Old friends at Cambridge and elsewhere

Old Friends at Cambridge
and Elsewhere

Old Friends at Cambridge
and Elsewhere

by

J. Willis Clark, M.A.

Registrar/ of the University of Cambridge
formerly Fellow of Trinity College

London

Macmillan and Co. Limited
Cambridge: Macmillan and Bowes

1900
All Rights reserved

damfatttip :

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 ampli-
fication, are, I am aware, defective as a serious

vi Preface.

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 under-
took 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 Satitrday Review,
and afterwards another, in a somewhat different
style, to a Trinity College Magazine called The

Preface. vii

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 Prselector of Trinity College, for
much valuable criticism, and assistance in pre-
paring 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.
i January, 1900.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

WILLIAM WHEWELL . . ... . . i

Church Quarterly Review, April, 1882.

CONNOP THIRLWALL 77

Church Quarterly Review ', April, 1883.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON . 153

Church Quarterly Review, July, [891.

EDWARD HENRY PALMER . 201

Church Quarterly Review, October, 1883.

FRANCIS MAITLAND BALFOUR 282

Saturday Review, 29 July, 1882.

HENRY BRADSHAW 292

Saturday Revierv, 10 February, 1886.

WILLIAM HEPWORTH THOMPSON 302

Saturday Review, g October, 1886.

COUTTS TROTTER 314

Saturday Review, 10 December, 1887.

RICHARD OKES 319

Saturday Review, i December, 1888.

HENRY RICHARDS LUARD 328

Saturday Review, 9 May, 1891.
The Trident, June, 1891.

RICHARD OWEN 344

Church Quarterly Review, July, 1895.

WILLIAM WHEWELL1.

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

1 i. William Whewell, D.D., Master of Trinity College, Cam-
bridge. 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, 1 88 1.)

C. I

2 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

of these published simultaneously: (i) the
scientific, (2) the academic, (3) the domestic.
As time went on, however, it was found im-
possible 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, not-
withstanding his diverse occupations and his
widespread interests, presented a singular unity,
due to his unflinching determination to subor-
dinate his pursuits, his actions, and his thoughts

William WhewelL 3

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 extra-
ordinary 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 aston-
ishing 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 corre-
spondence with relatives, friends, and men of
science in England and on the Continent. A
considerable number of these letters have of

I 2

4 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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,

William Whewell. 5

the softer side of Dr Whe well'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,

6 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 skil-
fully 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.

William Whewell. j

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 conversa-
tion 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

8 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 neighbour-

William Whewell. 9

hood in which we should have ventured to say
that he was 'a tame cat/ had there been any-
thing 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 every-
thing 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 what-
ever was going forward attracted him so
powerfully that he was never satisfied until
he had found out all about it. He went every-
where : to public ceremonials and exhibitions ; to
new plays, new music, new pictures ; to London

io Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 friend-
ships 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 Administra-
tion was as good as another, and provided
no violent change was threatened, he left the

William WhewelL 1 1

destinies of the Empire to take care of them-
selves. 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

12 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Uni-
versity in particular. His life divides itself
naturally into three periods of about equal

William Whewell. 1 3

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 — accommo-
dating 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,

14 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 conver-
sation. 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 under-
graduates, most of whom came from the upper
classes, were few. In the fifteen years between
1 800 and 1815 the yearly average of those who
matriculated did not exceed 205 : less than
one-fourth of those who now present them-
selves1. 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

1 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 — r$59 it was 444 ; from 1859 — 1874 it was 545.

William WhewelL \ 5

walk. With the undergraduates, as with their
seniors, the habit of hard drinking was unfor-
tunately 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 edu-
cation ; 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 charac-
teristic 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 :

1 6 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

' 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 correspon-
dence 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 Pro-
fessor Smyth] ; of the great knowledge of many of our
younger members in modern languages; of the recent
Professorship of Political Economy bestowed on a gentle-
man [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

William Whewell. 17

must be remembered, however, while we confess
to a special enthusiasm for our hero, that he
did not stand alone as the champion of intel-
lectual 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 en-
thusiastic 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

c. 2

1 8 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

father is mentioned as a man of probity and
intelligence ; but his mother, whom he un-
fortunately 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

William WhewelL 1 9

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 Westmore-
land. This took place in 1810. The reason
for it was that he might compete for an exhi-
bition of 5<D/. 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

2 2

2O Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 ec-
centric innovations of style or metre. It must
be admitted that his own work conformed
exactly to this standard. The poem was wel-
comed 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 mathe-
matics. 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 —

William Whewell. 2 1

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 corre-
spondent 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 ad-
mits, 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

22 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

bodily frame, brought up in the seclusion of
Lancashire, should have taken the fullest ad-
vantage 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 preva-
lent 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 oc-
casions 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.

