we think, in the -opportunity it afforded him for studying the whole question of the -origin and authorship of the synoptic Gospels, and, as the title page -informs us, for dealing with the contributions to the literature of the -subject which had appeared since Bishop Marsh’s _Dissertation on the -Origin and Composition of our three first Canonical Gospels_, published -in 1801. In this direct reference to Marsh’s work we find a confirmation -of our theory that Thirlwall owed to him his position as a critical -theologian, though we can hardly imagine a greater difference than that -which must have existed in all other matters between the passionate -Toryism of the one and the serene Liberalism of the other. - -Thirlwall’s gallant attempt to follow an uncongenial profession could -have but one termination; and we can imagine his friends watching with -some curiosity for the moment and the cause of the final rupture. The -moment was probably determined by the prosaic consideration that his -fellowship at Trinity College would terminate in October 1828, unless he -were in Priest’s Orders. We do not mean that he became a clergyman in -order to secure a comfortable yearly income; but, that having decided in -favour of the clerical profession, joined to those literary pursuits -which his position as a fellow of Trinity College would allow, he took -the necessary steps in good time. He returned to Cambridge in 1827, and, -having been ordained deacon in the same year, and priest in the year -following, at once undertook his full share of college and University -work[44]. His friend Hare had set the example in 1822 by accepting a -classical lectureship at Trinity College at the urgent request of Mr -Whewell, then lately appointed to one of the tutorships[45], and -Thirlwall had paid visits to him in the Long Vacations of 1824 and 1825. -It is probable that at one of these visits the friends had planned their -translation of Niebuhr’s _History of Rome_, for the first volume was far -advanced in 1827, and was published early in 1828. The second did not -appear until 1832. The publication of what Thirlwall rightly terms ‘a -wonderful masterpiece of genius’ in an English dress marked an epoch in -historical and classical literature in this country. Yet, -notwithstanding its pre-eminent excellence, the work of the translators -was bitterly attacked in various places, and particularly in a note -appended to an article in the _Quarterly Review_, a criticism which -would long ago have been forgotten if it had not called forth a reply -which we have heard described as ‘Hare’s bark and Thirlwall’s bite[46].’ -The pamphlet consists of sixty-three pages, of which sixty belong to the -former, and a ‘Postscript,’ of little more than two, to the latter. It -is probable that Hare’s elaborate vindication of his author, his brother -translator, and himself, had but little effect on any one; Thirlwall’s -indignant sarcasms—worthy of the best days of that controversial style -in which he subsequently became a master—are still remembered and -admired. We will quote a few sentences, of an application far wider than -the criticism to which they originally referred. The reviewer had -expressed pity that the translators should have wasted ‘such talents on -the drudgery of translation.’ Thirlwall took exception to the phrase, -and pointed out that their intellectual labour did not deserve to be so -spoken of. - -‘On the other hand, intellectual labour prompted and directed by no -higher consideration than that of personal emolument appears to me to -deserve an ignominious name; nor do I think such an employment the less -illiberal, however great may be the abilities exerted, or the advantages -purchased. But I conceive such labour to become still more degrading, -when it is let out to serve the views and advocate the opinions of -others. It sinks another step lower in my estimation, when, instead of -being applied to communicate what is excellent and useful, it ministers -to the purpose of excluding from circulation all such intellectual -productions as have not been stampt with the seal of the party to which -it is itself subservient. But when I see it made the instrument of a -religious, political, or literary proscription, forging or pointing -calumny and slander to gratify the malice of hotter and weaker heads -against all whom they hate and fear, I have now before me an instance of -what I consider as the lowest and basest intellectual drudgery. I leave -the application of these distinctions to the QUARTERLY REVIEWER.’ - -In 1831 the two friends started the publication of the _Philological -Museum_. It had a brief but glorious career. Only six numbers were -published, but they contained ‘more solid additions to English -literature and scholarship’ than had up to that time appeared in any -journal. We are glad to see that seven of Thirlwall’s contributions have -been republished, and that among them is the well-known essay _On the -Irony of Sophocles_. Those who read these articles, and still more those -who turn to the volumes from which they have been extracted, and look -through the whole series of Thirlwall’s contributions, will be as much -impressed by the writer’s erudition as by his critical insight; and, if -a translation from the German should fall under their notice, they will -not fail to remark the extraordinary skill with which he has turned that -difficult language into sound English. Thirlwall would have smiled with -polite incredulity had any one told him that he was setting an example -in those writings of his which would bear fruit in years to come; but we -maintain that this is what really happened. More than one of his -successors in the field of classics at Cambridge was directly stimulated -by what he had done to undertake an equally wide course of reading; and -it may be argued with much probability that the thoroughness and breadth -of illustration with which classical subjects are treated by the -lecturers in Trinity College is derived from his initiative. - -In 1832, when Hare left Cambridge, his friend succeeded him as assistant -tutor, to give classical lectures to the undergraduates on Whewell’s -‘side.’ For a time all went well. His lectures were exceedingly popular -with those capable of appreciating them, as was shown by the large -attendance not only of undergraduates, but of the best scholars in the -college, men who had already taken their degrees, and who were working -for the Fellowship Examination or for private improvement. They were -remarkable for translations of singular excellence, and for an -exhaustive treatment of the subject, as systematic as Hare’s had been -desultory, as we learn from traditions of them which still survive, and -from two volumes of notes which now lie before us, taken down at a -course on the Ethics of Aristotle. Moreover Thirlwall was personally -popular. He was the least ‘donnish’ of the resident Fellows, and sought -the society of undergraduates, inviting the men who attended his -lectures to walk with him or to take wine at his rooms after Hall. He -delighted in a good story, and used to throw himself back in his chair, -his whole frame shaking with suppressed merriment, when anything struck -his fancy as especially humorous. He had one habit which, had it been -practised with less delicacy, might have marred his popularity. He was -fond of securing an eager but inconsiderate talker, whom he drew out, by -a series of subtle questions, for the amusement of the rest. So well -known was this peculiarity among his older friends that after one of his -parties a person who had not been present has been heard to inquire from -another who had just left his rooms, ‘Who was fool to-day?’ - -In 1834 Thirlwall’s connection with the educational staff of the college -was rudely severed by a controversy respecting the admission of -Dissenters to degrees. This debate has been long since forgotten in the -University; but the influence which it exercised on Thirlwall’s future -career, as well as its own intrinsic interest, point it out for -particular notice. We had occasion in a recent article[47] to sketch the -changes which took place in the University between 1815 and 1830. It -will be remembered that the stormy period of our political history which -is associated with the first Reform Bill fell between those dates. It -was hardly to be expected that Cambridge should escape an influence by -which the country was so profoundly affected. Indeed, it may be cited as -a sign of the absorbing interest of that question, that it did affect -the University very seriously; for there is ample evidence that in the -previous century external events, no matter how important, had made but -little impression. In 1746 we find the poet Gray lamenting that his -fellow academicians were so indifferent to the march of the Pretender; -and even the French Revolution excited but a languid enthusiasm, though -Dr Milner, the Vice-Chancellor, and his brother Heads, did their best to -draw attention to it by expelling from the University Mr Frend, of Jesus -College, for writing a pamphlet called _Peace and Union_, which -advocated the principles of its leaders. With the Reform Bill of 1830, -however, the case was very different. Sides were eagerly taken; -discussions grew hot and angry; old friends became estranged; and, years -afterwards, when children of the next generation asked questions of -their parents about some one whose name was mentioned in their hearing, -but with whom they were not personally acquainted, it was not unusual -for them to be told: ‘That is Mr So-and-so; he used to be very intimate -with us before the Reform Bill; but we never speak now.’ - -One of the grievances then discussed was the exclusion of Dissenters -from participation in the advantages of the Universities. The propriety -of imposing tests at matriculation, and on proceeding to degrees, -especially to degrees in the faculties of law and physic, had been from -time to time debated, both in the University and in the House of -Commons. The ancient practice had, notwithstanding, been steadily -maintained. On one occasion, in 1772, the House had even gone so far as -to decline, by a majority of 146, to receive a petition on the subject. -In December 1833, however, Professor Pryme offered Graces to the Senate -for appointing a Syndicate to consider the abolition or the modification -of subscription on graduation. The ‘Caput[48]’ rejected them. In -February of the following year, Dr Cornwallis Hewett, Downing Professor -of Medicine, offered a similar Grace to consider the subject with -special reference to the faculty of medicine. This also was rejected by -the ‘Caput’ on the veto of the Vice-Chancellor, Dr King, President of -Queens’ College. These two rejections, following so closely upon each -other, made it evident that the authorities of the University were not -disposed so much as to consider the subject. It was therefore determined -to extend the field of the controversy, and at once to apply to the -Legislature. A meeting was held at Professor Hewett’s rooms in Downing -College, at which it was agreed to present an identical petition to both -Houses of Parliament. The document began by stating the attachment of -the petitioners to the Church of England, and to the University as -connected therewith; and further, their belief ‘that no civil or -ecclesiastical polity was ever so devised by the wisdom of man as not to -require, from time to time, some modification from the change of -external circumstances or the progress of opinion.’ They then -suggested—this was the word employed— - -‘“That no corporate body, like the University of Cambridge, can exist in -a free country in honour and safety unless its benefits be communicated -to all classes as widely as may be compatible with the Christian -principles of its foundation”; and urged “the expediency of abrogating -by legislative enactment every religious test exacted from members of -the University before they proceed to degrees, whether of Bachelor, -Master, or Doctor, in Arts, Law, or Physic.”’ - -This petition was signed by sixty-two resident members of the Senate. -Among them were two Masters of Colleges, Dr Davy, of Caius, and Dr Lamb, -of Corpus Christi; and nine Professors, Hewett, Lee, Cumming, Clark, -Babbage, Sedgwick, Airy, Musgrave, Henslow; some of whom were either -Conservatives, or very moderate Liberals. It was presented to the House -of Lords by Earl Grey, and to the House of Commons by Mr Spring-Rice, -member for the town of Cambridge. As might have been expected, it was -met, after an interval of about ten days, by a protest, signed by 110 -residents; which was shortly followed by a counter-petition to -Parliament, signed by 258 members of the Senate, mostly non-residents—a -number which would no doubt have been greatly enlarged had there been -more time for collecting signatures[49]. These expressions of opinion, -however, which showed that even resident members of the University were -not unanimous in desiring the proposed relief, while non-residents were -probably strongly opposed to it, did not prevent the introduction of a -Bill into the House of Commons to make it ‘lawful for all his Majesty’s -subjects to enter and matriculate in the Universities of England, and to -receive and enjoy all degrees in learning conferred therein (degrees in -Divinity alone excepted), without being required to subscribe any -articles of religion, or to make any declaration of religious opinions -respecting particular modes of faith and worship.’ The third reading of -this Bill was carried by a majority of 89; but it was rejected in the -House of Lords by a majority of 102. - -It will easily be imagined that these proceedings were watched with the -greatest interest at Cambridge. Public opinion had risen to fever-heat, -and a plentiful crop of pamphlets was the result. It is difficult -nowadays to read without a smile these somewhat hysterical productions, -with their prophecies of untold evils to come, should the fatal measure -suggested by the petitioners ever pass into the Statute-book. Among -these pamphlets that which most concerns our present purpose was by Dr -Thomas Turton, then Regius Professor of Divinity, and afterwards Lord -Bishop of Ely, entitled, _Thoughts on the Admission of Persons, without -regard to their Religious Opinions, to certain Degrees in the -Universities of England_. Dr Turton was universally respected, and his -pamphlet attracted great attention on that account, and also from the -ability and ingenuity of the argument. He adopted the comparative -method; and endeavoured to prove that evils would ensue from the -intercourse of young men who differed widely from one another in -theological beliefs, by tracing the history of the Theological Seminary -for Nonconformists, commenced by the celebrated Dr Doddridge, in 1729, -at Northampton, and subsequently removed to Daventry in 1751. The -gauntlet thus thrown down was taken up by Thirlwall, who lost but little -time in addressing to him a _Letter on the Admission of Dissenters to -Academical Degrees_. After stating briefly that what he was about to say -would be said on his own responsibility, and that he did not come -forward as ‘the organ or advocate’ of those who had taken the same side -as himself, many of whom, he thought, would not agree with him, he -proceeded to attack the analogy between Cambridge and Daventry which Dr -Turton had attempted to establish. ‘Our colleges,’ he boldly asserted, -‘are not theological seminaries. We have no theological colleges, no -theological tutors, no theological students.’ The statement was -literally true; it might even be said to be as capable of demonstration -as any simple mathematical proposition; but uttered in that way, in a -controversial pamphlet, in support of a most unpopular cause, it must -have sounded like the blast of a hostile trumpet. This, however, was not -all. Dr Turton had claimed for the Universities the same privilege which -was enjoyed by Nonconformists, viz. the possession of colleges where -‘those principles of religion alone are taught which are in agreement -with their own peculiar views.’ Thirlwall, therefore, proceeded to -inquire whether the colleges, though not theological seminaries, might -be held to be schools for religious instruction. This question again he -answered in the negative; and his opponent having placed in the foremost -rank among the privileges long exercised by the Universities (1) the -relation of tutor to pupil, (2) the chapel services, (3) the college -lectures, he proceeded to examine whether these could ‘properly be -numbered among the aids to religion which this place furnishes.’ To him -it appeared impossible, under any circumstances, to instil religion into -men’s minds against their will. ‘We cannot even prescribe exercises, or -propose rewards for it, without killing the thing we mean to foster.’ -The value of the three aids above enumerated had been, he thought, -greatly exaggerated; and compulsory attendance at chapel—‘the constant -repetition of a heartless, mechanical service’—he denounced as a -positive evil. - -‘My reason for thinking that our daily services might be omitted -altogether, without any material detriment to religion, is simply that, -as far as my means of observation extend, with an immense majority of -our congregation it is not a religious service at all, and that to the -remaining few it is the least impressive and edifying that can well be -conceived[50].’ - -He had no fault to find with the decorum of the service, but he -criticised it as follows: - -‘If this decorum were to be carried to the highest perfection, as it -might easily be, if it should ever become a mode and a point of honour -with the young men themselves, the thing itself would not rise one step -in my estimation. I should still think, that the best which could be -said of it would be, that at the end it leaves every one as it found -him, and that the utmost religion could hope from it would be to suffer -no incurable wounds. - -‘As to any other purposes, foreign to those of religion, which may be -answered by these services, I have here no concern with them. I know -that it is sometimes said that the attendance at chapel is essential to -discipline; but I have never been able to understand what kind of -discipline is meant: whether it is a discipline of the body, or of the -mind, or of the heart and affections. As to the first, I am very -sensible of the advantage of early rising; but I think this end might be -attained by a much less circuitous process; and I suppose that it will -hardly be reckoned among the uses of our evening service, that it -sometimes proves a seasonable interruption to intemperate gaiety. But I -confess that the word discipline, applied to this subject, conveys to my -mind no notions which I would not wish to banish: it reminds me either -of a military parade, or of the age when we were taught to be _good_ at -church[51].’ - -As a remedy for the existing state of things he suggested a weekly -service, ‘which should remind the young men of that to which they have, -most of them, been accustomed at home.’ Such a service as this, he -thought, ‘would afford the best opportunity of affording instruction of -a really religious kind, which should apply itself to their situation -and prospects, and address itself to their feelings.’ - -Next he took the college lectures in divinity, and proceeded to show, -that, for the most part, they had no claim to be called theological. -This part of his pamphlet excited even greater dissatisfaction than the -other; and it must be admitted that it was by far the weakest part of -his case. His statements under this head were presently examined, and -completely refuted, by Mr Robert Wilson Evans, then a resident Fellow of -Trinity, who published a detailed account of the lectures on the New -Testament which he had given during the past year in his own college. - -Up to this time Mr Whewell had taken no part in the controversy, because -he had felt himself unable ‘fully to agree with either of the contending -parties.’ But his position as tutor of the college whence the -denunciation of the existing system had emanated—for the system of -Trinity College was practically the system of all the other colleges in -the University also—compelled him, though evidently with the greatest -reluctance, to break silence. He argued that Thirlwall’s opinion, that -we cannot prescribe exercises or propose rewards for religion without -killing that which we fain would foster, strikes at the root of all -connexion between religion and civil institutions, such as an -Established Church and the like; that external influences have always -been recognized by Christian communities, and must have been used even -in the case of those services at home which his opponent approved. -Chapel service is nothing more than family prayers. If, therefore, we -teach our students that compulsion is destructive of all religion, shall -we not make them doubt the validity of the religion which was instilled -into their minds at home? The aim of such ordinances and safeguards is -to throw a religious character over all the business of life; to bind -religious thought upon us by the strongest of all constraints—the -constraint of habit. He admitted that all was not perfect in the chapel -services as they existed; and lamented that the task of those who wished -to make the undergraduates more devout would henceforward be harder than -it had ever been before, through their consciousness of a want of -unanimity among their instructors. A stated method is of use in religion -as it is in other studies. What would become of men under the voluntary -system? It is interesting to remark that in a subsequent pamphlet -written a few months later—in September 1834—he spoke in favour of such -a change in the Sunday service as Thirlwall had suggested. Towards the -close of his Mastership this change was effected, and a sermon was -introduced at the second of the two morning services on Sundays. We are -not aware, however, that the movement which resulted in this alteration -was regarded with any special favour by the Master[52]. - -Thirlwall’s pamphlet is dated May 21, 1834; Whewell’s four days later. -On the 26th the Master, Dr Wordsworth, wrote to Mr Thirlwall, calling -upon him to resign the assistant-tutorship. The words used were: - -‘I trust you will find no difficulty in resigning the appointment of -assistant-tutor which I confided to you somewhat more than two years -ago. Your continuing to retain it would, I am convinced, be very -injurious to the good government, the reputation, and the prosperity of -the college in general, to the interests of Mr Whewell in particular, -and to the welfare of the young men, and of many others.’ - -In another passage he went further still: - -‘With respect to the letter itself, I have read it with some attention, -and, I am sorry to say, with extreme pain and regret. It appears to me -of a character so out of harmony with the whole constitution and system -of the college that I find some difficulty in understanding how a person -with such sentiments can reconcile it to himself to continue a member of -a society founded and conducted on principles from which he differs so -widely.’ - -The Heads of Houses of that day regarded themselves as seated upon an -academic Olympus, from whose serene heights they surveyed the common -herd beneath them with a sort of contemptuous pity; and they not only -exacted, but were commonly successful in obtaining, the most precise -obedience from their subjects. In Trinity College, however, at least -since the days of Dr Bentley, the Master had usually been in the habit -of consulting the Seniors before taking any important step; but, on this -occasion, it is quite clear that the Seniors were not consulted. The -Master probably thought that as he appointed the assistant-tutors he -could also remove them. We believe, however, that even in those days the -Master usually consulted the tutors before appointing their -subordinates; and common courtesy would have suggested a similar course -of action before dismissing a distinguished scholar[53]. - -Thirlwall lost no time in obeying the Master’s commands, and then issued -a circular to the Fellows of the college, enclosing a copy of the -Master’s letter, in order that they might learn what was ‘the power -claimed by the Master over the persons engaged in the public instruction -of the college, and the manner in which it has been exercised;’ and, -secondly, that he might learn from them how far they agreed with the -Master as to the propriety of his continuing a member of the Society. On -this point he entreated each of them to favour him with a ‘private, -explicit, and unreserved declaration’ of his opinions. It is needless to -say that one and all desired to retain him among them; and the Master’s -conduct was condemned by a large majority. It must not, however, be -supposed that Thirlwall’s own conduct was held to be free from fault. He -was much blamed for having resigned so hastily, without consulting any -one, as it would appear, except Whewell and Perry. Moreover, many of the -Fellows, among whom was Mr Hare, condemned the Master’s action, and -censured Thirlwall’s rashness in publishing such sentiments while -holding a responsible office, with almost equal severity. This feeling -explains, as we imagine, the very slight resistance made to an act -which, under any other circumstances, would have caused an explosion. -The Fellows felt that the victim had put himself in the wrong; and that, -much as they regretted the necessity of submission, it was the only -course to be taken. Thirlwall mentions in a letter to Professor Pryme -that when he showed the Masters communication to Whewell, the latter -‘expressed great regret,’ but ‘did not intimate that there could be any -doubt as to our connexion being at an end.’ - -It has often been said that Whewell did not exert himself as he might -have done to avert the catastrophe. We are glad to know, as we now do -most distinctly, from a letter written by him to Professor Sedgwick[54], -full of grief at what had happened, and of apprehension at its probable -consequences, that he had done all in his power to stay the Master’s -hand. He does not say, in so many words, that the Master had consulted -him _before_ he sent the letter; but he does say that ‘the Master’s -request to him (Mr Thirlwall) to resign the tuition I entirely -disapprove of, and expressed my opinion against it to the Master as -strongly as I could.’ If Thirlwall felt some resentment against Whewell -at first—as we believe he did—the feeling soon died away, and towards -the end of September he wrote him a long letter which ended with the -following passage: - -‘Besides the explanations which I desired, your letter has afforded me a -still higher satisfaction, in shewing me that I am indebted to you for -an obligation on which I shall always reflect with pleasure and -gratitude—in the attempt which you made to avert the evil which my -imprudence had drawn upon me. And as this is the strongest proof you -could have given of the desire you felt to continue the relation in -which we stood with one another, so it encourages me to hope that I may -still find opportunities, before I leave this place, of co-operating -with you, though in a different form, for the like ends. But at all -events I shall never cease to retain that esteem and regard with which I -now remain yours most truly, - - C. THIRLWALL[55].’ - -In reviewing the whole controversy at a distance of more than half a -century, with, we must admit, a strong bias in Thirlwall’s favour, it is -impossible not to admit that he had made a mistake. In all questions of -college management it is most important that the authorities should -appear, at any rate, to be unanimous; and the words ‘my imprudence,’ -which occur in the passage quoted above from his letter to Whewell, -indicate that by that time he had begun to take the same view himself. -It is easy to see how he had been drawn into an opposite course. He had -never considered that he had anything to do with the chapel discipline; -he had agreed to attend himself, but he did not consider that such -attendance implied approval of the system. His own attendance, as we -learn from a contemporary, was something more than formal; he was rarely -absent, morning or evening; and his behaviour was remarkable for -reverence and devotion. With him, religion had nothing to do with -discipline; and it was infinitely shocking to his pure and thoughtful -mind to defile things heavenly with things earthly. The far too rigorous -rules of attendance which were then in force had exasperated the -undergraduates, and their behaviour, without being absolutely profane, -was careless and irreverent. Talking was very prevalent, especially on -surplice nights, when the service is choral. Thirlwall probably knew, -from the friendly intercourse which he maintained with the younger -members of the College, what their feelings were, and determined to do -his best to get a system altered which produced such disastrous results. -It must be remembered that at that time the Act of Uniformity prevented -any shortening of the service. Whewell’s mind was a very different one. -Without being a bigot, he had a profound respect for the existing order -of things; shut his eyes to any defects it might have, even when they -were pointed out to him; and regarded attempts to subvert it, or even to -weaken it, as acts of profanity. - -It will be readily conceived that these events rendered Cambridge no -pleasant place of residence for Thirlwall, deprived of his occupation as -a teacher and unsupported by any particularly strong force of liberal -opinion in the University. Yet he had the courage to make the experiment -of continuing to live in college. He went abroad for the Long Vacation -of 1834, and returned at the beginning of the October term. In a few -weeks, however, the course of his life was changed by an unexpected -event. Lord Melbourne’s first Ministry broke up, and just as Lord -Chancellor Brougham was regretting that Sedgwick and Thirlwall were the -only clergymen who had deserved well of the Liberal party for whom he -had been unable to provide, came the news of the death of a gentleman -who was both canon of Norwich and rector of Kirby Underdale, a valuable -but very secluded living in Yorkshire. He at once offered the canonry to -Sedgwick and the rectory to Thirlwall. Both offers were accepted, we -believe, without hesitation; and both appointments, though evidently -made without regard to the special fitness of the persons selected, were -thoroughly successful. Sedgwick threw himself into the duties of a -cathedral dignitary with characteristic vigour; and Thirlwall, whose -only experience of parochial work had been at Over, in Cambridgeshire, a -small village without a parsonage, of which he was vicar for a few -months in 1829, became a zealous and popular parish priest. We are told -that ‘the recollection still survives of regular services with full and -attentive congregations, including incomers from neighbouring villages; -of the frequent visits to the village school; of the extempore prayers -with his flock, of which the larger number were Dissenters; of the -assiduous attentions to the sick and poor.’ And his old friend Hare, -writing to Whewell in 1840, describes his work in his parish as -‘perfect,’ and holds up his example as ‘an encouragement’ to his -correspondent to go and do likewise[56]. - -Thirlwall did not revisit Cambridge until 1842, when he stayed in -Trinity College for two days during the installation of the Duke of -Northumberland as Chancellor. Such an occasion, however, does not give -much opportunity for judging of the real state of the University. He -paid a similar visit in 1847, when Prince Albert was installed. After -this he did not see Cambridge again until the spring of 1869, when he -stayed at Trinity Lodge with his old friend Dr Thompson, and on -Whitsunday, May 16, preached before the University in Great S. Mary’s -Church. He has himself recorded that he was never so much pleased with -the place since he went up as a freshman, and has given an amusing -description of a leisurely stroll round the backs of the colleges and -through part of the town[57], which, he might have added, he insisted -upon taking without a companion. Those who conversed with him on that -occasion remember that he was much struck by the changes which had taken -place in the University since he had left it; and that he observed with -pleasure the increased numbers of the undergraduates, and the movement -and activity which seemed to reign everywhere. - -It was at Kirby Underdale that Thirlwall wrote the greater part of the -work on which his reputation as a scholar and a man of letters will -chiefly rest—his _History of Greece_—of which the first volume had been -published before he finally left Cambridge[58]. It is, perhaps, -fortunate for the world that he had bound himself to produce the volumes -at regular intervals[59], and that his editor, Dr Dionysius Lardner -(whom he used to call ‘Dionysius the Tyrant’), was not a man to grant -delays; for, had the conditions been easier, parochial cares and new -interests might have retarded the production of it indefinitely, or even -stopped it altogether. From the first Thirlwall had applied himself to -the work with strenuous and unremitting energy. At Cambridge he used to -work all day until half-past three o’clock in the afternoon, when he -might be seen leaving his rooms for a half-hour’s rapid walk before -dinner in Hall, then served at four o’clock; and in the country he is -said to have spent sixteen hours of the twenty-four in his study. We do -not know what was the original design of the work, as part of the -_Cabinet Cyclopædia_, but we have it on Thirlwall’s own authority that -it was ‘much narrower than that which it actually reached[60],’ and -before long it was further expanded into eight goodly octavos. The first -of these was scarcely in the hands of the public when Grote’s _History -of Greece_, published, like its predecessor, volume by volume, began to -make its appearance. It was mentioned above that Grote and Thirlwall had -been school-fellows; but, though they met not unfrequently in London -afterwards, Thirlwall knew so little of his friend’s intentions that he -had been heard to say, ‘Grote is the man who ought to write the History -of Greece.’ When it did appear, he at once welcomed it with enthusiasm. -‘High as my expectations were of it,’ he writes to Dr Schmitz, ‘it has -very much surpassed them all, and affords an earnest of something which -has never been done for the subject either in our own or any other -literature[61]’; and to Grote himself, when the publication of four -volumes had enabled him to form a maturer judgment, he not only used -stronger words of praise, but contrasted it with his own History in -terms which for generosity and sincerity can never be surpassed. After -alluding to ‘the great inferiority’ of his ‘own performance,’ he -concludes as follows: ‘I may well be satisfied with that measure of -temporary success and usefulness which has attended it, and can -unfeignedly rejoice that it will, for all highest purposes, be so -superseded[62].’ It would be beside our present purpose to attempt a -comparison of the relative merits of these two works, which, by a -curious coincidence, had been elaborated simultaneously. They have many -points of resemblance. Both originated in a desire to apply to the -history of Greece those principles of criticism which Niebuhr had -applied so successfully to the history of Rome; both were intended to -counteract the misrepresentations of Mitford; both were the result of -long and careful preparation. Grote has a decided advantage in point of -style; he writes vigorous, ‘newspaper’ English, as might be expected -from a successful pamphleteer; while Thirlwall’s periods are laboured -and somewhat wooden. Grote has infused animation into his work by being -always a partisan. We do not mean that he wilfully misrepresents facts; -he certainly does not; but he unconsciously finds ‘extenuating -circumstances’ for those with whom he sympathizes, and condemns -remorselessly those whose springs of action are alien to his own. -Thirlwall, on the contrary, holds the judicial balance with a firm hand. -In estimating character his serene intellect is never warped by -partisanship, or by a wish to present old facts under a new face; while -from his scholarship and critical power there is no appeal. - -After a residence of five years at Kirby Underdale Thirlwall was -unexpectedly made Bishop of S. David’s by Lord Melbourne. Lord Houghton, -an intimate friend of both the Bishop and the Minister, has recorded -that Lord Melbourne was in the habit not merely of reading, but of -severely judging and criticising the writings of every divine whom he -thought of promoting. By some accident the translation of -Schleiermacher’s essay had fallen in his way soon after it appeared; he -had formed a high opinion of Thirlwall’s share in the work, and so far -back as 1837 had done his best to send the author to Norwich instead of -Dr Stanley. On this occasion the bishops whom the Minister consulted -regarded the orthodoxy of the views sustained in the essay as -questionable, and Thirlwall’s promotion was deferred. In 1840, however, -Lord Melbourne got his way, and the bishopric of S. David’s was offered -in due form to the Rector of Kirby Underdale. His first impulse was to -refuse; but his friends persuaded him to go to London, and at least have -an interview with Lord Melbourne. We do not vouch for the literal -accuracy of the following scene, but it is too amusing not to be -related. The time is the forenoon; the place, Lord Melbourne’s bedroom. -He is supposed to be in bed, surrounded by letters and newspapers. On -Thirlwall’s entrance he delivers the following allocution: - -‘Very glad to see you; sit down, sit down. Hope you are come to say you -accept? I only wish you to understand that I don’t intend, if I know it, -to make a heterodox bishop. I don’t like heterodox bishops. As men they -may be very good anywhere else, but I think they have no business on the -bench. I take great interest,’ he continued, ‘in theological questions, -and I have read a good deal of those old fellows,’ pointing to a pile of -folio editions of the Fathers. ‘They are excellent reading, and very -amusing. Some time or other we must have a talk about them. I sent your -edition of Schleiermacher to Lambeth, and asked the Primate (Howley) to -tell me candidly what he thought of it; and look, here are his notes in -the margin. Pretty copious, you see. He does not concur in all your -opinions, but he says there is nothing heterodox in your book. Had he -objected I would not have appointed you[63].’ - -We should like to know how Thirlwall answered this strange defender of -the faith; but tradition is silent on the point. Before leaving, -however, the offer was accepted; and, with as little delay as possible, -the Bishop removed to his diocese and entered upon his duties. - -Thirlwall’s life as a bishop did not differ much, at least in its -outward surroundings, from his life as a parish clergyman. The palace at -S. David’s having been allowed to fall to ruin, the Bishop is compelled -to live at Abergwili, a small village near Carmarthen, distant nearly -fifty miles from his cathedral. Most persons would have regretted the -isolation of such a position, but to Thirlwall the enforced solitude of -Abergwili was thoroughly congenial. There he could read, as he delighted -to do, ‘literally from morning till night.’ Except in summer time he -rarely quitted ‘Chaos,’ as he called his library, where books lined the -walls and shared with papers and letters the tables, chairs, and floor. -It is curious that a man with so orderly a mind should have had such -disorderly habits. His letters are full of references to lost papers; -and when offers to arrange his drawers were made he would answer -regretfully, ‘I can find nothing in them now, but if they were set to -rights for me I should certainly find nothing then.’ Books accompanied -him to his meals; and when he went out for a walk or a drive he read -steadily most of the time. He does not seem to have had any favourite -authors; he read eagerly new books in all languages and on all subjects. -We believe that he took no notes of what he read; but his singularly -powerful memory enabled him to seize all that he wanted, and, as may be -seen from the collection of his writings which is now before us, to -retain it until required for use. His charges, essays, and serious -correspondence reveal his mastery of theological literature, both past -and present; the charming _Letters to a Friend_ give us very pleasant -glimpses of the gentler side of his character. We find from them that he -took a keen interest in the general literature of England and the -Continent, whether in philosophy, science, history, biography, fiction, -poetry; and, as he and his young correspondent exchanged their -sentiments without restraint, we can enjoy to the full his criticisms, -now serious, now playful, on authors and their productions, his generous -appreciation of all that is noble in life or art. We must find room for -one passage on George Eliot’s last story, written in 1872, when he was -seventy-five years old. - -‘I suppose you cannot have read _Middlemarch_, as you say nothing about -it. It stands quite alone. As one only just moistens one’s lips with an -exquisite liqueur to keep the taste as long as possible in one’s mouth, -I never read more than a single chapter of _Middlemarch_ in the evening, -dreading to come to the last, when I must wait two months for a renewal -of the pleasure. The depth of humour has certainly never been surpassed -in English literature. If there is ever a shade too much learning that -is Lewes’s fault[64].’ - -But there was another reason for his enjoyment of Abergwili. Student as -he was, he delighted in the sights, the sounds, the air of the country. -He never left it for his annual migration to London without regret, -partly because it was so troublesome to move the mass of books without -which he could not bear to leave home, but still more because the bustle -and dust of London annoyed him; and in the midst of congenial society, -and the enjoyment of music and pictures, his thoughts reverted with -longing regret to his trees, his flowers, and his domestic pets. He had -begun his social relations with dogs and cats in Yorkshire, and an -amusing story is told of the way in which the preparations for his -formal reception when he came home after accepting the bishopric of S. -David’s, were completely disconcerted by the riotous welcome of his -dogs, who jumped on his shoulders and excluded all human attentions[65]. -At Abergwili he extended his affections to birds, and kept peacocks, -pheasants, canaries, swans, and tame geese, which he regularly fed every -morning, no matter what the weather might be. They treated him with easy -familiarity, for they used to seize his coattails with their beaks to -show their welcome. His flowers had to yield to the tastes of his -four-footed friends. One day his gardener complained, ‘What am I to do, -my Lord? The hares have eaten your carnations.’ ‘Plant more carnations,’ -was his only reply. Fine summer weather would draw him out of ‘Chaos’ -into the field or garden; and one of his letters gives a delicious -picture of his enjoyment of a certain June, sitting on the grass while -the haymakers were at work in the field beyond, reading _The Earthly -Paradise_, and watching the movements of ‘a dear horse’ who paced up and -down with a ‘system of hay rakes behind him to toss it about and -accelerate its maturity[66].’ - -It must not, however, be supposed that Bishop Thirlwall lived the life -of an indolent man of letters. No bishop ever performed the duties of -his position more thoroughly, or with greater sacrifice of personal ease -and comfort. His first care was to learn Welsh, and in a little more -than a year he could read prayers and preach in that language. In his -large and little-known diocese locomotion was not easy, and -accommodation was often hard to obtain. Yet he visited every part of it, -personally inspected the condition of the schools and churches -(deplorable enough in 1840), and regularly performed the duties of -confirmation, preaching, and visitation. In the charge of 1866 he -reviewed the improvements which had been accomplished up to that time, -and could mention 183 churches to the restoration of which the Church -Building Society had made grants, and more than thirty parishes in which -either new or restored churches were in progress. Besides these, there -were some which had been restored by private munificence; others, -including the cathedral, by public subscription; many parsonages had -been built, livings had been augmented, and education had been largely -increased[67]. To all these excellent objects he had himself been a -munificent contributor, and we believe that between the beginning and -the end of his episcopate he had spent nearly £40,000 in charities of -various kinds[68]. Yet with all these claims on the gratitude of the -clergy we are sorry to have to admit that he was not personally popular. -It would have been more wonderful perhaps had he been so. The Welsh -clergy forty years ago were a rough and uncultivated body of men, -narrow-minded and prejudiced, and with habits hardly more civilized than -those of the labourers around them. They were ill at ease with an -English man of letters. He was to them an object of curiosity, possibly -of dread. The new Bishop intimated his wish that the clergy should come -to his house without restraint, and when there should be treated as -gentlemen and equals. This was of itself an innovation. In his -predecessor’s time when a clergyman called at Abergwili he entered by -the back door, and if he stayed to dinner he took that meal in the -housekeeper’s room with the upper servants. Thirlwall abolished these -customs, and entertained the clergy at his own table. This was excellent -in intention, but impossible in practice. The difference in tastes, -feelings, manners, between the entertainer and the entertained made -social intercourse equally disagreeable to both parties; and the Bishop -felt obliged to substitute correspondence for visits, so far as he -could, reserving personal intercourse for the archdeacons, or those -clergymen whose education enabled them to appreciate his friendship[69]. -Again, the peculiar tone of his mind must be remembered. He was nothing -if not critical; and, further, as one of his oldest friends once said in -our hearing, ‘he was the most thoroughly veracious man I ever knew.’ He -could not listen to a hasty, ill-considered, remark without taking it to -pieces, and demonstrating, by successive questions, put in a slow, -deliberate tone of voice, the fallacy of the separate parts of the -proposition, and, by consequence, of the whole. Hence he was feared and -respected rather than beloved; and those who ought to have been proud of -having such a man among them wreaked their small spite against him by -accusing him of being inhospitable, of walking out attended by a dog -trained to know and bite a curate, and the like. These slanders, of -which we hope he was unconscious, he could not answer; those who -attacked him in public he could and did crush with an accuracy of -exposition, and a power of sarcasm, for which it would be hard to find a -parallel. We need only refer to his answers to Sir Benjamin Hall, M.P. -for Marylebone, on the general question of the condition of the churches -in his diocese, appended to his charge for 1851, and on the special case -of the Collegiate Church of Brecon, in two letters to the Archbishop of -Canterbury; or to the _Letter to the Rev. Rowland Williams_, published -in 1860. Mr Williams had published some sermons, entitled _Rational -Godliness_, the supposed heterodoxy of which had alarmed the clergy of -his diocese, seventy of whom had signed a memorial to the Bishop, -praying him to take some notice of the book; in other words, to remove -the author from the college at Lampeter, of which he was vice-principal. -The Bishop had declined to interfere, and in his charge of 1857 had -discussed the question at length, considering it, as was his manner, -from all points of view, and, while he found much to blame, defending -the author’s intentions, on the ground of the high opinion of his -personal character which he himself held. This, however, did not satisfy -Mr Williams. We cannot help suspecting that he was longing for a -martyr’s crown; and, indignant at not having obtained one, he addressed -the Bishop at great length in what he called _An Earnestly Respectful -Letter on the Difficulty of bringing Theological Questions to an Issue_. -He described the charge as ‘a miracle of cleverness,’ but deplored its -indefiniteness; he drew a picture of ‘a preacher in our wild mountains’ -who came to seek counsel from his bishop and got only evasive -answers—‘in all helps for our guidance Abergwili may equal Delphi in -wisdom, but also in ambiguity[70]’—and entreated the Bishop to declare -plainly his own opinion on the questions raised. For once Bishop -Thirlwall’s serenity was fairly ruffled. Stung by the ingratitude of a -man whom he had steadily befriended, and whose aim was, as he thought, -to draw him into admissions damaging to himself, he struck with all his -might and main, and, as was said at the time, ‘you may hear every bone -in his adversary’s body cracking.’ One specimen of the remarkable power -of his reply must suffice. On the comparison of himself to the Delphic -oracle he remarked: - -‘Even if I had laid claim to oracular wisdom I should have thought this -complaint rather unreasonable; for the oracle at Delphi, though it -pretended to divine infallibility, was used to wait for a question -before it gave a response. But I wish above all things to be sure as to -the person with whom I have to do. I remember to have read of one who -went to the oracle at Delphi, “ex industriâ factus ad imitationem -stultitiæ”; and I cannot help suspecting that I have before me one who -has put on a similar disguise. The voice does not sound to me like that -of a “mountain clergyman”; while I look at the roll I seem to recognize -a very different and well-known hand. The “difficulties” are very unlike -the expression of an embarrassment which has been really felt, but might -have been invented in the hope of creating one. They are quite worthy of -the mastery which you have attained in the art of putting questions, so -as most effectually to prevent the possibility of an answer[71].’ - -But if Thirlwall’s great merits were not fully appreciated in his own -diocese, there was no lack of recognition of them in the Church at -large. His seclusion at Abergwili largely increased his influence. It -was known that he thought out questions for himself, without consulting -his episcopal brethren or his friends, and without being influenced in -any way, as even the most conscientious men must be, in despite of -themselves, by the opinions which they hear expressed in society. Hence -his utterances came to be accepted as the decisions of a judge; of one -who, standing on an eminence, could take ‘an oversight of the whole -field of ecclesiastical events[72],’ and from that commanding position -could distinguish what was of permanent importance from that which -possessed a merely controversial interest as a vexed question of the -day. We have spoken of the advantages which he derived from his secluded -life; it must be admitted that it had also certain disadvantages. The -freshness and originality of his opinions, the judicial tone of his -independent decisions, gave them a permanent value; but his want of -knowledge of the opinions of those from whom he could not wholly -dissociate himself, and, we may add, his indifference to them, caused -him to be not unfrequently misunderstood, and to be charged with holding -views not far removed from heresy. ‘I will not call him an unbeliever, -but a misbeliever,’ said a very orthodox bishop, whose love of epigram -occasionally got the better of his charity. His brother bishops, like -the Welsh clergy, feared him more than they loved him; they knew his -value as an ally, but they knew also that he would never, under any -circumstances, become a partisan, or adopt a view which he could not -wholly approve, merely because it seemed good to his Order to exhibit -unanimity. It was probably for this reason, as much as for his eloquence -and power, that he had the ear of the House of Lords on the rare -occasions when he addressed it. The Peers knew that they were listening -to a man who had the fullest sense of the responsibilities of the -episcopate, but who would neither defend nor oppose a measure because -‘the proprieties’ indicated the side on which a bishop would be expected -to vote. Two only of his speeches are republished in the collection -before us—on the Civil Disabilities of the Jews (1848), and on the -Disestablishment of the Irish Church (1869). We should like to have had -added to these that on the grant to the Roman Catholic College of -Maynooth (1845), which seems to us to be equally worth preserving. On -these occasions Bishop Thirlwall took the unpopular side at periods of -great excitement; his arguments were listened to with the utmost -attention; and in the case of the Irish Church it has been stated that -no speech had a greater effect in favour of the measure than his. - -In all Church matters he was a thorough Liberal. His view of the Church -of England cannot be better stated than by quoting a passage from one of -his _Letters to a Friend_. He had been reading Mr Robertson’s sermons; -and after saying that their author was specially recommended to him by -the hostility of the _Record_, ‘which I consider as a proof of some -excellence in every one who is its object,’ he thus proceeds: - -‘He was certainly not orthodox after the _Record_ standard, but might -very well be so after another. For our Church has the advantage—such I -deem it—of more than one type of orthodoxy: that of the High Church, -grounded on one aspect of its formularies; that of the Low Church, -grounded on another aspect; and that of the Broad Church, striving to -take in both, but in its own way. Each has a right to a standing-place, -none to exclusive possession of the field. Of course this is very -unsatisfactory to the bigots of each party—at the two extremes. Some -would be glad to cast the others out; and some yearn after a Living -Source of Orthodoxy, of course on the condition that it sanctions their -own views. To have escaped that worst of evils ought, I think, to -console every rational Churchman for whatever he finds amiss at -home.’[73] - -Had the Bishop added that he wished each of these parties to have fair -play, but that none should be exalted at the expense of the others, we -should have had a summary of the principles which regulated his public -life. Let it not, however, be supposed that he was an indifferent -looker-on. He held that truth had many sides; that it might be viewed in -different ways by persons standing in different positions; but still it -was to him clear, and definite, and based upon a rock which no human -assailant could shake. This, we think, is the keynote which is struck in -every one of those eleven most remarkable Charges which are now for the -first time collected together. We would earnestly commend them to the -study of all who are interested in the history of the Church of England -during the period which they cover. Every controversy which agitated -her, every measure which affected her welfare, is discussed by a master; -the real question at issue is carefully pointed out; the trivial is -distinguished from the important; moderation and charity are insisted -upon; angry passions are allayed; and, while the liberty of the -individual is perpetually asserted, the duty of maintaining her -doctrines is strenuously inculcated. As illustrations of some of these -characteristics we would contrast his exhaustive analysis of the -Tractarian movement or the Gorham controversy, with his conduct -respecting _Essays and Reviews_. In the former cases he hesitated to -condemn; he preferred to allay the terror with which his clergy were -evidently inspired. In the latter, though always ‘decidedly opposed to -any attempt to narrow the freedom which the law allows to every -clergyman of the Church of England in the expression of his opinion on -theological subjects,’ he joined his brother bishops in signing the -famous ‘Encyclical,’ which we now know was the composition of Bishop -Wilberforce, because he thought that in this case the principles -advocated led to a negation of Christianity. - -Thirlwall’s position towards theological questions has been called -‘indefinable[74].’ In a certain sense this statement is no doubt true. -It was quite impossible to label him as of this or that party or -faction; or to predict with any approach to certainty what he would do -or say on any particular occasion. He had no enthusiasm (in the ordinary -sense of the word) and no sentiment, and therefore, when a question was -submitted to him, he did not decide it in the light of previous -prejudices, or welcome it as a point gained towards some cherished end. -He considered it as if it were the only question in the world at that -moment, and as if he had never heard of it, or anything like it, before; -he looked all round it, and balanced the arguments for and against it -with the accuracy of a man of science in a laboratory. As a result of -this process he frequently came to no resolution at all, and frankly -told his correspondent that he would leave the matter referred to him to -the decision of others. But, if what he held to be truth was assailed, -or the conduct of an individual unjustly called in question, Thirlwall’s -hesitation vanished. We have already mentioned his conduct in the House -of Lords; but it should never be forgotten that he was one of the four -Bishops who dissented from the resolution to inhibit Bishop Colenso from -preaching in the various dioceses of England; and that he stood alone in -withholding his signature from the address requesting him to resign his -see. Again, when Mr J. S. Mill was a candidate for Westminster in 1865, -and his opponents circulated on a placard some lines from his -_Examination of Sir W. Hamilton’s Philosophy_ intended to shock the -minds of the electors as irreverent if not blasphemous,—a proceeding -which was eagerly followed up by the _Record_ and the _Morning -Advertiser_ in leading articles—Thirlwall at once wrote to the -_Spectator_, maintaining that this passage contained “the utterance of a -conviction in harmony with ‘the purest spirit of Christian morality’; -that nothing but ‘an intellectual and moral incapacity worthy of the -‘Record’ and its satellite could have failed to recognise its truth’; -and that it ‘thrilled’ him ‘with a sense of the ethical sublime’[75].” - -There were many other duties besides the care of the diocese of S. -David’s to which the Bishop devoted himself, but these we must dismiss -with a passing notice. We allude to his work as a member of the Ritual -Commission, as chairman of the Old Testament Revision Company, and in -Convocation. Gradually, however, as years advanced, his physical powers -began to fail, and he resolved to resign his bishopric. This resolution -was carried into effect in 1874. He retired to Bath, where he was still -able to continue many of his old pursuits, and, by the help of his -nephew and his family, notwithstanding blindness and deafness, to -maintain his old interests. He died rather suddenly, July 27, 1875, and -was buried in Westminster Abbey, where, by a singularly felicitous -arrangement, his remains were laid in the same grave as those of George -Grote. - -Regret has been often expressed that Bishop Thirlwall did not write -more. We do not share this feeling. Had he written more he would have -thought less, studied less, possessed in a less perfect degree that -‘_cor sapiens et intelligens ad discernendum judicium_[76]’ which was -never weary of trying to impart to others a portion of its own serenity. -At seventy-six years of age, just before his resignation, he could say, -‘I should hesitate to say that whatever is is best; but I have strong -faith that it is _for_ the best, and that the general stream of tendency -is toward good’; and in the last sentence of his last charge he bade his -clergy remark that even controversies were ‘a sign of the love of truth -which, if often passionate and one-sided, is always infinitely -preferable to the quiet of apathy and indifference.’ - ------ - -Footnote 1: - - 1. _William Whewell, D.D., Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. An - Account of his Writings, with Selections from his Literary and - Scientific Correspondence._ By I. TODHUNTER, M.A., F.R.S., Honorary - Fellow of S. John’s College. 2 vols., 8vo. (London, 1876.) - - 2. _The Life and Selections from the Correspondence of William - Whewell, D.D., late Master of Trinity College, Cambridge._ By Mrs - STAIR DOUGLAS. 8vo. (London, 1881.) - -Footnote 2: - - In the fifteen years from 1800-1814 inclusive the average was 205; - from 1815-1829 it was 402; and from 1830-1844 it was 433; from - 1845-1859 it was 444; from 1859-1874 it was 545. - -Footnote 3: - - Todhunter’s _Life_, ii. 91. - -Footnote 4: - - _Life and Letters of Sir C. Lyell_, ii. 38. In the same letter he - expresses his astonishment at finding that Whewell, while writing one - of his papers on the Tides, was passing through the press _four other - works_. - -Footnote 5: - - The inscription runs: munificentia · fultus · Alex. J. B. Hope, - generosi · hisce · ædibus · antiquam · speciem · restituit. W. - Whewell. Mag. Collegii. A. D. MDCCCXLIII. Mr Hope gave £1000, and the - Master himself £250; but the liberality of the College, which spent - some £4000 before the work was finished, is unrecorded. It was on this - occasion that somebody wrote a parody on _The House that Jack Built_, - beginning: - - This is the House that Hope built. - This is the Master, rude and rough, - Who lives in the House that Hope built. - These are the Seniors, greedy and gruff, - Who toady the Master, rude and rough, - Who lives in the House that Hope built. - -Footnote 6: - - The _Times_, February 25 and 26, 1847. Mrs Stair Douglas, p. 285, - prints a letter from Archdeacon Hare, who had been disturbed by - reports of the Vice-Chancellor’s vehemence. - -Footnote 7: - - The visit of Queen Victoria to the University in 1843. - -Footnote 8: - - _A Letter to the Rev. W. Whewell, B.D., Master of Trinity College, - etc. By an Undergraduate._ 8vo. London, 1843. - -Footnote 9: - - _The Victory of Faith, and other Sermons._ By J. C. Hare, M. A. 8vo. - Cambridge, 1840, p. x. - -Footnote 10: - - Mrs Stair Douglas, p. 216. - -Footnote 11: - - Dr Lightfoot’s Sermon, preached in the College Chapel on Sunday, March - 18, 1866. - -Footnote 12: - - They appeared in _Punch_ for March 17, 1866. - -Footnote 13: - - The letter is dated 30 October, 1857. - -Footnote 14: - - Mrs Stair Douglas, p. 208. - -Footnote 15: - - Memoir by Sir John Herschel, _Proceedings of Royal Society_, XVI., p. - lvi. - -Footnote 16: - - Bishop Goodwin’s article in _Macmillan’s Magazine_ for December, 1881, - p. 140. - -Footnote 17: - - We are not sure that he ever allowed the _Origin of Species_ to be - admitted into the College Library. It was certainly refused more than - once, being probably dismissed with the expression which he was fond - of using when, as Chairman of the Seniority, he read the list of books - proposed—‘a worthless publication.’ - -Footnote 18: - - 1. _Remains, Literary and Theological, of Connop Thirlwall, late Lord - Bishop of S. David’s._ Edited by J. J. STEWART PEROWNE, D.D. Vol. 1: - Charges delivered between the years 1842 and 1860. Vol. 2: Charges - delivered between the years 1863 and 1872. 8vo. (London, 1877.) - - 2. _Essays, Speeches, and Sermons._ By CONNOP THIRLWALL, D.D., late - Lord Bishop of S. David’s. Edited by J. J. STEWART PEROWNE, D.D. 8vo. - (London, 1880.) - - 3. _Letters to a Friend._ By CONNOP THIRLWALL, late Lord Bishop of S. - David’s. Edited by the Very Rev. ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, D.D. 8vo. - (London, 1881.) - - 4. _Letters, Literary and Theological, of Connop Thirlwall, late Lord - Bishop of S. David’s._ Edited by the Very Rev. J. J. STEWART PEROWNE, - D.D., Dean of Peterborough, and the Rev. LOUIS STOKES, B.A. Corpus - Christi College, Cambridge. With Annotations and Preliminary Memoirs - by the Rev. LOUIS STOKES. 8vo. (London, 1881.) - - 5. _Letters to a Friend._ New Edition. (London, 1882.) - -Footnote 19: - - Dr Perowne’s Preface to _Letters_, &c., p. vi. - -Footnote 20: - - _Letters_, &c., p. 177. - -Footnote 21: - - _Primitiæ_, p. 52. The essay is endorsed: ‘Composed 1st January, 1806. - Eight years old.’ - -Footnote 22: - - _Primitiæ_, p. 224. The piece is dated October 28, 1808. - -Footnote 23: - - _Letters to a Friend_, p. 155. As a matter of fact the Bishop did buy - and destroy all the copies that he could. - -Footnote 24: - - Dean Perowne mentions (Preface, p. viii.) that ‘at school he did not - care to enter into the games and amusements of the other boys, but was - to be seen at play-hour withdrawing himself into some corner with a - pile of books under his arm.’ - -Footnote 25: - - Candler was seven years older than Thirlwall. He was junior assistant - in a draper’s shop at Ipswich, and afterwards set up in business on - his own account at Chelmsford, where he became a leading member of the - Society of Friends. He died, nearly eighty years of age, in 1872. We - have not been able to ascertain how he became acquainted with - Thirlwall. - -Footnote 26: - - _Letters_, &c., p. 7. - -Footnote 27: - - _Letters_, &c., p. 17. - -Footnote 28: - - _Ibid._ p. 8. - -Footnote 29: - - _Letters to a Friend_, p. 225. - -Footnote 30: - - _Letters_, &c., p. 21. The letter is dated December, 1813, when the - writer was sixteen years old. - -Footnote 31: - - Professor Monk, who had examined Thirlwall on one of these occasions, - was so much struck with the vigour and accuracy of his translations - that he remarked to a friend, who had also had experience of his worth - as a scholar, ‘Had I been sitting in my library, with unlimited access - to books, I could not have done better.’ ‘Nor so well,’ was the reply. - -Footnote 32: - - Cooper’s _Annals of the Town and University of Cambridge_, iv. 516. - The words between inverted commas in our text are from a pamphlet - entitled ‘A Statement regarding the Union, an Academical Debating - Society, which existed at Cambridge from February 13, 1815, to March - 24, 1817, when it was _suppressed by the Vice-Chancellor_.’ The - ‘statement’ is evidently official, and is thoroughly business-like and - temperate. The Vice-Chancellor was Dr Wood, Master of S. John’s - College; the officers of the society were: Mr Whewell, _President_; Mr - Thirlwall, _Secretary_; Mr H. J. Rose, _Treasurer_. The late Professor - Selwyn, in a speech at the opening of the new Union building, October - 30, 1866, stated that on the entrance of the proctors the President - said, ‘Strangers will please to withdraw, and the House will take the - message into consideration.’ - -Footnote 33: - - _Autobiography of John Stuart Mill_, p. 125. Mill is describing a - debate at ‘a society of Owenites called the Co-operation Society,’ in - 1825. ‘It was a _lutte corps à corps_ between Owenites and political - economists, whom the Owenites regarded as their most inveterate - opponents; but it was a perfectly friendly dispute.... The speaker - with whom I was most struck, though I dissented from nearly every word - he said, was Thirlwall, the historian, since Bishop of S. David’s, - then a Chancery barrister, unknown except by a high reputation for - eloquence acquired at the Cambridge Union before the era of Austin and - Macaulay. His speech was in answer to one of mine. Before he had - uttered ten sentences, I set him down as the best speaker I had ever - heard, and I have never since heard anyone whom I placed above him.’ - -Footnote 34: - - _Letters_, &c., p. 31. - -Footnote 35: - - An old friend of Bishop Thirlwall informs us that he retained his - preference for the ‘Paradiso’ in after years. - -Footnote 36: - - _Life and Letters of Frances Baroness Bunsen_; by Augustus J. C. Hare. - 8vo. Lond. 1882: i. 138. - -Footnote 37: - - Letter to Bunsen, November 21, 1831, _Letters_, &c., p. 99. - -Footnote 38: - - _Memoirs of Baron Bunsen_, i. 339. - -Footnote 39: - - Marsh was professor from 1807 to 1839. The first volume of his - translation of Michaelis had appeared in 1793. - -Footnote 40: - - _Letters_, &c., p. 55. - -Footnote 41: - - _Edinburgh Review_, April, 1876, p. 291. - -Footnote 42: - - _A Critical Essay on the Gospel of S. Luke._ By Dr Frederick - Schleiermacher. With an introduction by the Translator, containing an - account of the controversy respecting the origin of the first three - Gospels since Bishop Marsh’s dissertation. 8vo. London: 1825. - -Footnote 43: - - F. D. Maurice writes, 25 February, 1848: ‘The Bishop of S. David’s - very injudiciously translated, about twenty years ago, - Schleiermacher’s book on S. Luke—the one of all, perhaps, which he - ever wrote the most likely to offend religious people in England, and - so mislead them as to his real character and objects.’ _Life of F. D. - Maurice_, i. 454. - -Footnote 44: - - Between 1827 and 1832 he held the college offices of Junior Bursar, - Junior Dean, and Head Lecturer. In 1828, 1829, 1832, and 1834 he was - one of the examiners for the Classical Tripos. - -Footnote 45: - - See Dean Stanley’s Memoir of Archdeacon Hare, prefixed to the third - edition of _The Victory of Faith_. 1874. - -Footnote 46: - - _A Vindication of Niebuhr’s ‘History of Rome’ from the Charges of the - ‘Quarterly Review.’_ By Julius Charles Hare, M.A. Cambridge, 1829. The - passage commented on will be found in the _Quarterly Review_ for - January 1829 (vol. xxxix. p. 8). The first edition of Niebuhr’s own - work had been highly praised in an article in the same _Review_ for - June 1825 (vol. xxxii. p. 67). - -Footnote 47: - - On the Life of Dr Whewell, printed above. It was originally called - ‘Half a Century of Cambridge Life,’ and appeared in the _Church - Quarterly Review_, April 1882. - -Footnote 48: - - The _Caput Senatus_ consisted of five persons, viz. a Doctor of - Divinity, a Doctor of Laws, a Doctor of Physic, a non-regent Master, - and a regent Master. These persons held office for a year. They were - elected by the votes of the Heads of Colleges, the Doctors in all - faculties, and the Scrutators. Each member had the right to veto any - proposal of which he disapproved. The _Caput Senatus_ was established - by the Statutes of Elizabeth, 1570, Cap. xli, and abolished by the - University Act, 1856. - -Footnote 49: - - The first petition was presented to the House of Lords on March 21, - 1834; the protest is dated April 3; and the counter-petition was - presented on April 21 in the same year. - -Footnote 50: - - _A Letter_ etc., p. 20. - -Footnote 51: - - _A Letter_ etc., pp. 21, 22. - -Footnote 52: - - When the ‘Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Undergraduates’ - tabulated the weekly attendance of the Fellows at Chapel in the Lent - Term of 1838, and finally published a list, like the class list at the - end of an examination, Whewell was placed in the middle of the second - class, having obtained only 34 marks. The Deans, being obliged, in - virtue of their office, to attend twice daily, were disqualified from - obtaining the prize—a Bible—which the Society gave to Mr Perry, - afterwards Bishop of Melbourne, who had obtained 66 marks. - -Footnote 53: - - It has been said that the Master was advised to take the course he did - by Mr Hugh James Rose, who was in the University at the time, and on - Whitsunday, May 18, had preached a sermon at Great S. Mary’s on the - ‘Duty of Maintaining the Truth,’ from S. Matt. x. 27: ‘What ye hear in - the ear, that preach ye upon the house-tops.’ Thirlwall’s letter, - however, was not published before May 21, so that, unless the nature - of it had been known beforehand, it is clear that anything which Mr - Rose had said in his sermon could not have referred to it. That - Thirlwall believed that there was some connexion between the sermon, - or at any rate the preacher, and his dismissal, is evident from the - fact that after showing the Master’s letter to one of the junior - Fellows, who expressed indignant surprise that such a course could - have been taken, he remarked: ‘Ah! let this be a warning to you to - preach truth, if need be, upon the house-tops, but never under any - circumstances to preach error.’ Thirlwall was a regular attendant at - Great S. Mary’s, and no doubt heard the sermon in question. - -Footnote 54: - - The letter, dated 27 May, 1834, is printed by Mrs Stair Douglas, _Life - of Dr Whewell_, p. 163. - -Footnote 55: - - The letter, dated 23 September 1834, is printed in _Letters of Bishop - Thirlwall_, p. 124; and by Mrs Stair Douglas, _Life of Dr Whewell_, p. - 168. Dr Wordsworth’s action was noticed with disapproval beyond the - limits of Trinity College, for Professor Babington records in his - Diary: - - _Nov. 17 [1834]\._ Attended a meeting at Mr Bowstead’s rooms at - Corpus, to vote an address to Mr Connop Thirlwall expressive of our - sorrow at his being prevented from acting as tutor, and of our - disapprobation of the discussion of things not forming part of the - duties of tuition being made a cause for depriving a tutor of his - office. - - _Nov. 29._ A meeting was called for 28th to take into consideration - the address to Thirlwall. Laing, Henslow, and I supposed that it was - this day, and went, and found that the meeting was over and the - address, much to our sorrow burnt. (_Memorials, etc. of Charles - Cardale Babington_, 8vo. Camb. 1897, p. 33). Professor Mayor (_Ibid._ - 265) conjectures, with much probability, that the address was - destroyed at Thirlwall’s own suggestion. It is curious that his - friends should have deferred their action for so many months. - -Footnote 56: - - _Life of Dr Whewell_, by Mrs Stair Douglas, p. 211. - -Footnote 57: - - _Letters to a Friend_, p. 191. - -Footnote 58: - - The preface to the first edition of vol. i. is dated ‘Trinity College, - June 12, 1835.’ He was instituted to Kirby Underdale, 13 February, - 1835 (_Letters_, p. 136), but he did not take up his residence there - till July following (_Ibid._ p. 137). The dates of the subsequent - volumes are ii. iii., 1836; iv., 1837; v., 1838; vi., 1839; vii., - 1840; viii., 1844. - -Footnote 59: - - _Letters_, &c. p. 138. - -Footnote 60: - - Preface to the second edition, dated ‘London, May 1845.’ - -Footnote 61: - - _Letters_, &c. p. 194. The letter is dated April 9, 1846. - -Footnote 62: - - _The Personal Life of George Grote._ By Mrs Grote, p. 173. - -Footnote 63: - - _Memoirs of Viscount Melbourne._ By W. M. Torrens, M.P. Vol. ii. p. - 332. Lord Houghton in the _Fortnightly Review_, February 1878. - -Footnote 64: - - _Letters to a Friend_, p. 278. - -Footnote 65: - - _Letters_, &c. p. 161. - -Footnote 66: - - _Letters_, &c. p. 292. - -Footnote 67: - - _Charges_, vol. ii. pp. 90-100. - -Footnote 68: - - In his charge for 1851 (_Charges_, vol. i. p. 150) he announced his - intention to devote the surplus of his income to the augmentation of - small livings, and in 1866 he pointed out that the fund had up to that - time yielded £24,000 (_Ibid._ vol. ii. p. 98). - -Footnote 69: - - He particularly disliked gossip. At Kirby Underdale the old sexton - used to relate how Mr Thirlwall said, ‘I never ’ears no tales’; and - the following story shows that he maintained the same wise discretion - after he became a bishop. One of his archdeacons thought it right to - tell him that a certain clergyman in the diocese, who was a clever - mimic, was fond of entertaining his friends with imitations of the - Bishop. Thirlwall listened, and then inquired, ‘Does he do me well?’ - ‘I am sure I cannot say, my Lord,’ replied the informer; ‘I was never - present myself at one of these disgraceful exhibitions.’ ‘Ah! I should - like to know, because he does _you_ admirably,’ replied the Bishop. It - is needless to say that no more stories were carried to his ears. - -Footnote 70: - - _An Earnestly Respectful Letter_, 8vo. 1860, pp. 20-23. See also _The - Life and Letters of Rowland Williams, D.D._, London, 1874, chap. xv., - where his determination to make the Bishop declare himself, under the - belief that he really agreed with him, is expressly stated. - -Footnote 71: - - _A Letter to the Rev. Rowland Williams_, 8vo. 1860, p. 19. - -Footnote 72: - - Dean Stanley’s preface to the _Letters to a Friend_, p. xi. - -Footnote 73: - - _Letters to a Friend_, p. 54. - -Footnote 74: - - Review of ‘The letters of Bishop Thirlwall,’ _The Times_, 23 November, - 1881. - -Footnote 75: - - _The Edinburgh Review_, for April, 1876, p. 292. - -Footnote 76: - - These words are inscribed upon Bishop Thirlwall’s grave. - - - - - RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, - LORD HOUGHTON[77]. - - -It is much to be regretted that Lord Houghton did not write his own -biography. Those who know his delightful _Monographs, Social and -Personal_, can form some idea of how he would have treated it. From his -early years he lived in society—not merely the society to which his -birth naturally opened the door, but a varied society of his own -creating. He had an insatiable curiosity. It is hardly too much to say -that in his long life he was present at every ceremony of importance, -from the Eglinton Tournament to the Œcumenical Council; he knew -everybody who was worth knowing, both at home and abroad—not merely as -chance acquaintances, but as friends with whom he maintained a -correspondence; he was both a politician and a man of letters, a friend -of the unwashed and the associate of princes. What a book might have -been written by such a man on such a subject! But, alas! though he often -spoke of writing his own life, he died before he had leisure even to -begin it; and, instead, we have to content ourselves with the volumes -before us. They are good—unquestionably good; they abound with amusing -stories and brilliant witticisms; but we confess that we laid them down -with a sense of disappointment which it is hard to define. Perhaps it -was beyond the writer’s ability to draw so complex a character—a man of -many moods, a creature of contradictions, a master of what _not_ to do -and _not_ to say, as a lady of fashion told him to his face; perhaps he -was overweighted by a wish to bring into prominence those solid -qualities in his hero which society often failed to discover, while -judging only ‘the man of fashion, whose unconventional originality had -so far impressed itself upon the popular mind that there was hardly any -eccentricity too audacious to be attributed to him by those who knew him -only by repute[78].’ We are not so presumptuous as to suppose that we -can paint a portrait of Lord Houghton that will satisfy those who were -his intimate friends; but we hope to present to our readers at least a -faithful sketch of one for whom we had a most sincere admiration and -respect. - -Richard Monckton Milnes was born in London, June 19, 1809. His father, -Robert Pemberton Milnes, then a young man of twenty-five, and M.P. for -the family borough of Pontefract, had just flashed into sudden celebrity -in the House of Commons by a brilliant speech in favour of Mr Canning, -which saved the Portland Administration, and would have made Mr Milnes’s -political fortune, had he been so minded. But when Mr Perceval offered -him a seat in the Cabinet, either as Chancellor of the Exchequer or as -Secretary of War, he exclaimed, ‘Oh, no: I will not accept either; with -my temperament, I should be dead in a year.’ That he had entered -Parliament with high hopes, and confidence in his own powers to win -distinction there, is plain from the well-known story (which his son -evidently believed) that he laid a bet of 100_l._ that he would be -Chancellor of the Exchequer in five years. But, when the time came, he -declined to ‘take occasion by the hand,’ and sat down under the oaks of -Fryston to spend the rest of his life, just half a century, in the -placid uniformity of a country gentleman’s existence. His abandonment of -public life, and his refusal to return to it in any form, even when, -late in life, Lord Palmerston offered him a peerage, were unsolved -riddles to his contemporaries. Those who read these volumes will have -but little difficulty in finding the answer to it. He was endowed with a -proud independence of judgment which could never bind itself to any -political party, and a critical fastidiousness which made him hesitate -over every question presented to him. These two qualities of mind were -conspicuous in his son, and barred to some extent his advancement, as -they had barred his father’s. It must not, however, be imagined that the -elder Milnes was an indolent man. Far from it. He was a daring rider to -hounds, a scientific agriculturist, an active magistrate, a stimulator -of the waning Toryism of Yorkshire by speeches which showed what the -House of Commons had lost when he left it, and ardently curious about -men of note and events of interest—another characteristic which -descended to his son. Occasionally, too, he yielded to a love of -excitement which Yorkshire could not gratify, and revisited London, to -tempt the fickle goddess who presides over high play—a taste which cost -him dear, for it compelled him to pass several years of his life in -comparative obscurity abroad, while the rents in his fortune, due to his -own and his brother’s extravagance, were being slowly repaired. We have -been told, by one who knew him late in life, that he was a singularly -loveable person—the delight of children and young people—full of jokes, -and fun, and _persiflage_. ‘You could never be sure whether he spoke in -jest or in earnest,’ said our informant. Here again one of the most -obvious characteristics of his son makes its appearance. - -The boyhood of Richard Milnes may be passed over in a sentence. A -serious illness when he was ten years old put an end to his father’s -intention of sending him to Harrow, and he was educated at home, or near -it, till he went up to Trinity College, Cambridge, in October 1827. He -was entered as a fellow-commoner—a position well suited to the training -he had received, for it gave him the society of men older than himself, -while he was looking out for congenial friends among men of his own age. -His college tutor was Mr Whewell, and it was doubtless at his suggestion -that he went to read classics with Thirlwall, then one of the resident -Fellows. On one of his later visits to Cambridge Lord Houghton told an -interesting story of their relations as pupil and instructor. After a -few days’ trial Thirlwall said to him: ‘You will never be a scholar. It -is no use our reading classics together. Have you ever read the Bible?’ -‘Yes, I have read it, but not critically,’ was the reply. ‘Very well,’ -said Thirlwall, ‘ then let us begin with Genesis.’ And so the rest of -the term was spent in the study of the Old Testament. Mr Reid is, no -doubt, right in saying that, for ‘the making of his mind,’ Milnes was -more deeply indebted to Thirlwall than to any other man. But Thirlwall -was not merely the Gamaliel at whose feet Milnes was willing to sit; he -became the chosen friend of his heart. Lord Houghton was once asked to -name the most remarkable man whom he had known in his long experience. -Without a moment’s hesitation he replied ‘Thirlwall’; and the numerous -letters which Mr Reid has printed show that the friendship was equally -strong on both sides. - -The most picturesque of Roman historians said of one of his heroes that -he was _felix opportunitate mortis_; it might be said of Milnes, with -regard to Cambridge, that he was _felix opportunitate vitæ_. It would be -difficult, if not impossible, to find a period in which so many men who -afterwards made their mark in the world have been gathered together -there; and, with a happy facility for discovering and attracting to -himself whatever was eminent and worth knowing, it was not long before -he became intimate with the best of them. Nearly forty years afterwards, -in 1866, on the occasion of the opening of the new rooms of the Union -Society, he commemorated these friends of his early years in a speech of -singular beauty and sincerity: - -‘There was Tennyson, the Laureate, whose goodly bay-tree decorates our -language and our land; Arthur, the younger Hallam, the subject of _In -Memoriam_, the poet and his friend passing, linked hand in hand, -together down the slopes of fame. There was Trench, the present -Archbishop of Dublin, and Alford, Dean of Canterbury, both profound -Scriptural philologists who have not disdained the secular muse. There -was Spedding, who has, by a philosophical affinity, devoted the whole of -his valuable life to the rehabilitation of the character of Lord Bacon; -and there was Merivale, who—I hope by some attraction of repulsion—has -devoted so much learning to the vindication of the Cæsars. There were -Kemble and Kinglake, the historian of our earliest civilization and of -our latest war—Kemble as interesting an individual as ever was portrayed -by the dramatic genius of his own race; Kinglake, as bold a man-at-arms -in literature as ever confronted public opinion. There was Venables, -whose admirable writings, unfortunately anonymous, we are reading every -day, without knowing to whom to attribute them; and there was Blakesley, -the “Hertfordshire Incumbent” of the _Times_. There were sons of -families which seemed to have an hereditary right to, a sort of habit -of, academic distinction, like the Heaths and the Lushingtons. But I -must check this throng of advancing memories, and I will pass from this -point with the mention of two names which you would not let me omit—one -of them, that of your Professor of Greek, whom it is the honour of Her -Majesty’s late Government to have made Master of Trinity; and the other, -that of your latest Professor, Mr F. D. Maurice, in whom you will all -soon recognize the true enthusiasm of humanity’ (vol. ii. p. 161). - -Mr Reid tells us that Tennyson sought Milnes’s acquaintance because ‘he -looks the best-tempered fellow I ever saw.’ Hallam proclaimed him to be -‘a kindhearted fellow, as well as a very clever one, but vain and -paradoxical.’ Milnes himself put Hallam at the head of those whom he -knew. ‘He is the only man of my standing,’ he wrote, ‘before whom I bow -in conscious inferiority in everything.’ - -It was hardly to be expected that Milnes, with his taste for the general -in literature rather than the particular, would achieve distinction in -the Cambridge of 1830. We have seen how Thirlwall disposed of his -classical aspirations, and in mathematics he fared no better. He read -hard, and hoped for distinction in the college examination. But he had -overtaxed his energies; his health gave way, and he was forced to give -up work altogether for some days. Happily, the benefit a man derives -from his three years at a university need not be measured by his -honours, and we may be sure that the experience of men and books that -Milnes gained there was of greater service to him than a high place in -any Tripos would have been. He roamed in all directions over the fields -of knowledge; phrenology, anatomy, geology, political economy, -metaphysics, by turns engaged his attention; he dabbled in periodical -literature; he acted Beatrice in _Much Ado about Nothing_, and Mrs -Malaprop in _The Rivals_; he made an excursion in a balloon with the -celebrated aeronaut, Mr Green; he wrote two prize-poems, _Timbuctoo_ and -_Byzantium_, but only to be beaten by Tennyson and Kinglake; he obtained -a second prize for an English declamation, and a first prize for an -English essay, _On the Homeric Poems_; he became a member of the club -known as ‘The Apostles,’ in which he maintained a kindly interest to the -end of his life; and last, but by no means least, he was a constant -speaker at the Union. - -It is impossible, at a distance of just sixty years, to form an exact -estimate of the success of Milnes in those debates. But that it was -something more than ordinary, is, we think, certain; for otherwise he -would not have ventured to present himself at the Oxford Union in -December 1829, in the character of a self-selected missionary, who hoped -to carry light and leading into the dark places of the sister -University. As this expedition has been twice described by Milnes -himself, first in a letter to his mother soon after his return to -Cambridge, and secondly in a speech at the opening of the new building -of the Cambridge Union Society in 1866; and also, more or less fully, by -four of his contemporaries, Sir Francis Doyle, Mr Gladstone, Cardinal -Manning, and Dean Blakesley, it is clear that it was regarded by himself -and his friends, both at the time and afterwards, as something uncommon -and remarkable, and we feel sure that we shall be excused if we try to -give a connected narrative of what really took place. - -Doyle had ‘brought forward a motion at the Oxford Union that Shelley was -a greater poet than Byron[79].’ According to Blakesley, ‘the respective -moral tendency of the writings of Shelley and Byron[80]’ was the subject -under debate. Doyle states that he acted ‘under Cambridge influences’; -and that his motion was ‘an echo of Cambridge thought and feeling,’ -words which probably refer to the then recent reprint of Shelley’s -_Adonais_ at Cambridge. The debate, he proceeds, ‘was attended by three -distinguished members of the Cambridge Union, Arthur Hallam, Richard -Milnes, and Sunderland’; or, to use the words of what may be called his -second account, taken from a lecture on Wordsworth delivered forty-three -years afterwards, ‘friends of mine at Cambridge took the matter up and -appeared suddenly on the scene of action.’ That this was the true state -of the case, and that there was little or no premeditation about the -excursion, is made still clearer by Milnes’ first account. After -mentioning that he had been to Oxford, he proceeds: - -‘I wanted much to see the place and the men, and had no objection to -speak in their society; so, as they had a good subject for debate (the -comparative merits of Shelley and Byron), and Sunderland and Hallam were -both willing to go—and the Master, when he heard what was our purpose, -very kindly gave us an _Exeat_—we drove manfully through the snow, -arriving in time to speak that evening.... - -‘Sunderland spoke first after Doyle, who opened, then Hallam, then some -Oxonians, and I succeeded. The contrast from our long, noisy, shuffling, -scraping, talking, vulgar, ridiculous-looking kind of assembly, to a -neat little square room, with eighty or ninety young gentlemen, sprucely -dressed, sitting on chairs or lounging about the fire-place, was enough -to unnerve a more confident person than myself. Even the brazen -Sunderland was somewhat awed, and became tautological, and spoke what we -should call an inferior speech, but which dazzled his hearers. Hallam, -as being among old friends, was bold, and spoke well. I was certainly -nervous, but, I think, pleased my audience better than I pleased -myself[81].’ - -In his second account, written thirty-six years afterwards, Milnes gives -greater prominence to the Union Society than, we think, is consistent -with the facts. It might easily be argued, after reading it, that the -three Cambridge undergraduates had been selected by the Society to -represent it. This exaggeration of the part played by the Union was -perhaps only natural on an occasion when the speaker must have felt -almost bound to magnify the influence of that Society on all departments -of Cambridge life. After mentioning Arthur Hallam and Sunderland, he -says: - -‘It was in company with Mr Sunderland and Arthur Hallam that I formed -part of a deputation sent from the Union of Cambridge to the Union of -Oxford; and what do you think we went about? Why, we went to assert the -right of Mr Shelley to be considered a greater poet than Lord Byron. At -that time we in Cambridge were all very full of Mr Shelley. We had -printed the _Adonais_ for the first time in England, and a friend of -ours suggested that as Shelley had been expelled from Oxford, and -greatly ill-treated, it would be a very grand thing for us to go to -Oxford and raise a debate upon his character and powers. So, with full -permission of the authorities[82] we went.... - -We had a very interesting debate ... but we were very much shocked, and -our vanity was not a little wounded, to find that nobody at Oxford knew -anything about Mr Shelley. In fact, a considerable number of our -auditors believed that it was Shenstone, and said that they only knew -one poem of his, beginning, “My banks are all furnished with bees.” We -hoped, however, that our apostolate was of some good...[83].’ - -Sir Francis Doyle is provokingly brief in his account of the -performances of his Cambridge allies. Sunderland, he tells us, ‘spoke -with great effect, though scarcely, I believe, with the same fire that -he often put forth on more congenial subjects. Then followed Hallam, -with equal if not superior force.’ Of Milnes he says but little. After -recounting the discomfiture of a speaker from Oriel, who while -declaiming against Shelley suddenly caught sight of him, he adds: ‘Lord -Houghton then stood up, and showed consummate skill as an advocate.... -After him there was silence in the Union for several minutes, and then -Mr Manning of Baliol rose.’ He was on the side of Byron; and when the -votes were taken the members present agreed with him. - -Mr Gladstone, in a conversation with the author of the life of Cardinal -Manning, has given a rather different account of the matter: - -‘There was an invasion of barbarians among civilized men, or of -civilized men among barbarians. Cambridge men used to look down upon us -at Oxford as prim and behind the times. A deputation from the Society of -the Apostles at Cambridge, consisting of Monckton Milnes and Henry -[Arthur] Hallam, and Sunderland, came to set up among us the cult of -Shelley; or at any rate, to introduce the School of Shelley as against -the Byronic School at Oxford—Shelley that is, not in his negative, but -in his spiritual side. I knew Hallam at Eton, and, I believe, was the -intermediary in bringing about the discussion[84].’ - -This view, that the commission of the three knights-errant emanated from -the Apostles, and not from themselves, or from the Union Society, is -borne out to some degree by Blakesley’s account. But for this we have no -space. We will conclude with Manning’s admirable description of the -scene. It occurs in a letter dated 3 November, 1866—just after Lord -Houghton had made his speech at the Cambridge Union. - -‘I do not believe that I was guilty of the rashness of throwing the -javelin over the Cam. It was, I think, a passage of arms got up by the -Eton men of the two Unions. My share, if any, was only as a member of -the august committee of the green baize table. I can, however, remember -the irruption of the three Cambridge orators. We Oxford men were -precise, orderly, and morbidly afraid of excess in word or manner. The -Cambridge oratory came in like a flood into a mill-pond. Both Monckton -Milnes and Henry [Arthur] Hallam took us aback by the boldness and -freedom of their manner. But I remember the effect of Sunderland’s -declaration and action to this day. It had never been seen or heard -before among us; we cowered like birds, and ran like sheep.... I -acknowledge that we were utterly routed. Lord Houghton’s beautiful -reviving of those old days has in it something fragrant and sweet, and -brings back old faces and old friendships, very dear as life is drawing -to its close.’ - -Mr Milnes had always wished that his son should become distinguished in -that House of Commons where he had himself made so brilliant a _début_. -With this object in view, he had urged him to cultivate speaking in -public, and probably the only part of his Cambridge career which he -viewed with complete satisfaction was his interest in, and success at, -the Union Debating Society. But even in this they did not quite agree. -Mr Milnes urged his son to take a decided line, and to lead the Union. -But the only answer he could get was, ‘If there is one thing on which I -have ever prided myself, it is on having no politics at all, and judging -every measure by its individual merits. A leader there must be a violent -politician and a party politician, or he must have a private party. I -shall never be the one or have the other.’ Again, they were at variance -on the burning question of the day, the Reform Bill. Mr Milnes, though a -Conservative, was in favour of it; his son described it as ‘the curse -and degradation of the nation.’ Further, while exhorting his son to -prepare himself for public life, with a singleness of purpose that, if -adhered to, would have excluded other and more congenial pursuits, Mr -Milnes warned him that his circumstances would not allow him to enter -parliament. No wonder, therefore, that the young man became perplexed -and melancholy, and more than ever anxious to find a refuge for his -aspirations in literature. - -While these questions were pending between father and son, the pecuniary -embarrassments to which we have already alluded entered upon an acute -stage, and in 1829 the whole family left England for five years. If Mr -Milnes ever submitted his own actions to the test of rigorous -examination, he must have concluded that he had himself brought about -the very result which he was most anxious to prevent; for it was this -enforced residence on the Continent which, more than any other -influence, shaped the character of his son. Mr Milnes evidently wished -him to become a country gentleman like himself, and, if he must write, -to be ‘a pamphleteer on guano and on grain.’ Instead of this, while he -kept his loyalty to England with unbroken faith, he divested himself of -English narrowness, and acquired that intimate knowledge of the other -members of the European family, and, we may add, that catholicity of -taste, for which he was so conspicuous. Probably no public man of the -present century understood the Continent so well as Milnes. In many ways -he was a typical Englishman; but he was also a citizen of the world. - -The first resting-place of the family was Boulogne, and there Milnes -made his first acquaintance with Frenchmen and their literature. The -romantic school was beginning to engross public attention, and Victor -Hugo—then, as afterwards, the ‘stormy voice of France’—became his -favourite French poet. But, great as was the interest which Milnes felt -in France, he was too eager for knowledge to be content with one -language and one literature, and, rejecting his father’s suggestion that -he should spend some time in Paris, he spent most of the summer and -autumn of 1830 at Bonn, in order to learn German. We suspect that he -must have taken this step at the suggestion of Thirlwall, for it was he -who introduced him to Professor Brandis, and probably also to the -veteran Niebuhr. Thence, his family having migrated to Milan, he crossed -the Alps, and made his first acquaintance with Italy, which became, we -might almost say, the country of his adoption. He felt a deep sympathy -for the Italian people in their aspirations for liberty, and though, as -was natural at his age, he enjoyed the society of the Austrian -vice-regal Court, he longed to see the foreigner expelled from Italy. -Other Italian cities were visited in due course, and, lastly, Rome. -Where-ever he went, he managed, with a skill that was peculiarly his -own, to know the most interesting people, and to be welcomed with equal -warmth by persons of the most opposite opinions. It was no small feat to -have known both Italians and Austrians at Milan; but at Rome, besides -his English acquaintances, he formed lasting friendships with the -Chevalier Bunsen and his family, and with Dr Wiseman, M. Rio, M. -Montalembert, and other catholics of distinction. The Church of Rome -must always have great attractions for a young man of deep feeling and -with no settled principles of faith, and we gather that Milnes was at -one time not indisposed to join it. His feelings in that time of unrest -and perplexity are well indicated in the following lines, written at -Rome in 1834: - - ‘To search for lore in spacious libraries, - And find it hid in tongues to you unknown; - To wait deaf-eared near swelling minstrelsies, - Watch every action, but not catch one tone; - Amid a thousand breathless votaries, - To feel yourself dry-hearted as a stone— - Are images of that which, hour by hour, - Consumes my heart, the strife of Will and Power. - - ‘The Beauty of the past before my eyes - Stands ever in each fable-haunted place, - I know her form in every dark disguise, - But never look upon her open face; - O’er every limb a veil thick-folded lies, - Showing poor outline of a perfect grace, - Yet just enough to make the sickened mind - Grieve doubly for the treasures hid behind. - - ‘O Thou! to whom the wearisome disease - Of Past and Present is an alien thing, - Thou pure Existence! whose severe decrees - Forbid a living man his soul to bring - Into a timeless Eden of sweet ease, - Clear-eyed, clear-hearted—lay thy loving wing - In death upon me—if that way alone - Thy great creation-thought thou wilt to me make known[85].’ - -An interesting picture of Milnes at about this period has been drawn by -Mr Aubrey de Vere, whom he visited in Ireland during one of his brief -absences from Italy. - -‘He remained with us a good many days, though when he left us they -seemed too few. We showed him whatever of interest our neighbourhood -boasts, and he more than repaid us by the charm of his conversation, his -lively descriptions of foreign ways, his good-humour, his manifold -accomplishments, and the extraordinary range of his information, both as -regards books and men. He could hardly have then been more than -two-and-twenty, and yet he was already well acquainted with the -languages and literatures of many different countries, and not a few of -their most distinguished men, living or recently dead. I well remember -the vivid picture which he drew of Niebuhr’s profound grief at the -downfall of the restored monarchy in France, at the renewal of its -Revolution in 1830. He was delivering a series of historical lectures at -the time, and Milnes was one of the young men attending the course. One -day they had long to wait for their Professor; at last the aged -historian entered the lecture-hall, his form drooping, and his whole -aspect grief-stricken. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I have no apology for -detaining you; a calamity has befallen Europe which must undo all the -restorative work recently done, and throw back her social and political -progress—perhaps for centuries. The Revolution has broken out again’ -(vol. i. p. 115). - -One episode of these foreign experiences deserves a separate notice. In -1832 Milnes spent some months in Greece with his friend Mr Christopher -Wordsworth, a scholar whose _Athens and Attica_ has long been a -classical text-book. But Milnes was more powerfully attracted by the -sight of Grecian independence than by the relics of her ancient glory. -The volume which he published on his return, called _Memorials of a Tour -in some parts of Greece, chiefly Poetical_ (his first independent -literary venture, it may be remarked), contains but scanty references to -antiquity. He was keenly interested in the efforts of Greece to obtain a -settled government of her own, and through all the drawbacks and -discomforts which, as a traveller, he had to endure from the Greeks, he -firmly adhered to the cause of freedom. He even advocated the immediate -restoration of the Elgin marbles to the Parthenon. But Milnes had a mind -which was singularly free from prejudice, and even in those early days -he had learnt to consider both sides of every question, and to keep his -sympathies controlled by his judgment. He probably approached Greece -with the enthusiasm for a liberated nation which had so deeply stirred -even the most indifferent in England; but he left it ‘with an affection -for the Turkish character which he never entirely lost, and which -enabled him in very different days, then far distant, to understand the -political exigencies of the East better than many politicians of more -pretentious character and fame.’ - -We have dwelt on Milnes’s early years at some length, because their -history throws considerable light on his subsequent career, and accounts -for most of the difficulties that he experienced when he made his first -entrance into London society. ‘Conceive the man,’ said Carlyle: ‘a most -bland-smiling, semi-quizzical, affectionate, high-bred, Italianised -little man, who has long olive-blonde hair, a dimple, next to no chin, -and flings his arm round your neck when he addresses you in public -society!’ If the rough Scotch moralist was not in an unusually bad -humour when he wrote these words, it is not to be wondered at that -Milnes was regarded for a time as a dangerous person, ‘anxious to -introduce foreign ways and fashions into the conservative fields of -English life.’ But this dislike of him was very transient, and in less -than a year after his return to England he had ‘made a conquest of the -social world.’ That he was still looked upon as an oddity seems certain, -and even his intimate friend Charles Buller could exclaim: ‘I often -think how puzzled your Maker must be to account for your conduct;’ but -people soon became willing to accept him on his own terms for the sake -of his wit and brilliancy, and, we may add, of his kind heart. Some -nicknames that survived long after their application had lost its point, -are worth remembering as illustrations of what was once thought of him; -perhaps still more for the sake of the letter which Sydney Smith wrote -on being accused, quite groundlessly, of having invented them. - -‘DEAR MILNES,—Never lose your good temper, which is one of your best -qualities, and which has carried you hitherto safely through your -startling eccentricities. If you turn cross and touchy, you are a lost -man. No man can combine the defects of opposite characters. The names of -“Cool of the evening,” “London Assurance,” and “In-I-go Jones,” are, I -give you my word, not mine. They are of no sort of importance; they are -safety-valves, and if you could by paying sixpence get rid of them, you -had better keep your money. You do me but justice in acknowledging that -I have spoken much good of you. I have laughed at you for those follies -which I have told you of to your face; but nobody has more readily and -more earnestly asserted that you are a very agreeable, clever man, with -a very good heart, unimpeachable in all the relations of life, and that -you amply deserve to be retained in the place to which you had too -hastily elevated yourself by manners unknown to our cold and phlegmatic -people. I thank you for what you say of my good-humour. Lord Dudley, -when I took leave of him, said to me: “You have been laughing at me for -the last seven years, and you never said anything that I wished unsaid.” -This pleased me. - - ‘Ever yours, - -‘SYDNEY SMITH[86].’ - -When we read that Milnes ‘made a conquest of society,’ it must not be -supposed that he was a mere pleasure-seeker. On the contrary, as Mr Reid -says in another place, ‘he had too great a reverence for what was good -and pure and true, too consuming a desire to hold his own with the best -intellects of his time, and, above all, too deep a sympathy with the -suffering and the wronged to allow him to fall a victim to these -temptations.’ From the first, then, he ‘sought to combine the world of -pleasure and the world of intellect.’ A list of his friends would -contain the names of the best-known men of the day, but, at the same -time, men who had but little in common: Carlyle, Sterling, Maurice, -Spedding, Thackeray, Tennyson, Landor, Hallam, Rogers, Macaulay, Sydney -Smith. ‘He became an intimate member of circles differing so widely from -each other as those of Lansdowne House, Holland House, Gore House, and -the Sterling Club’; and as a host he was notorious for mingling together -the most discordant social elements. Disraeli sketched him in _Tancred_ -under a disguise so thin that nobody could fail to penetrate it: - -‘Mr Vavasour saw something good in everybody and everything, which is -certainly amiable, and perhaps just, but disqualifies a man in some -degree for the business of life, which requires for its conduct a -certain degree of prejudice. Mr Vavasour’s breakfasts were renowned. -Whatever your creed, class, or merit—one might almost add, your -character—you were a welcome guest at his matutinal meal, provided you -were celebrated. That qualification, however, was rigidly enforced. He -prided himself on figuring as the social medium by which rival -reputations became acquainted, and paid each other in his presence the -compliments which veiled their ineffable disgust’ (vol. i. p. 337). - -When some one asked if a celebrated murderer had been hanged, the reply -he got was: ‘I hope so, or Richard will have him at his breakfast-table -next Thursday;’ and Thirlwall, when his friend was on the brink of -marriage, thus alludes to past felicity: - -‘It is very likely, nay certain, that you will still collect agreeable -people about your wife’s breakfast-table; but can I ever sit down there -without the certainty that I shall meet with none but respectable -persons? It may be an odd thing for a Bishop to lament, but I cannot -help it’ (vol. i. p. 448). - -After all it seems probable that Milnes himself, and not the lion of the -hour, was the chief attraction at those parties. He delighted in the -best sort of conversation—that which he called ‘the rapid counterplay -and vivid exercise of combined intelligences,’ and he did his best to -revive the practice of that almost forgotten art—_l’art de causer_. As -Mr Reid says: - -‘How brilliant and amusing he was over the dinner-table or the -breakfast-table was known to all his friends. Overflowing with -information, his mind was lightened by a bright wit, whilst his immense -stores of appropriate anecdotes enabled him to give point and colour to -every topic which was brought under discussion’ (vol. i. p. 189). - -At the same time he did not fall into the fatal error of taking the talk -into his own hands, and delivering a monologue, as too many social -celebrities have done before and since. He had the happy art of making -his guests talk, while he listened, and threw in a remark from time to -time, to give new life when the conversation seemed to flag. Carlyle, in -a letter written to his wife during his first visit to Fryston, gives us -a lifelike portrait of Milnes when thus engaged: - -‘Richard, I find, lays himself out while in this quarter to do -hospitalities, and of course to collect notabilities about him, and play -them off one against the other. I am his trump-card at present. The -Sessions are at Pontefract even now, and many lawyers there. These last -two nights he has brought a trio of barristers to dine, producing -champagne, &c.... Last night our three was admitted to be a kind of -failure, three greater blockheads ye wadna find in Christendee. Richard -had to exert himself; but he is really dexterous, the villain. He pricks -you with questions, with remarks, with all kinds of fly-tackle to make -you bite, does generally contrive to get you into some sort of speech. -And then his good humour is extreme; you look in his face and forgive -him all his tricks’ (vol. i. p. 256). - -As a pendant to this we will quote Mr Forster’s description of Milnes -and Carlyle together: - -‘Monckton Miles came yesterday and left this morning—a pleasant, -companionable little man—delighting in paradoxes, but good-humoured -ones; defending all manner of people and principles in order to provoke -Carlyle to abuse them, in which laudable enterprise he must have -succeeded to his heart’s content, and for a time we had a most amusing -evening, reminding me of a naughty boy rubbing a fierce cat’s tail -backwards, and getting in between furious growls and fiery sparks. He -managed to avoid the threatened scratches’ (vol. i. p. 387). - -Milnes entered Parliament in 1837 as Conservative member for Pontefract. -His friends were rather surprised at his selection of a party, for even -then his views on most subjects were decidedly Liberal. Thirlwall, for -instance, wrote: - -‘I can hardly bring myself now to consider you a Tory, or indeed as -belonging to a party at all; and although I am aware how difficult, and -even dangerous, it is for a public man to keep aloof from all parties, -still my first hope as well as expectation as to your political career -is that it may be distinguished by some degree of originality’ (vol. i. -p. 199). - -These hopes were realized to an extent that none of Milnes’s friends -would have expected or perhaps desired. From the outset he maintained an -independence of thought and action which did him the utmost credit as a -man of honour, but which ruined his chances of obtaining that success -which is measured by the attainment of official dignity. And yet, as Mr -Reid tells us, he was more ambitious of political than of literary -distinction. But the fates were against him. In the first place, his -oratorical style did not suit the House, though as an after-dinner -speaker he was conspicuously successful. He ‘had modelled himself on the -old style of political oratory, and gave his hearers an impression of -affectation.’ Then he would not vote straight with his party. He took a -line of his own about Canada and the Ballot; he voted on the opposite -side to Peel on the question of a large remission of capital -punishments; and he wrote _One Tract More_, ‘an eloquent and earnest -plea for toleration for the Anglo-Catholic enthusiasm,’ which shocked -the Protestants in general, and the electors of Pontefract in -particular. Perhaps he was too much in earnest; perhaps he was not a -sufficiently important person to be silenced by office; perhaps, as Mr -Reid says, ‘public opinion in England always insists upon drawing a -broad line of demarcation between the man of letters and the man of -affairs;’ but, whatever might be the reason, Sir Robert Peel passed him -over when forming his Administration in 1841—nay, rather, appears never -to have turned his thoughts in his direction. Milnes was grievously -disappointed, but with characteristic lightheartedness set at once to -work to make himself more thoroughly fit for the post he specially -coveted, the Under-Secretaryship of Foreign Affairs. He went to Paris, -got intimate with Guizot, De Tocqueville, Montalembert—‘that English -aristocrat foisted into the middle of French democracy’—and other -leading statesmen. Through them, and by help of his natural gift of -knowing everybody he wished to know, he managed to include Louis -Philippe among those by whom he was accepted as a sort of unaccredited -English envoy. He kept Peel informed of the views of Guizot and the -King, and Peel replied with a message to the former in a letter which -shows that he was quite ready to make use of Milnes, though not to -reward him. On his return he gave Peel a general support on the Corn -Laws, while regretting that his ‘measures were not of a more liberal -character;’ he interested himself in the passing of the Copyright Bill, -a measure in respect of which he was accepted as the representative of -men of letters; and he travelled in the East, no doubt to study Oriental -politics on the spot. A letter he wrote to Peel from Smyrna is full of -shrewd observation and far-reaching insight into the Eastern Question; -but, on his return, he published a volume of poems called _Palm Leaves_. -Now Peel, like a certain Hanoverian monarch who hated ‘boetry and -bainters,’ hated literature; and, as Milnes’s father told him, ‘every -book he wrote was a nail in his political coffin.’ Again, Milnes was in -favour of the endowment of the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland, and had -written a pamphlet called _The Real Union of England and Ireland_, on -which, we may note, in passing, Mr Gladstone’s remark, that he had ‘some -opinions on Irish matters that are not fit for practice.’ With these -views he supported Peel’s grant to Maynooth, a step which brought him -into such disgrace at Pontefract that he thought seriously of giving up -parliamentary life altogether. In fact he applied for a diplomatic post, -but without success. Before long we find him again running counter to -his chief’s policy, supporting Lord Ashley against the Government, and -seconding a motion of Charles Buller’s against Lord Stanley. After this -it cannot excite surprise that Peel passed him over when he rearranged -his Administration in 1845. With his second disappointment Milnes’s -career as a professional politician came to an end. Ten years later -Palmerston offered him a lordship of the Treasury, but he declined it. -As he said himself in a letter written shortly afterwards: - -‘_Via media_ never answers in politics, and somehow or other I never can -get out of it. My Laodicean spirit is the ruin of me. From having lived -with all sorts of people, and seen good in all, the broad black lines of -judgment that people usually draw seem to me false and foolish, and I -think my own finer ones just as distinct, though no one can see them but -myself’ (vol. i. p. 360). - -Before long Milnes found a more congenial position on the opposite side -of the House. But it must not be supposed that he rushed into sudden and -rancorous opposition to his old leader. So long as Peel remained in -office, he allowed no personal considerations to interfere with his -support of him; and he steadily refused to join those who rebelled when -he announced his conversion to Free Trade. Meanwhile, his interest in -the burning question of the day being little more than formal, he turned -his attention to a social question in which he had long been interested, -and introduced a Bill for the establishment of reformatories for -juvenile offenders. Among the many combinations of opposite tastes and -tendencies with which Milnes was fond of startling the world, could one -more curious be imagined than this—the literary exquisite and the -criminal unwashed? But in fact this is only a single instance out of -many which could be produced to show that the cynical selfishness he -affected was only a mask which hid his real nature; perhaps assumed for -the sake of concealing from his left hand what his right hand was doing -so well. The proposal, we are told, ‘was scoffed at by many politicians -of eminence when it was first put forward.’ But Milnes was not to be -daunted by rebuffs, and ‘he persevered with his proposal, until he had -the great happiness of seeing reformatories established under the -sanction of the law, and of becoming himself the president of the first -and greatest of these noble institutions, that at Redhill.’ His very -genuine sympathy with the poor and the unfortunate, especially when -young, is testified to by one of his intimate friends, Miss Nightingale: - -‘His brilliancy and talents in tongue or pen—whether political, social, -or literary—were inspired chiefly by good-will towards man; but he had -the same voice and manners for the dirty brat as he had for a duchess, -the same desire to give pleasure and good. Once, at Redhill, where we -were with a party, and the chiefs were explaining to us the system in -the court-yard, a mean, stunted, villainous-looking little fellow crept -across the yard (quite out of order, and by himself), and stole a dirty -paw into Mr Milnes’s hand. Not a word passed; the boy stayed quite quiet -and quite contented if he could but touch his benefactor who had placed -him there. He was evidently not only his benefactor, but his friend’ -(vol. ii. p. 7). - -Milnes had been called a Liberal-Conservative during the first ten years -of his parliamentary life. He now became a Conservative-Liberal; but the -transposition of the adjective made little, if any, change in his -political conduct. He was as insubordinate in the latter position as he -had been in the former. He took Lord Palmerston as his leader and chosen -friend; but he did not always side with him. In the debates on the -Conspiracy Bill, after the attempt of Orsini to assassinate Napoleon -III., Milnes spoke and voted against his chief; and on the measure for -abolishing the East India Company he was equally indifferent to the -claims of party. As time went on, he drifted out of party politics -altogether; and both in the House of Commons and the House of Lords, -which he entered in 1863, it was to measures of a private character, or -to measures of social reform, that he gave his attention. He advocated -help to Lady Franklin in her expedition to clear up the mystery of her -husband’s fate; he was in favour of female suffrage; of the abolition of -public executions; and he led the agitation for legalising marriage with -a deceased wife’s sister. At the same time he cordially supported the -Liberal party on all great occasions. Speaking of the abortive Reform -Bill of 1866, Mr Reid remarks: - -‘Houghton held strongly to the Liberal side throughout the movement, and -again afforded proof of the fact that his elevation to the House of -Lords had strengthened, rather than weakened, his faith in the people -and in popular institutions. Early in April he presided at one of the -great popular meetings in favour of Reform. The scene of the meeting was -the Cloth Hall at Leeds—a spot famous in the political history of the -West Riding—and Lord Houghton’s speech was as advanced in tone as the -most thoroughgoing Reformer could have wished it to be. He was, indeed, -one of the very few peers who took an open and pronounced part in the -agitation of the year’ (vol. ii. p. 151). - -This is only one instance, out of many that could be adduced. It would -be interesting to know what he would have thought of some of the later -developments of his party. It is almost needless to say that he never -regarded Lord Beaconsfield as a serious politician. On the eve of his -return from Berlin in 1878, he writes: ‘I hope to be in my place on -Thursday, to see the reception of the Great Adventurer. Whether from -knowing him so well, or from the sarcastic temperament of old age, the -whole thing looks to me like a comedy, with as much relation to serious -politics as Punch to real life.’ At the same time he had not been a -thoroughgoing supporter of Mr Gladstone’s agitation against the Turks, -and he had warned that statesman so far back as 1871, that ‘a demon, not -of demagoguism, but of demophilism, is tempting you sorely.’ - -Advancing years and disappointed hopes caused no abatement in his -interest in foreign affairs. The events of 1848 had been specially -interesting to him; and at the close of that year he produced what Mr -Reid well describes as ‘a striking and instructive’ pamphlet, entitled -_A Letter to the Marquis of Lansdowne_. The author reviews the events of -the year, and supports the thesis that ‘the Liberals of the Continent -had not proved themselves unworthy of the sympathy of England.’ We have -no room for an analysis of this masterly work, but we cannot refrain -from quoting one remarkable passage in which he foreshadows French -intervention in Italy. After describing measures by which Austria -intended to make the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom a second Poland, he -proceeds: - -‘And France, whatever be her adventures in government, will not easily -have so dulled her imagination or quelled her enthusiasm as to be -unmoved by appeals to the deeds of Marengo and Lodi, and to suffer an -expiring nation at her very door to cry in vain for help and protection, -not against the restraints of an orderly authority, but against fierce -invaders intent upon her absolute destruction’ (vol. i. p. 413). - -This pamphlet made a great sensation. In England it was received, for -the most part, with dislike and apprehension. Carlyle was almost alone -in praising it. ‘Tell him,’ he said, ‘it is the greatest thing he has -yet done; earnest and grave, written in a large, tolerant, kind-hearted -spirit, and, as far as I can see, saying all that is to be said on -_that_ matter.’ But the strongest proof of the power of the pamphlet is -the fact that the Austrians stopped the writer on the Hungarian frontier -when travelling with his wife in 1851, as a person who could not breathe -that revolutionary atmosphere without danger to the empire. In his later -years foreign travel became almost a necessity to Lord Houghton; and as -he had then fewer ties to bind him to England, his absences were more -frequent and more prolonged. He travelled in France, no longer as an -envoy without credentials, but for his private information, or to be the -guest of Guizot and De Tocqueville; he became the friend of the -accomplished Queen of Holland; he represented the Geographical Society -at the opening of the Suez Canal; he made a triumphal progress through -the United States; and only three years before his death he went again -to Egypt and Greece. - -Throughout his life Milnes approached public events with a singular -sobriety of judgment. He was never led away by popular clamour, but -formed his opinions, on principle, after mature deliberation. It is -almost needless to add that he generally found himself on the unpopular -side. When England went mad over the Crimean war, Milnes wrote calmly: -‘For my own part I like neither of the combatants, though I prefer a -feeble and superannuated despotism as less noxious to mankind than one -young and vigorous, and assisted by the appliances of modern -intelligence.’ During the American civil war, he ‘broke away from his -own class, and ranged himself on the side of the friends of the North, -with an earnestness not inferior to that of Mr Bright and Mr Forster.’ -Mr Reid tell us that this conduct won for Milnes that popularity with -the masses, especially in Yorkshire and Lancashire, which all his -previous efforts had failed to obtain, and that he found himself, to his -great surprise, one of the popular idols. In 1870, again, he was on the -unpopular side: ‘I am Prussian to the backbone,’ he wrote, ‘which is a -pure homage to principle, as they are the least agreeable people in the -world.’ - -We have been at pains to set forth Milnes’s political acts and -convictions in some detail, because he has been frequently represented -as a gay _farceur_, who took up politics as a pastime. It is not, -however, as a politician that he will be remembered, but as a man of -letters. In his younger days he achieved distinction as a writer of -verse, and Landor hailed him as ‘the greatest poet now living in -England.’ This judgment may nowadays provoke a smile; but, though it is -not to be expected that his poems will recover their former popularity, -they hardly deserve to have fallen into complete neglect. As Mr Reid -says: - -‘A great singer he may not have been; a sweet singer with a charm of his -own he undoubtedly was; nor did his charm consist alone in the melody of -which he was a master. In many of his poems real poetic thought is -linked with musical words; whilst in everything that he wrote, whether -in verse or in prose, one may discern the brightest characteristics of -the man himself: the catholicity of his spirit; the tenderness of his -sympathy with weakness, suffering, mortal frailty in all its forms; the -ardour of his faith in something that should break down the artificial -barriers by which classes are divided, and bring into the lives of all a -measure of that light and happiness which he relished so highly for -himself’ (vol. ii. p. 438). - -For his prose works, or at least for some of them, we predict a very -different fate. We do not like even to think of an age that will refuse -to admire the charming style, the real dramatic power, the exquisite -tact, and the fine taste which distinguish his _Life of Keats_, and his -_Monographs_, to which we have already alluded. Other essays, probably -of equal merit, lie scattered in Reviews and Magazines. We hope that -before long we may see the best of these collected together. Such a -series, which would cover a period of nearly sixty years, would form a -most important chapter in the history of English literature. - -Besides his reputation as a writer, Milnes occupied an unique position -towards the world of letters, which it is not quite easy to define. It -is not enough to say that he was a Mæcenas, though he knew and -entertained the whole literary community both in London and at Fryston—a -house which, as Thackeray said, ‘combined all the graces of the château -and the tavern’; or that he was always ready to lend a helping hand to -those in distress, though he spent a fortune in generously and -delicately assisting others. His peculiar characteristics were a rare -gift in detecting merit, and an untiring energy in bringing it out, and -setting it in a position where it could bloom and flourish and be -recognized by other people. In effecting this he spared no pains, and -shrank from no annoyance. Often, indeed, he must have risked his own -popularity by his importunity for favours to be conferred on others. Mr -Reid describes at length the amusing scene between him and Sir Robert -Peel, when he solicited and obtained pensions for Tennyson and Sheridan -Knowles, of neither of whom the Minister had ever heard; and to Milnes -must also be allowed the credit of having been the first, or nearly the -first, to bring into prominent recognition the merits of Mr John -Forster. He possessed, too, in a very high degree, the gift of sympathy, -and, as a consequence, of influence. ‘Ever since I knew you,’ said his -friend Macarthy, ‘you have been the chief person in my life; a friend -and brother and confessor—the end and aim of all my actions and hopes’; -and Robert Browning, in a long and most interesting letter, written to -ask Milnes to use his interest to get him appointed secretary to the -minister whom England, as he then believed, ‘must send before the year -ends to this fine fellow, Pio Nono[87],’ admits that his own interest in -Italy was due in the first instance to Milnes’s influence. ‘One gets -excited,’ he says, ‘at least here on the spot, by this tiptoe strained -expectation of poor dear Italy, and yet, if I had not known you, I -believe I should have looked on with other bystanders.’ We have said -that he was charitable; but to say this is to give an imperfect idea of -the efforts he would make for literary men in difficulties. When Hood -was in distress he found that he ‘preferred to receive assistance in the -shape of gratuitous literary work for his magazine rather than in -money.’ Milnes not only contributed himself, but ‘canvassed right and -left among his friends for contributions.’ Nor was his help confined to -the person whose work he valued. ‘The interest and friendship which the -genius had aroused,’ says Mr Reid, ‘was extended to his or her friends -and connexions. Many a widow and many an orphan had occasion to be -thankful that the husband or father had during his lifetime excited the -admiration of Milnes. Years after the death of Charlotte Brontë we find -him trying to smooth the path of her father, and to secure preferment in -the Church for her husband.’ This is only one instance out of many that -might be adduced. Again, he seemed to regard his critical faculty as a -trust for the benefit of others, and was never more congenially employed -than in drawing attention to some young poet who had no influential -friends. In proof of this we will only refer our readers to the touching -story of poor David Gray, whom he nursed with almost feminine -tenderness, and whose poem, _The Luggie_, he edited; and to his early -recognition of the genius of Mr Swinburne, to whose merits he drew -attention by an article in the _Edinburgh Review_. In close connexion -with this kind help to men of whom he knew little or nothing may be -mentioned his interest in the Newspaper Press Fund. The formation of -such a fund was strenuously resisted, we are told, by the most -influential members of the Press; but Milnes, from the first, brought -the whole weight of his social influence to its support, and -contributed, more than any other man, to its permanent and successful -establishment. - -Nor should his kindness to young men be forgotten. He may have sought -their society in the first instance from the pleasure he took in all -that was bright, and entertaining, and unaffected; but, as we have -already tried to point out, his motives were commonly underlaid by some -serious purpose which it was not always easy to discover. We do not -maintain that he was specially successful in drawing young men out, for -his own talk was often scrappy, anecdotical, and difficult to follow; -still less do we mean that he tried to influence them in any particular -direction by improving conversation, or the enunciation of any special -opinions in politics or literature. But he certainly made his juniors -feel sure of his sympathy and his good-will. - -Of Milnes’s religious opinions it is difficult to give any positive -account. His family had been Unitarian; at college he became an -Evangelical; soon afterwards he fell under the influence of Irving, whom -he proclaimed to be ‘the apostle of the age.’ Then, during his residence -in Italy, as we have already mentioned, he chose Dr Wiseman for his -intimate friend, and the higher Roman Catholic clergy had hopes of his -conversion. ‘Mezzofanti,’ wrote one of his friends in 1832, ‘is full of -hopes that you will return to the bosom of her whom Carlyle calls “the -slain mother”.’ But, during this same period, while passing through what -he calls ‘the twilight of his mind,’ he was the friend of Sterling and -Maurice and Thirlwall, under whose influence he was hardly likely to -submit to an infallible Church. He himself said that he was prevented -from joining the Church of Rome by the uprising of a Catholic school in -the Church of England. To this movement, as we have seen, he was deeply -attached, and both spoke and wrote in its defence. In one of his -commonplace books he called himself a Puseyite sceptic; sometimes he -said he was a crypto-Catholic, and to the last he never entirely shook -off the impressions of his youth. But Mr Reid is probably right in -describing him as ‘a tolerant, liberal-minded man, apt to look at -religion from many different points of view.’ We are not aware that he -ever took part in any directly religious movement, or ever declared his -allegiance to the Church of England except as a political organization. -Partly from a love of paradox, partly from a habit of looking round a -question rather than directly at it, he would have had something to say -in defence of almost any system of religion, while his unfeigned charity -would induce him to adopt that which recognized most fully the claims of -suffering humanity. - -Lord Houghton died at Vichy, August 11, 1885. He had been in failing -health for some time, but the end was sudden and unexpected. Only a few -hours before it came he had been entertaining a mixed company at the -_table d’hôte_ by the brilliancy and variety of his conversation. It -might almost be said that he died, as he had lived, in society. - -We have tried to eliminate what we believe to have been the real Milnes -from a cloud of misrepresentations and erroneous judgments—for both of -which, it must be remembered, he was himself directly responsible. We -leave to our readers the task of passing sentence on a singularly -amiable, if eccentric, personality. Some opinions expressed by those who -understood him and valued him will appropriately close this article. -When he was young his friends recognized in him what Dr Johnson would -have called the potentiality of greatness, though they doubted whether -he would have sufficient steadiness of purpose to achieve it. ‘Your gay -and airy mind,’ wrote Tennyson in 1833, ‘must have caught as many -colours from the landscape you moved through as a flying soap-bubble—a -comparison truly somewhat irreverent, yet I meant it not as such.’ ‘I -think you are near something very glorious,’ said Stafford O’Brien, ‘but -you will never reach it.’ Mr Aubrey de Vere decided that ‘he had not -much solid ambition. The highlands of life were not what interested him -much; its mountains cast their shadows too far and drew down too many -clouds.’ But, if Milnes’s well-wishers were compelled to abandon their -hopes of any great distinction for their friend, they recognized, with -one accord, his charity and his sincerity. If they did not admire him, -they loved him. ‘You are on the whole a good man,’ said Carlyle, ‘though -with terrible perversities.’ Forster declared that he himself had ‘many -friends who would be kind to him in distress, but only one who would be -equally kind to him in disgrace.’ A distinguished German said of him, -‘Is it possible that an Englishman can be so loveable?’ and Mr Sumner -described him as ‘a member of Parliament, a poet and a man of fashion, a -Tory who does not forget the people, and a man of fashion with -sensibilities, love of virtue and merit among the simple, the poor, and -the lowly.’ Lastly, let us cite his own whimsical character of himself, -which, though expressed in the language of paradox, is probably, in the -main, nearer to the truth than one drawn by any critic could be: - -‘He was a man of no common imaginative perceptions, who never gave his -full conviction to anything but the closest reasoning; of acute -sensibilities, who always distrusted the affections; of ideal -aspirations and sensual habits; of the most cheerful manners and of the -gloomiest philosophy. He hoped little and believed little, but he rarely -despaired, and never valued unbelief, except as leading to some larger -truth and purer conviction’ (vol. ii. p. 491). - - - - - EDWARD HENRY PALMER[88]. - - - - -A dramatist who undertakes to write a play which is to be almost devoid -of incident, and to depend for interest on the development of an -eccentric character, with only a single strong situation, even though -that situation be one of surpassing power, is considered by those -learned in such matters to be almost courting failure. Such a work is -therefore rarely attempted, and is still more rarely successful. Yet -this is what Mr Besant has had to do in writing the Life of Edward Henry -Palmer; and we are glad to be able to say at once that he has discharged -a delicate and difficult task in a most admirable fashion. For in truth -he had a very unpromising subject to deal with. It is always difficult -to interest the general public in the sayings and doings of a man of -letters, even when he has occupied a prominent position, and thrown -himself with ardour into some burning question of the day, political or -social. Palmer, however, was not such a man at all. He did ‘break his -birth’s invidious bar,’ but alas! it was never given to him, until the -end was close at hand, ‘to grasp the skirts of happy chance,’ or to rise -into a position where he could be seen by the world. It is melancholy -now to speculate on what might have been had he returned in safety from -the perilous enterprise in which he met his death, for it is hardly -likely that the Government would have failed to secure, by some -permanent appointment, the services of a man who had proved, in so -signal a manner, his capacity for dealing with Orientals. As it was, -however, with the exception of the journeys to the Sinaitic Peninsula -and the Holy Land, he lived a quiet student-life; not wholly retired, -for he was no book-worm, and enjoyed, after a peculiar fashion of his -own, the society of his fellow-men; but still a life which did not -really bring him beyond the narrow circle of the few intimate friends -who knew him thoroughly, and were proportionately devoted to him. He -took no part in any movement; he was not ‘earnest’ or ‘intense.’ He did -not read new books, or any of the ‘thoughtful’ magazines; nor had he any -particular desire to alter the framework of society. The world was a -good world so far as he was concerned; and men were strange and -interesting creatures whom it was a pleasure to study, as a naturalist -studies a new species; why alter it or them? The interest which attaches -to such a life depends wholly on the way in which the central character -is presented to the public. That Mr Besant should have succeeded where -others would have failed need not surprise us. The qualities which have -made him a delightful novelist are brought to bear upon this prose _In -Memoriam_, with the additional incentives of warm friendship and -passionate regret. It is clear that he realized all the difficulties of -his task from the outset; and he has treated his materials accordingly, -leading the reader forward with consummate art, chapter by chapter, to -the final catastrophe, which is described with the picturesqueness of a -romance, and the solemn earnestness of a tragedy. Such a book is almost -above criticism. A mourner by an open grave, pronouncing the funeral -oration of his murdered friend, has a prescriptive right to apportion -praise and blame in what measure he thinks fit; and we should be the -last to intrude upon his sacred sorrow with harsh and inconsiderate -criticism. But we should be failing in our duty if we did not draw -attention to one point. It has been Mr Besant’s object to show the -difficulties of all kinds against which his hero had to -contend—ill-health, heavy sorrows, debt—and how he came triumphant -through them all, thanks to his indomitable pluck and energy; and -further, as though no element of interest should be wanting, he has -represented him as smarting under a sense of unmerited wrong done to him -by his University, which ‘went out of the way to insult and neglect’ -him. This is no mere fancy of Mr Besant’s; we know from other sources -that Palmer himself thought he had not been treated at Cambridge as he -ought to have been, and that he was glad to get away from it. We shall -do our best to show that this was a misconception on his part, and we -regret that his biographer should have given such prominence to it. But, -though Mr Besant may have been zealous overmuch on this particular -point, his book is none the less fascinating, and we venture to predict -that it will live, as a permanent record of a very remarkable man. We -are sensible that much of its charm will disappear in the short sketch -which we are about to give, but if our remarks have the effect of -sending our readers to the original, we shall not have written in vain. - -Edward Henry Palmer was born in Green Street, Cambridge, 7 August, 1840. -His father died when he was an infant, and his mother did not long -survive her husband. Her place was supplied to some extent by an aunt, -then unmarried, who took the orphan child to her own home and educated -him. She was evidently a person who combined great kindness with great -good sense. Palmer, we read, ‘owed everything to her,’ and ‘never spoke -of her in after years without the greatest tenderness and emotion.’ Of -his real mother we do not find any record; but the father, who kept a -small private school, was ‘a man of considerable acquirements, with a -strong taste for art.’ We do not know whether any of Palmer’s peculiar -talents had ever been observed in the father, or whether he can be said -to have inherited anything from his family except a tendency to asthma -and bronchial disease. From this, of which the father died before he was -thirty, the son suffered all his life. He grew out of it to a certain -extent, but it was always there, a watchful enemy, ready to start forth -and fasten upon its victim. - -The beginning of Palmer’s education was of the most ordinary -description, and little need be said about it. He was sent in the first -instance to a private school, and afterwards to the Perse Grammar -School. There he made rapid progress, arriving at the sixth form before -he was fifteen; but all we hear about his studies is that he -distinguished himself in Greek and Latin, and disliked mathematics. By -the time he was sixteen he had learnt all that he was likely to learn at -school, and was sent to London to earn his living. He became a junior -clerk in a house of business in East-cheap, where he remained for three -years, and might have remained for the term of his natural life, had he -not been obliged to resign his situation on account of ill-health. -Symptoms of pulmonary disease manifested themselves, and he got worse so -rapidly that he was told that he had little hope of recovery. He -returned to Cambridge, with the conviction that he had but a few weeks -to live, and that he had better die comfortably among his relations, -than miserably among strangers. But after a few weeks of severe illness -he recovered, suddenly and strangely. Mr Besant tells a curious story, -which Palmer is reported to have believed, that the cure had been -effected by a dose of _lobelia_, administered by a herbalist. That -Palmer swallowed the drug—of which, by the way, he nearly died—is -certain, and that he recovered is equally certain; but that the dose and -the recovery can be correlated as cause and effect is more than we are -prepared to admit. We are rather disposed to accept a less sensational -theory, expressed by a gentleman who at that period was one of his -intimate friends: - -‘Careful watchfulness on the part of his aunt, open air, exercise, and -freedom from restraint, were the principal means of patching him up. He -had frequent attacks of blood-spitting afterwards, and was altogether -one of those wonderful creatures that defy doctors and quacks alike, and -won’t die of the disease which is theirs by inheritance. How little any -of us thought that he would die a hero!’ - -Palmer’s peculiar gift of acquiring languages had manifested itself even -before he went to London. Throughout his whole career his strength as a -linguist lay in his extraordinary aptitude for learning a spoken -language. The literature came afterwards. We are not aware that he was -ever what is called a good scholar in Latin or in Greek, simply for the -reason, according to our view, that those languages are no longer spoken -anywhere. He did not repudiate the literature of a language; far from -it. Probably few Orientalists have known the literatures of Arabia and -Persia better than he knew them; but he learnt to speak Arabic and -Persian before he learnt to read them. In this he resembled Cardinal -Mezzofanti, who had the same power of picking up a language for speaking -purposes from a few conversations—learning some words, and constructing -for himself first a vocabulary and then a grammar. When Palmer was still -a boy at school he learnt Romany. He learnt it, says Mr Besant, ‘by -paying travelling tinkers sixpence for a lesson, by haunting the tents, -talking to the men, and crossing the women’s palms with his pocket-money -in exchange for a few more words to add to his vocabulary. In this way -he gradually made for himself a Gipsy dictionary.’ In time he became a -proficient in Gipsy lore, and Mr Besant tells several curious stories -about his adventures with that remarkable people. We will quote the -narrative supplied to him by Mr Charles Leland—better known as Hans -Breitmann—Palmer’s intimate friend and brother in Romany lore. - -‘In one respect Palmer was truly remarkable. He combined plain common -sense, clear judgment, and great quickness of perception into all the -relations of a question, with a keen love of fun and romance. I could -fill a volume with the eccentric adventures which we had in common, -particularly among the gipsies. To these good folk we were always a -first-class mystery, but none the less popular on that account. What -with our speaking Romany “down to the bottom crust,” and Palmer’s -incredible proficiency at thimble-rig, “ringing the changes,” picking -pockets, card-sharping, three-monté, and every kind of legerdemain, -these honest people never could quite make up their minds whether we -were a kind of Brahmins, to which they were as Sudras, or what. Woe to -the gipsy sharp who tried the cards with the Professor! How often have -we gone into a _tan_ where we were all unknown, and regarded as a couple -of green Gentiles! And with what a wonderful air of innocence would -Palmer play the part of a lamb, and ask them to give him a specimen of -their language; and when they refused, or professed themselves unable to -do so, how amiably he would turn to me and remark in deep Romany that we -were mistaken, and that the people of the tent were only miserable -“mumpers” of mixed blood, who could not _rakker_! Once I remember he -said this to a gipsy, who retaliated in a great rage, “How could I know -that you were a gipsy, if you come here dressed up like a _gorgio_ and -looking like a gentleman?” - -‘One day, with Palmer, in the fens near Cambridge, we came upon a -picturesque sight. It was a large band of gipsies on a halt. As we -subsequently learned, they had made the day before an immense raid in -robbing hen-roosts and poaching, and were loaded with game, fowls, and -eggs. None of them knew me, but several knew the Professor as a lawyer. -One took him aside to confide as a client their late misdoings. “We have -been,” said he—— - -‘“You have been stealing eggs,” replied Palmer. - -‘“How did you know that?” - -‘“By the yolk on your waistcoat,” answered the Professor in Romany. “The -next time you had better hide the marks[89].”’ - -These experiences among the gipsies took place in 1874 or 1875, when -Palmer had perfected himself in their language, and we must go back for -a moment to the period spent in London. There, in his leisure hours, he -managed to learn Italian and French, by a process similar to that by -which he had previously acquired the rudiments of Romany. - -‘The method he pursued is instructive. He found out where Italians might -be expected to meet, and went every evening to sit among them and hear -them talk. Thus, there was in those days a _café_ in Titchborne Street -frequented by Italian refugees, political exiles, and republicans. Here -Palmer sat and listened and presently began to talk, and so became an -ardent partisan of Italian unity. There was also at that time—I think -many of them have now migrated to Hammersmith—a great colony of Italian -organ-grinders and sellers of plaster-cast images in and about Saffron -Hill. He went among these worthy people, sat with them in their -restaurants, drank their sour wine, talked with them, and acquired their -_patois_. He found out Italian waiters at restaurants and talked with -them; at the docks he went on board Italian ships, and talked with the -sailors; and in these ways learned the various dialects of Genoa, -Naples, Nice, Livorno, Venice, and Messina. One of his friends at this -time was a well-known Signor Buonocorre, the so-called “Fire King,” who -used to astonish the multitude nightly at Cremorne Gardens and elsewhere -by his feats. For Palmer was always attracted by people who run shows, -“do” things, act, pretend, persuade, deceive, and in fact are -interesting for any kind of cleverness. However, the first result of -this perseverance was that he made himself a perfect master of Italian, -that he knew the country speech as well as the Italian of the schools, -and that he could converse with the Piedmontese, the Venetian, the -Roman, the Sicilian, or the Calabrian, in their own dialects, as well as -with the purest native of Florence. - -‘Also while he was in the City he acquired French by a similar process. -I do not know whether he carried on his French studies at the same time -with the Italian, but I believe not. It seems certainly more in -accordance with the practice which he adopted in after life that he -should attempt only one thing at a time. But as with Italian so with -French; he joined to a knowledge of the pure language a curious -acquaintance with _argot_; also—which points to acquaintance made in -_cafés_—he acquired somehow in those early days a curious knowledge and -admiration of the French police and detective system[90].’ - -The illness which compelled Palmer to give up London had evidently been -very serious, and his convalescence was tedious. Nor, when supposed to -be well, did he feel any inclination to resume work as a clerk. So he -stayed in Cambridge at his aunt’s house, with no definite aim in life, -but taking up now one thing, now another, after the manner of clever -boys when they are at home for the holidays. He did a little literature -in the way of burlesques, one of which, _Ye Hole in ye Walle_, a legend -told after the manner of Ingoldsby, was afterwards published by Messrs -Macmillan; he wrote a farce, which was acted in that temple of Thespis, -once dear to Cambridge undergraduates, the old Barnwell Theatre; he -acted himself with considerable success, and for a week or so thought of -adopting the stage as a profession; he tried conjuring, in which in -after years he became an adept, and ventriloquism, where he failed; he -took up various forms of art, as wood-engraving, modelling, drawing, -painting, photography; in all of which, except the last, he arrived at -creditable results. His aunt is reported to have borne her nephew’s -changeable tastes with exemplary patience, until photography came to the -front; but ‘the waste of expensive materials, the damage to clothes, -stair carpets—he could always be traced—his disreputable piebald -appearance,’ and (last, but not least!) ‘the results on glass,’ were too -much for even her good-nature. The camera was banished, and the artist -was bidden to adopt some pursuit less annoying to his neighbours. The -one really useful study of this period was shorthand-writing; and in -after years, when he practised as a barrister, he found the usefulness -of it. - -Up to this time—the year 1860—he had never turned his attention to -Oriental literature, and very likely had never seen an Oriental -character. The friend whose reminiscences we have quoted more than once -already says that he remembers ‘going one morning into his bedroom (he -was a very late riser) and finding him looking at some Arabic -characters. They interested him; he liked the look of them; it was an -improvement on shorthand; he would find it all out; and so he did!’ He -set to work without delay to find somebody he could talk to about his -new fancy, and, as the supply of Oriental scholars is necessarily -limited even at one of the Universities, he was led at once to the only -two persons competent to instruct him—the Rev. George Skinner, and a -Mohammedan named Syed Abdullah. The former was a Master of Arts of the -University, who had published a translation of the Psalms; the latter -was a native of Oudh, who had resided in England since 1851, and who -about this time came to Cambridge to prepare students for the Civil -Service of India. Under the guidance of these gentlemen, Palmer plunged -into Oriental languages with the same enthusiasm with which he had -followed the various pursuits we have mentioned above. There was this -difference, however, between the new love and the old; there was no -turning back; the day of transient fancies was over; that of serious -work had begun. His ardour now knew no abatement; he is said to have -worked at this time eighteen hours a day. This may well be doubted; but -without pressing such a statement too closely, we may admit that he gave -himself up to his new studies with unwonted perseverance, and that his -progress was rapid. Mr Skinner used to take him out for walks in the -country, and discourse to him on Hebrew grammar. Hebrew, however, was a -language which did not attract him greatly, and in after years he used -to say that he did not know it. Syed Abdullah gave him more regular and -systematic instruction in Urdú, Persian, and Arabic. Palmer was -‘constantly writing prose and verse exercises for him.’ They became -intimate friends; and it was probably through his representations that -Palmer was allowed to give up all thoughts of resuming work as a clerk, -and to take up Oriental languages and literature as a profession. -Through him, too, he was introduced to the Nawab Ikbal ud Dawlah, son of -the late Rajah of Oudh, who took a very warm interest in Palmer’s -studies, allowed him to live in his house when he pleased, and gave him -the assistance of two able native instructors. Next he struck up a -friendship with a Bengalee gentleman named Bazlurrahim, with whom he -spent some time, composing incessantly under his supervision in Persian -and Urdú. Besides these he was on terms of intimacy with other Orientals -resident at that time in England, and also with Professor Mir Aulad Ali, -of Trinity College, Dublin, ‘who was constantly his adviser, critic, -teacher, friend, and sympathizer.’ Hence, as Mr Besant points out, we -may see that he had no lack of instructors; and may at once dismiss from -our minds two common misconceptions about him—first that Oriental -languages ‘came natural’ to him; and, secondly, that he was a poor, -friendless, solitary student, burning the midnight lamp in a garret, and -learning Arabic all alone. On the contrary, he never felt any pressure -of poverty, and was helped, sympathized with, encouraged, by all those -with whom he came in contact. His progress was rapid, and in 1862 he was -able to send a copy of original Arabic verses to the Lord Almoner’s -Reader in that language, who described them as ‘elegant and idiomatic.’ - -Up to this time Palmer does not appear to have known much of University -men, or to have thought of becoming a member of the University himself. -He would probably have never joined S. John’s College had he not been -accidentally ‘discovered,’ as Mr Besant happily puts it, by two of the -Fellows. The result of this discovery was that he was invited to become -a candidate for a sizarship in October 1863, and in the interval -prepared himself for the examination by reviving his former studies in -classics, and in working at mathematics. He was assisted in this -preparation by one of the Fellows, who tells us that, though he declared -that he knew no mathematics at all, he ‘always did what I set him, -passed the examinations very easily, and presumably obtained his -sizarship on it.’ His known proficiency in Oriental languages was -evidently not taken into account at the outset of his University career, -but some two years afterwards, in 1865 or 1866, a scholarship was given -to him on that account only. He took his degree in 1867, and, as there -was no Oriental Languages Tripos in those days, he presented himself for -the Classical Tripos, in which he obtained only a third class. Such a -place cannot, as a general rule, be considered brilliant; but in his -case it should be regarded as a distinction rather than a failure, for -it shows that he must have possessed a more than respectable knowledge -of Latin and Greek, and, moreover, have been able to write composition -in those languages. At the time of his matriculation (November 1863) he -could have known but little of either; and during the succeeding three -years he had been much occupied with vigorous prosecution of his -Oriental studies, with taking pupils in Arabic, and with making -catalogues of the Oriental manuscripts in the libraries of the -University, of King’s College, and of Trinity College. But he always had -a surprising power of getting through an enormous quantity of work -without ever seeming to be in a hurry. A friend tells us that Palmer - -‘Did not strike one as a man of method, as an economist of time, as -moving about wrapped in thought. You met him apparently lounging along, -ready for a talk, perhaps in company with a rather idle man; yet when -you came to measure up his work you were puzzled to know how any one man -could do it.’ - -Palmer’s proficiency in Oriental languages at this time, 1867—only seven -years, it should be remembered, after he had begun to study them—is -abundantly attested by a very remarkable body of testimonials[91] which -he obtained when a candidate for the post of interpreter to the English -embassy in Persia. His old friend the Nawab said: - -‘Notwithstanding the fact that he has never visited any Eastern kingdom, -or mixed with Oriental nations, he has yet, by his own perseverance, -application, and study, acquired such great proficiency, fluency, and -eloquence, in speaking and writing three Oriental tongues—to wit, Urdú -(Hindoostani), Persian, and Arabic—that one would say he must have -associated with Oriental nations, and studied for a lengthened period in -the Universities of the East.’ - -We have no room for quotations from the curious and flowery compositions -in which numerous learned Orientals held up his excellencies of every -sort to admiration; but we will cite a short passage from what was said -by Mr Bradshaw, Librarian to the University of Cambridge, who had -naturally seen a great deal of him while working at the manuscripts: - -‘What was at once apparent was the radical difference of his knowledge -of these languages [Arabic and Persian] from that of any other -Orientalist I had met. It was the difference between native knowledge -and dictionary knowledge; between one who uses a language as his own and -one who is able to make out the meaning of what is before him with more -or less accuracy by help of a dictionary.’ - -In the autumn of 1867, a fellowship at S. John’s College being vacant, -the then Master, Dr Bateson, knowing Palmer’s reputation as an -Orientalist, asked Professor Cowell, then recently made Professor of -Sanskrit, to examine him. Professor Cowell writes: - -‘I undertook to examine him in Persian and Hindustani, as I felt that my -knowledge of Arabic was too slight to justify my venturing to examine -him in that language. I well remember my delight and surprise in this -examination. I had never had any intercourse with Palmer before, as I -had been previously living in India; and I had no idea that he was such -an Oriental scholar. I remember well that I set him for translation into -Persian prose a florid description from Gibbon’s chapter on Mohammed. -Palmer translated it in a masterly way, in the true style of Persian -rhetoric, every important substantive having its rhyming doublet, just -as in the best models of Persian literature. In fact, his vocabulary -seemed exhaustless. I also set him difficult pieces for translation from -the Masnaví, Khondemir, and I think Saudá; but he could explain them all -without hesitation. I sent a full report to the Master, and the college -elected him at once to the vacant fellowship[92].’ - -It has now become an understood thing at Cambridge that a man who is -really distinguished in any branch of study has a good chance of a -fellowship; but twenty years ago this was not the case, and we believe -that Palmer was the first, at least in the present century, to obtain -that blue ribbon of Cambridge life for proficiency in other languages -than those of Greece and Rome. Such a distinction meant more to him than -it would have meant to most men. No further anxieties on the score of -money need trouble him for the future; he need no longer be dependent on -the generosity of relations who were not themselves overburdened with -the goods of this world. He might study Oriental languages to his -heart’s content without let or hindrance from anybody; and it was more -than probable that one piece of good fortune would be the parent of -another—a distinction so signal would bring him into notice, and obtain -for him the offer of something which would be worth accepting. He had -not long to wait. In less than a year a post was offered to him which -presented, in delightful combination, study, travel, some emolument, and -a reasonable prospect of fame and fortune if he worked hard and was -successful. At the suggestion of the Rev. George Williams, then a -resident Fellow of King’s College, he was asked to take part in the -exploration of the Holy Land, and to accompany an expedition then about -to start for the survey of Sinai and the neighbourhood. He was to -investigate the names and traditions of the country, and to copy and -decipher the inscriptions with which the rocks in the so-called ‘Written -Valley’ and in other places are covered. He accepted without hesitation, -and left England in November 1868. - -The results of this expedition will be found in _The Desert of the -Exodus_[93], a delightful book, in which Palmer has narrated in a -pleasing style the daily doings of the surveyors, and the conclusions at -which they arrived. His own proceedings are kept modestly in the -background; but a careful reader will soon discover that, in addition to -his appointed task as collector of folk-lore, he did his full share of -topographical investigation, in which he evidently took a keen and -growing interest, all the more remarkable as he could have had but -little previous preparation for it. A detailed analysis of the results -achieved would occupy far more space than we have at our disposal. We -will only mention that the investigations of the expedition ‘materially -confirmed and elucidated the history of the Exodus’; that objections -founded on the supposed incapacity of the peninsula to accommodate so -large a host as that of Israel were disposed of by pointing out abundant -traces of ancient fertility; that the claims of Jebel Musa to be the -true Sinai were vindicated by a comparison of its natural features with -the Bible narrative, and by the collection of Arab and Mohammedan -traditions; and, lastly, that the site of Kibroth Hattaavah was -determined, partly on geographical grounds, partly on the traditions -still current among the Towarah Bedouin, whose language Palmer mastered, -and of whose manners and customs he has drawn up a very full and -interesting account. The intimate acquaintance which he thus formed with -one of these tribes stood him in good stead in the following year, when -he took a far more responsible journey. The ease with which he spoke the -Arab language was, however, one of the least of his many gifts: he -thoroughly understood Arab character, and was generally successful, not -merely in making the natives do what he wanted, but, what is far more -wonderful, in making them speak the truth to him. He thus sums up his -method of dealing with them: - -‘An Arab is a bad actor, and with but a very little practice you may -infallibly detect him in a lie; when directly accused of it, he is -astonished at your, to him, incomprehensible sagacity, and at once gives -up the game. By keeping this fact constantly in view, and at the same -time endeavouring to win their confidence and respect, I have every -reason to believe that the Bedawín gave us throughout a correct account -of their country and its nomenclature. - -‘When once an Arab has ceased to regard you with suspicion, you may -surprise a piece of information out of him at any moment; and if you -repeat it to him a short time afterwards, he forgets in nine cases out -of ten that he has himself been your authority, and should the -information be incorrect will flatly contradict you and set you right, -while if it be authentic he is puzzled at your possessing a knowledge of -the facts, and deems it useless to withhold from you anything -further[94].’ - -The survey of Sinai had been completed but a few months when Palmer left -England again, for a second journey of exploration. It is evident that -he must have taken a more prominent part in the management of the first -expedition than the precise terms of his engagement with the explorers -would have led us to expect, and that he had thoroughly satisfied those -responsible for it, for this second expedition was practically entrusted -to him to arrange as he pleased. He was instructed in general terms to -clear up, first, certain disputed points in the topography of Sinai; -next, to examine the country between the Sinaitic Peninsula and the -Promised Land—the ‘Desert of the Wanderings’; and, lastly, to search for -inscriptions in Moab. He determined to take with him a single companion -only, Mr Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake, of Trinity College, Cambridge, who had -had already some experience of the East, and who proved himself in every -way to be the man of men for rough journeys in unknown lands; to travel -on foot, without dragoman, servant, or escort; and to take no more -baggage than four camels could carry. The two friends started from Suez -on December 16, 1869, and reached Jerusalem in excellent health and -spirits on February 26, 1870. They had performed a feat of which anybody -might well be proud. They had traversed ‘the great and terrible desert,’ -the Desert of El Tih, and the Negeb, or ‘south country’ of Palestine, -exactly as they had proposed to do—on foot, with no attendants except -the owners of the baggage-camels. They had walked nearly 600 miles; but -this fact, though it says much for their endurance, gives but little -idea of the real fatigues of such a journey. The mental strain must have -been far more exhausting than the physical fatigue. They were not -tourists, but explorers, whose duty it was to observe carefully, to -record their observations on the spot, to make plans and sketches, and -to collect such information as could be extracted from the inhabitants. -These various pursuits—in addition to their domestic arrangements—had to -be carried on in the midst of an Arab population always suspicious, and -sometimes openly hostile, who worried them from daybreak until far into -the night, and against whom their only weapons were incessant -watchfulness, tact, and good humour. Readers of Palmer’s narrative will -not be surprised to find him hinting, not obscurely, that the only way -to solve the ‘Bedouin question’ is to adopt what was called a few years -afterwards, with reference to another not wholly dissimilar race, ‘the -bag and baggage policy.’ This deliberate opinion, expressed by one who -knew the Arabs well, and who had obtained singular influence over them, -is worthy of careful attention, as, indeed, are all the chapters in the -second part of _The Desert of the Exodus_, where this journey is fully -described and illustrated. After reading that narrative no one can be -surprised that the mission which ended so triumphantly and so fatally -twelve years afterwards should have been entrusted to Palmer. - -After a brief repose in Jerusalem they started afresh, and, passing -again through the South Country by a different route, travelled eastward -of the Dead Sea through the unknown lands of Edom and Moab. They made -numerous observations of great value to Biblical students; but they -failed to find what they had come to seek—inscriptions—though they -succeeded in inspecting every known ‘written stone’ in the country; and -the conclusion at last forced itself upon them, ‘that, _above ground_ at -least, there does not exist another Moabite stone[95].’ It will be -remembered that the famous inscription of King Mesha was found built -into a wall of late Roman work, the ancient Moabite city being buried -some feet below the present surface of the ground. This fact induced -Palmer to adopt the following opinion: - -‘If a few intelligent and competent men, such as those employed in the -Jerusalem excavations, could be taken out to Moab, and certain of the -ruins be excavated, further interesting discoveries might be made. Such -researches might be made without difficulty if the Arabs were well -managed and the expedition possessed large resources; but it must be -remembered that the country is only nominally subject to the Turkish -Government, and is filled with lawless tribes, jealous of each other and -of the intrusion of strangers, and all greedily claiming a property in -every stone, written or unwritten, which they think might interest a -Frank. - -‘That many treasures do lie buried among the ruins of Moab there can be -but little doubt; the Arabs, indeed, narrated to us several instances of -gold coins and figures having been found by them while ploughing in the -neighbourhood of the ancient cities, and sold to jewellers at Nablous, -by whom they were probably melted up[95].’ - -But, though there was no inscription to bring home as visible evidence -of what had been done, the expedition was not barren of results. In the -first place, the possibility of exploring the little-known parts of -Palestine at a comparatively trifling cost had been demonstrated; and, -secondly, numerous sites had been discovered where further research -would probably yield information of the greatest value. It is a -misfortune that Palmer was not able in after years to give undivided -attention to these interesting problems of Biblical topography. Unless -we are much mistaken, he would have made a revolution in many of them, -and notably in the architectural history of the city of Jerusalem, upon -which he did throw new light from an unexpected quarter—the Arab -historians. He would, in fact, have pursued for the Temple area at -Jerusalem the method which Professor Willis pursued so successfully for -some of our own cathedrals; he would have marshalled in chronological -order the notices of the Arab works there; and then, by comparing the -historical evidence with the existing structures, have assigned their -respective dates with certainty to each of them. - -Palmer returned to England in the autumn of 1870, and soon afterwards -became a candidate for the Professorship of Arabic in the University of -Cambridge. He was unsuccessful, and we should have contented ourselves -with recording the fact without comment, had not Mr Besant stated the -whole question in a way reflecting so unfavourably on the electors, and -through them on the University, that we feel compelled to investigate -the circumstances in detail. This is what he says: - -‘In the same year Palmer experienced what one is fully justified in -calling the most cruel blow ever dealt to him, and one which he never -forgot or forgave. - -‘The vacancy of the Professorship of Arabic in 1871 seemed to give him -at last the chance which he had been expecting.... He became a candidate -for the vacant post; the place in fact _belonged to him_; it was his -already by a right which it is truly wonderful could have been contested -by any—the right of Conquest. The electors were the Heads of the -colleges. - -‘Consider the position: Palmer by this time was a man known all over the -world of Oriental scholarship; he was not a single untried student and -man of books; he had proved his powers in the most practical of all -ways, viz. by relying on his knowledge of the language for safety on a -dangerous expedition; he had written, and written wonderfully well, a -great quantity of things in Persian, Urdú, and Arabic; he was known to -everybody who knew anything at all about the subject; he had been -greatly talked about by those who did not; he was a graduate of the -University and Fellow of S. John’s, an honour which, as was well known, -he received solely for his attainments in Oriental languages; he had a -great many friends who were ready to testify, and had already testified, -in the strongest terms, to his extraordinary knowledge; he was, in fact, -the only Cambridge man who could, with any show of fairness justice at -all, be elected. He was also young, and full of strength and enthusiasm; -if Persian and Arabic lectures and Oriental studies could be made useful -or attractive at the University, he would make them so. What follows -seems incredible. - -‘On the other hand, the electing body consisted, as stated above, of the -Heads of colleges. It is in the nature of things that the Heads, who are -mostly men advanced in years, who have spent all their lives at the -University, should retain whatever old prejudices, traditions, and -ancient manner of regarding things, may be still surviving. There -were—it seems childish to advance this statement seriously, and yet I -have no doubt it is true and correct—two prejudices against which Palmer -had then to contend. The first was the more serious. It was at that -time, even more than it is now, the custom at Cambridge to judge the -abilities of every man entirely with regard to his place in one of the -two old Triposes; and this without the least respect or consideration -for any other attainments, or accomplishments, or learning. Darwin, for -instance, whose name does not occur in the Honour list at all, never -received from his college the slightest mark of respect until his death. -Long after he had become the greatest scientific man in Europe the -question would have been asked—I have no doubt it was often asked—what -degree he took. Palmer’s name did occur in the Classical Tripos—but -alas! in the third class. Was it possible, was it probable, that a -third-class man could be a person worthy of consideration at all? -Third-class men are good enough for assistant-masters in small schools, -for curacies, or for any other branch of labour which can be performed -without much intellect. But a third-class man must never, under any -circumstances, consider that he has a right to learn anything or to -claim distinction as a scholar. I put the case strongly; but there is no -Cambridge man who will deny the fact that, in whatever branch of -learning distinction be subsequently attained, the memory of a second or -third class is always prejudicial. Palmer, therefore, went before the -grave and reverend Heads with this undeniable third class against a -whole sheaf of proofs, testimonials, letters, opinions, statements, and -assertions of attainments extraordinary, and, in some respects, -unrivalled. To be sure they were only letters from Orientals and -Oriental scholars. What could they avail against the opinion of the -Classical Examiners of 1867 that Palmer was only worth a third class? - -‘As I said above, it seems childish. But it is true. And this was the -first prejudice. - -‘The second prejudice was perhaps his youth. He was, it is true, past -thirty, but he had only taken his degree three or four years, and -therefore he only ought to have been five-and-twenty. He looked no more -than five-and-twenty; he still possessed—he always possessed—the -enthusiasm of youth; his manners, which could be, when he chose, full of -dignity even among his intimates, were those of a man still in early -manhood; he had been talked about in connection with his adventures in -the East; and stories were told, some true and some false, which may -have alarmed the gravity of the Heads. There must be no tincture of -Bohemianism about a Professor of the University. Perhaps rumours may -have been whispered about the gipsies and the tinkers, or the -mesmerizing, or the conjuring; but I think the conjuring had hardly yet -begun. - -‘In speaking of this election, I beg most emphatically to disclaim any -comparison between the most eminent and illustrious scholar who was -elected and the man who was rejected. I say that it is always the -bounden duty of the University to give her prizes to her own children if -they have proved themselves worthy of them. Not to do so is to -discourage learning and to drive away students. Now, the Professorship -of Arabic was vacant; the most brilliant Oriental scholar whom the -University has produced in this century—perhaps in any century—became a -candidate for it; he was the only Cambridge man who could possibly be a -candidate; the Heads of Houses passed him by and elected a scholar of -wide reputation indeed, but not a member of the University. - -‘There were other circumstances which made the election more -disappointing. It was known, before the election, that Dr Wright had -been spoken to on the subject; it was also known that he would not stand -because the stipend of the post, only 300_l._ a year, was not sufficient -to induce him to give up the British Museum. It seemed, therefore, that -the result of Palmer’s candidature would be a walk over. But the day -before the election the Master of Queens’—then Dr Phillips, who was -himself a Syriac scholar—went round to all the electors, and informed -them that Dr Wright would be put up on the following day. He was put up; -he was elected; and very shortly afterwards was made a Fellow of Queens’ -probably in consequence of an understanding with Dr Phillips that, in -the event of his election to the Professorship, an election to a Queens’ -Fellowship should follow. Of course, one has nothing to say against the -Fellowship. Probably a Queens’ Fellowship was never more honourably and -usefully bestowed; but yet the man who ought to have obtained the -Professorship, the man to whom it belonged, was kept out of it. Palmer -was the kindest-hearted and most forgiving of men, and the last to think -or speak evil; but this was a deliberate and uncalled-for injustice, an -insult to his reputation which could never be forgotten. It embittered -the whole of his future connexion with the University: it never was -forgotten or forgiven[96].’ - -We notice two errors of fact in the above narrative. The election did -not take place in 1871, but in 1870; and secondly, the Professorship was -then worth only £70 a year. The stipend was not raised to £300 until the -following November. The second of these errors is not of much -importance; but the first is very material, as we shall show presently. - -We will next give an exact narrative of what actually took place. -Professor Williams, who had held the Arabic chair since 1854, died in -the Long Vacation of 1870, and on October 1 the Vice-Chancellor -announced the vacancy, and fixed the day of election for Friday, October -21. The only candidates who presented themselves in the ordinary way -were Palmer and the Rev. Stanley Leathes, M.A., of Jesus College, a -gentleman who had obtained the Tyrwhitt Hebrew Scholarship in 1853. It -was thought that his merits were little known, and that he would not -prove a formidable opponent; and Palmer, as Mr Besant rightly states, -looked upon the Professorship as as good as won. However, on the day -before, or the day but one before, the election, the President of -Queens’ College left a card on each of the electors, to say that Dr -Wright would be voted for. One of these cards was given to Palmer, we do -not know by whom. He showed it to a friend, who asked, ‘What does it -mean?’ ‘It means that it is all up with me,’ was Palmer’s reply; and -events proved that he was right in his forebodings. When the electors -met, the Masters of Trinity Hall and Emmanuel were not present, and the -Master of Gonville and Caius declined to vote. The remaining fourteen -voted in the following way:—for Dr Wright, eight; for Mr Palmer, five; -for Mr Leathes, one. Dr Wright, therefore, was declared to be elected. - -It will be seen from what is here stated—and the accuracy of our facts -is, we know, beyond question—that it was not the Heads of Houses in -their collective capacity who rejected Palmer, but less than half of -them. Again, we submit that there is no evidence that those who voted -against him were actuated by either of the prejudices which Mr Besant -imputes to them. A high place in a tripos is no longer regarded at -Cambridge as indispensable, unless the candidate be trying for a post -the duties of which are in direct relation to the tripos in which he has -sought distinction. Four years afterwards, the resident members of the -Senate chose as Woodwardian Professor of Geology a gentleman who had -taken an ordinary degree, in opposition to one who had been placed -thirteenth in the first class of the mathematical tripos, on the ground -that they believed him to be a better geologist than his opponent. It -will be said they were not the Heads of Colleges; but we would remark -that, even in the election we are discussing, the case against them -breaks down on this point; for the successful candidate was not even a -member of the University, and surely an indifferent degree is better -than no degree at all. As to the second prejudice against Palmer, we -simply dismiss it with contempt. We never heard of a Cambridge elector -who was influenced by hearsay evidence; and, as a matter of fact, Palmer -was supported by the Master of his own College, who must have known more -about his habits than all the other Heads put together. If we consider -the result arrived at by the light of subsequent events, it is natural -for those who, like his biographer and ourselves, are strongly -prepossessed in Palmer’s favour, to regret that he was unsuccessful; and -we are delighted to find Mr Besant asserting, as he does, that -University distinctions ought to be given, _ceteris paribus_, to -University men. But if we try to put ourselves in the position of the -electors, and survey the two candidates as they surveyed them, there is, -we feel bound to assert, ample justification for the selection they -made, having regard to the particular post to be filled at that time. -They had, in fact, to choose between a tried and an untried man. Dr -Wright was known to have received a regular education in Oriental -languages in Germany and in Holland, and to be thought highly of by the -most competent judges in those countries. He had given proof of sound -scholarship in various publications, and it was considered by several -scholars in the University that the studies to which he had given -special attention, viz.—Syriac, Samaritan, Ethiopic, and the Semitic -group of languages generally—would be specially useful there. He had -held a Professorship in Trinity College, Dublin, where he had been -distinguished as a teacher; he was personally known in Cambridge, not -merely to Dr Phillips, but to the University at large, at whose hands he -had received the honorary degree of Doctor of Law in 1868. Moreover, he -was already an honorary Fellow of Queens’ College, and therefore it was -not strange that a Society which had already gone so far should signify -to him their intention of proceeding a step further, in the event of his -consenting to come and reside at Cambridge as a Professor. He was -accordingly elected Fellow January 5, 1871[97]. - -Palmer, on the other hand, had submitted to the electors testimonials -which testified to his wonderful knowledge of Hindustani, Persian, and -Arabic as spoken languages; he was known to have given special attention -to the languages of India; he had catalogued the Oriental MSS. in the -Libraries of the University, of King’s College, and of Trinity College; -he had translated Moore’s _Paradise and the Peri_ into Arabic verse; and -he had published a short treatise on the Sufistic and Unitarian -Theosophy of the Persians. But here the direct evidence of his -acquirements ceased; and it is at this point that the date of the -election becomes material. None of his more important works had as yet -appeared. The official Report of his journeys in the East was not -published until January 1871; and the preface to his _Desert of the -Exodus_ is - -dated June of the same year[98]. The Heads, therefore, could not know -that he ‘had relied on his knowledge of the language for safety in a -dangerous expedition.’ - -After a disappointment so severe as the loss of the much-coveted -professorship, it might have been expected that Palmer’s connexion with -Cambridge would soon have been severed; that he would have sought and -obtained a lucrative appointment elsewhere. On the contrary, it was -written in the book of fate, as one of his favourite Orientals would -have said, that he should not only remain at Cambridge, but remain there -in connexion with Oriental studies. Cambridge has two chairs of Arabic: -a Professorship founded by Sir Thomas Adams in 1632; and a Readership, -founded by King George I. in 1724, at the instance of Lancelot -Blackburn, Bishop of Exeter and Lord Almoner. It is endowed with an -income of £50 a year, paid out of the Almonry bounty, but reduced by -fees to £40. 10_s._ If, however, the income be small the duties are -none—or, rather, none are attached to the office as such; and moreover -the Reader is technically regarded as a Professor, and has a Professor’s -privilege of retaining a College Fellowship for life as a married man. -The previous holder of the office, the Rev. Theodore Preston, Fellow of -Trinity College, had regarded it as a sinecure, and moreover had -generally been non-resident. On his resignation in 1871, the Lord -Almoner for the time being, the Hon. and Rev. Gerald Wellesley, Dean of -Windsor, gave the office to Palmer. At last, therefore, he seemed to -have obtained his reward—congenial occupation in a place which had been -the first to find him out and help him, where he had many devoted -friends, and where he was now enabled to establish himself as a married -man; for on the very day after he received his appointment he married a -lady to whom he had been engaged for some years. - -Palmer took a very different view of his duties as Reader in Arabic from -what his predecessor had done. He delivered his inaugural lecture on -Monday, 4 March, 1872, choosing for his subject ‘The National Religion -of Persia; an Outline Sketch of Comparative Theology[99],’ and during -the Easter and Michaelmas terms he lectured on six days in each week, -devoting three days to Persian and three to Arabic. To these subjects -there was subsequently added a course in Hindustani. In consequence of -this large amount of voluntary work the Council of the Senate -recommended (February 24, 1873)[100] ‘that a sum of £250 per annum -should be paid to the present Lord Almoner’s Reader out of the -University Chest,’ and that he should be authorized to receive a fee of -£2. 2_s._ in each term for each course of lectures from every student -attending them, provided he declared in writing his readiness to -acquiesce in certain regulations, of which the first was: ‘That it shall -be his ordinary duty to reside within the precincts of the University -for eighteen weeks during term time in every academical year, and to -give three courses of lectures—viz. one course in Arabic, one in -Persian, and one in Hindustani.’ The Senate accepted this proposal March -6, 1873, and Palmer signed the new regulations five days afterwards. In -recording this transaction Mr Besant remarks: ‘It must be acknowledged -that the University got full value for their money.’ We reply to this -sneer that the University asked no more from Palmer than it asked from -every other professor whose salary was augmented. The clause imposing -residence had been accepted in the same form by all the other -professors; and one course of lectures in each term is surely the very -least that a teaching body can require from one of its staff. It must -also be remembered that the Lord Almoner’s Readership is an office to -which the University does not appoint, which therefore it cannot -control, and which, until Palmer held it, had been practically useless. -He, however, being disposed to reside, and to discharge his self-imposed -duties vigorously, the University came forward with an offer which was -meant to be generous, in recognition of his personal merits; for the -whole arrangement, it will be observed, had reference to the _present_ -Reader only—that is, to himself. The precise amount offered, £250, was -evidently selected with the intention of placing the Lord Almoner’s -Reader on the same footing as a professor, for the salaries of nearly -all the professorial body had been already raised to £300; and, if a -comparison between the Reader and the Professor of Arabic be inevitable, -it may be remarked that while the University offered £250 to the former, -they offered only £230 to the latter. The intention, we repeat, was -generous, and we protest with some indignation against Palmer’s bitter -words: ‘The very worst use a man can make of himself is to stay up at -Cambridge and work for the University.’ The truth is that University -life did not suit him, and though he tried hard for ten years to believe -that it did, the attempt ended in failure, and it is much to be -regretted that it was ever made. - -We must pass rapidly over the next ten years. They were years of -incessant labour, labour which must have been often most painful and -irksome, for it had to be undertaken in the midst of heavy sorrow, -ill-health, pecuniary difficulties—everything, in short, which damps a -man’s energies and takes the heart out of his work. His married life -began brightly enough: he had an assured income of nearly £600 a year, -which he could increase at pleasure, and we know did increase, by -literary work. In 1871 he entered at the Middle Temple, probably with -the intention of practising at the Indian bar at some future time; but -after he had given up all thoughts of India he joined the Eastern -Circuit, and attended assizes and quarter sessions regularly. He had a -fair amount of business, and is said to have made a good advocate, -though he could have had little knowledge of law, and, in fact, regarded -his legal work as a relaxation from severer studies. These he pursued -without intermission. Besides his lectures, which he gave regularly, he -produced work after work with amazing rapidity. In 1871, in addition to -the _Desert of the Exodus_, he published a _History of Jerusalem_, -written in collaboration with his friend Mr Besant; in 1873 he undertook -to write an Arabic Grammar, which appeared in the following year; in -1874 he wrote _Outlines of Scripture Geography_, and a _History of the -Jewish Nation_, for the Christian Knowledge Society, and began a Persian -Dictionary, of which the first part was published in 1876; in 1876—77 he -edited the works of the Arabian poet Beda ed din Zoheir for the Syndics -of the University Press, the text appearing in 1876 and the translation -in 1877; and during the next few years he was at work upon a _Life of -Haroun Alraschid_, a new translation of the Koran, and a revision of -Henry Martyn’s translation of the New Testament into Persian. Besides -this vast amount of solid work it would be easy to show that he produced -nearly as great a quantity of that other literature which, when we -consider the labour which it entails upon him who writes it, it is -surely a misnomer to call ‘light.’ Professor Nicholls, of Oxford, gives -an account, in a most interesting appendix to Mr Besant’s book, of the -quantity of Persian, Arabic, and Hindustani which Palmer was continually -writing. In the last-mentioned language there were a poem on the -marriage of the Duke of Edinburgh, and a wonderful account of the visit -of the Shah to England, which occupied thirty-six columns of the -_Akhbar_, a space equivalent to about twenty columns of the _Times_; -and, although Palmer admitted that ‘the writing of such things is a -laborious and artificial task to me, as I am not as familiar with the -Urdú of everyday life as I am with the Persian,’ he still went on -writing them. How familiar he was with Arabic and Persian is shown by -the curious fact that whenever he was under strong emotion he would -plunge abruptly into one or other language, sometimes writing a whole -letter in it, sometimes only a sentence or two, or a few verses. Besides -these Oriental ‘trifles’ as he would probably have called them, we find -continual contributions to English periodical literature, and three -volumes of poetry: _English Gipsy Songs in Romany_ (1875); the _Song of -the Reed, and other Pieces_ (1876); and _Lyrical Songs_, &c. by John -Ludwig Runeberg (1878). In the first of these he collaborated with Mr -Leland, whom we mentioned before, and Miss Janet Tuckey; and in the last -with Mr Magnusson; but the second is entirely his own. We regret that we -cannot find room for a specimen of these graceful verses. Those who have -leisure to look into the _Song of the Reed_, or the translation of -Zoheir, will find themselves introduced to a new literature by one who, -if not a poet, was unquestionably, as Mr Besant says, a versifier of a -high order, and in the very front rank of translators. - -We have said that most of this work—were it grave or gay, it mattered -not—had to be got through in the midst of serious anxieties. Mrs -Palmer’s health began to fail before they had been married long, and it -soon became evident that her lungs were affected. It was necessary that -she should leave Cambridge. In the spring of 1876, Wales was tried, with -results which were so reassuring that it was decided to complete her -cure (as it was then believed) by a winter in Paris. There, however, she -got worse instead of better, and early in the following year her husband -began to realize that she would die. In the autumn of 1877, they -returned home to try Wales once more, and then, as a last resource, -Bournemouth. There, in the summer of 1878, Mrs Palmer died. The expenses -of so long an illness, added to journeyings to and fro, and the cost of -keeping up two establishments (for he was obliged to continue his -Cambridge lectures all the while), crippled his resources, and produced -embarrassments from which he never became wholly free. His own health, -too, never strong, gave way under his fatigues and worries, and he -became only not quite so ill as his wife. Yet he never complained; never -said a word about his troubles to any of his friends. Those who were -most with him at this dreary time have recorded that he always met them -with a smiling face, and went about his work as calmly as if he had been -well and happy. - -It was fortunate for him that he had a singularly joyous nature, which -could never be saddened for long together. He was always surrounded by a -pleasant atmosphere of cheerfulness, which not only did good to those -about him, but had a salutary effect upon himself, enabling him to -maintain his elasticity and vigour, even in the face of sorrow and -ill-health. Most things have their comic side, if only men are not blind -to it; and he could see the humorous aspect of the most melancholy or -the most perilous situation. To the last he was full of life and fun. -Though he no longer, as of old, wrote burlesques, he could draw clever -caricatures of his friends and acquaintances; tell stories which -convulsed his hearers with laughter; and sing comic songs—especially a -certain Arab ditty, in which he turned himself into an Arab minstrel -with really wonderful power of impersonation. Again, whatever he came -across—especially in great cities like London or Paris—was full of -interest for him. Without being a philanthropist, or, indeed, having a -spark of humanitarian sentiment in his nature, he took a pleasure in -investigating his fellow-creatures, talking to men and finding out all -about them. He was endowed in the highest degree with the gift of -sympathy; and this, while it made him the most loveable of friends, made -him also a singularly acute investigator, and gave him a power of -influencing others which was truly wonderful. He possessed, too, great -manual dexterity, and took a pleasure in finding out how all those -things were done which depend for their success upon sleight of hand; -and in all such he became a proficient himself. He was a first-rate -conjuror, and besides doing the tricks, ordinary and extraordinary, of -professed conjurors, he took much satisfaction in reproducing the most -startling phenomena of spiritualism, which he regarded as a debased form -of conjuring—‘a swindle of the most palpable and clumsy kind.’ It was in -such pursuits that he found the recreation which other men find in hard -exercise. Of this he took very little. Even in his younger days he did -not care for games, and his one attempt at cricket was nearly fatal to -the wicket-keeper, whom he managed to hit on the head with his bat; but -he was an expert gymnast, and loved boating and fishing in the Fens, to -which he used to retire from time to time with one of his friends. It -may be doubted whether he cared about the sport and the fresh air so -much as the absolute repose; the old-world character of that curious -corner of England; the total absence of convention. There he could dress -as he pleased; and he took full advantage of his liberty. It is recorded -that once, as he was coming home to College, he happened to meet the -Master, Dr Bateson, who, casting his eye over the water-boots and -flannels, stained with mud and weather, in which the learned Professor -had encased himself, remarked, ‘This is Eastern costume, I suppose.’ -‘No, Master; Eastern Counties costume,’ was the reply. - -It is pleasant to be able to record that the happiness which had been so -long delayed came at last. In about a year after his wife’s death he -married again. His choice was fortunate, and for the last three years of -his life he was able to enjoy that greatest of all luxuries—a thoroughly -happy home. He stood sorely in need of such consolation, for in other -directions he had plenty to distress and worry him. His pecuniary -difficulties pressed upon him as hardly as ever, and his relations with -the University began to be somewhat strained. He had had the -mortification of seeing Professor Wright’s salary raised to £500 a year, -with no hint of any corresponding proposition being made for him[101]; -and when the Commissioners promulgated their scheme his office was not -included in it, a suggestion for raising his salary which had been made -by the Board of Oriental Studies being wholly disregarded by them. -Moreover, the undertaking to deliver three courses of lectures in each -year turned out to be infinitely more laborious than he had expected. -Candidates for the Indian Civil Service increased in number; and the -pupils of any given term were pretty sure to want to go on with their -work in the next, when he was teaching a different language, so that he -was compelled in practice to give, not one, but two, or even three, -courses in each term. Moreover, the elementary nature of much of this -instruction—the ‘teaching boys the Persian alphabet,’ as he called -it—became every year more and more irksome. We are not surprised that he -got disgusted with the University; but at the same time we cannot agree -with Mr Besant that the University was wholly to blame. They were in no -wise responsible for the conduct of the Commissioners; in fact, all that -could be done to make them take a different view was done. Had Palmer -resided continuously in the University, and pressed his own claims, -things might have been very different. But this he had been unable to -do, for reasons which, as we have seen, were beyond his own control, and -for which, therefore, he is not to be blamed; but the fact cannot be -denied that for some years he had been practically non-resident. There -was also another cause which has to be taken into consideration—his own -disposition. The life of a University is a peculiar life, which does not -suit everybody, and certainly did not suit him. He felt ‘cabined, -cribbed, confined,’ in it; and he said afterwards that ‘he never really -began to live till he was emancipated from academic trammels.’ Our -wonder is, not that he left Cambridge when he did, but that he remained -so long connected with it. The final break took place in 1881, when he -voluntarily rescinded the engagement which he had made to lecture, and, -retaining the Readership and the Fellowship at S. John’s College—neither -of which he could afford to resign—took up his abode in London, where he -obtained a place on the staff of the _Standard_ newspaper. He readily -adapted himself to this new life, and soon became a successful writer. -One of the assistant-editors at that time, Mr Robert Wilson, has -recorded that - -‘Palmer considered his career as a journalist in London, short as it -was, one of the pleasantest episodes of his life. Those who were -associated with him in that career professionally can say that they -reckoned his companionship one of the brightest and happiest of their -experiences. He was - - The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, - The best-conditioned and unwearied spirit - In doing courtesies; - -and what he was to me he was to all who worked with him.’ - -It will be well, before we relate the heroic achievement with which the -career of our friend closed, to try to estimate his position as an -Oriental scholar, for as such he will be remembered, especially in -Cambridge. For this purpose Mr Besant has, most judiciously, supplied -ample materials to those competent to use them, by printing an essay by -Professor Nicholls, of Oxford, which we have already quoted, and a paper -by Mr Stanley Lane Poole. The former points out Palmer’s extraordinary -facility in the use of Persian and Arabic, and gives a minute, and in -the main highly laudatory, criticism of some of his performances, which -ends with these words: ‘In him England loses her _greatest_ Oriental -linguist, and _readiest_ Oriental scholar.’ From the latter we will -quote a few sentences: - -‘Palmer was a scholar of the kind that is born, not made. No amount of -mere teaching could develop that wonderful instinct for language which -he possessed. He stood in strongly-marked contrast to the other scholars -of his time. Most of them were brought up on grammars and dictionaries; -he learned Arabic by the ear and mouth. Others were careful about their -conjugations and syntax; Palmer dashed to the root of all grammatical -rules, and spoke or wrote so and so because it would not be spoken or -written any other way. To him strange idioms that a book-student could -not understand were perfectly clear; he had used them himself in the -Desert again and again[102].’ - -He then proceeds to examine Palmer’s principal Arabic works, and decides -that while the edition of Zoheir is the most finished of them, and the -translation represents the original with remarkable skill, the version -of the Koran ‘is a very striking performance.’ - -‘It has the grave fault of immaturity; it was written, or rather -dictated, at great speed, and is consequently defaced by some oversights -which Palmer was incapable of committing if he had taken more time over -the work. But, in spite of all the objections that may be urged against -it, his translation has the true Desert ring in it; we may quarrel with -certain renderings, puzzle over occasional obscurities, regret certain -signs of haste or carelessness; but we shall be forced to admit that the -translator has carried us among the Bedawí tents, and breathed into us -the strong air of the Desert, till we fancy we can hear the rich voice -of the Blessed Prophet himself as he spoke to the pilgrims on -Akabah[103].’ - -Lastly, Mr Poole points out the peculiar excellence of Palmer’s Arabic -Grammar, which is arranged on the Arab system, in bold defiance of the -usual custom of treating Arabic in the same way that one treats Latin. -To these favourable criticisms of works beyond our powers of -appreciation we should like to add a word of praise of our own for the -historical introduction to the Koran, in which the career of Mahomet is -sketched in a few bold, vigorous lines, and the scope and object of the -work are analysed and explained. We regret that Palmer was not able to -devote more time to history; the above _Introduction_, and the _Life of -Haroun Alraschid_, seem to us to show that he would have excelled in -that style of composition. He could read the native authorities with -facility, and he knew how to put his materials to a good use. But alas! -all these peaceful studies were to be closed for ever by an enterprise -as masterly in its execution as it was terrible in its conclusion. - -The suppression of Arabi’s revolt in Egypt created the greatest -enthusiasm in this country. The British Public dearly loves a war, and -every event in which our troops were concerned was eagerly read and -proudly commented on by enthusiastic sympathizers. But there were -probably not many who so much as read the scanty paragraphs which noted, -first, the anxiety respecting the fate of some Englishmen who had gone -into the Desert on a certain day in August 1882; and, subsequently, the -certainty of their murder. Palmer’s wonderful achievement has been told -for the first time by Mr Besant with a fulness of detail, a vividness of -descriptive power, and, we may add, a bitterness of grief, that only -those who read it carefully more than once can appreciate as such a -piece of work deserves to be appreciated. We shall try to set before our -readers the principal circumstances of those eventful days, treading in -his steps, and often using his very words. - -Early in the month of June 1882, when it became evident that the -Egyptian revolt must be put down by force, two great causes of anxiety -arose: (1) the safety of the Suez Canal; (2) the amount of support which -Arabi was likely to receive, and the allies on whom he could depend. -These two questions were of course closely connected with each other; -and it is now known that as regards the second of them, Arabi hoped to -obtain the support of the Arabs of the Desert on both sides of the -Canal, and by their aid to seize, and, if possible, to destroy, the -Canal itself. These Arabs, it is important to recollect, rise or remain -quiet at the command of their sheikhs. The sheikhs, therefore, had to be -won over. This he hoped to accomplish by the assistance of the governors -of the frontier castles of El Arish on the Mediterranean, Kulat Nakhl, -Suez, Akabah, and Tor on the west coast of the Sinaitic Peninsula, all -of whom, at the beginning of the rebellion, were his frantic partisans. -He had therefore an easy means of access to the Bedouin sheikhs. The -number of men whom they could put into the field was estimated by Palmer -himself at about 50,000; but this was not all. It was feared that if a -single tribe joined Arabi, it would be followed by all the others, and -that the Bedouin of the Syrian and Sinaitic deserts might presently be -joined by their kinsfolk of Arabia and the Great Desert, a countless -multitude. - -It was on the evening of Saturday, June 24, that Captain Gill, whose -unhappy fate it was to perish with Palmer on the expedition which they -planned together, was sent to him from the Admiralty, to ask him for -information respecting ‘the character, the power, the possible movement, -of the Sinai Arabs.’ The interview was short, but long enough for Palmer -to sketch the position of affairs, and to convince Gill that a man whom -the Government could thoroughly trust must be sent out to arrange -matters personally with the sheikhs. When Gill had left, Palmer said to -his wife, ‘They must have a man to go to the Desert for them; and they -will ask me, because there is nobody else who can go.’ On Monday Captain -Gill came again, and the whole question was carefully talked over. - -‘It was agreed that no time ought to be lost in detaching the tribes -from Arabi, in preventing any injury to the Canal, and in quieting -fanaticism, which might assume such proportions as to set the whole East -aflame. It now became perfectly evident to Gill that Palmer was the only -man who knew the sheikhs, and could be asked to go, and could do the -work; it was also perfectly evident to Palmer that he would be urged to -undertake this difficult and delicate mission; he had, in fact, already -laid himself open by speaking of the ease with which these people may be -managed by one who can talk with them. When Gill left him on that Monday -morning he was already more than half-persuaded to accept the mission.’ - -It is evident that after this interview Captain Gill returned to the -Admiralty, and gave a glowing account to his superiors of the man whom -he had discovered, and the information he had obtained; for in the -course of the same afternoon Palmer received an invitation to breakfast -with Lord Northbrook on the following morning, Tuesday, June 27, which -he accepted. The interest which he had already excited is proved by the -fact - -‘that all the notes and reports which Gill had made during the -interviews on the subject were already set up in type and laid on the -table. The whole conversation at breakfast was concerning the tribes, -and how they might be prevented from giving trouble. Palmer stated again -his belief that the sheikhs might, if some one could be got to go, be -persuaded to sit down and do nothing, if not to take an active part -against the rebels.’ - -At this point it is material to notice that the Government did not send -for Palmer and ask him to undertake a certain mission to the East; -neither did Palmer communicate with the Government and volunteer, in the -ordinary sense of that word; but that in the course of three successive -interviews it became evident to the Government that the mission must be -undertaken by somebody; and to Palmer, that if he did not go himself the -chance would be lost. No one equally fit for such a mission was -available at that moment; no one knew the sheikhs personally as he did, -and could travel among them as an old friend, for it must always be -remembered that the country he was about to visit was the same which he -had traversed with Drake in 1869-70. He did not exactly wish to go; he -was too fondly devoted to his wife and children to find any pleasure in -courting dangers of which he was fully sensible; but he seems to have -felt that his duty to his country demanded the sacrifice; and perhaps -the thought may have crossed his mind that, if he ran the risk and came -out of it safe and successful, his fortune would be made; and therefore, -when Lord Northbrook inquired, ‘Do you know anyone who would go?’ he -replied, ‘I will go myself.’ - -This decision was not arrived at until Thursday, June 29. On the -following evening he left London, and on Tuesday, July 4, he was on -board the _Tanjore_, between Brindisi and Alexandria, writing to his -wife: - -‘I am sure this trip will do me an immense deal of good, for I wanted a -change of air and complete rest from writing, and now I have got both. -Of course, the position is not without its anxieties, but I have no -fear.... It is such a chance!’ - -Such a chance! It was worth while running the risk, for, though there -was danger in it, there was fame and fortune beyond the danger: there -would be no more debt and difficulty; no more days and nights of -uncongenial toil. No wonder as he sat under the awning, ‘like a tent,’ -as he said, and did nothing, that these thoughts came into his mind, and -found their way on to his paper—it was a chance indeed! - -It seems certain that the plan of the enterprise had been laid down -before Palmer left London, though no formal instructions were given to -him in writing. It was understood between him and the Government that he -was to travel about in the Desert and Peninsula of Sinai, and ascertain -the disposition of the tribes; secondly, that he was to attempt the -detachment of the said tribes from the Egyptian cause, in order to -effect which he was to make terms with the sheikhs; thirdly, that he was -to take whatever steps he thought best for an effective guard of the -banks of the Canal, and for the repair of the Canal, in case Arabi -should attempt its destruction. Lastly, he was instructed, probably at -Alexandria, to ascertain what number of camels could be purchased, and -at what price. - -Arrived at Alexandria, Palmer put himself under the orders of Admiral -Lord Alcester, then Sir Beauchamp Seymour, who, after a few words of -welcome and encouragement, ordered him to go at once to the Desert and -begin work. It was decided that he should proceed by steamer to Jaffa, -thence to Gaza, and across the Desert to Tor in the Sinaitic Peninsula, -where he could be taken up and join the fleet at Suez. On the morning of -July 9 he reached Jaffa, where he bought his camp-equipage and stores, -hired a servant, and opened communications with certain Arabs of the -Desert, whom he ordered to meet him at Gaza. We know the details of this -time from a long letter which he wrote to his wife just before he left -Jaffa. - -‘It is bad enough here where I find plenty of people to talk to and be -civil to me; but how will it be when I am in the Desert with no one but -wild Arabs to talk to? Not that I am a bit afraid of them, for they were -always good friends to me; but it will be lonely, and you may be sure -that when I sit on my camel in the burning sun, or lie down in my little -tent at night, my thoughts will always be with you and our dear happy -home. I am quite sure of succeeding in my mission, and don’t feel -anything to fear except the being away for a few months.... I feel very -homesick, but quite confident.’ - -He got to Gaza on July 13, and on July 15 plunged into the Desert. Here -Professor Palmer disappears, and we have instead a Syrian officer, -dressed in Mohammedan costume, known as the Sheikh Abdullah, the name -which had been given to him by the Arabs on his former journey. The -expedition occupied just a fortnight, for Suez was reached on August 1. -He was fortunately able to keep a brief journal, which he sent home by -post from Suez. This invaluable document, with two or three letters -written to friends, and a formal Report addressed from Suez to the -Government, but not yet printed, enables us to ascertain what he did, -and what sufferings and dangers he endured in the accomplishment of it. -It was the middle of the summer, and apparently an unusually hot and -stormy summer, for we read of even the natives being overcome by the -heat, wind, and dust. His business admitted of no delay; whether well or -ill, he must ride forward, in the full glare of the sun, with the -thermometer ‘at 110 in the shade in the mountains, and in the plains -about twice that’; and yet never show, by the slightest hint, that he -was either overcome by the physical exertion, or alarmed at the imminent -peril which he ran at every moment. So well was the bodily frame -sustained by the brave heart within, that he could write cheerfully, nay -humorously, even before he had reached a place of safety. Here is an -extract from one of his letters, dated ‘Magharah, in the Desert of the -Tih, July 22’: - -‘This country is not exactly what you would call, in a truthful spirit, -safe just now. I have had to dodge troops and Arabs, and Lord knows -what, and am thankful and somewhat surprised at the possession of a -whole skin.... - -‘I wish to remark that about the fifth consecutive hour (noon) of the -fifth consecutive day’s camel-ride, with a strong hot wind blowing the -sand in your face, camel-riding loses, as an amusement, the freshness of -one’s childhood’s experience at the Zoo.... - -‘I am now two days from Suez, and before the third sun sets shall be -either within reach of beer and baths, or be able to dispense altogether -with those luxuries for the future. The very equally balanced -probabilities lend a certain zest to the journey.... - -‘My man stole some melons from a patch near some water (if I may use the -expression), and I feel better for the crime. Still I am dried up, and -burnt, and thirsty, and bored.’ - -Let us now extract from the Journal a few passages bearing directly on -the main object of the journey. All of these, we ought to state are -fully corroborated by the subsequently written Report, and by incidental -allusions in the telegrams embodied in the Blue Book. - -‘_July 15._—My sheikh has just come, and I have had a long and very -satisfactory talk with him. I think the authorities will be very pleased -with the report I shall have for them. - -‘_July 16._—I now know where to find and how to get at every sheikh in -the Desert, and I have already got the Teyáhah, the most warlike and -strongest of them all, ready to do anything for me. When I come back I -shall be able to raise 40,000 men! It was very lucky that I knew such an -influential tribe. - -‘_July 18._—I have been quite well to-day, but as usual came in very -fatigued. I had an exciting time, having met the great sheikh of the -Arabs hereabouts[104]. I, however, quite got him to accept my views.... -It was really a most picturesque sight to see the sheikh ride into my -camp at full gallop with a host of retainers, all riding splendid camels -as hard as they could run; when they pulled up, all the camels dropped -on their knees, and the men jumped off and came up to me. I had heard of -their coming, so was prepared, and not at all startled, as they meant me -to be. I merely rose quietly, and asked the sheikh into my tent. - -‘_July 19._—I have got hold of some of the very men whom Arabi Pasha has -been trying to get over to his side, and when they are wanted I can have -every Bedawin at my call from Suez to Gaza. - -‘_July 20._—The sheikh, who is the brother of Suleiman, is one who -engages all the Arabs not to attack the caravan of pilgrims which goes -to Mecca every year from Egypt, so that he is the _very man_ I wanted. -He has sworn by the most solemn Arab oath that, if I want him, he will -guarantee the safety of the Canal even against Arabi Pasha.... In fact, -I have already done the most difficult part of my task, and as soon as I -get precise instructions the thing is done, and a thing which Arabi -Pasha failed to do, and on which the safety of the road to India -depends.... Was I not lucky just to get hold of the right people?... I -have seen a great many other sheikhs, and I know that they will follow -my man, Sheikh Muslih. - -‘_July 21._—I am anxious to get to Suez, because I have done all I -wanted by way of preliminaries, and as soon as I get precise -instructions, I can settle with the Arabs in a fortnight or three weeks, -and get the whole thing over. As it is, the Bedouins keep quite quiet, -and will not join Arabi, but will wait for me to give them the word what -to do. They look upon Abdullah Effendi—that is what they call me—as a -very grand personage indeed! - -‘_July 22._—I have got the man who supplies the pilgrims with camels on -my side too, and as I have promised my big Sheikh 500_l._ for himself, -he will do anything for me.... It may seem a vain thing to say, but I -did not know that I could be so cool and calm in the midst of danger as -I am, and I must be strong, as I have endured _tremendous fatigue_, and -am in first-rate health. I am very glad that the war has actually come -to a crisis, because now I shall really have to do my big task, and _I -am certain of success_. - -‘_July 26._—I have had a great ceremony to-day, eating bread and salt -with the Sheikhs, in token of protecting each other to the death[105].’ - -This Journal, it will be remarked, speaks of the expedition as -preliminary to something else. What this was is explained by the Report -above alluded to, and by the telegrams which Sir William Hewett and Sir -Beauchamp Seymour sent to the Admiralty after Palmer’s arrival at Suez. -On August 4 Sir William Hewett telegraphs: - -‘Professor Palmer confident that in four days he will have 500 camels, -and within ten or fifteen days, 5,000 more. - -‘He waits return of messenger sent for 500, so he cannot start for -Desert before Monday.’ - -On August 6 Sir Beauchamp Seymour telegraphed to the Admiralty: - -‘Palmer, in letter of August 1 at Suez, writes that, if precisely -instructed as to services required of Bedouin, and furnished with funds, -he believes he could buy the allegiance of 50,000 at a cost of from -20,000_l._ to 30,000_l._’ - -On the receipt of this telegram the Admiralty telegraphed to Sir William -Hewett: - -‘Instruct Palmer to keep Bedouins available for patrol or transport on -Canal. A reasonable amount may be spent, but larger engagements are not -to be entered into until General arrives and has been consulted.’ - -The Admiralty must have been satisfied with what Palmer had accomplished -in the Desert, or they would not have directed him to proceed with his -‘big task’; and it came out afterwards that in consequence of promises -made to him one at least of the tribes refused to join Arabi. Meanwhile -he was appointed Interpreter-in-Chief to her Majesty’s Forces in Egypt, -and placed on the Admiral’s staff. It is important to note this, as it -gave him the command of money, brought him into prominence, and paved -the way for the disaster which was so soon to overtake him. Captain Gill -joined him at Suez on the morning of the same day, August 6. He brought -£20,000 with him, which he considered to be paid to Palmer, as appears -from his Journal, and Palmer took the same view. Sir William Hewett, -however, after the receipt of Lord Northbrook’s telegram, determined to -limit the preliminary expenditure to £3,000, which was paid to Palmer on -August 8. Soon after Gill’s arrival at Suez, he and Palmer had a long -discussion, in which they agreed to combine their respective duties. -Gill had been ordered to cut the telegraph wires from Kartarah to -Constantinople, and so destroy Arabi’s communications with Turkey, and -Palmer had made arrangements for a meeting of the sheikhs at Nakhl. We -have seen that the Journal mentions presents to the sheikhs (as much as -£500 had been promised to Misleh), and these would have to be conveyed -to them before they were likely to arm their followers. The rest of the -£20,000 was intended to be spent in fair payment for services rendered -when the General should give the order to engage the Bedouin; and the -word ‘buy,’ in Sir Beauchamp Seymour’s telegram of August 6, need not be -interpreted to mean ‘bribe.’ The purchase of camels was another object -which Palmer had before him in going to the Desert; but this, we take -it, was quite subsidiary to the former, though perhaps, as a matter of -policy, it was occasionally made prominent, in order to disarm -suspicion. That much more important business than buying camels was -intended is also proved by a letter from Palmer to Admiral Hewett, in -which he said that ‘it would be most desirable that an officer of her -Majesty’s Navy should accompany me on my journey to the Desert, as a -guarantee that I am acting on the part of her Majesty’s -Government[106].’ - -It must now be mentioned that on Palmer’s first journey, when staying in -the camp of Sheikh Misleh, he had been introduced by him to a man of -about seventy years of age, of commanding stature, and haughty, -peremptory manner, named Meter ibn Sofieh. This man Misleh had -represented to be the Sheikh of the Lehewat tribe, occupying all the -country east of Suez. This was not true. Meter was not a sheikh of the -Lehewats, and the Lehewats as a tribe do not live east of Suez, but on -the south border of Palestine. Meter was a Lehewat, but he was simply -the head of a family who had left the tribe, and taken up their abode -near Suez, where they had collected together two or three other -families, who called themselves the Sofieh Tribe, but had no power or -influence. Palmer, however, believed Meter’s story about himself, called -him his friend, and trusted him implicitly. It was Meter whom he sent -into Suez from Misleh’s camp to fetch his letters; Meter who conducted -him thence to the place called ‘The Wells of Moses’ between July 27 and -July 31; Meter with whom he corresponded respecting his second journey; -and there is little doubt that it was Meter who betrayed him. - -In the Report which Palmer addressed to the Admiralty on August 1 he -stated that when he started on his second journey a company of 300 or -400 Bedouin should go with him, ‘for the sake of effect.’ Most -unfortunately, this precaution was not taken. On August 7, Meter, -accompanied by his nephew, Salameh ibn Ayed, came to Moses’ Wells, and -asked Mr Zahr, one of the native Christians who reside there, to read a -letter which he had received from Palmer. The letter, signed ‘Abdullah,’ -contained a request that Meter would bring down one hundred camels and -twenty armed men. Meter then crossed over to Suez by water, Mr Zahr’s -son going with him, saw Palmer, who did not, so far as we know, express -surprise that he came without men or camels, and in the evening was -presented to Consul West and Admiral Hewett, from whom he received a -naval officer’s sword, as a mark of confidence and respect. This sword -Meter subsequently gave secretly to Mr Zahr’s son to take care of for -him, saying that he was going to the Desert with some English gentlemen, -and was afraid that the Bedouin might kill him if they saw him with a -sword, as they were not quiet at that time. After the murder, Mr Zahr’s -son brought the sword to the English Consul, and told the above story. - -The following day was spent in making preparations for the journey. -During the afternoon, Palmer received a package containing three bags, -each containing £1,000 in English sovereigns. These bags were taken -intact into the Desert. The party, consisting of Professor Palmer, -Captain Gill, Lieutenant Charrington, of the _Euryalus_ (who had been -selected by Palmer out of seven officers who volunteered to go with -him), Gill’s dragoman, a native Christian, and the servant whom Palmer -had engaged at Jaffa, a Jew, named Bokhor, crossed over to Moses’ Wells -in a boat after sunset, and passed the night in a tent supplied by Mr -Zahr. Next morning they started soon after sunrise, and, after the usual -midday halt, pitched their camp for the night in Wady Kahalin, a shallow -watercourse, about half-a-mile wide, and distant eighteen miles from -Moses’ Wells. So far their proceedings can be followed with certainty; -but after this it becomes a most difficult task to compose an exact -narrative of what befell them. We have followed the account drawn up by -Colonel Warren, through whose persevering energy some of the murderers -were brought to justice, supplementing it, in a few places, by facts -stated in the Blue Book, generally on the same authority. - -On Thursday, August 10, the travellers were unable to start at dawn as -they had intended, because it was found that two of their camels had -been stolen during the night, probably with the intention of delaying -the start, and so giving time to warn the Bedouin appointed to waylay -them. Several hours elapsed before the camels were found, and they were -not able to start until 3 p.m. Meter is said to have suggested that the -baggage should be left to follow slowly (both the stolen camels and -those which had been sent out to bring them back being tired), and that -the three Englishmen and the dragoman should ride forward with him, -taking with them only their most valuable effects, among which was a -black leather bag containing the £3,000, and Palmers despatch-box -containing £235 more. At about 5 p.m. they reached the mouth of the Wady -Sudr. This valley is described as a narrow mountain-gorge, bounded by -precipices which, on the northern side, are from 1,200 to 1,600 feet in -height; on the southern side they are much lower, not exceeding 300 or -400 feet. They turned into the Wady, and rode up it, intending no doubt -not to halt again until they reached Meter’s camp, at a place called -Tusset Sudr. Shortly before midnight they were suddenly attacked by a -party of about twenty-five Bedouin, who fired upon them, disabled one of -the camels, and took prisoners Palmer, Gill, Charrington, and the -dragoman. The accounts of the attack are very conflicting, but it -appears certain that Meter deserted his charge at once, and escaped up -the Wady to his own camp, which he reached at sunrise; while his nephew, -Salameh ibn Ayed, who had been riding with Palmer on one of his uncle’s -camels, rode rapidly off in the opposite direction, down the Wady, -taking with him the bag containing the £3000, and the despatch-box. It -has been affirmed that he struck Palmer off the camel; but, as it is -stated in evidence that the attacked party knelt down behind their -camels and fired at their assailants, the truth of this rumour may be -doubted. It is certain, however, that had he not been at least a thief, -if not a traitor, he would have warned the men in charge of the baggage -of what had occurred, for it was proved afterwards, by the tracks of his -camel, that he had passed within a few feet of them; or, if he really -missed them in the dark, that he would have gone straight on to Moses’ -Wells and given the alarm there, or even to Suez, as it was deposed he -was desired to do. As it was, he rode straight on to the mouth of the -Wady, and thence by a circuitous route to Meter’s camp, having hid part -of the money and the despatch-box in the Desert. What he did with the -remainder will probably never be known. - -Meanwhile the four prisoners were stripped of everything except their -underclothing, which, being of European make, was useless to Arabs, and -taken down to a hollow among the rocks about 200 yards from the place of -attack. Here they were left in charge of two of the robbers. The rest, -disappointed at finding no money, rode off, some to pursue Salameh, some -to look for the baggage. They were presently followed by one of the two -guards, so that for several hours the Englishmen were left with only one -man to watch them. The drivers were just loading their camels for a -start, when they were attacked, disarmed, and the baggage taken from -them. Palmer’s servant was made prisoner, but the camel-drivers were not -molested, and were even permitted to take their camels away with them. -The robbers then retraced their steps, and rode up the valley for about -three miles. There they halted, and laid out the spoil, with the view of -dividing it; but they could not agree, and finally each kept what he had -taken. This matter settled, they mounted their camels again, and went to -look after their prisoners, taking Palmer’s servant with them. - -We will now return to Meter ibn Sofieh. On arriving at his own camp he -collected his four sons and several other Bedouin, and came down to the -place of attack. This they were able to recognize by the dead or wounded -camel, which had not then been removed. Finding nobody there, they -shouted, and were answered by the prisoners in the hollow. Meter and -another went down to them and found them unguarded, their guard having -run away on the approach of strangers. Had Meter really come to save -them—and it is difficult to explain his return from any other motive -than that of a late repentance—there was not a moment to be lost. Much -valuable time, however, was wasted in useless expressions of pity and -exchange of Bedouin courtesies, and they had hardly reached Meter’s -camels before the hostile party came in sight. It is reported that -Meter’s men said, ‘Let us protect the Englishmen,’ and raised their -guns; but that Meter answered, ‘No, we must negotiate the matter,’ and -allowed his men to be surrounded by a superior force. What happened next -will never be known with certainty. Meter himself swore that he offered -£30 for each of the five; others, that he offered thirty camels for the -party; while there is a general testimony that Palmer offered all they -possessed if their lives could be spared, adding, ‘Meter has all the -money.’ The debate did not last long, not more than half an hour, and -then Meter retired, it being understood that the five[107] prisoners -were all to be put to death. The manner of the execution of this foul -design had next to be determined, and it seems to have been regarded as -a matter requiring much nicety of arrangement. The captors belonged to -two tribes, the Debour and the Terebin, and it was finally arranged that -two should be killed by the Debour, and three by the Terebin. The men -who were to strike the blow were next selected, one for each victim; and -when this had been done the prisoners were driven before their captors -for upwards of a mile, over rough ground, to the place of execution. It -was now near the middle of the day, and the unfortunate men had no means -of protecting their heads from the August sun. It is to be hoped, -therefore, that they were nearly unconscious before the spot was -reached. At that part of the Wady Sudr a ledge or plateau of rock, some -twenty feet wide, runs for a considerable distance along the steep face -of the cliffs; and below it the torrent cuts its way through a narrow -channel, not more than eighteen feet wide, with precipitous sides, about -fifty feet high. At the spot selected for the murder a mountain stream, -descending from the heights above, works its way down the cliffs to the -water below. The bed of this stream was then dry; but it would be a -cataract in the rainy season, and might be trusted to obliterate all -traces of the crime. The prisoners were forced down the mountain side -until the plateau was reached, and then placed in a row facing the -torrent, the selected murderer standing behind each victim. Some of the -Bedouin swore that they were all shot at a given signal, and that their -bodies fell over the cliff; others that Abdullah was shot first, and -that the remaining four, seeing him fall, sprang forward, some down the -cliff, some along the edge of the gully. Three were killed, so they -said, before they reached the bottom; the fourth was despatched in the -torrent-bed by an Arab who followed him down. There is, however, reason -for believing that some at least were wounded or killed before they were -thrown into the abyss; for the rocks above were deeply stained with -blood. It may be that one or more of them had been wounded in the first -encounter, or intentionally maimed by their captors; and this may -explain what seems to us so strange, that they made no effort to escape -during the long hours they were left unguarded. At the moment of death -Palmer alone is said to have lifted up his voice, and to have uttered a -solemn malediction on his murderers. He knew the Arab character well, -and he may have thought that the last chance of escape was to terrify -his captors by the thought of what would come to pass if murderous hands -were laid upon him and his companions. - -Justice was not slow to overtake the criminals. In less than two months -Colonel Warren, to whom the direction of the search-expedition was -entrusted[108], had discovered who they were, and had found some -scattered remains of their unfortunate victims in the gulf which they -hoped would conceal them for ever. In January 1883 he read the solemn -burial service of the Church at the spot in the presence of the brother -and sister of Lieutenant Charrington; after which, according to military -custom, the officers present fired three volleys across the torrent. On -the hill above they raised a huge cairn, 17 feet in diameter, and 13 -feet in height, surmounted by a cross, which the Bedouin were charged, -at their peril, to preserve intact. Of the actual murderers three were -executed, as also were two headmen for having incited them to the crime. -Others were imprisoned for various terms of years, and the Governor of -Nakhl, who was proved to have been privy to the murder, and near the -place at the time, was imprisoned for a year and dismissed the service. -The end of Meter ibn Sofieh was strangely retributive. He had led the -party out of their way into an ambuscade[109], probably for the paltry -gain of £3000, for we have seem that his nephew escaped with the gold, -and £1000 was afterwards found in the place where he knew it was hid; he -had betrayed the man with whom he had solemnly eaten bread and salt in -Misleh’s camp only a month before; he hid himself in the Desert for -awhile, then he gave himself up, and told as much of the story as he -probably dared to tell; then he fell ill—his manner had been strange -ever since the murder, it was said—he was taken to the hospital at Suez, -and there he died. These, however, were only instruments in the hands of -others. The influence which Sheikh Abdullah was exercising in the Desert -was soon known at Cairo, and the Governor of El Arish was sent out to -bring him in dead or alive; the Bedouin swore that Arabi had promised -£20 for every Christian head; the murder itself was planned at Cairo, by -men high in place, for Colonel Warren complains over and over again that -the Shedides thwarted his proceedings, and let guilty men escape. And -after the guilt of Egypt comes the guilt of Turkey: Hussein Effendi, a -Turkish notable at Gaza—a man who might have been of the greatest -service—was not allowed by the Porte to help in bringing the guilty to -justice; and there were other indications that further inquiry was not -desired. The murder in the Wady Sudr is one more count in the long -indictment against the Turk which the Western Powers will one day be -compelled to hear; and, after hearing, to pronounce sentence. - -The remains discovered by Colonel Warren were reverently gathered -together and sent home to England, and in April, 1883, they were -interred in the crypt of S. Paul’s Cathedral. A single tablet, placed -near the grave, records the names of the three Englishmen and their -faithful attendants who died for their country in the Wady Sudr, and now -find a fitting resting-place among those whose deeds have won for them a -world-wide reputation. - - Not once or twice in our rough island-story - The path of duty was the way to glory. - - - - - FRANCIS MAITLAND BALFOUR. - - -On Sunday evening last the news reached Cambridge that Professor Balfour -had met with a fatal accident in the Alps near Courmayeur[110]. It was -only in November of last year that we drew attention to the -extraordinary merits of his _Treatise on Comparative Embryology_, then -just completed[111]. We felt that a ‘bright particular star’ had risen -on the scientific horizon; and we expected, from what we knew of the -great abilities and unremitting energy of the author, that year by year -his reputation would be increased by fresh discoveries. But - - Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, - And burned is Apollo’s laurel bough; - -the pride which the University took in one of her most popular and -distinguished members is changed to an outburst of passionate regret; -and all that his friends can do is to attempt a brief record of a -singularly brilliant career, a tribute of affection to be laid upon his -grave. - -Mr Balfour was a younger son of the late Mr J. M. Balfour of -Whittinghame, near Prestonkirk, and of the late Lady Blanche Balfour, a -sister of Lord Salisbury. He entered at Trinity College, Cambridge, from -Harrow, in October 1870. He brought from school the reputation of being -a clever boy, whom the masters liked and respected, but of not -sufficient ability to distinguish himself remarkably at Cambridge. Those -who expressed this opinion overlooked the fact that he had already -evinced a decided bent for Natural Science, and had published a brief -memoir on the geology of his native county, Haddingtonshire. In his very -first term he was fortunately induced to attend the biological lectures -of the Trinity Prælector in Physiology, Mr Michael Foster; he made rapid -progress, and at Easter 1871 he obtained the Natural Science Scholarship -at Trinity College. He at once commenced original research in the -direction in which he was afterwards to be so distinguished; and after -two years’ work published a paper on _The Development of the Chick_ in -the _Microscopical Journal_ for July, 1873. Indeed, we believe that the -time spent on this and kindred investigations diminished somewhat the -brilliancy of his degree, for he was placed second instead of first, as -had been expected, in the Natural Sciences Tripos of 1873. - -In November of that year he was nominated by the Board of Natural -Science Studies to work at the Zoological Station at Naples, then lately -established by Dr Anton Dohrn. His object in going there was to continue -his investigations on Development, and before starting he had determined -to study the Elasmobranch Fishes (Sharks and Rays), as it seemed likely, -from their pristine characters, that their development would throw great -light on the early history of vertebrate animals. The result showed how -wisely he had made his selection. He made discoveries of the highest -value in reference to the development of certain organs, and the origin -of the nerves from the spinal cord—points which had baffled the most -acute previous observers. These were not merely valuable for the history -of the special group from which they were derived, but threw a flood of -light upon the connexion between vertebrates and invertebrates, and -their derivation from a common ancestry; views which he expanded -afterwards in his work on Embryology. The results of his Neapolitan -researches were embodied in the dissertation upon which he rested his -candidature for a Fellowship at Trinity College; and were afterwards -printed in the _Philosophical Transactions_ for 1875. Fortunately for -him, a Natural Science Fellowship was vacant in 1874, to which he was -elected, in consequence of the value of this dissertation. It is what is -called an open secret that its great merits were at once recognized by -Professor Huxley, to whom it had been referred. - -From that time forward Balfour devoted himself unremittingly to -continuous research in preparation for his systematic treatise on -Embryology, the plan of which he had already sketched out, and which was -finally completed and published in 1881. Before this appeared, however, -he had published numerous papers of great value, covering nearly the -whole range of his subject. Many of these will be found in the -_Quarterly Journal of Microscopical Science_, of which he was one of the -editors. As an original investigator he had no equal. He was skilful in -manipulation, and observed rapidly and exactly, so that no point escaped -his notice. His mind was calm and wholly free from prejudice, with a -singularly broad and original grasp, which enabled him to seize, with -readiness and sureness, the principle which lay under a number of -apparently discordant facts. At the same time, like every true genius, -he was singularly modest and retiring, always ready to depreciate the -value of his own work, and to put forward that of others, especially of -men younger than himself. We know of many students, now rising to -distinction, who owe their first success to his generous encouragement, -and, we may add, in some cases to his bountiful assistance, given with a -delicacy which doubled the value of the gift. It was this strong desire -to encourage others to work at Natural Science that induced him, in -1875, to undertake a class in Animal Morphology, or, as it used to be -called, Comparative Anatomy. At first only a few students presented -themselves, and one small room at the New Museums was sufficient for -their accommodation. The class, however, grew with surprising rapidity; -and, after Mr Balfour’s appointment as Natural Science Lecturer to -Trinity College, it became necessary to build new rooms for his use. -During the year 1881 the numbers had reached an average of nearly sixty -in each term; and just before he left England for the excursion which -has ended so fatally he had superintended the plans for a yet further -extension of the Museum Buildings. - -His reputation as a successful teacher soon became known far and wide; -students came from a distance to work under his direction; and he -received tempting offers to go elsewhere. It need no longer be a secret -that, after the death of Professor Wyville Thompson, the Chair of -Natural History at Edinburgh was offered to him; or that, after the -death of Professor Rolleston, he was strongly urged by the leading men -in Natural Science at Oxford to accept the Linacre Professorship of -Anatomy and Physiology. But he was devoted to Cambridge, and nothing -would induce him to leave it. His refusal of posts so honourable induced -the University, somewhat tardily perhaps, to recognize his merits, and a -new Professorship was established in the course of last term for that -especial purpose. We extract a few sentences from the Report in which -the Council of the Senate recommended this step[112]: - -The successful and rapid development of biological teaching in -Cambridge, so honourable to the reputation of the University, has been -formally brought to the notice of the Council. It appears that the -classes are now so large that the accommodation provided but a few years -ago has already become insufficient, and that plans for extending it are -now occupying the attention of the Museums and Lecture-Rooms Syndicate. - -It is well known that one branch of this teaching, viz. that of Animal -Morphology, has been created in Cambridge by the efforts of Mr F. M. -Balfour, and that it has grown to its present importance through his -ability as a teacher and his scientific reputation. - -The service to the interests of Natural Science thus rendered by Mr -Balfour having been so far generously given without any adequate -Academical recognition, the benefit of its continuance is at present -entirely unsecured to the University, and the progress of the department -under his direction remains liable to sudden check. - -It has been urgently represented to the Council that the welfare of -biological studies at Cambridge demands that Mr Balfour’s department -should be placed on a recognized and less precarious footing, and in -this view the Council concur. They are of opinion that all the -requirements of the case will be best met by the immediate establishment -of a ‘Professorship of Animal Morphology’ terminable with the tenure of -the first Professor. - -It is a melancholy satisfaction, when we think how short his life -was—for he would not have been thirty-one years of age until November -next—that so many honours had been showered upon him. He became a Fellow -of the Royal Society in 1878; in the autumn of 1881 he received the -Royal Medal; and in 1882 he was elected a member of the Council. He was -President of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, and became General -Secretary of the British Association at the York Meeting in August 1881. - -But it is not merely as a man of science that Mr Balfour will be -remembered. He was not one of those enthusiasts who can see nothing -beyond the limits of their own particular studies. He was a man of wide -sympathies and interests. He devoted much time and attention to College -and University affairs; and was an active member of numerous Syndicates, -to whose special business he applied himself with infinite energy. He -was also a keen politician on the Liberal side, and an ardent University -reformer. His complete mastery of facts, his retentive memory, and his -admirable powers of reasoning, made him a formidable antagonist in -argument; but, though he rarely let an opportunity for vindicating his -own opinions go by without taking full advantage of it, we never heard -that he either lost a friend or made an enemy. He was so thoroughly a -man “who bore without abuse the grand old name of gentleman,” that he -could never be a mere disputant. He approached every subject with the -earnestness of sincere conviction, and he invariably gave his opponents -credit for a sincerity equal to his own. It was only when he found -himself opposed to presumption, shallowness, or ignorance, that the -natural playfulness of his manner ceased, his mild and delicate features -darkened to an unwonted sternness, and his habitually gentle voice grew -cold and severe. We have heard it said that he was too uniformly -earnest, that he took life too seriously, and that he lacked the saving -grace of humour. But his earnestness was perfectly genuine, and he would -have joined hands with the Philistines in scorning the follies of the -“intense.” With the undergraduates he was immensely popular. Besides his -great success as a teacher, he had the inestimable gift of sympathy; -they felt that they had in him a friend who thoroughly understood them, -and they trusted him implicitly; while the members of his own special -class regarded him with a veneration which it has been the lot of few -teachers to inspire. Nor was his influence upon men older than himself -less remarkable. They were fascinated by his exquisite courtesy; his -quiet, high-bred dignity; his respect for the opinions and feelings of -others. No one of late years has exerted so strong a personal influence -in the University. It was the vigour of this personality which enabled -Natural Science to take the place it now occupies in Cambridge life. He -began to teach at a time when the rising popularity of science was -regarded with dislike and suspicion by not a few persons. He left it -accepted as one of the studies of the place. What will happen now that -he has been taken away it is hard to foresee. We hope and believe that -Natural Science is too deeply rooted at Cambridge to be permanently -affected by even his loss. We trust that the strong efforts which will -be made to keep together the school which he had created may be -successful; but we fear that it will soon be evident that the members of -the University have lost not merely a very dear friend, but also a -master. - -_29 July, 1882._ - - - - - HENRY BRADSHAW. - - -The past twelve months have been singularly fatal to Cambridge; but no -loss has caused grief so widespread and so sincere as that of the -distinguished scholar and man of letters who passed quietly away while -sitting at his library-table on the night of last Wednesday week[113]. -If proof were needed of the respect in which he was held, we have only -to point to the vast assemblage of past and present members of the -University which filled the chapel of King’s College on Monday last to -do honour to his funeral. Nor will the grief be confined to Cambridge. -Though Mr Bradshaw rarely quitted his own University, and took no -trouble to bring himself into notice, few men were more highly -appreciated, both at home and abroad. It is hardly necessary to observe -that this recognition of his merits was of no sudden growth. We can -recall the time when he was working silently and unknown, and when even -a small circle of devoted friends had not realised the extent and -thoroughness of those studies which he carefully kept in the background. -But gradually the world of letters became aware that there were many -points in bibliography and kindred subjects which could not be set on a -right footing unless the inquirer were willing to pay a visit to him. No -one who did so had any cause to regret his journey. He was certain to be -received with a courtesy which, we regret to say, is nowadays commonly -called old-fashioned, and to find himself before he left far richer than -when he came. Mr Bradshaw was the most unselfish of men; and the stores -of his knowledge were invariably laid open, freely and ungrudgingly, to -every inquirer, provided he was satisfied that the work proposed would -be thoroughly well done. He was modest to a fault; and we believe that -he really preferred to remain in the background, while others, at his -suggestion and with his help, worked out the subjects in which he took -special interest. It was no fault of theirs if his share in their work -remained a secret. His generous wish to help others forward made him -refuse more than once, as we well know, to allow his name to appear in -connexion with work that he had really done; and posterity will have to -tax its ingenuity to discover, from a few words in a preface or a line -in a note, how much belongs of right to him. Nor was it only in subjects -with which he was specially familiar that his help was valuable. He -seemed equally at home in all branches of knowledge. He knew so -thoroughly how materials should be used, and in what form the results -would be best presented, that, whether the subject were art, or -archeology, or history, or bibliography, or early English texts, his -clear and accurate judgment went straight to the point, and reduced the -most tangled facts to order. But, devoted student as he was, he was no -bookworm. He took the liveliest interest in all that was going on around -him. His strong common sense, his kind, charitable nature, and his habit -of going to the bottom of every question presented to him, enabled him -to sympathize with those who had arrived at conclusions widely different -from his own. As a younger man he was too reserved, too diffident of -himself, to feel at ease in the society of men of his own standing. He -thought they disliked him, and this idea increased his natural -sensitiveness and his love of retirement. The truth was that he was too -honest to be popular. Like Alceste in _Le Misanthrope_, he would rebuke -insincerity and pretentiousness with a few blunt stern words that made -the offender tremble; and, if he disliked anybody, as happened -sometimes, he took no pains to conceal it. Hence he was respected, but -he was not liked. By slow degrees, however, the natural geniality of his -disposition gained the upper hand, and the warm heart which beat under -that calm exterior was allowed to assert itself. The old severity of -denunciation, instead of being exercised on individuals, was reserved -for slovenly work, unjust criticism, or unfair treatment. He began to go -more into society, in which he took a keen pleasure, though he would -rarely allow himself to spend what he called an idle evening. At all -times he had sought the company of young people. At a period when -undergraduates hardly ventured to speak to men older than themselves, -his quiet kindness attracted them to him, and obtained their confidence. -In him they were certain of a friend whose sympathy never failed them, -and from whom, no matter what trouble or difficulty had befallen them, -they were sure of advice and help. Many a man now successful in life may -thank him for the influence which, exercised at a critical time, -determines a career for good; and not a few have been enabled by his -generosity to begin the studies in which they are now distinguished. - -The events of such a life are not numerous. Mr Bradshaw was born 2 -February, 1831. He was educated at Eton College, on the foundation, and -came up to King’s College, Cambridge, in February, 1850. He proceeded to -the degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1854. At that time members of King’s -College were not obliged to submit themselves to University -examinations, but he and some others availed themselves of the -permission then accorded to them to do so, and he was placed tenth in -the second class of the Classical Tripos. Soon afterwards he accepted a -mastership at S. Columba’s College, near Dublin, then under the -direction of his old friend, the late Mr George Williams; but finding -tuition, after a few months’ trial, uncongenial to his tastes, he -returned to Cambridge, and to those studies which ended only with his -life. His connexion with the University Library began two years -afterwards. In 1856 he was appointed principal assistant, a post which -he resigned in 1858. In 1859 he returned to the Library as Keeper of the -Manuscripts, an office specially created for the purpose of retaining -his services, the value of which had even then been discovered. This -office he held until 1867, when, on the resignation of Mr J. E. B. -Mayor, he was elected librarian. From a boy he had been distinguished -for a love of books; but it was not until his return to Cambridge from -Ireland that he was able to devote himself seriously and systematically -to the study of bibliography in its widest sense, with all that is -subsidiary to it. Most of us know what a dreary subject bibliography is -when treated from the ordinary point of view. In his hands, however, it -acquired a human interest. He studied specimens of early printing, not -for themselves, but for the sake of the men who produced them. In -following out this system he went far more thoroughly than an ordinary -bibliographer cares to do into every particular of the book before him. -Paper, type, signature, tailpiece, were all taken into account, so as to -settle not only who printed the volume, but in what relation he stood to -his predecessors and successors. - -Bradshaw had an unerring eye for detecting small differences in style, a -memory which never failed him, and an instinct of discovery little short -of marvellous. Again and again in well-known libraries, both in England -and on the Continent, he has been able, after a brief examination, to -point out important facts which scholars who had worked there for the -best part of their lives had failed to notice. - -In the same spirit of discovery he applied himself to the study of -Chaucer. Silently and secretly, as was his wont, he examined all the -manuscripts within his reach, and then set to work to determine (1) what -was Chaucer’s own work; (2) what is the real order of the _Canterbury -Tales_. In the course of his researches it occurred to him that the -rhymes used would prove a test of what was Chaucer’s and what was not. -Without assistance from any one he wrote out a complete rhyme-list—an -astonishing labour for an individual, when it is remembered that the -_Tales_ contain some eight thousand lines, every one of which must have -been registered twice, and many three or four times. The labour, -however, was not thrown away. The rhymes employed turned out to be a -true test, and Mr Bradshaw was enabled to publish in 1867 ‘The Skeleton -of Chaucer’s _Canterbury Tales_: an attempt to distinguish the several -Fragments of the Work as left by the Author.’ We regret to say that this -pamphlet of fifty-four octavo pages is all that the world is ever likely -to see of this splendid piece of work. With characteristic -self-depreciation he says, in a note appended in 1871, ‘Mr Furnivall’s -labours have put far out of date any work that I have ever done upon -this subject’; but it is gratifying to turn to Mr Furnivall, and read, -‘There is only one man in the world, I believe, who thoroughly -understands this subject, Mr Henry Bradshaw.’ He welcomed Mr Furnivall -with habitual generosity, and placed in his hands, without reserve, all -that he had got ready for the edition of Chaucer which he at one time -intended to publish himself. Publication, however, was what he could -rarely be persuaded to attempt. It was not criticism that he feared; but -he had set up in his own mind such a lofty standard of excellence that -he could not bear to abandon a piece of work while it was yet possible -to add some trifling detail, or to correct some imperfection which his -own fastidious taste would alone have been able to detect. It is sad to -think how much has perished with him. His excellent memory enabled him -to dispense with notes to a far greater extent than most persons, and -those which he did put down were written on a system to which we fear it -will be impossible now to find the key. What he actually published -amounts to very little. When we have mentioned eight short octavo -pamphlets, which he called ‘Memoranda’; a few papers printed by the -Cambridge Antiquarian Society; some communications to _Notes and -Queries_ and other periodicals; and an admirable edition of the new -_Statutes for the University of Cambridge, and for the Colleges within -it_, we fear that the list is complete. He had made important -discoveries respecting the old Breton language in connexion with the -early collection of canons known as the _Hibernensis_, and had collected -materials for a Breton glossary which would have placed him in the first -rank of philologers; he had worked at Irish literature with the special -object of elucidating the history of early Irish printing; in knowledge -of ancient service-books he was probably second to none, and at the time -of his death he was writing a preface to the new edition of the Sarum -Breviary; and, lastly, he had made considerable progress towards a -catalogue of the fifteenth-century books in the University Library. On -all these subjects considerable materials exist; but who is fit to take -his place and make use of them? - -_20 February, 1886._ - - - - - WILLIAM HEPWORTH THOMPSON. - - -The death of the Master of Trinity College has severed almost the last -of the links which connect the present life of Cambridge with the past. -From 1828 until his death[114] in 1886 his connexion with his college -was unbroken; for a brief absence soon after his election to a -Fellowship, and the periods of canonical residence at Ely need hardly be -taken into account. He was, therefore, up to a certain point, a typical -Trinity man of the older school; a firm believer in the greatness of his -college, and in the obligation laid upon him personally to increase that -greatness by every means in his power. But he did not admire blindly. He -could recognize, if he did not welcome, the necessity for changes in the -old order from time to time; and he was known throughout the best period -of his intellectual life as a Liberal and a reformer. He was a rare -combination of a student without pedantry, and a man of the world -without foppishness, or want of principle. - -As an undergraduate he was fortunate in obtaining the friendship of men -who afterwards became celebrated in the world of letters, most of them -members of that famous coterie of which Tennyson and Hallam were the -most notable figures. Indeed it is not impossible that the poet may have -intended to include Thompson himself among those who - - “held debate, a band - Of youthful friends, on mind and art - And labour, and the changing mart, - And all the framework of the land.” - -In their society he laid the foundation of that wide knowledge of -literature, that keen interest in whatever was going forward, that habit -of weighing all things in the nicely-adjusted balance of thoughtful -criticism, which made what he wrote so valuable, and what he said so -delightful. Nor, after he had obtained his Fellowship, and was free to -do as he liked, was he content to become a student and nothing more. He -was careful to add a knowledge of men and manners to what he was -learning from books. He travelled abroad, and acquired a competent -knowledge of more than one modern language; he was fond of art, and a -good judge of pictures and sculpture. Nor did he forget the friends of -his undergraduate days. He was a welcome, and we believe a frequent, -guest at their houses both in town and country, where his fine presence, -his courteous bearing, and his quiet, epigrammatic conversation were -keenly appreciated. To the influence of these social surroundings he -owed that absence of narrowness which is inseparable from a University -career, if it be not tempered by influences from the outside. - -Academic lives usually contain few details to arrest the biographer, and -his was no exception to the rule. His father was a solicitor at York, -and he was born in that city 27 March, 1810. He was educated at a -private school, which he left when thirteen years old, and was then -placed under the care of a tutor, with whom he remained until he came up -to Trinity in the Michaelmas Term, 1828, as one of the pupils of Mr -Peacock, afterwards Dean of Ely. To his watchful care and sound advice -Thomson felt himself under deep obligation, and in after-life he used to -describe him as “the best and wisest of tutors.” It had been at first -intended that he should enter as a sizar; but this decision was reversed -at the last moment, and he matriculated as a pensioner. He obtained a -scholarship in 1830, and one of the Members’ prizes for a Latin Essay in -1831. At that time candidates for Classical Honours could not present -themselves for the Classical Tripos until they had satisfied the -examiners for the Mathematical. Thompson must have devoted a -considerable portion of his time to that subject, for he appears in the -Tripos of 1832 as tenth Senior Optime. In the Classical Tripos of the -same year he obtained the fourth place, being beaten by Lushington, -Shilleto, and Dobson, the first of whom beat him again in the -examination for the Chancellor’s medals, of which he won only the -second. He was elected Fellow of his College in 1834. His reputation as -a scholar marked him out for immediate employment as one of the -assistant-tutors; but for a time either no vacancy presented itself, or -men senior to himself were appointed. Meanwhile he accepted a mastership -in a school at Leicester, work which, we believe, he did not find -congenial. In October 1837 he was recalled to Cambridge by the offer of -an assistant-tutorship. In 1844, on the retirement of Mr Heath, he -became tutor, an office which he held until he obtained the Regius -Professorship of Greek in 1853. The other candidates on that occasion -were Shilleto and Philip Freeman, but the electors were all but -unanimous in their choice of Thompson. In the spring of 1866, on the -death of Dr Whewell, he was appointed to the Mastership of Trinity -College. - -In attempting to estimate the value of his work as a classical teacher, -it must be remembered that he was the direct heir of the system -introduced into Trinity College by Hare and Thirlwall. We are not aware -that he attended the lectures of the former, though he may well have -done so, but we have heard from his own lips that he derived great -benefit from those of the latter, which were as systematic as Hare’s had -been desultory. Those distinguished scholars, while not neglecting an -author’s language, were careful to direct the attention of their pupils -to his matter. They did not waste time unduly on the theories of this or -that commentator, though they had carefully digested them, but they -showed how their author might be made to explain himself. In fine, the -discovery of his thoughts, not the dry elucidation of his words, was the -object of their teaching. Translation, again, received from them a -larger share of attention than it had done from their predecessors. In -this particular Thompson attained an unrivalled excellence. His -translations never smelt of the lamp, though it may be easily imagined -that this perfection had not been arrived at without much preliminary -study. But, when presented to the class, toil was carefully kept out of -sight. The lecturer stood at his desk and read his author into English, -with neither manuscript nor even notes before him, as though the -translation was wholly unpremeditated, in a style which reflected the -original with exact fidelity, whatever the subject selected might be. He -seemed equally at home in a dialogue of Plato, a tragedy of Euripides in -which, like the _Bacchae_, the lyric element predominates, or a comedy -of Aristophanes. He did not labour in vain. The lecture-room was crowded -with eager listeners; and the happiest renderings were passed from mouth -to mouth, and so made the round of the University. But we are glad to -think that his fame as a scholar rests on a firmer foundation than -traditions of the lecture-room, however brilliant. The author of his -choice was Plato, and though ill-health and a too fastidious criticism -of his own powers, which made him unwilling to let a piece of work go -out of his hands so long as there was any chance of making it better, -stood in the way of the complete edition, or, at any rate, translation, -of the author, which he once meditated, yet he has left enough good work -behind him to command the gratitude of future scholars. To this study he -was doubtless directed, in the first instance, by natural predilection; -but, if we mistake not, he was confirmed in it by the scholars -above-mentioned, either directly or by their suggesting to him the study -of Schleiermacher, whose writings were first introduced to English -readers by their influence. That critic’s theory—that Plato had a -comprehensive and precise doctrine to teach, which he deliberately -concealed under the complicated machinery of a series of dialogues, -leaving his readers to combine and interpret for themselves the dark -hints and suggestions afforded to them—was followed by Thompson with -great learning, unerring tact, and firm grasp. His editions of the -_Phaedrus_ (1868) and the _Gorgias_ (1871) are models of what an -edition, based on these principles, ought to be; and the paper on the -_Sophistes_, long lost sight of in the _Transactions_ of the Cambridge -Philosophical Society, but republished in the _Journal of Philology_ -(1879), is a masterpiece. Nor must we omit an introductory lecture on -the _Philebus_, written in 1855, and published in the same journal -(1882), which is a piece of literature as well as a piece of criticism; -or the learned and instructive notes to Archer Butler’s _Lectures on the -History of Ancient Philosophy_, the first edition of which appeared in -1855. - -Thompson discharged the difficult duties of a college tutor with -admirable patience and discretion. Those who knew him imperfectly called -him cold, hard, and sarcastic; and his bearing towards his brother -Fellows gave occasionally, we must admit, some colour to the accusation. -But in reality he was an exceedingly modest man, diffident of himself, -reserved, and at first somewhat shy in the society of those whom he did -not know well. Again, it must be recollected that nature had dealt out -to him a measure of ‘irony, that master-spell,’ of a quality that a -Talleyrand might have envied. Hence, especially when slightly nervous, -he got into a habit of letting his words fall into well-turned sarcastic -sentences almost unconsciously. The most ordinary remark, when uttered -by him, became an epigram. We maintain, however, that he never said an -unkind word intentionally, or crushed anybody who did not richly deserve -it. For the noisy advocate of crude opinions, or the pretender to -knowledge which he did not possess, were reserved those withering -sentences which froze the victim into silence, and, being carefully -treasured up by his friends, and repeated at intervals, clung to him -like a brand. To his own pupils Thompson’s demeanour was the reverse of -this. At a time when the older men of the University—with the exception, -perhaps, of Professor Sedgwick—were not in sympathy with the rising -generation, he made them feel that they had in him a friend who would -really stand _in loco parentis_ to them. Somewhat indolent by nature, on -their behalf he would spare no trouble; but, on the other hand, he would -allow of no interference. ‘He is a pupil of mine, you had better leave -him to me,’ he would say to the Seniors, when an undergraduate on his -‘side’ got into trouble; but it may be questioned whether many a -delinquent would not have preferred public exposure to the awful -half-hour in his tutor’s study by which his rescue was succeeded. Nor -did his interest in his pupils cease when they left college. He was -always glad to see them or to write to them, and few, we imagine, took -any important step in life without consulting him. - -When Thompson became Greek Professor, a canonry at Ely was still united -to the office—an expedient for augmenting the salary which, we are glad -to say, will not trouble future Professors. To most men, trained as he -had been, the new duties thus imposed upon him would have been -thoroughly distasteful; and we are not sure that he ever took a real -pleasure in his residences at Ely. In fact, more than one bitter remark -might be quoted to prove that he did not. Notwithstanding, he made -himself extremely popular there, both with the Chapter and the citizens, -and he soon became a good preacher. It is to be regretted that only one -of his sermons—that on the death of Dean Peacock—has been printed; that -one is in its way a masterpiece. - -He became Master rather late in life, when the habits of a bachelor -student had grown upon him; and he lacked the superabundant energy of -his great predecessor. But notwithstanding, the twenty years of his -Mastership were years of activity and progress; and he took his due -share of University and College business. He was alive to the necessity -for reform, and the statutes framed in 1872, as well as those which -received the royal assent in 1882, owed much to his criticism and -support. It should also be recorded that he was an excellent examiner, -appreciating good work of very different sorts. Gradually, however, as -his health grew worse, he was compelled to give up much that he had been -able to do when first elected, and to withdraw from society almost -entirely. Yet he did not become a mere lay figure. Even strangers who -caught a glimpse in chapel of that commanding presence, the dignity of -which was enhanced by singularly handsome features, and silvery -hair[115], were compelled to recognize his power. There was an innate -royalty in his nature which made his Mastership at all times a reality, -and he contrived, from the seclusion of his study, to exert a stronger -influence and to maintain a truer sympathy with the Society than -Whewell, with all his activity, had ever succeeded in - -establishing. His very isolation from the worry and bustle of the world -gave authority to his advice; those who came to seek it felt, as they -sat by his armchair, that they were listening to one who was not -influenced by considerations of the moment, but who was giving them some -of the garnered treasures of mature experience. - -_9 October, 1886._ - - - - - COUTTS TROTTER. - - -The Society of Trinity College had long been aware of the critical -condition of their Vice-Master’s health, and his numerous friends in the -wider circle of the University had shared their alarm. And yet, though -everybody had been expecting the worst for several weeks, the news that -the end had really come[116] fell upon the University with the stunning -force of a wholly unexpected event. The full extent of the loss can only -be measured by time; for the moment we can but feel that the University -of Cambridge misses an influence which pervaded and animated every -department of her affairs. For the last fifteen years no one has been so -completely identified with what may be termed modern Cambridge; no one -has been admitted to so large a share in her councils, or has devoted -himself with such unremitting diligence to the administration of her -complex organization. - -Mr Trotter proceeded to his degree in 1859. He was thirty-seventh -wrangler, and third in the second class of the Classical Tripos. It is -evident, however, that his acquirements must not be measured by his -place in these two Triposes, for he was soon after elected to a -Fellowship in his college, where, as is well known, the proficiency of -candidates is tested by a fresh examination. After his election he took -Holy Orders, and devoted himself for a time to active clerical work. For -this, however, after a fair trial, he found himself unsuited, and, -resigning his curacy, he returned to college. Between the years 1865 and -1869 he spent a considerable portion of his time in German universities. -In 1869 he became Lecturer in Natural Science in Trinity College, and in -due course succeeded to the Tutorship. In 1874 he was elected a member -of the Council of the Senate—a position which he occupied, without -interruption, until his death. In early life he had been a staunch -Conservative; but, as time went on, his views changed, and he became not -only a Liberal in politics, but an ardent University reformer. In the -latter capacity he threw himself energetically into the movement for -reform which led to the present University and College statutes—to -which, in their actual shape, he largely contributed. We have said that -he was a Liberal and a reformer. This position placed him, it is almost -needless to remark, in direct antagonism to many of those with whom he -was called upon to act; but his conciliatory manners, his excellent -temper, and his perfect straightforwardness, not only disarmed -opposition, but enabled him to make friends even among those who -differed from him most widely. In fact, what was sometimes called in -jest ‘the Trotterization of the University’ was so complete that he had -come to be regarded as indispensable; and his name will be found at one -time or another on all the more important Boards and Syndicates. But it -was not merely his knowledge of University business and detail that -placed him there. He was gifted with an intelligence of extraordinary -quickness. He could grasp the bearings of a complicated question swiftly -and readily—disentangle it, so to speak, from all that was not strictly -essential to it—and while others were still talking about it, doubtful -how to act, he would commit to paper a draft of a report which was -commonly accepted by those present as exactly resuming the general sense -of the meeting. He was in favour of a wide enlargement of University -studies, especially in the scientific direction—a course which was -impossible without funds; but at the same time no man ever loved his -college more dearly than he did—no man held more closely to the old idea -of duty to the college as a corporation; and it may be added that no -Vice-Master ever dispensed the hospitality incidental to the office with -greater geniality. - -We have dwelt on Mr Trotter’s University career at some length; but let -it not be supposed that he was immersed in the details of University -business to the exclusion of other subjects. Though modest and retiring -almost to a fault, his interests were wide, and his knowledge extensive -and accurate. He had no mean acquaintance with physical science, on -which he gave collegiate lectures; he spoke and read several modern -languages, and was familiar with their literature; he took great -interest in music; he travelled extensively, and had a singularly minute -knowledge of out-of-the-way parts of the Alps, and of the little visited -country towns of Italy, to which he was attracted partly by their -history, partly by their art-treasures. He wrote easily and clearly, -though he never cared to cultivate a particularly elegant style; and as -a speaker he was always forcible, and sometimes exceedingly happy in the -utterance of tersely-worded, epigrammatic sentences, which resumed much -thought in few words. - -We have dwelt of necessity in these brief remarks almost exclusively on -Mr Trotter’s public career. But there was another side to his character. -He was a generous and warm-hearted friend, whose friendship was all the -more sincere because it was so quiet and undemonstrative. Few had the -rare privilege of his intimacy; but those few will never forget that -kindly face, that bright smile of welcome, that charity which found -excuses for everybody—that liberality which, while it eschewed -publicity, was always ready to help the deserving, whether it was a -cause or an individual. - -_10 December, 1887._ - - - - - RICHARD OKES. - - -The death of Dr Okes, though he had reached the mature age of -ninety-one, has taken the University by surprise[117]. He had become an -institution of the place. While everything around him changed, and old -things became new, his venerable figure remained unaltered, like a -monument of an older faith which has survived the attacks of successive -iconoclasts, to tell the younger generation what manner of men the Dons -of the past had been. He was fond of saying that the first public event -he could distinctly remember was the battle of Trafalgar. He had been a -Master at Eton when Goodall was Provost and Keate Head-master, and he -had begun to rule over King’s College when the University of Cambridge -differed as widely from what it is now as the Europe of Napoleon from -its present condition. Still, his load of years sat so lightly upon him, -his interest in what was going forward was still so keen, that there -seemed to be no reason why he should not complete his century of life. -The slight infirmities from which he suffered did not prevent him, until -quite lately, from attending service in chapel, at least on Sundays; his -hearing was but little affected; his sight was good; and he could still -enjoy the society of his friends. Only a few days before his death he -was reading Miss Burney’s _Evelina_ to his daughters. When it became -known on Sunday last that he had really passed away, it was hard to -believe that the sad news could possibly be true. - -Richard Okes was born in Cambridge, 15 December, 1797. His father, -Thomas Verney Okes, was a surgeon in extensive practice. Tradition is -silent respecting the future Provost’s childhood and early education; -but, as in those days boys began their lives at Eton at a very early -age, it is probable that when he was little older than a child he was -sent to fight his battles among the collegers, in what even devoted -Etonians have called ‘a proverb and a reproach’—Long Chamber. In 1816, -when he was rather more than eighteen, he obtained a scholarship at -King’s College; but it appears from the University records that he did -not formally matriculate until November in the following year. In those -days, be it remembered, King’s College was a very different place from -what it is now, both structurally and educationally. The magnificent -site, on which Henry VI. intended to place an equally magnificent -college, was occupied by no structures of importance except the Chapel, -and the Fellows’ Building, part of a second grand design which, like the -first, was never completed. The scholars, or at all events the greater -part of them, were packed into Old Court—the small, irregular quadrangle -west of the University Library, to which the founder intended originally -to limit his college. It must have been a curious structure—picturesque -and interesting from an archeological point of view, but unwholesome and -uncomfortable as a place of residence. The very nicknames given to some -of the chambers—“the Tolbooth,” “the Block-house,” and the like—are a -sufficient proof of their discomfort. In one of these, on the ground -floor, facing Clare Hall, young Okes resided; and until a few months -ago, when the last remnant of this part of the old college was absorbed -by the University Library, the present generation could form a fairly -correct idea of the gloom and damp that their ancestors were obliged to -put up with. But members of Kings College had to endure something far -worse than physical discomfort. It had been the object of their founder -to make his college independent of the University, and, as a consequence -of these well-intentioned provisions, scholars of King’s were not -allowed to compete for University honours, but obtained their degrees as -a matter of course. The result is not difficult to conceive. In every -society there will be some whose love of letters, or whose ardour for -distinction, is so strong that nothing can check it; but, as a rule, the -young Etonians who were obliged to spend three years in Cambridge threw -learning to the winds, and enjoyed to their hearts’ content the liberty, -not to say license, of their new surroundings. It was a bad state of -things; and that Okes felt it to be so is proved by the eagerness with -which he, a strong Conservative, set himself to get it abolished as soon -as he had the power to do so. We do not claim for the late Provost any -specially studious habits as a young man; he was too genial and too fond -of society to have ever been a very hard reader; but his scholarship in -after years would not have been as accurate as it certainly was had he -wasted his time at Cambridge; and, as a proof that he aimed at -distinction, it should be mentioned that he obtained Sir William -Browne’s prize for Greek and Latin Epigrams in 1819 and 1820. To the -very end of his life he was fond of writing Latin verse; and when the -Fellows of his college congratulated him on his ninetieth birthday in -Latin and English poems, he replied in half-a-dozen Latin lines which -many a younger scholar could not have turned so neatly. - -He proceeded to his degree in 1821, and was in due course elected Fellow -of his college. Soon afterwards he returned to Eton as an -Assistant-Master. Mr Gladstone was one of the first set of boys who, in -Eton phrase, were ‘up to him’ in school. He filled his difficult -position with a judicious blending of severity and kindliness that made -him thoroughly respected by everybody, and at the same time beloved by -those boys who saw enough of him to discover that his dignified and -slightly pompous demeanour concealed a singularly warm and sympathetic -heart. His house was well-conducted and deservedly popular; and though -in those days masters did not see much of their pupils in private, he -contrived to turn several of his boys into life-long friends. In 1838 he -became Lower Master—an office which he held until he returned to -Cambridge in 1850. While in that influential position he introduced at -least one reform into the school; he got what was called ‘an -intermediate examination’ established, by which the collegers were -enabled to test their capacities before submitting to the final -examination which was to determine their chances of obtaining a -scholarship at King’s. - -In November 1850, the Provostship of King’s College having been vacated -by the death of the Rev. George Thackeray, Dr Okes was elected his -successor. So anxious was he to abolish the anomalous position of -King’s-men with regard to University degrees that, on his way from Eton -to Cambridge to be inducted into his new dignity, he stayed a few hours -in London to take counsel with the Bishop of Lincoln, as Visitor of the -college, on the best way of effecting an alteration. The needful -negotiations were pressed forward without loss of time, and on the 1st -May, 1851, the college informed the University of their willingness to -abolish the existing state of things. The University, as might have been -expected, took time to consider the matter; and it was not until -February 18, 1852, that the Senate accepted the proposed reform. -Meanwhile Dr Okes had been elected Vice-Chancellor, and, in virtue of -that office, had the pleasure of signing the report which concluded the -negotiations. His year of office as Vice-Chancellor ended, he took but -little part in University business. He served on the Council of the -Senate from 1864 to 1868, and he was occasionally a member of -Syndicates; but, with these exceptions, he devoted himself to the -affairs of his college. - -When he returned to the University the ancient constitution still -subsisted, and it may be doubted whether he could ever have brought -himself into cordial sympathy with the changes inaugurated by the -statutes which came into operation in 1858. The abolition of the old -_Caput_, and the virtual dethronement of the Heads of Colleges, must -have seemed to him to be changes which savoured of sacrilege. Still, -when a reform had been once carried he accepted it loyally, and never -tried by underhand devices to thwart its provisions, or to diminish its -force. He was too straight-forward to pretend that he liked change, but -he was too honest to take away with one hand the assent that he gave -with the other. In regard to his own college he was before all things an -Etonian, and he clung to the ancient system by which King’s was -recruited exclusively from Eton. But, when it was decided, in 1864, to -throw the college open, under certain restrictions, to all comers, he -offered no violent resistance to the scheme, though he did not like it; -and it may be doubted whether he ever felt that the newcomers were -really King’s-men. His sense of duty, as well as his natural kindliness, -compelled him to accept them; but he looked upon them as aliens. This -strong conservative bias, opposed to the liberal instincts of a society -which his own reform had created, sometimes brought him into collision -with his Fellows; but such differences were not of long duration. He was -never morose. He never bore a grudge against any one. His sense of -humour, and his natural gaiety of spirits, carried him through -difficulties which his habitual tone of mind would hardly have enabled -him to surmount. When his portrait was painted by Herkomer, the artist -showed him as he lived, with a smile on his kind face. It was objected -that so jocose a countenance was at variance with the dignity of his -position. ‘What would the Provost of King’s be without his jokes?’ was -the reply of a sarcastic contemporary. The remark had a deeper meaning -than its author either imagined or intended. - -_1 December, 1888._ - - - - - HENRY RICHARDS LUARD[118]. - - -Nearly half a century has elapsed since Dr Luard became a member of -Trinity College. When he came up, the University was a very different -place from what it is now; the Statutes of Elizabeth were still in -force; and the only study which obtained official recognition was that -of mathematics. It is true that a Classical Tripos existed, but anybody -who wished to be examined in it was obliged to obtain an honour in -Mathematics first. The first Commission was not appointed until 1850, -the year in which he proceeded to the degree of Master of Arts. Nor were -the changes that resulted from their labours so sweeping as to alter, to -any overt and material extent, the character of the University. The -University of our own time, due to more recent legislation, did not come -into being until he had reached middle life. - -These prefatory sentences are necessary to explain his character, which -has often been misunderstood. He passed his youth and many years of his -manhood in the old University, and though he was compelled, -intellectually, to admit the advantage of many of the changes which have -taken place in recent years, I doubt if he ever cordially accepted them. -He was a man of the older generation, who had lived down into the -present, and though he made friends in it, and derived many substantial -advantages from it, he was always casting lingering looks behind, and -sighing for a past which he could not recall. He remembered the time -when the resident Fellows of his college were few in number, when they -all lived in college rooms, and met every day at the service in Chapel -or the dinner in Hall, and commonly took their daily exercise, a walk or -a ride, in each other’s company. As his older friends passed away, he -found a difficulty in making new ones; he felt out of his element; he -was distracted by the multiplicity of tastes and studies; and vehemently -disapproved of the modifications in the collegiate life which the new -statutes have brought about. Though he himself, by a strange irony of -fate, was the first Fellow to take advantage of the power of marrying -and still retaining the Fellowship, he bitterly regretted that such a -clause had ever become law; and it is hardly too much to say that he -predicted the ruin of the college from such an innovation. And yet he -was by no means an unreasoning or unreasonable Conservative. In many -matters he was a Reformer; I have even heard him called a Radical; but, -when his beloved college was concerned, the force of early association -was too strong, and he regarded fundamental change as sacrilege. - -Luard was fourteenth wrangler in 1847, a place much lower than he had -been led to expect. The cause of his failure is said to have been -ill-health. His disappointment, however, was speedily consoled by a -Fellowship, a distinction to which he is said to have aspired from his -earliest years. A friend who sat next him when he was a student at -King’s College, London, remembers his writing down, “Henry Richards -Luard, Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge,” and asking, “How do you -think that looks?” But, though he was really a first-rate mathematician, -his heart was elsewhere. He delighted in classical studies, especially -Greek, and to the end of his life continued to collect early editions, -and more, to read Greek authors. Not long ago, in the interval between -two pieces of hard work, I think between two volumes of his edition of -Matthew Paris, I found him reading the _Supplices_ of Euripides. He -complained that it was dull, but he went through with it. His -acquaintance with Greek scholarship was very accurate and remarkable. He -knew all about the emendations in which the scholars of the last century -displayed their ingenuity; he spoke of Bentley, Porson, Gaisford, -Elmsley, and the rest, as though they had been his personal friends, and -he could quote from memory, even to the last, many of their most -brilliant achievements. For Porson he had a special cult, and the Life -of him which he contributed to the _Cambridge Essays_ (1857) is a model -of what such a composition should be, as remarkable for good taste and -temperate criticism, as for erudition. He resented any slights on Porson -as almost a personal affront; and spoke with unmeasured denunciation of -any edition of a Greek Play, or other classical work, in which Porson -did not seem to be fully appreciated. He had a priceless collection of -_Porsoniana_, books which had belonged to Porson, and had been annotated -by him, with notices of his life and labours, all of which he bequeathed -to the Library of Trinity College; and he edited Porson’s -_Correspondence_, and the _Diary of Edward Rud_, which throws so much -light on the history of the college during the stormy reign of Dr -Bentley. It must be confessed that Luard’s affection for these giants of -classical criticism rather blinded him to the merits of their successors -in our own time. He had a particular dislike for English notes; and I -had rather not try to remember what I have heard him say about English -translations printed side by side with the original text. - -Let it not be supposed, however, that Luard confined his attention in -literature to the classics. He was an insatiable reader of books on all -subjects, and if the book was a new one he was particular that his copy -should be uncut. He liked to read sitting in his armchair, and to cut -the leaves as he went along. What he began, he considered it a point of -honour to finish. It was a joke against him that he had read every word -of _The Cornhill Magazine_, which he had taken in from the beginning; -and I have heard him admit, more than once, that this was really the -case. I think it quite likely that he had submitted the volumes -published under the authority of the Master of the Rolls, to the same -searching investigation; for he could give a curiously minute account of -the merits and demerits of each work, supported, as usual with him, by -numerous quotations, cited with much volubility of utterance, and, it -may be added, with unerring accuracy. The pace at which he got through a -ponderous volume—without skipping, be it remarked—was really -astonishing, and when he had come to the end he could not only give a -clear and connected account of what he had read, but it became part of -himself, and he could quote long afterwards any passage that had -specially struck him. - -The variety of Luard’s interests at all periods of his life, was -remarkable, especially when it is remembered that he was a genuine -student, with a horror of superficiality, and a conscientious -determination to do whatever he took in hand as well as it could be -done. But he was no Dry-as-dust. He was keenly alive to all that was -passing in the world, and unlike a contemporary Cambridge antiquary who -was once heard to ask, “Is the _Times_ still published?” he not only -read the paper through every day, but had his own very definite opinions -on men and measures. There was nothing narrow about him; he was a -patriotic Englishman, but he did not ignore the existence of the -Continent, and his favourite relaxation was foreign travel. As a young -man he had travelled extensively, not only in Europe, but in Egypt, -where he had ascended the Nile as far as the second cataract: and, as he -grew older, he still sought refreshment in going over parts of his old -tours, especially in those by-ways of Central Italy which lie within the -limits of what he affectionately called “dear old Umbria.” He spoke more -than one foreign language fluently; and, being entirely destitute of -British angularity, and British prejudices in politics and religion, he -always got on exceedingly well with foreigners, especially with foreign -ecclesiastics. I feel that I am saying only what is literally true when -I affirm that few Englishmen have understood the creed and the practice -of the Roman clergy in Italy so thoroughly as he did. In illustration of -this view I would refer my readers to an article called _Preaching and -other matters in Rome in 1879_ which he contributed to the _Church -Quarterly Review_[119]. Further, he took an intelligent interest in -antiquities of all sorts, and had an acquaintance with art that was -something more than respectable. Here his excellent memory stood him in -good stead, for he never forgot either a picture which he had once seen, -or the place in which he had seen it. - -In politics he called himself a Tory, and he certainly did vote on that -side; but he was in no sense of the word a party-man. For instance, when -his friend Mr George Denman came forward as a Liberal candidate for the -representation of the University in 1855, Luard was an active member of -his committee. His knowledge of Italy made him watch the course of -events there in 1859 with an enthusiastic sympathy, which was divided -almost equally between the Italians and their French allies. With a -curious perversity, which was not uncommon in his appreciation of men -and his judgment of events, he hated Garibaldi as much as he admired -Victor Emmanuel and Cavour. But from the first he never doubted of the -cause of freedom, and astonished his Conservative friends by offering a -wager across the high table at Trinity as to the time it would take the -combined French and Italian forces to occupy Milan. So far as I can -remember, he was right almost to the very day. - -From his boyhood Luard had been an ardent collector of books, and it was -probably this taste that induced him to take a further excursion into -the past, and begin the study of manuscripts. Professor Mayor tells me -that the influence and example of Dr S. R. Maitland turned his attention -to the Middle Ages in the widest sense—their history, their literature, -and their life. This may well have been the case, for I know, from many -conversations, that he had the profoundest respect and admiration for Dr -Maitland’s character, and for the thoroughness of his studies and -criticisms. I do not know how Luard acquired his very accurate knowledge -of medieval handwriting; but I remember that in 1855 or 1856 he gave me -some lessons of the greatest value. In the second of these years the -first volume of the Catalogue of Manuscripts in the University Library -was published, into the preparation of which he had thrown himself with -characteristic enthusiasm. As time went on, the direction of the work -was left more and more to him; he became the editor, and to him the -excellent index, published in 1867, is mainly, if not entirely, due. - -From the study of manuscripts to their transcription and publication the -transition is easy, and we need therefore find no difficulty in -accounting for his employment by the Master of the Rolls. He began his -work on that series in 1858 by editing certain _Lives of Edward the -Confessor_, written in old French. This work, on which he had bestowed -infinite pains, was not free from errors. The study of the language in -which it is written was not understood at that time as it is now, and it -is no discredit to Luard’s memory to admit that he was not fully -prepared for the task. But such mistakes as he made are no justification -for the savage and personal attack to which he was subjected, eleven -years afterwards, by a critic who ought to have known better. I do not -feel that this is the place to criticise, or even to mention, the long -list of historical works that Luard subsequently edited, the last of -which appeared not long before his death. His labours in this field of -research have been better appreciated in Germany than in England, but -even here scholars like Bishop Stubbs and Professor Freeman have spoken -with cordial appreciation of the value of his work. It is worth noting -too that here his passion for old methods of editing deserted him; -nothing can be more thoroughly modern than his treatment of these -ancient records. Nor can I leave this part of my subject without -noticing his indexes. He was the very prince of index-makers; every -sheet, before it was finally passed for press, was fully indexed, with -the result that not only were mistakes recognised and corrected, but the -index itself, worked out on a definite system conceived from the -beginning, was carried through to a satisfactory conclusion without -haste or weariness, and became a real catalogue of the subjects referred -to in the work itself. - -Luard was Registrary of the University from 1862 to his death in 1891. -To this work he brought the same painstaking accuracy, and the same -unselfish readiness to endure hard work, that distinguished his other -labours. The ordinary duties of his office were discharged with -marvellous rapidity, and almost painful attention to detail; and the -records were admirably re-arranged. Mr Romilly, his predecessor, had -brought order out of confusion, and prepared an excellent catalogue on -modern lines; but Luard went a step farther. He bound the contents of Mr -Romilly’s bundles in a series of volumes, each of which he indexed with -his own hand. These separate indexes were then transcribed, and finally -bound together so as to form a complete catalogue of the contents of the -Registry. Every paper can now be found with the least possible loss of -time, while each bound volume contains a complete history of the subject -to which it relates, so far as it can be illustrated by documents in the -Registry. - -Luard’s duties as Registrary, added to the continuous strain of his -historical work, would have been enough for most people; but he never -forgot that he was a clergyman, as well as a man of letters, and he took -care always to have some active clerical work to do. He was an eloquent -preacher, and his sermons in the College Chapel used to be listened to -with an interest that we did not always feel in what was said to us from -that pulpit. They were plain, practical, persuasive; the compositions of -one who was not above his congregation; who had nothing donnish about -him, but who spoke to the undergraduates as one who had passed through -the same temptations as themselves, and who was, therefore, in a -position to show them the right road. On the same principles, for the -twenty-seven years during which he was Vicar of Great S. Mary’s, he -laboured in the parish in a spirit of true sympathy. There was no -fussiness about him; he did not take part in movements; he did not -‘work’ a parish as a modern clergyman does, on the principle of -perpetual worry, leaving neither man, nor woman, nor child at peace for -a moment; he led his people to better things by gentle measures; he -sympathized with their troubles; he relieved their necessities; in a -word, he exercised an unbounded influence over them, while refraining -from interference in matters of moral indifference. His memory will long -be venerated there for active benevolence, and punctual discharge of all -that it became him to do. I have heard that the full extent of his -charities will never be known. He hated display, and avoided reference -to what he was about unless it was necessary to stimulate others by -mentioning it; but those who know best tell me that his labours among -the poor were unremitting, and that his generosity knew no limits. - -Nor should it be forgotten, in even the most summary record of Luard’s -life at Cambridge, that it was he who got Great S. Mary’s restored in -the true sense of the word, by removing the excrescences which the -taste, or, rather, want of taste, of the last century had piled up in -it. He pulled down the carved work thereof—the hideous ‘Golgotha’—with -axes and hammers, and exhibited to an astonished and by no means -complacent University the noble church in the unadorned simplicity of -its architecture. The restoration of the University Church to something -like its ancient arrangement will be an enduring monument of his -parochial life. - -He was a High Churchman, but a High Churchman with a difference. He -belonged to the school of Pusey and Liddon rather than to that of the -modern Ritualist, whose doings were as alien to his convictions and -feelings as those of the party whom he scornfully styled ‘those -Protestants.’ I have heard him called narrow and intolerant. I beg leave -to refer such detractors to the sermon preached by him on the Sunday -after the death of Frederick Denison Maurice. And this brings me to what -was, perhaps, the leading principle of his whole life—his absolute -honesty and fearlessness. He held certain beliefs and certain opinions -himself, which he cherished, and which were of vital importance to -himself; but he did not shut his eyes to the possibility that others who -held diametrically opposite views might be in the right also. And if he -found a man sincere, no considerations of party, of respectability, of -imaginary dangers concealed behind opinions held to be heretical, would -prevent him from speaking out and proclaiming his admiration. - -In manners Luard had much of the stately courtesy which we commonly -ascribe to the last century, joined to a vivacious impulsiveness due, no -doubt, to his French extraction. This impulsiveness led him into a -rapidity of thought and utterance which often caused him to be -misunderstood. He said what came first into his thoughts, and corrected -it afterwards; but, unfortunately for him, people remembered the first -words used, and forgot the explanation. Hence he was often -misunderstood, and credited with opinions he did not really hold. He -delighted in society, and few men knew better how to deal with it, or -how to make his house an agreeable centre of Cambridge life. In this he -was ably seconded by his admirable wife, _qui savait tenir un salon_, as -the French say, more successfully than is usual in this country. Without -her help he would hardly have been able to find the time required for -his continual hospitalities. The house was different from any other -house that I have ever known, and reflected, more directly, the peculiar -gifts and tastes of its owner. The pictures, the china, the books that -lined the walls, bespoke the cultivated scholar; but the modern volumes -that lay on the tables showed that he was no dry archaeologist, but full -of enthusiasm for all that was best in modern literature. He had a keen -sense of humour, and an admirable memory; and when the conversation -turned that way, would tell endless stories of Cambridge life, or repeat -page after page of his favourite Thackeray. At the same time he did not -engross the conversation, but drew his guests out, and led each -insensibly to what was interesting to him or to her. It is sad to think -that all this has passed away; that exactly one month after Luard’s -death his friends stood again beside his grave to see his only child -laid in it; that his house will pass into alien hands; and that his -library will share the fate of similar collections. ‘_Eheu! quanto minus -est cum aliis versari quam tui meminisse._’ - - - - - RICHARD OWEN[120]. - - -A scientific naturalist who lived in England in the second quarter of -this present century may be accounted a fortunate man. On the one hand -was the vast field of the universe, undivided, unallotted; on the other, -a public eager for instruction. At the present day, when men go to and -fro, and knowledge is increased, we find it hard to realize the -isolation of England until after the close of the great war, or the fear -of invasion that absorbed men’s thoughts until after Trafalgar. That -fear removed, the modern development of the nation began. The number of -those who resorted to the Universities increased by leaps and bounds. -Public school life, as we understand it, was developed. As a natural -consequence, the flower of the English youth were no longer content with -the knowledge that had satisfied their fathers and grandfathers. The old -paths were too narrow for them. The convulsions which had shaken the -continent had not been without their effect even here; and when Europe -was again open, account had to be taken of the work of continental -thinkers. Their achievements must be mastered, continued, developed. It -was allowed on all hands, except by that small class who can neither -learn nor forget, that the time for a new departure in scientific -education had arrived. It was the good fortune of Richard Owen to be -ready just when he was wanted, to take occasion by the hand, and to -become the leader in biological research. - -How did he effect this? How did a young man, launched on the great world -of London with no powerful connexions, - - ‘Break his birth’s invidious bar, - And grasp the skirts of happy chance, - And breast the blows of circumstance - And grapple with his evil star?’ - -To take a metaphor from our representative system, Owen was the member -for biological science in the parliament of letters for nearly half a -century. And yet he was not a great thinker; his name is not associated -with any far-reaching generalization, or any theory fruitful of wide -results. As a comparative anatomist, and as a paleontologist, he did -plenty of good and solid work. But these pursuits are most commonly -those of a recluse. The man who engages in them must be content, as a -general rule, with the four walls of his laboratory, and the applause of -a small circle of experts. Not so Professor Owen, as he was most -commonly designated, even after he had received knighthood. He contrived -to lead an essentially public life; to be seen everywhere; to have his -last paper talked about in fashionable drawing-rooms quite as much as in -learned societies. How did he effect this? We think that the answer to -our question is to be found—first, in the general eagerness for -scientific instruction which was one of the characteristics of the age -in which he lived; and, secondly, in his own many-sidedness. He was by -no means one of those authors ‘who are all author,’ against whom Byron -launched some of his most brilliant sarcasms. He was a man of science; -but he was also a polished gentleman of varied accomplishments. - -It is to be regretted that such a man has not found a biographer more -competent than his grandson and namesake; but the reader who reaches the -end of the second volume will be rewarded by a masterly essay by Mr -Huxley on Owen’s place in science. This is a remarkable composition; not -merely for what it says, but for what it does not say; and we recommend -those who would understand it thoroughly, not merely to read it more -than once, but to cultivate the useful art of reading between the lines. -Of a very different nature to _The Life of Owen_ is the article which -Sir W. H. Flower has contributed to the _Dictionary of National -Biography_. It is of necessity much compressed, but it contains all that -is really essential for the proper comprehension of Owen’s scientific -career, and praise and blame are meted out with calm impartiality. For -ourselves, we have a sincere admiration for Owen, but an admiration -which does not exclude a readiness to admit that he had defects. In what -we are about to say we do not propose to draw a fancy portrait. If we -nothing extenuate, we shall set down naught in malice. In a word, we -shall try to present him as he was, not as he might have been. - - * * * * * - -Richard Owen was born at Lancaster, 20 July, 1804. His father was a West -India merchant; his mother, Catherine Parrin, was descended from a -French Huguenot family. She is said to have been a woman of refinement -and intelligence, with great skill in music, a talent which she -transmitted to her son. In appearance she was handsome and -Spanish-looking, with dark eyes and hair. Owen delighted to dwell on his -mother’s charm of manner, and all that he owed to her early training and -example. We can well believe this, and the Life is full of touching -references to her solicitude for her darling son. The interest she felt -in all that he did even led her to read through his scientific papers -and his catalogue of the Hunterian collection, with what profit to -herself we are not informed. Her husband died in 1809; but the family -seem to have been left in fairly affluent circumstances, and continued -to live, as before, at Lancaster. Owen’s education began at the -grammar-school there in 1810, when he was six years old, and ended in -1820, when he was apprenticed to a local surgeon. Of his schooldays but -little record has been preserved. One of the masters described him as -lazy and impudent; he is said to have had no fondness for study of any -kind except heraldry; and his sister used to relate that as a boy he was -‘very small and slight, and exceedingly mischievous.’ - -Those who value the records of boyhood for the sake of traces of the -tastes which made the man celebrated, will be rewarded by the perusal of -the pages which record Owen’s four years as a surgeon’s apprentice at -Lancaster. Not only will they find that he worked diligently at the -curative side of his profession, but that, his master being surgeon to -the gaol, he had the opportunity of attending post-mortem examinations, -and so laid the foundation of his knowledge of the structure of the -human frame. Here too we catch a glimpse of the future comparative -anatomist; but the story of ‘The Negro’s Head,’ here given in the words -used by Owen when he told it himself, is unfortunately too long for -quotation, and is certainly far too good to be spoilt by abbreviation. - -In October 1824 Owen matriculated at the University of Edinburgh. There, -in addition to the courses that were obligatory, he attended the -‘outside’ lectures in comparative anatomy delivered by Dr John Barclay. -From these he derived the greatest benefit, and used in after-years to -speak of Barclay with affectionate regard, as ‘my revered preceptor.’ It -is noteworthy that, while at Edinburgh, Owen and one of his friends -founded a students’ society, which at his suggestion was called, by a -sort of prophetic instinct, the Hunterian Society. Barclay must have -decided very quickly that he had to do with no common pupil, for at the -end of April 1825, when Owen had been barely six months in Edinburgh, he -advised him to move to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, London, and study -under Dr. Abernethy, then near the close of his brilliant but eccentric -career. Armed with a letter of introduction from Barclay, Owen set out -for London, where he had ‘literally not one single friend.’ No wonder -that he felt ‘an indescribable sense of desolation’ as he walked up -Holborn, and that ‘the number of strange faces that kept passing by -increased that feeling.’ What happened next is very characteristic of -the strange mixture of roughness and kindness which was natural to his -new patron. - -‘Abernethy had just finished lecturing, and was evidently in anything -but the best of tempers, being surrounded by a small crowd of students -waiting about to ask him questions. Owen was just screwing up his -courage to attack this formidable personage and state his business, when -Abernethy suddenly turned upon him and said: “And what do you want?” -After presenting the letter Abernethy glanced at it for a moment, -stuffed it into his pocket, and vouchsafed the gracious reply of “Oh!” -As this did not seem to point to anything very definite, Owen was -turning to go, when Abernethy called after him: “Here; come to breakfast -to-morrow morning at eight,” and presenting him with his card, added, -“That’s my address.” What were the terms in which Dr Barclay had spoken -of him Owen never knew, but he thought they must have been favourable, -for when he presented himself next morning at Abernethy’s residence, and -was anticipating anything but an agreeable _tête-à-tête_ with the great -doctor, he found him, to his surprise, considerably smoothed down and -quite pleasant in his manner. The result of the meeting was that -Abernethy offered him the post of prosector for his lectures’ (i. 30). - -A year later (August 18, 1826) Owen obtained the membership of the -College of Surgeons, and set up as a medical practitioner in Carey -Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where he gradually obtained a small -practice among lawyers. - -We have no wish to underrate Owen’s brilliant talents, or his -perseverance, or his power of sustained work with a definite end in -view; but at the same time it would be absurd to deny that he had -good-fortune to thank for a large part of his first successes. What else -made Abernethy, at their first interview, give him just the appointment -best calculated to bring his peculiar gifts into the light of day? What -else made the same patron procure his appointment, two years later, as -assistant-conservator of the Hunterian collections, out of which all his -future celebrity was developed? He might have been ‘exceedingly well -informed in all that relates to his profession, an excellent anatomist, -and sober and sedate very far beyond any young man I ever knew,’ as one -who was in a position to know said of him in 1830, and yet have ‘bloomed -unseen,’ an obscure practitioner in ‘the dusky purlieus of the law,’ had -not the fickle goddess selected him as the special recipient of her -favours. - -Owen’s active life in London divides itself naturally into two periods, -each containing nearly thirty years. The first, during which he was -connected with the Royal College of Surgeons, extended from 1827 to -1856; the second, during which he was nominally superintendent of the -biological side of the British Museum, from 1856 to 1883. - -Those who would rightly understand his work during the former period -must of necessity take into account the history and extent of the vast -collection which he was expected to catalogue and to develop, for it -dominated and directed all his studies. It was formed by the celebrated -surgeon, John Hunter, between 1763 and 1793, in which year he died. In -studying it, one is at a loss what to admire most—the beauty of the -specimens themselves, and the admirable clearness with which those -preserved in spirit have been dissected and mounted; or the labour and -self-denial which brought them together in the midst of the incessant -occupations of a large practice; or the almost prophetic instinct which -divined what posterity would require in the way of such aids to study. -It was Hunter’s object to illustrate the phenomena of life in all -organisms, whether in health or in disease. For this purpose he -collected as widely as he could. There is an osteological series, and a -physiological series (in spirit), which exhibits the different organs, -digestive, circulatory, and the like, in order, and traces their -development from the simplest to the most complicated form. To the -Invertebrata he had devoted special attention. He had secured, through -his friend Sir Joseph Banks, many of the treasures collected during -Cook’s voyages; and he had purchased rarities as occasion offered. Of -insects he had a large collection. Nor were his observations limited to -the animal kingdom. Whenever any physiological process could be -illustrated by vegetable life, vegetables were pressed into the service. -Nor did he fail to recognize the truth—which some persons still refuse -to accept—that the remains of extinct animals are only in their proper -place when side by side with those still living on the earth. ‘His -collection of fossils,’ says Owen in one of his prefaces, ‘was the -largest and most select of any in this country.’ - -To contain this collection Hunter had built a special museum in Castle -Street, Leicester Square, which was open to public inspection on certain -days. After his death his executors, in accordance with his will, -offered the collection to the Government. ‘Buy preparations?’ exclaimed -Mr Pitt; ‘why, I have not money enough for gunpowder!’ Ultimately, -however, the House of Commons agreed to give £15,000 for it, just -one-fifth of the sum that Hunter is said to have spent upon it. Next -arose the further question, who should take care of it. The Royal -Society, it is said, did not consider it ‘an object of importance to the -general study of natural history’; the British Museum was literary, not -scientific; and finally, in 1799, the Corporation of Surgeons, as it was -then called, accepted it, under the condition that a proper catalogue -should be made, a conservator appointed, and twenty-four lectures in -explanation of it delivered annually in the college. Soon afterwards the -Corporation of Surgeons became the Royal College of Surgeons, and a -building, to which Parliament contributed £27,500, was built for its -reception. This was opened in 1813. - -When Owen was appointed assistant-conservator of these collections -thirty-four years had elapsed since Hunter’s death. During that time -they had been preserved from damage by the devoted care of Mr William -Clift, who, after being Hunter’s assistant for a short time, had been -appointed conservator, first by the executors, and subsequently by the -college. The general arrangement had been prescribed by Hunter, but no -descriptive catalogue existed, as it had been, unfortunately, Hunter’s -habit to trust to his memory for the history of his specimens. Further, -though lists, more or less imperfect, drawn up either by Hunter himself -or under his direction, had been preserved, the bulk of his papers had -been destroyed by Sir Everard Home, his brother-in-law and executor. -‘There is but one thing more to be done—to destroy the collection,’ was -Clift’s remark when he heard of this act of cynical wickedness. In the -scarcity, therefore, of documentary evidence, other expedients had to be -resorted to for the identification of the specimens which Hunter had -dissected, or had preserved entire in spirit. As Owen remarks in the -preface to the first volume of his descriptive catalogue (published in -1833), ‘It was necessary to consult the book of Nature.’ At first it was -no easy matter to procure the animals required; but after the -establishment of the Zoological Society this difficulty was in a great -measure removed, and more than two hundred dissections were made by Owen -in the course of the work incident to the preparation of the first -volume of the catalogue. - -This sketch of the Hunterian collections, which we would gladly have -worked out in greater detail had our space allowed us to do so, will -perhaps be sufficient to indicate to our readers the nature of the field -of research on which Owen was about to enter. It was, in fact, an -undiscovered country, of which he was to be the pioneer. One would like -to know whether he had any idea of what the work he was about to -undertake implied; and whether he had any misgivings as to his own -fitness for it. He was only twenty-three years old, so perhaps, as youth -is sanguine, he entered upon it with a light heart, thinking—if he -paused to think—that he had strength of will sufficient to compensate -for defect of years and knowledge. ‘On vieillit vite sur les champs de -bataille.’ His previous training must have been in the main -professional; he could have gained at most only a glimpse of comparative -anatomy at the feet of Dr Barclay; the great writers on the subject, -Buffon, Daubenton, Cuvier, and the rest, must have been mere names to -him. Moreover, he was obliged, for lucre’s sake, to continue the -profession of a surgeon, and, though he gradually dropped it, he must, -for some time at least, have spent a good deal of time over it. Besides -this, he probably assisted Clift in the brief catalogue of the Hunterian -collections that appeared between 1833 and 1840. But, while thus -engaged, he found time for study. For three years he attempted no -original work; and when he did begin to write (his first paper is dated -9 November, 1830), it is evident that the previous years had been spent -in wise preparation. There is no trace of the novice in the papers that -followed each other in quick succession; they evince a complete mastery -of the subject from the historical, as well as from the anatomical, -side. The mere number of these communications, addressed principally to -the Zoological Society, is almost past belief. Before the end of 1855 -more than 250 had appeared, many of which were of considerable length, -and enriched with elaborate drawings made by himself. But what is more -surprising still is the versatility displayed in their composition. -Nowadays a biologist is compelled to specialize. By ‘the custom of the -country,’ to borrow a legal phrase, he selects his own subject, and is -expected not to poach on that of his neighbours. But when Owen began to -work, these laws existed not, or at any rate not for him. The very -nature of his work obliged him to study in quick succession the most -diverse structures; and, as death does not accommodate itself to human -convenience, he could not tell from day to day what animals would be -sent from the Zoological Gardens to his dissecting-room. An excellent -bibliography of his works at the end of the second volume of the _Life_ -enables us to trace his studies in detail. For our present purpose we -will only point out that between 1831 and 1835 he had written papers -(among many others) on the orang-outang, beaver, Thibet bear, gannet, -armadillo, seal, kangaroo, tapir, cercopithecus, crocodile, toucan, -hornbill, pelican, flamingo, besides various Invertebrates. - -While Owen was preparing himself for his serious attack on the catalogue -an event occurred which had an important influence on his scientific -development. Cuvier came to England to collect materials for his work on -fishes, and naturally visited the Hunterian collection. Owen has -preserved a singularly modest account of his introduction to the great -French naturalist: - -‘In the year 1830 I made Cuvier’s personal acquaintance at the Museum of -the College of Surgeons, and was specially deputed to show and explain -to him such specimens as he wished to examine. There was no special -merit in my being thus deputed, the fact being that I was the only -person available who could speak French, and who had at the same time -some knowledge of the specimens. Cuvier kindly invited me to visit the -Jardin des Plantes in the following year’ (i. 49). - -Accordingly, Owen spent the month of August 1831 in Paris. It has been -frequently stated, says his biographer, that Cuvier and his collection -‘made a great impression on Owen, and gave a direction to his -after-studies of fossil remains,’ a position which he contests on the -ground that neither Owen’s diary nor his letters describing the visit -warrant such a conclusion. We do not attach much importance to this -argument, but we feel certain that the Museum of the Jardin des Plantes, -from its unfortunate subdivision into departments widely separated -structurally from each other, could not have stimulated anybody in that -particular direction. That Cuvier was, to a very large extent, Owen’s -master in comparative anatomy is undeniable; he quotes him with respect, -not to say with reverence, in almost every page of his writings, and the -‘Prix Cuvier’ adjudged to him in 1857 probably gave him more pleasure -than all his other distinctions. Cuvier’s method, as set forth in _Les -Ossemens Fossiles_, of illustrating and explaining extinct animals by -comparison with recent was closely followed by his illustrious disciple. -But this principle might easily have been learnt—and in our judgment was -learnt—by a study of his works at home. On the other hand, Owen has -stated, in unequivocal terms, the direction in which Cuvier did exert a -special influence upon him. In his _Anatomy of Vertebrates_ (iii. 786), -published in 1868, he says: - -‘At the close of my studies at the Jardin des Plantes, Paris, in 1831, I -returned strongly moved to lines of research bearing upon the then -prevailing phases of thought on some general biological questions. - -‘The great Master in whose dissecting-rooms, as well as in the public -galleries of comparative anatomy, I was privileged to work, held that -“species were not permanent”; and taught this great and fruitful truth, -not doubtfully or hypothetically, but as a fact established inductively -on a wide and well-laid basis of observation.’ - -Further, Owen had the opportunity of listening to some of the debates -between Cuvier and Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire on the question of how new -species may originate; and ‘on returning home,’ he adds, ‘I was guided -in all my work with the hope or endeavour to gain inductive ground for -conclusions on these great questions.’ Here, then, was the definite -educational result which Owen gained from his visit. It had, moreover, -another consequence. It made him known to the French naturalists, then -in the front rank of science. His scientific acquirements, coupled with -his agreeable manners and facility in speaking and writing French, made -him a _persona grata_ in Paris. In 1839 he was elected a corresponding -member of the Institute, and read more than one paper there in French. - -We have already mentioned the long line of scientific papers which, from -1830 onwards, were the result of Owen’s indomitable energy. This series -was now to be interrupted for a moment by the famous _Memoir on the -Pearly Nautilus_, a quarto volume of sixty-eight pages, illustrated by -eight plates, drawn by himself. The shell of the nautilus, as most -persons know, has always been fairly common; but the animal which was -given to the Museum of the College of Surgeons in 1831 was, we believe, -the first, or nearly the first, which had ever reached this country, and -Owen was most fortunate in having the chance of describing such a -rarity. His essay, elaborate and exhaustive as it is, was dashed off in -less than a year. It was received with a general chorus of praise. Dr -Buckland spoke of it as ‘Mr Owen’s admirable work,’ and they were soon -in correspondence on the way in which the nautilus sinks and rises in -the water. Milne Edwards translated it into French, and Oken into -German. Nor has the contemporary verdict been reversed by that of -posterity. Mr Huxley says of the _Memoir_ that it - -‘placed its author, at a bound, in the first rank of monographers. There -is nothing better in the _Mémoires sur les Mollusques_, I would even -venture to say nothing so good, were it not that Owen had Cuvier’s great -work for a model; certainly, in the sixty years that have elapsed since -the publication of this remarkable monograph it has not been excelled’ -(ii. 306). - -This essay seems to have given Owen a taste for the group to which the -nautilus belongs. At the conclusion of the _Memoir_ he proposed a new -arrangement of it, now generally accepted, which includes the fossil as -well as the recent forms; and, as occasion presented itself, he -described other species and genera. The merit of a memoir on the fossil -group called ‘belemnites,’ from the Oxford Clay, was the cause assigned -for the award to him of the gold medal of the Royal Society in 1846. - -Between 1833 and 1840 the long-desired catalogue, in five quarto -volumes, made its appearance. Sir William Flower calls it ‘monumental’; -a singularly happy epithet, for it commemorates, as a monument should -do, alike the founder of the Museum and the industrious anatomist who -had minutely described the four thousand specimens of which the -‘physiological series’—or, as we should now say, the series of -organs—then consisted. Nor, though the arrangement is obsolete, can the -work itself be regarded as without value, even at the present time. It -has already served as a model for the catalogues of many other museums, -and has taken its place in the literature of the subject. It is, in -fact, an elaborate treatise on comparative anatomy from the point of -view of the modifications of special organs. The thirteen years spent -over it can hardly appear an excessively long time when we remember the -work involved, and also the fact that the college had from the first -recognized the duty of filling up gaps in the collection as occasion -offered. Many of the specimens recorded in this catalogue had been -prepared by Owen himself. - -During the years that Owen spent upon the catalogue his position at the -College of Surgeons was gradually becoming assured. He had begun as -assistant-curator at £120 a year, but with no prospects, as the place of -curator was expected to be given to Mr Clift’s son on his father’s -retirement. But in 1832 the younger Clift died suddenly from the effects -of an accident, and Owen remained as sole assistant at £200. In July -1833 his salary was raised to £300, and in 1835 he was enabled to marry -Caroline Clift, Mr Clift’s only daughter. From this time until 1852, -when the Queen gave him the delightful cottage at Sheen which he lived -in till his death, he had apartments within the building of the College -of Surgeons. They were small, and inconvenient in many ways. Owen was in -the habit of turning his study into a dissecting-room, and his wife’s -diary contains many amusing references to the pervading odours caused by -the examination of a rhinoceros or an elephant, or to such disturbances -as the following: ‘Great trampling and rushing upstairs past our bedroom -door. Asked Richard if the men were dancing the polka on the stairs. He -said, “No; what you hear is the body being carried upstairs. They are -dissecting for fellowship to-day!”’ But, on the other hand, the -proximity to the library and the museum, which he could enter at any -hour of the night or day, must have greatly helped one who worked so -incessantly. Ultimately, in 1842, Owen became sole curator, with Mr -Quekett as his assistant. This was, no doubt, a dignified position, but -it had its drawbacks. Owen’s golden time at the college was the period -between 1827 and 1842, when the business details were taken off his -hands by the painstaking and methodical Clift. After 1842 he was held -responsible, as curators usually are, for much that he regarded as -irksome routine. This he performed in a perfunctory fashion that did not -please the Council, and difficulties arose between that body and their -distinguished servant which time only rendered more acute. It may be -that the Council were not sufficiently sensible of the honour reflected -upon the college by possessing ‘the first anatomist of the age’; and -Owen, on his side, may have been too fond of doing work which brought -‘grist to the mill,’ and applause, and troops of friends, without being -directly connected with the college. However this may have been, it is -beyond dispute that Owen’s removal, in 1856, to the British Museum, was -a fortunate solution of a difficulty which otherwise would probably have -ended in an explosion. - -It has been already mentioned that when the Hunterian Museum was -entrusted to the care of the College of Surgeons it had been stipulated -that its contents should be illustrated by an annual course of -twenty-four lectures. Up to 1836 this course had been divided between -the professors of anatomy and surgery; but in that year Owen was -appointed first Hunterian Professor of Comparative Anatomy and -Physiology. To the last days of his life he constantly referred to the -pleasure which this appointment gave him when first conferred upon him; -nor did this feeling wear off as time went on. He gave his lectures -regularly, with the same keen interest and thoroughness of preparation, -down to 1855. At first he confined himself strictly to his prescribed -subject; but gradually he widened his field, and introduced whatever -views or subjects happened to be interesting him. Most of the lectures -were worked up into books afterwards. He was an admirable lecturer—in -fact, he was better as a lecturer than as a writer; for it must be -confessed that his scientific style is often pedantic and cramped, and -he seems to use words rather for the sake of concealing his thoughts -than of imparting them. It is interesting to learn what pains he took -with his early lectures—how he rehearsed them to his wife, or to a -friend, till he got used to the work, and could estimate exactly how -much would fill the allotted hour. We cannot refrain from quoting Mrs -Owen’s account of the first lecture: - -‘So busy all the morning; had hardly time to be nervous, luckily for me. -R. robed in the drawing-room, and took some egg and wine before going -into the theatre. He then went in and left me. At five o’clock a great -noise of clapping made me jump, for I timed the lecture to last a -quarter of an hour longer; but R., it seems, cut it short rather than -tire Sir Astley Cooper too much. All went off as well as even I could -wish. The theatre crammed, and there were many who could not get places. -R. was more collected than he or I ever supposed, and gave this awful -first lecture almost to his own satisfaction! We sat down a large party -to dinner. Mr Langshaw and R. afterwards played two of Corelli’s -sonatas’ (i. 109). - -These lectures, more than anything that he wrote, made Owen famous, and -procured for him a passport into society. To understand this, which -appears almost a phenomenon at the present day, it must be remembered -that the lecture-mania had not become one of the common diseases of -humanity in 1836, and that it was still considered proper for great -people to play the part of Mecenas to those who were distinguished in -science or in letters. Hence, when the news spread abroad that a young -and hitherto unknown lecturer was discoursing eloquently on a new -subject in a building which few had heard of and none had seen, -curiosity carried fashion into Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and certain dukes -and earls, who cultivated a taste for natural history _dans leur moments -perdus_, set the example of sitting at the feet of the new Gamaliel; -more serious persons followed, and by-and-by a Hallam, a Carlyle, and a -Wilberforce might be seen there side by side with the lights of medicine -and surgery. - -To most men the work which these lectures, together with the catalogue, -entailed, would have been sufficient. But Owen loved diversity of -occupations; and one of his fortunate accidents presently threw an -attractive paleontological subject in his way. It happened in this wise. -Readers of the _Life of Charles Darwin_ will remember his -disappointment, on his return home from the now classic voyage of the -_Beagle_, to find that zoologists cared but little for his collections; -that, in fact, Lyell and Owen were the only two who wished to possess -any of his specimens. The latter, who had been introduced to him by the -former, was not slow to grasp the scientific value of the extinct -animals whose bones Darwin had dug with his own hands out of the -fluviatile deposits of South America. He began with a huge skull—‘the -head of an animal equalling in size the hippopotamus’—and described it -before the Geological Society, in 1837, under the name of _Toxodon -platensis_. Further, as Mr Huxley points out: - -‘It is worthy of notice, that in the title of this memoir there follow, -after the name of the species, the words “referable by its dentition to -the Rodentia, but with affinities to the Pachydermata and the -herbivorous Cetacea,” indicating the importance in the mind of the -writer of the fact that, like Cuvier’s _Anoplotherium_ and -_Paleotherium_, _Toxodon_ occupied a position between groups which, in -existing Nature, are now widely separated’ (ii. 308). - -The same writer bids us remark that this ‘maiden essay in paleontology -possesses great interest’ from another point of view, for ‘it is with -reference to Owen’s report on _Toxodon_ that Darwin remarks in his -_Journal_: “How wonderfully are the different orders, at the present -time so well separated, blended together in different points in the -structure of _Toxodon_.”’ Soon afterwards Owen described the rest of -Darwin’s fossil specimens in the geological part of _The Zoology of the -‘Beagle’ Voyage_. - -Two years later, in 1839, a second and still more sensational -_trouvaille_ came into his hands. A fragment of bone was offered for -sale to the College of Surgeons, with the statement that it had been -obtained in New Zealand from a native, who said that it was the bone of -a great extinct eagle. Out of this fragment there ultimately grew that -phalanx of huge extinct birds to which Owen gave the name of _Dinornis_ -(bird of wonder), on which he occupied himself till his death. His -recognition of the true origin of this fragment was, no doubt, a -wonderful instance of his osteological sagacity; but it is a -misrepresentation of fact to say that he evolved the whole of an extinct -bird out of a fragment of bone six inches long. What he did do, and how -he did it, shall be told in his own words: - -‘As soon as I was at leisure I took the bone to the skeleton of the ox, -expecting to verify my first surmise [that it was a marrow-bone, like -those brought to table wrapped in a napkin]; but, with some resemblance -to the shaft of the thigh-bone, there were precluding differences. From -the ox’s humerus, which also affords the tavern delicacy, the -discrepancy of shape was more marked. Still, led by the thickness of the -wall of the marrow-cavity, I proceeded to compare the bone with -similar-sized portions of the skeletons of the various quadrupeds which -might have been introduced and have left their remains in New Zealand; -but it was clearly unconformable with any such portions. - -‘In the course of these comparisons I noted certain obscure superficial -markings on the bone, which recalled to mind similar ones which I had -observed on the surface of the long bones in some large birds. Thereupon -I proceeded with it to the skeleton of the ostrich. The bone tallied in -point of size with the shaft of the thigh-bone in that bird, but was -markedly different in shape. There were, however, the same superficial -reticulate impressions on the ostrich’s femur which had caught my -attention in the exhaustive comparison previously made with the -mammalian bones. - -‘In short, stimulated to more minute and extended examinations, I -arrived at the conviction that the specimen had come from a bird, that -it was the shaft of a thigh-bone, and that it must have formed part of -the skeleton of a bird as large as, if not larger than, the full-sized -male ostrich, with this more striking difference, that whereas the femur -of the ostrich, like that of the rhea and eagle, is pneumatic, or -contains air, the present huge bird’s bone had been filled with marrow, -like that of a beast[121].’ - -The suggestion was received with sceptical astonishment, and the paper -in which Owen announced it to the Zoological Society (November 12, 1839) -narrowly escaped exclusion from the _Transactions_ of that body on the -ground of its improbability. But confirmation was not slow to arrive, -though in a direction that was not then expected. The bone was not -fossilized; it was therefore naturally concluded that there existed -somewhere in New Zealand—then but partially explored—a race of birds of -gigantic stature and struthious affinities. We have no space to tell the -story of the extinction of the moa, as the natives call it—surely the -most weird and curious of all ‘the fairy-tales of science’; but to Owen -certainly belongs the credit of having been the first to point the way -to the great discovery. No work of his created so much excitement. -Society, headed by Prince Albert, hurried to inspect the huge remains, -of which a large series soon reached this country, and to be introduced -to the fortunate necromancer, at whose bidding a phantom procession of -strange creatures had suddenly stepped out of the past into the present. - -From this time forward Owen continued to pay as much attention to -extinct as to recent animals, as his numerous publications testify. The -work fascinated and excited him. - -‘There was no hunt,’ he declared, ‘so exciting, so full of interest, and -so satisfactory when events prove one to have been on the right scent, -as that of a huge beast which no eye will ever see alive, and which, -perhaps, no mortal eye ever did behold. Such a chase is not ended in a -day, in a week, nor in a season. One’s interest is revived and roused -year by year as bit by bit of the petrified portions of the skeleton -comes to hand. Thirty such years elapsed before I was able to outline a -restoration of _Diprotodon australis_’ [the gigantic extinct kangaroo]. - -In 1841 appeared his ‘_Description of the Skeleton of an Extinct -Gigantic Sloth (Mylodon robustus)_, with observations on the osteology, -natural affinities, and probable habits of the megatheroid quadrupeds in -general’—‘a masterpiece both of anatomical description and of reasoning -and inference,’ as Sir W. Flower calls it. He demonstrated its -affinities with the sloths on osteological and dental grounds, and then -reasoned out its habits from its configuration; showing that a creature -so vast could not have ascended trees, but must have pulled them down to -browse on them at its leisure. Then came the work on British Fossil -Mammals and Birds, with a long series of memoirs, growing in importance -as evidences of new forms, discovered in all parts of the world, came -pouring in, as though his own reputation had attracted them; on the -Triassic Labyrinthodonts of Central England; on the extinct fauna of -South Africa and Australia; on the Reptiles of the Wealden and other -formations in England, published by the Paleontographical Society, of -which he was one of the first and most ardent supporters; on the -_Archæopteryx_ from Solenhofen; on the Great Auk; and on the Dodo, one -of the representations of which, in an old Dutch picture, he had the -good fortune to discover. It is, indeed, as Mr Huxley remarks, ‘a -splendid record: enough, and more than enough, to justify the high place -in the scientific world which Owen so long occupied.’ - -These researches did not pass unrewarded. In 1838 the Geological Society -gave to Owen the Wollaston Gold Medal for his work on Darwin’s -collections, and it happened, by a fortunate coincidence, that Whewell, -his fellow-townsman and school-fellow, occupied the chair on the -occasion. In subsequent years he was twice invited to be president of -that society; but on both occasions he was compelled to decline. Next, -in 1841, Sir Robert Peel offered him a pension of £200 from the Civil -List, protesting in a very gracious letter that he knew nothing about -his political opinions, but merely wished ‘to encourage that devotion to -science for which you are so eminently distinguished.’ This offer, which -was gratefully accepted, laid the foundation of an intercourse between -Owen and Sir Robert which ripened by-and-by into something like -friendship. Dinners in London were succeeded by visits to Drayton, at -one of which Owen amused the company with a microscope which he had -brought with him (of course quite accidentally); and, finally, his -portrait was painted for the gallery there, as a pendant to that of -Cuvier. In 1845 Owen refused knighthood. - -At this point in Owen’s career it will be convenient to pause for a -moment and describe very briefly what manner of man it was that was -rapidly becoming a leading figure in London society. We remember him -from an earlier date than we care to mention, but, as we have no turn -for portrait-painting, we gladly accept Sir W. Flower’s lifelike sketch: - -‘Owen was tall and ungainly in figure, with massive head, lofty -forehead, curiously round, prominent, and expressive eyes, high -cheek-bones, large mouth, and projecting chin, long, lank, dark hair, -and, during the greater part of his life, smooth-shaven face and very -florid complexion.’ - -His manners were distinguished for ceremonious courtesy, coupled with -the formal exactness of a punctilious Frenchman. His bows were not -easily forgotten. His enemies said, and his friends could not deny, that -they varied with the rank of the person to whom he was presented. In -fact Owen might have said, with Sir Pertinax Macsycophant, ‘I naver in -my life could stond straight i’ th’ presence of a great mon; but awways -boowed, and boowed, and boowed, as it were by instinct.’ - -Next to what he called ‘my dear comparative anatomy,’ Owen loved music, -and was at one time no mean performer, both vocally and instrumentally. -Music was his constant recreation in an evening, and he has even been -known to take his violoncello out with him to parties. He was a frequent -attendant at concerts and operas, and when Weber’s _Oberon_ was first -performed in London he went to hear it thirty nights in succession. The -stage also had attractions for him, and he and his wife had many friends -in the dramatic profession. Macready in _Henry the Fifth_, Charles Kean -in _Louis XI._ and _Richard III._, and many minor stars, gave him great -pleasure; and it was on the stage of Drury Lane Theatre, while joining -the actors in singing the National Anthem on the occasion of the Queen’s -first state visit, that he met Charles Dickens, who afterwards became -his intimate friend. ‘London,’ he once said, ‘is the place for -interchange of thought’; and it was a relief to him to lay his habitual -pursuits aside for a few hours, and exchange ideas with men whose lives -lay in lines wholly different from his own. He found dining-out a -relaxation—the hours were earlier in those days—and gradually, as his -social gifts were discovered, he was much in request. No man could tell -a story better, and his general conversation was brilliant and original. -He had the happy art of dilating on his own pursuits without being -either a pedant or a bore. Consequently he was a member of many -societies who, ‘greatly daring, dined,’ as, for instance, the Abernethy -Club, the Literary Society, and The Club, founded by Dr Johnson, an -exclusive society limited to forty members, in which he occupied the -place once filled by Oliver Goldsmith. He also promoted the Royal -Literary Fund and the Actors Benevolent Fund—where his after-dinner -eloquence was much appreciated. He was a good chess-player, and was -often matched, successfully, with some of the first players of the day, -as Landseer, Staunton, and the Duke of Brunswick. His acquaintance with -literature was wider than might have been expected from his absorbing -occupations in other directions, and his retentive memory enabled him to -quote pages of Milton, Shakespeare, and other standard writers. He was -also an ardent novel-reader. Mrs Owen kept him well supplied with the -novels of the day; and he sat up half the night over _Eugene Aram_, the -serial stories of Dickens, _Vanity Fair_, _Shirley_, and _The Mill on -the Floss_, which we are glad to find he preferred to all the rest of -George Eliot’s stories. Apart from his social proclivities, he managed -to get acquainted with most of the celebrated people of the day. They -either came to see him and the museum he directed, or they asked him to -call on them. Among those whom he met in this way we may mention Mrs -Fry, Miss Edgeworth, Turner, Samuel Warren, Emerson, Guizot, the younger -Dumas, Fanny Kemble, Tennyson, Macaulay, and Carlyle, who described him -as ‘the man with the glittering eyes,’ and decided that he was ‘neither -a fool nor a humbug.’ In his own especial line of science he was -intimate with Lord Enniskillen, Sir Philip Egerton, Prince Lucien -Bonaparte, Sedgwick, Murchison, Lyell; and subsequently took a keen -interest in the researches of Livingstone, whom he helped with the first -record of his African work. ‘Poor Livingstone!’ he says; ‘he does not -know what it is to write a book.’ When Owen could find time for a -holiday, which was but seldom, he enjoyed fishing and grouse-shooting; -but his delight in Nature was so keen that probably sport was what he -least valued in these excursions. - -It was natural that, as Owen’s reputation grew, he should be involved in -some of the schemes for improving the condition of the people which from -time to time engaged the attention of Government. In 1843 he served on a -commission of inquiry into the health of towns, and exercised himself -over sewers, slaughter-houses, and such-like abominations. In 1846 he -was on the Metropolitan Sewers Commission, which grew out of the former, -and he did much good work in hunting up evidence about the spread of -cholera and typhus from imperfect drainage. In the course of this he -incurred considerable unpopularity, and was contemptuously nick-named -‘Jack of all Trades.’ The work became so heavy and absorbing that he -thought of resigning; but when Lord Morpeth urged him to remain, on the -ground that they could ill spare his ‘enlightened philanthropy,’ he not -only withdrew his resignation, but consented to serve on a commission to -consider the state of Smithfield Market and the meat supply of London -(1849), a subject on which he held very decided opinions. Probably his -zoological qualifications, coupled with his knowledge of what had been -effected on the Continent in the way of establishing extramural -slaughter-houses, had much to do with abolishing the market. He was also -on the Preliminary Committee of Organization for the Great Exhibition of -1851, and chairman of the jury on raw materials, alimentary substances, -&c. Similar services were performed by him for the exhibition held at -Paris in 1855. - -He was also a mark for many of those questions, serious and absurd -alike, which are presented for solution to men of science. A firm of -undertakers asked him how much they ought to charge for embalming Mr -Beckford; a grave Oriental from the Turkish Embassy submitted to his -examination the bowl of a tobacco-pipe which he believed to have been -made out of the beak of a Phœnix; his opinion was sought by the Home -Office on the window-tax, and by Charles Dickens on the publicity of -executions; his microscopical skill was brought to bear on the so-called -contemporary annotations of Shakespeare; and he demolished one of the -many sea-serpents in which a marvel-loving public from time to time -believes. He showed very conclusively that it was probably a large seal. -His letter to the _Times_ on the subject excited a good deal of -attention, and Prince Albert dubbed him ‘the serpent-killer.’ He was -also to a certain extent responsible for the models of extinct animals -in the gardens of the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, and was rewarded for -his trouble by a dinner in the spacious carcase of the Iguanodon. - -In 1856—it is said, through the influence of Lord Macaulay—Owen was -appointed Superintendent of the Department of Natural History at the -British Museum, with a salary of £800 a year. The new officer was to -stand towards the collections of natural history in the same relation -that the librarian did towards the books and antiquities, and to be -directly responsible, as he was, to the trustees. Great advantages were -expected to result from this new departure, and Owen was warmly -congratulated. Professor Sedgwick wrote: - -‘I trust that your move to the British Museum is for your happiness. If -God spare your health, it will be a grand move for the benefit of -British science. An _Imperator_ was sadly wanted in that vast -establishment’ (ii. 19). - -With Lord Macaulay, anxiety for Owen himself had been paramount: - -‘I am extremely desirous that something should be done for Owen. I -hardly know him to speak to. His pursuits are not mine; but his fame is -spread over Europe. He is an honour to our country, and it is painful to -me to think that a man of his merit should be approaching old age amidst -anxieties and distresses. He told me that eight hundred a year, without -a house in the Museum, would be opulence to him’ (ii. 15). - -A little foresight might have saved much disappointment. The subordinate -officers, whom Owen was expected to influence, owed no allegiance to -him, and resented his intrusion; they had long been practically -independent within their own departments, and desired to remain so. Such -a situation would have been difficult even for a born leader of men; but -for Owen, whose gifts did not lie in that direction, it meant either -resignation or acceptance of the inevitable. He chose the latter, and, -dropping the sword of a despot, assumed the peaceful mantle of a -constitutional sovereign. His reputation did good service to the -collections in the way of attracting specimens of all kinds from all -parts of the world; and he exerted himself with exemplary diligence to -obtain special _desiderata_; but otherwise his duties as administrator -soon became little more than nominal. There was, however, one subject -connected with the Museum which had long engaged his attention, and -which he had the pleasure to see settled before he died, though not -entirely on the lines he had at first laid down. - -It had been manifest for a considerable period that the British Museum -was too small for the various collections, and two years before Owen’s -arrival Dr Gray, keeper of zoology, had made a definite request for -additional accommodation. The trustees, after much consideration, agreed -to a small, but wholly inadequate, extension of one of the galleries. -Owen did not act hastily, but, having thoroughly mastered the subject, -addressed a report to the trustees in 1859, in which he showed that, -having regard to the congestion of the existing galleries, the quantity -of specimens stored out of sight, and the probable rate of increase, a -space of ten acres ought to be acquired at once. This report was -accompanied by a plan, drawn by himself, in which several special -features may be noticed. A central hall was to contain an epitome of -natural history—specimens selected to show the type-characters of the -principal groups—called in subsequent editions of the plan the -Index-Museum; adjoining this hall there was to be a lecture-theatre; -zoology was to include physical ethnology, for which a gallery measuring -150 feet by 50 feet was to be provided; the Cetacea, stuffed specimens -and skeletons, were to have a long gallery to themselves; and lastly, -paleontology was no longer to be separated from zoology, but the gallery -containing the one was to be readily entered from the gallery containing -the other. A plan so novel, so enlightened, so truly imperial as this, -was far too much in advance of the age to meet with anything except -opposition and ridicule. When it was debated in the House of Commons, Mr -Gregory, M.P. for Galway, got it referred to a Select Committee, -regretting, in reference to its author, ‘that a man whose name stood so -high should connect himself with so foolish, crazy, and extravagant a -scheme.’ Owen’s first idea had been to purchase the land required at -Bloomsbury; but on this point he had no very decided personal opinion, -and, yielding to that of the majority of men of science, he advocated by -lecture, by conversation, and in print, the removal of the collections -of natural history to a new and distant site. For this scheme he -fortunately secured the powerful advocacy of Mr Gladstone, then -Chancellor of the Exchequer, who moved (May 12, 1862) for leave to bring -in a Bill to effect it. These excellent intentions were thwarted by Mr -Disraeli, who, knowing no more about science than he did about -primroses, saw only a chance of obstructing a political opponent; and -once more the scheme was adjourned. The adjournment, however, was of -short duration, for in 1863 Parliament voted the purchase of five acres -at South Kensington, which Owen presently persuaded the Government to -increase to eight; but further delays, extending over nearly twenty -years, ensued, and when Owen resigned in 1883 the collections were not -yet completely arranged in their new home. - -The Museum as completed is widely different from that which Owen -originally prescribed. The gallery of ethnology is gone; the Cetacea are -relegated, as at Bloomsbury in former days, to a cellar; there is no -lecture-theatre; and, in fact, the index-museum is almost the only -special feature which has survived, but even this was not arranged by -himself. On one vital question of arrangement, moreover, Owen allowed -his own views to be overruled. So early as 1842 he had reported to the -Council of the College of Surgeons on the expediency of combining the -fossil and recent osteological specimens, pointing out that - -‘the peculiarities of the extinct mastodon, for example, cannot be -understood without a comparison with the analogous parts of the elephant -and tapir; nor those of the ichthyosaurus without reference to the -skeletons of crocodiles and fishes. The proper position of such -specimens in the Museum is, therefore, between those series of skeletons -of which they present transitional or intermediate structures.’ - -An arrangement of the recent and fossil collections in accordance with -these most reasonable and philosophical views appears in all the -versions of the plan until the last; now it has entirely disappeared, -and the two collections are disposed in opposite wings of the building -widely severed from each other. Owen had no special turn for -organization, and he was probably in a minority of one against his -colleagues on this point. Besides this, his fighting days were over, and -he preferred peace to an ideal arrangement of which his contemporaries -could not see the advantages. - -Owen turned his enforced leisure at the British Museum to good account, -and proceeded, with renewed activity, to occupy himself in various -directions. In 1857 he gave lectures on paleontology at the Royal School -of Mines, and his first course seems to have evoked the enthusiasm of -his earlier days. Said Sir Roderick Murchison: - -‘I never heard so thoroughly eloquent a lecture as that of yesterday.... -It is the first time I have had the pleasure of seeing our British -Cuvier in his true place, and not the less delighted to listen to his -fervid and convincing defence of the principle laid down by his great -precursor. Everyone was charmed, and he will have done more (as I felt -convinced) to render our institution favourably known than by any other -possible method’ (ii. 61). - -Soon afterwards he was appointed (1859-61) Fullerian Professor of -Physiology at the Royal Institution. Here again he chose ‘Fossil -Mammals’ as his subject. In later years he gave frequent lectures on -this and kindred subjects in the larger provincial towns. Nor must we -omit the lectures to the Royal children at Buckingham Palace, which he -delivered at the request of Prince Albert in 1860. These lectures, which -were much appreciated by those for whom they were intended, laid the -foundations of a close friendship between Owen and the Royal Family. - -It must not, however, be supposed that these occupations diverted him -from osteology. It was during this period that he wrote many of the -paleontological memoirs to which we have already alluded. He continued -to publish paper after paper on _Dinornis_ as fresh material -accumulated; and he composed, among others, his monograph on the Aye-Aye -(1863), which perhaps excited as much attention as that on the Nautilus -thirty years before. - -Between 1866 and 1868 he published his elaborate treatise _On the -Anatomy of Vertebrates_, obviously intended to be the standard work on -the subject for all time. But alas for the fallacies of hope! It is an -immense store-house of information, founded in the main upon his own -observations and dissections; and from no similar work will advanced -students derive so much assistance. But, unfortunately, no revision of -his own papers was attempted; the novel classification employed has -never been accepted by any school of zoologists; and the only result of -the proposed division of the Mammalia into four sub-classes, according -to their cerebral characteristics, was a controversy from which Owen -emerged with his reputation for scientific accuracy seriously impaired, -if not irretrievably ruined. He had stated, not merely in the work of -which we are speaking, but in others—as, for instance, in the Rede -Lecture delivered at Cambridge in 1859—that certain divisions of the -human brain were absent in the apes. It was proved over and over again, -in public and private, that this assertion was contrary to fact, and -contrary to his own authorities; but he could never be persuaded to -retract, or even to modify, his statements. - -At the end of the third volume of the _Anatomy_ are some ‘General -Conclusions,’ which contain, so far as human intelligence can penetrate -the meaning of Owen’s ‘dark speech,’ his final views on the origin of -species. We have already shown that his mind was first turned to this -momentous question during his visit to Paris in 1831, and that -subsequently, during his work on the Physiological and Osteological -Catalogues of the Museum of the College of Surgeons, it was continually -in his thoughts. During this period he read, and was profoundly -influenced by, Oken’s _Lehrbuch der Naturphilosophie_, a translation of -which was published by the Ray Society, in 1847, at his instance. In his -_Archetype and Homologies of the Vertebrate Skeleton_ (1848) he says: - -‘The subject of the following essay has occupied a portion of my -attention from the period when, after having made a certain progress in -comparative anatomy, the evidence of a greater conformity to type, -especially in the bones of the head of the vertebrate animals, than the -immortal Cuvier had been willing to admit, began to enforce a -reconsideration of his conclusions, to which I had previously yielded -implicit assent.’ - -Out of the study here indicated there grew a revision of the vertebrate -skeleton, in which the homologues (_i.e._ the same organs in different -animals, under every variety of form and function) were recognized, and -a new system of osteological nomenclature was proposed. In this Owen did -excellent work, which has been generally accepted. But in his anxiety to -recognize and account for ‘the one in the many,’ he adopted Oken’s idea -of the skeleton being resolvable into a succession of vertebræ, and -evolved the idea of an archetype. It is almost inconceivable that the -clear-headed and sagacious interpreter, whose sober conclusions we have -indicated through a long series of zoological and paleontological -memoirs, should have ever adopted these transcendental speculations. But -there was evidently a metaphysical side to his mind, and he took a keen, -almost a puerile, delight in this child of his fancy. He even had a seal -engraved with a symbolical representation of it. To show that we are not -exaggerating we will quote his own account of his views when sending the -seal to his sister: - -‘It represents the archetype, or primal pattern—what Plato would have -called the “Divine Idea”—on which the osseous frame of all vertebrate -animals has been constructed. The motto is “The One in the Manifold,” -expressive of the unity of plan which may be traced through all the -modifications of the pattern, by which it is adapted to the varied -habits and modes of life of fishes, reptiles, birds, beasts, and human -kind. Many have been the attempts to discover the vertebrate archetype, -and it seems now generally felt that it has been found’ (i. 388). - -But, assuming Owen to have really discovered the one, he was as far off -as ever from the origin of the many. And on this subject he never did -reach any definite conclusion. He admits, it is true, a theory which -sounds very like evolution: - -‘Thus, at the acquisition of facts adequate to test the moot question of -links between past and present species, as at the close of that other -series of researches proving the skeleton of all Vertebrates, and even -of Man, to be the harmonized sum of a series of essentially similar -segments, I have been led to recognize species as exemplifying the -continuous operation of natural law, or secondary cause; and that, not -only successively, but progressively; from the first embodiment of the -Vertebrate idea under its old Ichthyic vestment until it became arrayed -in the glorious garb of the human form[122].’ - -In this quotation he is in the main stating the views he held in 1849, -for the latter portion of it is from his essay _On the Nature of Limbs_, -published in that year. But the nature of the secondary cause which -produced species cannot be concluded from his works. He fiercely -contested Darwin’s theory of natural selection, both in conversation and -in periodicals. To the last he clung to a notion of a ‘vital property,’ -which is thus described in the _Anatomy_ (iii. 807): - -‘So, being unable to accept the volitional hypothesis, or that of -impulse from within, or the selective force exerted by outward -circumstances, I deem an innate tendency to deviate from parental type, -operating through periods of adequate duration, to be the most probable -nature, or way of operation, of the secondary law, whereby species have -been derived one from the other.’ - -In 1883 Owen resigned his office at the British Museum and retired into -private life. His remaining years were passed at Sheen in a tranquil and -apparently happy old age. In 1884 he was gazetted a K.C.B., and, on Mr -Gladstone’s initiative, his pension was augmented by £100 a year. But, -though it pleased him to be always pleading poverty, he was really a -comparatively wealthy man, and when he died left £30,000 behind him. His -wife died in 1873, and his only son in 1886; but a solitude which might -have been painful was enlivened by the presence of his son’s widow and -her seven children. Owen delighted in the country. He had a genuine love -for outdoor natural history, and ‘the sight of the deer and other -animals in the park, the birds and insects in the garden, the trees, -flowers, and varying aspects of the sky, filled him with enthusiastic -admiration.’ He died, literally of old age, on Sunday, 18 January, 1892. - -It is much to be regretted that one who worked at his own subjects with -such untiring zeal should have left behind him almost nothing to -perpetuate his name with the great mass of the people. Mr Huxley remarks -that, ‘whether we consider the quantity or the quality of the work done, -or the wide range of his labours, I doubt if, in the long annals of -anatomy, more is to be placed to the credit of any single worker’ (ii. -306); but he presently adds this caution: ‘Obvious as are the merits of -Owen’s anatomical work to every expert, it is necessary to be an expert -to discern them’ (ii. 332). He gave popular lectures, but they were not -printed[123]; he wrote what he intended to be a work for all time, but -it has faded out of recollection, and the whole theory of the archetype -is now as dead as his own Dinornis. Nor was he at pains to surround -himself with a circle of pupils who might have handed down the teaching -of the Master to another generation, as Cuvier’s teaching was handed -down by his pupils. It was one of Owen’s defects that he was repellent -to younger men. In a word, he was secretive, impatient of interference, -and preferred to be _aut Cæsar aut nullus_. Credit was to him worth -nothing if it was to be divided. Again, brilliant as were his talents -and assured as was his position, he could not recognize the truth that -men may sometimes err, and that the greatest gain rather than lose by -admitting it. During the whole of his long life we believe that he never -owned to a mistake. Not only was what he said law, but what others -ventured to say—especially if it ‘came between the wind and his -nobility’—was to be brushed aside as of no moment. We believe that this -feeling on his part explains his refusal to accept the Darwinian theory. -As we have shown, he went half way with it, and then dropped it, because -it had not been hammered on his own anvil. This unfortunate antagonism -to other workers, coupled with his readiness to enter into controversy, -and the acrimony and dexterity with which he handled his adversaries, -naturally discouraged those who would otherwise have been only too happy -to sit at the feet of the Nestor of English zoology; and during the last -thirty years of his life he became gradually more and more isolated. -Moreover, there was, or there was thought to be, a certain want of -sincerity about him which no amount of external courtesy could wholly -conceal. In a word, he was compact of strange contradictions. He had -many noble qualities; and yet he could not truly be called great, for -they were warped and overshadowed by many moral perversities. Had he -lived in the previous century his portrait might have been sketched by -Pope: - - ‘But were there one whose fires - True genius kindles and fair fame inspires; - Blest with each talent and each art to please, - And born to write, converse, and live with ease; - Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, - Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, - View him with scornful yet with jealous eyes, - And hate for arts that caused himself to rise; - - * * * * * * * - - Like _Cato_, give his little senate laws, - And sit attentive to his own applause; - While wits and templars every sentence raise, - And wonder with a foolish face of praise— - Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? - Who would not weep, if _Atticus_ were he!’ - - - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY J. AND C. F. CLAY, AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - -CAMBRIDGE DESCRIBED & ILLUSTRATED. Being a Short History of the Town and - University. By THOMAS DINHAM ATKINSON; with an Introduction by JOHN - WILLIS CLARK, M.A., F.S.A., Registrary of the University, late - Fellow of Trinity College. With Twenty-Nine Steel Plates, numerous - Illustrations and Maps. 8vo. 21_s._ net. - -_DAILY CHRONICLE._—“He has conferred a favour upon all lovers of -literature and its early seats by going at much length and with great -care into the questions not only of municipality, but of the University -and the colleges.... A good thing well done.” - -_DAILY NEWS._—“All Cambridge men will be interested in the many quaint -and curious descriptions of mediæval manners and customs of the -University Town which Mr. Atkinson has collected. To all with -archæological interests we strongly recommend the volume.” - -_ACADEMY._—“His book will be welcomed by all those who desire to get, in -the compass of a single volume, a comprehensive view of both Town and -University. The illustrations throughout the volume are well drawn and -excellently reproduced.” - -_MORNING POST._—“A volume which is copiously illustrated by excellent -plates, drawings, and maps, and to which an admirable general index -lends an additional value.” - -_SPECTATOR._—“We hail this interesting volume, which attempts to do what -has heretofore been neglected (save in Cooper’s monumental work),—viz. -combine in one survey the general history and description of both the -University and town of Cambridge.” - -_CAMBRIDGE REVIEW._—“This most interesting and beautiful book.... To -most of us this compact volume will come not so much as a luxury, but as -one of that class of commodities known to economists as being -‘conventionally necessary.’” - -_LITERATURE._—“Throughout deserves the highest praise.” - - London: Macmillan and Company, Limited. - - Cambridge: Macmillan and Bowes. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -A CONCISE GUIDE TO THE TOWN AND UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE in Four Walks. - By JOHN WILLIS CLARK, M.A., F.S.A., Registrary of the University, - formerly Fellow of Trinity College. With Map and 75 Illustrations. - Price 1_s._ net, or in limp cloth cover with pocket and duplicate of - the map, 2_s._ net. - -_TIMES._—“All intelligent visitors to Cambridge, however short their -stay, will be grateful to Mr. J. W. Clark, the Registrary of the -University, for his excellent _Concise Guide to the Town and University -of Cambridge in Four Walks_. It is not often that the casual visitor to -a place of great historical and architectural interest like Cambridge -finds so competent a _cicerone_ as Mr. Clark to tell him what he can see -and what is best worth seeing in the time at his disposal.” - -_ATHENÆUM._—“Mr. J. Willis Clark has written _A Concise Guide to -Cambridge_ of unusual excellence.” - -_DAILY CHRONICLE._—“An ideal guide-book by a former Fellow of Trinity.” - -_MANCHESTER GUARDIAN._—“Mr. Clark’s varied accomplishments raise this -little book quite out of the category of ordinary popular guide-books.” - -_ACADEMY._—“In a book of its size the information is, of course, much -condensed, but so far as it goes it is excellent.” - - LIBRARIES IN THE MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE PERIODS. The Rede Lecture, - delivered June 13, 1894. By J. W. CLARK, M.A., F.S.A. Crown 8vo. - 2_s._ 6_d._ net. - - Cambridge: Macmillan and Bowes. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Friends at Cambridge and Elsewhere, by -J. 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