William Whewell. 23

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 posi-
tion, 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 incon-
veniences of a College life. Two of his most
intimate friends, Herschel and Jones, left Cam-
bridge, 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

24 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Broad-
stone of Honour, who admits that he was so
idle that his tutor would take no remuneration
from him, has recorded that —

c 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

William Whewell. 2 5

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 revolu-
tionized 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 friend-
ship, which appears in numerous letters, and
notably in the dedication prefixed to the Ele-

26 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

ments of Morality. A Treatise on Dynamics
was published in 1823, which was treated in
much the same fashion as its fellow on Me-
chanics. The summer vacation was spent in a
visit to Paris for the first time, and an archi-
tectural 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 prepara-
tion 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

William Whewell. 27

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 sub-
jects, 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. Unfor-
tunately 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 frus-
trated by a serious accident. The account he

28 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 con-
tained 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

William Whewell. 29

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 sun-
shine 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.'

30 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

Whewell had been ordained priest on Trinity
Sunday, 1826, and this circumstance had pro-
bably 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 consider-
able 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 be-
tween 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 Mineralogi-
cal Classification and Nomenclature, in which
there is much novelty of definition and arrange-
ment. He was conscious that he had been
somewhat precipitate ; for he writes to his
friend, Mr Jones, who was trying to make

William Whewell. 3 1

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 with-
out trying what patience and labour might do in ripening
and perfecting them1.'

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 1 1 8
pages in 1830, was transformed into a work of
348 pages in 1842. Architecture had been from
the first one of Whe well's favourite studies. In
a letter to his sister in 1818 he speaks of a visit
to Lichfield and Chester for the purpose of study-
ing their cathedrals; many of his subsequent
tours were undertaken for similar objects ; and
his numerous note-books and sketch-books (for

1 Todhunter's Life, ii. 91.

32 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

he was no mean draughtsman) contain ample
evidence of the pains he bestowed on perfect-
ing 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 some-
times 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

William Whewell. 33

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 Prin-
ciples 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

c. 3

34 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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

William Whewell, 35

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 Presi-
dent 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 Whe well's
most thoughtful and justly celebrated works,
on which he must have bestowed much time.
During the intervals, however, of its composi-
tion, 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 over-
worked, and resigned the Professorship of
Mineralogy early in the year. He writes to
his friend Mr Jones, whom he was always

36 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

striving to inspire with some of his own rest-
less 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 resolu-
tions 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 Cam-
bridge ; contributed a paper On the Use of
Definitions to the Philological Museum ; and

William Whewell. 3 7

increased his stock of architectural and geologi-
cal 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 elec-
tricity. 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 ex-
pounds 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

38 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

considered in 1837, when he preached before
the University Four Sermons on the Founda-
tion 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 Lyell1 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 employ-
ments, 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

1 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.

William Whew ell. 39

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 occu-
pations 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 encyclopaedic 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 corre-
spondence ; 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

4O Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 specula-
tions 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

William Whewell. 41

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 import-
ance in giving occasion for exercising influence
or administering advice. We are sorry to

42 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

have to admit that Whewell was hardly so
successful as he ought to have been in dis-
charging 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

William Whewell. 43

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 affec-
tion. 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 him-
self. '

# # # * # * *

We left Whewell completing the Philosophy
of the Inductive Sciences ; and for the future we

44 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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, not-
withstanding, 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

William Whewell. 45

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 Pads;
and the Platonic Dialogues for English Readers.
The permanent influence which Grotius exer-
cised 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 Pad sacrum, which
Whewell placed on the western facade 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 op-

46 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

pressive 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 Professor-
ship 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 Words-
worth, Master of Trinity, wrote to him at
Coniston, where he was spending his honey-
moon, 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 un-
expected, 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 him-
self as * vehemently disturbed ' ; most probably
he was unwilling to comply with what seems
to us to have been extraordinary advice. He

William Whewell. 47

did comply, however, and went to London,
where he found a letter from Sir Robert, offer-
ing him the Mastership. It is pleasant to be
able to record that the offer was made spon-
taneously, before any solicitations had reached
the Minister. Whewell accepted it on October
18; had an interview with Sir Robert on the
1 9th; 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 Col-
lege, 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

48 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

high duties becomingly. Mr Hare had evi-
dently 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 over-
bearing 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 amuse-
ment 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 com-
pelled, 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

William Whewell. 49

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 con-
scientious, if such a phrase be admissible ; too
inflexible in exacting from others the same
strict obedience to College rules which he im-
posed 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 bound-
less ; 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
c. 4

5O Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 com-
memorating himself on the restored oriel window
of the Lodge1 ; the motto, Lampada tradam,
which he adopted for his arms ; his differences
with Her Majesty's judges about their enter-
tainment 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 unfavour-
able comment both in and out of College. The

1 The inscription runs : munificentia • fultus • Alex. J. B. Hope,
generosi • hisce • aedibus • 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.

William Whewell. 5 1

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 H E is received
by the University whenever he appears,' &c. ;
and a second letter, signed ' Anti-Junius,' affect-
ing 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
Whewell1.' 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 :

1 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.

4—2

52 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

'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 uni-
verse, and wishes to make the denominator as
small as possible.' These, however, were harm-
less 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 tempera-
ment with which he treated those from whom he

William Whewell. 53

had differed, or whose conduct he had con-
demned. 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 pro-

54 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

ceedings excited an unusual interest among the
undergraduates, who on the first morning oc-
cupied 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 pre-
vention of this inconvenience.' Whewell hated
nothing so much as insubordination, and had on
former occasions addressed himself to the re-
pression of this particular form of it. It is
therefore probable that he was not indisposed
to take the only step that, under the circum-
stances, 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 ;

William Whewell. 5 5

but further protection was thought necessary,
and on the third afternoon the University be-
held 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 sub-
sided 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 :

1 1 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-Chancellorship1,
when I had need to ask for great orderliness and consider-
able 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

1 The visit of Queen Victoria to the University in 1843.

56 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 after-
wards 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

William Whewell. 57

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 bully1,' 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 ' Utili-
tarian 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 utters2,' 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

1 A Letter to the Rev. W. Whewell, B.D., Master of Trinity College,
etc. By an Undergraduate. 8vo. London, 1843.

2 The Victory of Faith, and other Sermons. By J. C. Hare, M-A.
8yp. Cambridge, 1840, p. x.

58 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 be1.'

It would be unbecoming to intrude domestic
matters into an essay like the present, in which
we have proposed to ourselves a different ob-
ject ; 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-

1 Mrs Stair Douglas, p. 216.

William Whew ell. 59

Chancellorship. The second, however, fell
upon him with even greater seventy. He
was ten years older, and therefore less able to
bear up against it. Lady Affleck died a little
before midnight on Saturday, April i, 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 tears1.' 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.

1 Dr Lightfoot's Sermon, preached in the College Chapel on
Sunday, March 18, 1866.

60 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Taylor1 :

'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.

1 They appeared in Punch for March 17, 1866.

William Whewell. 6 1

'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.

62 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

'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 Whe well'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 van-
tage-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 success-
ful in increasing the importance of the paper
of questions in Philosophy in the Fellowship
Examination ; and subsequently he had intro-
duced 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 Col-
lege its present position of pre-eminence will

William Whew ell. 63

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 remark-
able 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 constitu-
tion 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

64 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 it1.'

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 con-
junction 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

1 The letter is dated 30 October, 1857.

William Whew ell. 65

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 Mathe-
matical 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 under-
stand Euclid, is a man whom we lose nothing
by not keeping among us.' He was no friend
to examinations. He * repudiated emulation as
c. 5

66 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 examina-
tions,' 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 Ex-
amination. 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 Educa-
tion in General, the establishment of ' a General
Tripos including the Inductive Sciences, or
those which it was thought right by the Uni-

William Whew ell. 67

versity 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 accept-
ance 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 be-
coming a Junior Optime before presenting
himself for either of these new Triposes, but
was satisfied with the Ordinary Degree. He
rished to encourage, by all reasonable facilities,
le competition for Honours in them ; but
rhen the Senate (in 1849) threw open the

5—2

68 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 es-
tablished in the University with regard to
Candidates for Honours in the Mathematical
Tripos ' ; and proceeded to advocate the estab-
lishment 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 develop-
ment of teaching by the University as opposed

William Whewell. 69

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 pro-
fessors, 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 re-
formers 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.

70 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 pre-
serving 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 wras 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 attach-
ment 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

William Whewell. 7 1

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 meri-
torious. 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

72 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 re-
printing 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

William Whewell. 73

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 Intel-
lect'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 con-
tentment,
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

74 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

do was to ' systematize portions of knowledge
which the consent of opinions has brought
into readiness for such a process1.' 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 clearness2. 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 analysis3.' In
science, as in other matters, his strong con-
servative bias stood in his way. He was
constitutionally unable to accept a thorough-

1 Mrs Stair Douglas, p. 208.

2 Memoir by Sir John Herschel, Proceedings of Royal Society, xvi.,
p. Ivi.

3 Bishop Goodwin's article in Macmillan's Magazine for December,
1881, p. 140.

William Whewell. 75

going innovation. For instance, he withstood
to the last Lyell's uniformity, and Darwin's
evolution1. 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 enthu-
siasm which runs through all his works. As
Dr Lightfoot pointed out in his funeral sermon,
'the world of matter without, the world of thought

1 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.'

76 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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, al-
most divine, which mark his closing chapter on
the future of the universe.'

CONNOP THIRLWALL1.

UNTIL a few years ago biographies of
Bishops were remarkable for that decent dul-
ness which Sydney Smith has noted as a
characteristic of modern sermons. The narra-
tive reproduced, with painful fidelity, the oppres-

1 i. Remains, Literary and Theological, of Connop Thirlwall,
late Lord Bishop of S. David's. Edited by J. J. STEWART PEROWNE,
D.D. Vol. i : 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.)

78 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

sive 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 motion1,' 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 inci-
dents 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

1 Dr Perowne's Preface to Letters, &c., p. vi.

Connop Thirlwall. 79

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, para-
doxical 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 deve-
loped ? 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.
ThirlwaU'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

8o Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

personal recollections as we have been able to
gather together.

Connop Thirlwall was born February 1 1 ,
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 hus-
band 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 bishop1. Connop must have been a
fearfully precocious child. In 1809 the fond
father published a small duodecimo volume
entitled * Primitice ; or, Essays and Poems on
Various Subjects, Religious, Moral, and Enter-
taining. 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

1 Letters, &c., p. 177.

Connop Thirlwall. 81

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 intelli-
gible 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 i, 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.

6

82 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 approach-
ing ? 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 watchful1.'

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

1 PrimiticE, p. 52. The essay is endorsed : ' Composed ist January,
1806. Eight years old.'

Connop Thirlwall. 83

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 :

6—2

84 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

'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 ' ! " '

Here, again, there may not be much origin-
ality 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 incon-
siderate 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

1 Primitia, p. 224. The piece is dated October 28, 1808.

Connop Thirlwall. 85

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 existence1.'

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 games2, 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

1 Letters to a Friend, p. 155. As a matter of fact the Bishop did
buy and destroy all the copies that he could.

2 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.'

86 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Candler1, 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

1 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.

Connop Thirlwall. 87

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 minis-
terial 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 man1.' * 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

1 Letters, &c., p. 7.

88 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

the disadvantages of his station or the means
of ameliorating it ? . . . These were long since
my sentiments1.' 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 repre-
sentatives, while four hundred thousand are
without one. These are abuses which require
speedy correction2.' He had evidently been
taken to see Cambridge, and was constantly
looking forward to his residence there. His
anticipations, however, were not wholly agree-
able. 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 poets3.' He admits,
however, that he is looking forward ' with hope
and pleasing anticipation to the time when I

1 Letters, &c., p. 17. 2 Ibid. p. 8.

3 Letters to a Friend, p. 225.

Connop Thirlwall. 89

shall immure myself at Cambridge; and he
makes some really admirable reflections, most
unusual at that period, on University distinc-
tions 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 pro-
curing 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 inactivity1.'

An English translation of the Penstes of
Pascal had fallen in his way ; and, in imitation
of that great thinker, he had formed a resolu-
tion, 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

1 Letters, &c., p. 21. The letter is dated December, 1813, when
the writer was sixteen years old.

go Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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, Cam-
bridge, 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, how-
ever 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 medal1.

1 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

Connop Thirlwall. 91

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 him-
self, and many others who contributed to make
that period of University history a golden age.
We can imagine him in their company ' mould-
ing 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

unlimited access to books, I could not have done better.' 'Nor so
well,' was the reply.

92 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

discussions1,' and that he had acquired a high
reputation for eloquence as a speaker there2,
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,

1 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.'

3 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 a 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.'

Connop Thirlwall. 93

his fondness for metaphysical speculation, and
his wish to learn German. The only letters
preserved are addressed to his old correspon-
dent 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 acquire-
ments ; 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 V

The letter from which we have selected the

1 Letter s> &c., p. 31.

94 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 por-
tion 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 un-
wonted 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 de-
graded, and, when he had become rich enough

Connop Tkirlwall. 95

to return to literature, he would feel no inclina-
tion 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, Person. 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

96 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 ex-
plained^ 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

Connop Thirlwall. 97

the whole of the Divina Commedia would doubt about pre-
ferring the "Paradise" to the two preceding parts, an
opinion in which I thoroughly agree1.

'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 Professoi
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 under-
standing 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 first2.'

It is vexatious that Thirl wall'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'. So far as we
know, the above letter is the only authority

1 An old friend of Bishop Thirlwall informs us that he retained his
preference for the ' Paradise ' in after years.

2 Life and Letters of Frances Baroness Bunsen ; by Augustus J. C.
Hare. 8vo. Lond. 1882 : i. 138.

3 Letter to Bunsen, November 21, 1831, Letters, &c., p. 99.

c. 7

98 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

extant. We should like to have heard whether
Thirlwall had, or had not, any personal inter-
course 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 profession1. 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 Mar-
garet's Professor of Theology at Cambridge2,
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

1 Memoirs of Baron Bunsen, i. 339.

a Marsh was professor from 1807 to 1839. The first volume of his
translation of Michaelis had appeared in 1793.

Connop Thirlwall. 99

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 me1'; 'my
aversion to the law has not increased, as it
scarcely could, from the first day of my initia-
tion into its mysteries ' ; or to read his pathetic
utterances to Bunsen, describing his wretched-
ness, 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

1 Letters, &c., p. 55.

7—2

ioo Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 cdlebres
of the day, and expressing his judgment upon
them1. 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'2', 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

1 Edinburgh Review, April, 1876, p. 291.

a A Critical Essay on the Gospel of S. Luke. By Dr Frederick
Schleiertnacher. 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.

Connop Th irlwa II. i o i

specially distinguished for merit or originality1?
It is evident, from what he says in his Intro-
duction, 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 Com-
position 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

1 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.

IO2 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 pro-
saic 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 pur-
suits 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 work1. His friend Hare had set
the example in 1822 by accepting a classical
lectureship at Trinity College at the urgent

1 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.

Connop Thirlwall. 103

request of Mr Whewell, then lately appointed
to one of the tutorships1, 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 trans-
lation 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 master-
piece 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 bite2.'
The pamphlet consists of sixty-three pages, of

1 See Dean Stanley's Memoir of Archdeacon Hare, prefixed to the
third edition of The Victory of Faith. 1874.

2 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).

IO4 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

which sixty belong to the former, and a ' Post-
script,' 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 subse-
quently 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.' Thirl wall 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, how-
ever 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

Connop ThirlwalL 105

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 publica-
tion 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

1 06 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Cam-
bridge 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 improve-
ment. 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

Connop Thirlwall. 107

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 incon-
siderate 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

io8 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 article1
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

1 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.

Connop Thirlwall. 109

Vice-Chancellor, and his brother Heads, did
their best to draw attention to it by expell-
ing 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 participa-
tion 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,

1 1 o Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 ' Caput1 ' rejected them.
In February of the following year, Dr Corn-
wallis 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

1 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.

Connop Thirlwall. 1 1 1

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 eccle-
siastical 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 Cam-
bridge, 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

1 1 2 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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
no 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 signatures1. 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 decla-

1 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.

Connop ThirlwalL 113

ration 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 pro-
ceedings 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 sug-
gested 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 re-
spected, 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 en-
deavoured to prove that evils would ensue

1 14 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

from the intercourse of young men who differed
widely from one another in theological beliefs,
by tracing the history of the Theological Semi-
nary for Nonconformists, commenced by the
celebrated Dr Doddridge, in 1729, at North-
ampton, 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 liter-
ally true ; it might even be said to be as
capable of demonstration as any simple mathe-
matical proposition ; but uttered in that way,
in a controversial pamphlet, in support of a
most unpopular cause, it must have sounded

Connop Thirlwall. 1 1 5

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 pos-
session 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 (i) 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,

8—2

1 1 6 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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
conceived1.'

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

1 A Letter etc. , p. 20.

Connop Thirlwall. 1 1 7

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 church1.'

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.1
Such a service as this, he thought, ' would
afford the best opportunity of affording instruc-
tion 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 re-
futed, 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.

1 A Letter etc., pp. 21, 22.

1 1 8 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Uni-
versity also — compelled him, though evidently
with the greatest reluctance, to break silence.
He argued that Thirl wall'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, there-
fore, 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

Connop Thirlwall. 119

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. To-
wards 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
Master1.

1 When the ' Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Under-
graduates ' 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

I2O Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

Thirlwall's pamphlet is dated May 21, 1834 ;
Whe well's four days later. On the 26th the
Master, Dr Wordsworth, wrote to Mr Thirlwall,
calling upon him to resign the assistant-tutor-
ship. The words used were :

'I trust you will find no difficulty in resigning the
appointment of assistant-tutor which I confided to you some-
what 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 Olym-
pus, from whose serene heights they surveyed
the common herd beneath them with a sort of
contemptuous pity ; and they not only exacted,

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.

Connop Thirlwall. 121

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 scholar1.
Thirlwall lost no time in obeying the

1 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.' Thirl wall'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.

122 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 un-
reserved 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 Thirl -
wall's own conduct was held to be free from
fault. He was much blamed for having re-
signed 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 resis-

Connop Thirlwall. 123

tance made to an act which, under any other
circumstances, would have caused an explosion.
The Fellows felt that the victim had put him-
self 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 Master's 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 Sedgwick1, full
of grief at what had happened, and of appre-
hension 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

1 The letter, dated 27 May, 1834, is printed by Mrs Stair Douglas,
Life of Dr Whewell, p. 163.

124 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 impru-
dence 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. THIRLWALL1.'

1 The letter, dated 23 September 1834, is printed in Letters of
Bishop Thirlwall, p. 1 24 ; and by Mrs Stair Douglas, Life of Dr
Whewell, p. 168. Dr Wordsworth's action was noticed with dis-
approval 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 disappro-
bation 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

Connop Thirlwall. 125

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 manage-
ment 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 shock-
ing to his pure and thoughtful mind to defile

Cardak 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.

126 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 deter-
mined 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 resi-
dence 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

Connop Thirlwall. 127

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 hesita-
tion ; 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 paro-
chial 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

128 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

regular services with full and attentive congre-
gations, 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 Dis-
senters ; 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 likewise1.

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 oppor-
tunity 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

1 Life of Dr Whewell, by Mrs Stair Douglas, p. 211.

Connop Thirlwall. 129

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 town1,
which, he might have added, he insisted upon
taking without a companion. Those who con-
versed 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 Cambridge2. It is, perhaps,
fortunate for the world that he had bound
himself to produce the volumes at regular
intervals3, and that his editor, Dr Dionysius
Lardner (whom he used to call ' Dionysius

1 Letters to a Friend, p. 191.

2 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.

3 Letters, &c. p. 138.

C.

1 30 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Cyclopedia,
but we have it on Thirlwall's own authority
that it was ' much narrower than that which
it actually reached1,' 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, pub-
lished, like its predecessor, volume by volume,
began to make its appearance. It was men-
tioned above that Grote and Thirlwall had
been school-fellows ; but, though they met not
unfrequently in London afterwards, Thirlwall

1 Preface to the second edition, dated ' London, May 1845.'

Connop Thirlwall. 131

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 literature1 ' ; 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 superseded2.'
It would be beside our present purpose to
attempt a comparison of the relative merits of
these two works, which, by a curious coinci-
dence, had been elaborated simultaneously.

1 Letters, &c. p. 194. The letter is dated April 9, 1846.

2 The Personal Life of George Grote. By Mrs Grote, p. 173.

9—2

132 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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, ' news-
paper' 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 sym-
pathizes, 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 cha-
racter 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

Connop Thirlwall. 133

Bishop of S. David's by Lord Melbourne.
Lord Hough ton, 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 con-
sulted 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

1 34 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 under-
stand 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 you1.'

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,

1 Memoirs of Viscount Melbourne. By W. M. Torrens, M.P. Vol.
ii. p. 332. Lord Houghton in the Fortnightly Review, February 1878.

Connop Thirlwall. 135

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 re-
ferences 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 accom-
panied 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

136 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 philo-
sophy, science, history, biography, fiction, poetry ;
and, as he and his young correspondent ex-
changed 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.

1 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, dread-
ing to come to the last, when I must wait two months for a
renewal of the pleasure. The depth of humour has certainly

Connop Thirlwall. 137

never been surpassed in English literature. If there is ever
a shade too much learning that is Lewes's fault1.'

But there was another reason for his en-
joyment 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 York-
shire, and an amusing story is told of the way
in which the preparations for his formal recep-
tion when he came home after accepting the
bishopric of S. David's, were completely dis-
concerted by the riotous welcome of his dogs,
who jumped on his shoulders and excluded all
human attentions2. At Abergwili he extended
his affections to birds, and kept peacocks, phea-
sants, canaries, swans, and tame geese, which
he regularly fed every morning, no matter what

1 Letters to a Friend, p. 278. 2 Letters, &c. p. 161.

138 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

the weather might be. They treated him with
easy familiarity, for they used to seize his coat-
tails 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 maturity1.'
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

1 Letters, &c. p. 292.

Connop Thirlwall. 139

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, preach-
ing, and visitation. In the charge of 1866 he
reviewed the improvements which had been
accomplished up to that time, and could men-
tion 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 subscrip-
tion ; many parsonages had been built, livings
had been augmented, and education had been
largely increased1. To all these excellent ob-
jects he had himself been a munificent contri-
butor, and we believe that between the beginning
and the end of his episcopate he had spent nearly
,£40,000 in charities of various kinds2. Yet
with all these claims on the gratitude of the

1 Charges^ vol. ii. pp. 90 — 100.

2 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 £ "2 4,000 (Ibid. vol. ii. p. 98).

1 40 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 pre-
decessor'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 enter-
tained 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

Connop Thirlwall. 141

the archdeacons, or those clergymen whose
education enabled them to appreciate his friend-
ship1. 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

1 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.

142 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 dis-
cussed 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 him-

Connop Thirlwall. 143

self held. This, however, did not satisfy Mr
Williams. We cannot help suspecting that he
was longing for a martyr's crown; and, indig-
nant 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 clever-
ness,' 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 wis-
dom, but also in ambiguity1' — 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

1 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.

1 44 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

power of his reply must suffice. On the com-
parison 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 industria factus ad imita-
tionem stultitiae " ; 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 clergy-
man " ; 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 answer1.'

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 con-
sulting his episcopal brethren or his friends,
and without being influenced in any way, as
even the most conscientious men must be, in

1 A Letter to the Rev. Rowland Williams, 8vo. 1860, p. 19.

Connop Thirl wall. 145

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 emi-
nence, could take ' an oversight of the whole
field of ecclesiastical events1,' 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 per-
manent 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.
' 1 will not call him an unbeliever, but a mis-
believer,' 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

1 Dean Stanley's preface to the Letters to a Friend, p. xi.
C. 10

146 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

him ; they knew his value as an ally, but they
knew also that he would never, under any cir-
cumstances, 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 argu-
ments were listened to with the utmost atten-
tion ; 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.

Connop Thirlwall. 147

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.'1

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,

1 Letters to a Friend, p. 54.

148 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 care-
fully 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 move-
ment or the Gorham controversy, with his

Connop ThirlwalL 149

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 ques-
tions has been called ' indefinable1.' 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.

1 Review of 'The letters of Bishop Thirl wall,' The Times, 23
November, 1881.

1 50 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 men-
tioned 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

Connop Tkirlwall. 151

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'1."

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 deaf-
ness, to maintain his old interests. He died

1 The Edinburgh Reviav, for April, 1876, p. 292.

152 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

rather suddenly, July 27, 1875, an^ 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 judiciunf 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.'

1 These words are inscribed upon Bishop Thirlwall's grave.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES,
LORD HOUGHTON1.

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 pre-
sent at every ceremony of importance, from
the Eglinton Tournament to the CEcumenical
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

1 Life, Letters, and Friendships of Richard Monckton Milnes, first
Lord Houghton. By T. WEMYSS REID. Second Edition, i vols.
London, 1890.

1 54 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 — un-
questionably good ; they abound with amusing
stories and brilliant witticisms ; but we confess
that we laid them down with a sense of disap-
pointment 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 over-
weighted 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 repute1.' We are not
so presumptuous as to suppose that we can

1 Life, vol. i. p. xiii.

Lord Nought on. 155

paint a portrait of Lord Hough ton 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 Ponte-
fract, 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 ioo/. 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

1 56 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 abandon-
ment 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 un-
solved 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 judg-
ment 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 York-

Lord H ought on. 157

shire 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 re-
paired. We have been told, by one who knew
him late in life, that he was a singularly love-
able 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,

158 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 ex-
perience. 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

Lord Houghton. 159

opportunitate mortis ; it might be said of Milnes,
with regard to Cambridge, that he was felix
opportunitate vita. 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 attract-
ing 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 Arch-
bishop 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 philo-
sophical 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
Caesars. 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

160 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 advanc-
ing 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 every-
thing.'

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

Lord H ought on. 161

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
M ilnes 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 King-
lake ; 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

C. II

1 62 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere,

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 ven-
tured 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 re-
markable, 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

Lord H ought on. 163

poet than Byron1.' According to Blakesley,
' the respective moral tendency of the writings
of Shelley and Byron2' 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 ex-
cursion, 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

1 Reminiscences and Opinions of Sir F. H. Doyle, 8vo. Lond. 1886.
p. 108.

2 Richard Chenevix Trench, Archbishop. Letters and Memorials.
8vo. Lond. 1888. Vol. i. p. 50. Letter from J. W. Blakesley, 24 Jan, 1830.

II 2

1 64 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 con-
trast 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 myself1.'

In his second account, written thirty-six
years afterwards, Milnes gives greater pro-
minence 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 exagge-
ration 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

1 Life, vol. i. p. 78.

Lord Houghton. 165

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 I 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...2.'

Sir Francis Doyle is provokingly brief in
his account of the performances of his Cam-
bridge allies. Sunderland, he tells us, 'spoke
with great effect, though scarcely, I believe,

1 Lord Houghton has been heard to say, when describing his
interview with Dr Wordsworth, then Master of Trinity College : * I
have always had a dim suspicion, though probably I did not do so,
that I substituted the name of Wordsworth for Shelley.' Life, vol. i.

P- 77-

2 Life, vol. ii. p. 162.

1 66 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 intro-
duce 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 discussion1.'

1 Life of Cardinal Manning, by E. S. Purcell, 8vo. Lond. 1895, vol.
i- P- 33-

Lord Houghton. 167

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, re-
member 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 Mimes,
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....! 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

1 68 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

of Commons where he had himself made so
brilliant a ddbut. 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 satisfac-
tion 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 Con-
servative, 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 ex-
cluded other and more congenial pursuits, Mr
Milnes warned him that his circumstances
would not allow him to enter parliament. No

Lord Houghton. 169

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 Con-
tinent 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

1 70 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 litera-
ture. 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 lite-
rature, 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 sus-
pect that he must have taken this step at the
suggestion of Thirlwall, for it was he who
introduced him to Professor Brandis, and pro-
bably 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 aspira-
tions for liberty, and though, as was natural at

Lord Houghton. 171

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 dis-
tinction. 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.

172 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

'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 known1.'

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 informa-
tion, both as regards books and men. He could hardly
have then been more than two-and-twenty, and yet he was

1 The Poems of Richard Monckton Milnes, i vols. (London, 1838),
vol. i. p. 93.

Lord H ought on.

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

174 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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
M ilnes 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 preten-
tious 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,

Lord Houghton. 175

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 Duller 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 ground-
lessly, of having invented them.

1 76 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

' 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 SMITH1.'

When we read that Milnes 'made a con-
quest of society,' it must not be supposed that
he was a mere pleasure-seeker. On the con-
trary, 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

1 Vol. i. p. 214.

Lord H ought on. 177

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, Thack-
eray, 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 :

1 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

12

178 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 — Part 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).

Lord If ought on. 179

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 :

12 2

i So Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

' Monckton Miles came yesterday and left this morning
— a pleasant, companionable little man — delighting in para-
doxes, 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 Con-
servative 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 ex-
pected 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

Lord H ought on. 181

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 affecta-
tion.' 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 en-
thusiasm,' which shocked the Protestants in
general, and the electors of Pontefract in par-
ticular. 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

1 82 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

when forming his Administration in 1841 —
nay, rather, appears never to have turned his
thoughts in his direction. Milnes was grie-
vously 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 ac-
cepted 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

Lord Nought on. 183

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 Glad-
stone'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 alto-
gether. 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 Govern-
ment, and seconding a motion of Charles
Buller's against Lord Stanley. After this it

1 84 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 inter-
fere 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 intro-

Lord Nought on. 185

duced a Bill for the establishment of reforma-
tories 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 crimi-
nal 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 con-
cealing 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 estab-
lished 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-

1 86 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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).

M lines had been called a Liberal-Conserva-
tive during the first ten years of his parliamen-
tary 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 in-
different 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,

Lord tJ ought on. 187

it was to measures of a private character, or to
measures of social reform, that he gave his at-
tention. 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 execu-
tions ; 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- ISO-

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

1 88 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 thorough-
going 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

Lord H ought on. 189

passage in which he foreshadows French inter-
vention in Italy. After describing measures by
which Austria intended to make the Lombardo-
Venetian kingdom a second Poland, he pro-
ceeds :

'And France, whatever be her adventures in govern-
ment, 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 pro-
tection, 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 atmo-
sphere without danger to the empire. In his
later years foreign travel became almost a

1 90 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

necessity to Lord Hough ton ; and as he had
then fewer ties to bind him to England, his
absences were more frequent and more pro-
longed. 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 tri-
umphal progress through the United States ;
and only three years before his death he went
again to Egypt and Greece.

Throughout his life Milnes approached pub-
lic 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 com-
batants, though I prefer a feeble and super-
annuated 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

Lord H ought on. 191

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 dis-
tinction as a writer of verse, and Landor hailed
him as ' the greatest poet now living in Eng-
land.' This judgment may nowadays provoke
a smile ; but, though it is not to be expected
that his poems will recover their former popu-
larity, they hardly deserve to have fallen into
complete neglect. As Mr Reid says :

192 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

'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 character-
istics 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 scat-
tered 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

Lord Houghton. 193

of letters, which it is not quite easy to define.
It is not enough to say that he was a Maecenas,
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 chateau 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 charac-
teristics were a rare gift in detecting merit, and
an untiring energy in bringing it out, and set-
ting 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 impor-
tunity 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
c. 13

1 94 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Nono1,' admits that his
own interest in Italy was due in the first
instance to Milnes's influence. ' One gets ex-
cited,' 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 charit-
able ; 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/

1 Vol. i. p. 384. The letter is dated 31 March, 1847.

Lord Ho^lghton. 195

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 con-
nexions. 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 Bronte 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 congeni-
ally 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 tender-
ness, and whose poem, The Luggie, he edited ;
and to his early recognition of the genius of
Mr Swinburne, to whose merits he drew atten-
tion 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

13—2

196 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 con-
tributed, 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 under-
laid 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 cer-
tainly made his juniors feel sure of his sym-
pathy 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

Lord Houghton. 197

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 men-
tioned, 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

198 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

points of view.' We are not aware that he
ever took part in any directly religious move-
ment, or ever declared his allegiance to the
Church of England except as a political organi-
zation. Partly from a love of paradox, partly
from a habit of looking round a question rather
than directly at it, he would have .had some-
thing 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 Hough ton died at Vichy, August n,
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'hote 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 under-

Lord H ought on. 199

stood 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 some-
what 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 high-
lands 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 chanty 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

2oo Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 sensi-
bilities, 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 dis-
trusted 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 PALMER1.

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 at-
tempted, 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

1 i. The Life and Achievements of Edward Henry Palmer ; late
Lord Almoner's Professor of Arabic in the University of Cambridge
and Fellow of S.John's College. By WALTER BESANT, M.A. (London,
1883.)

i. Correspondence respecting the Afotrder of Professor E. H.
Palmer, Captain William Gill, R.E., and Lieutenant Harold Char-
rington, R.N. Presented to both Houses of Parliament by Command
of HER MAJESTY. (London, 1883.)

2O2 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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

Edward Henry Palmer. 203

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 de-
pends 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 for-
ward with consummate art, chapter by chapter,
to the final catastrophe, which is described
with the picturesqueness of a romance, and the

204 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 incon-
siderate 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,

Edward Henry Palmer. 205

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 evi-
dently 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

206 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 be-
fore 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 207

that he had little hope of recovery. He re-
turned to Cambridge, with the conviction that
he had but a few weeks to live, and that he
had better die comfortably among his rela-
tions, than miserably among strangers. But
after a few weeks of severe illness he re-
covered, 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 cer-
tain ; 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

208 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 dic-
tionary.' In time he became a proficient in

Edward Henry Palmer. 209

Gipsy lore, and Mr Besant tells several curious
stories about his adventures with that remark-
able 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-monte, 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 inno-
cence 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

c. 14

2 io Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

were a gipsy, if you come here dressed up like a gorgio and
looking like a gentleman ? "

1 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 Pro-
fessor in Romany. "The next time you had better hide
the marks1."'

These experiences among the gipsies took
place in 1874 or 1875, when Palmer had per-
fected 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 pre-
viously 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 cafe in Titchborne Street fre-
quented 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.

1 Life, p. 182,

Edward Henry Palmer. 2 1 1

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 Signer Buonocorre,
the so-called "Fire King," who used to astonish the multi-
tude 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 cafes — he acquired somehow in those
early days a curious knowledge and admiration of the
French police and detective system1.'

1 Life, p. ii.

14—2

2 1 2 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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, photo-
graphy ; in all of which, except the last, he
arrived at creditable results. His aunt is re-
ported to have borne her nephew's changeable
tastes with exemplary patience, until photo-

Edward Henry Palmer. 213

graphy 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

214 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

to the only two persons competent to instruct
him — the Rev. George Skinner, and a Moham-
medan 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 enthu-
siasm 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 un-
wonted 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,

Edward Henry Palmer. 215

and in after years he used to say that he did
not know it. Syed Abdullah gave him more
regular and systematic instruction in Urdu,
Persian, and Arabic. Palmer was 'constantly
writing prose and verse exercises for him.'
They became intimate friends ; and it was pro-
bably through his representations that Palmer
was allowed to give up all thoughts of resuming
work as a clerk, and to take up Oriental lan-
guages 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 Urdu. 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 in-
structors ; and may at once dismiss from our

2 1 6 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 mid-
night lamp in a garret, and learning Arabic
all alone. On the contrary, he never felt any
pressure of poverty, and was helped, sym-
pathized 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 217

declared that he knew no mathematics at all,
he ' always did what I set him, passed the
examinations very easily, and presumably ob-
tained his sizarship on it.' His known pro-
ficiency in Oriental languages was evidently
not taken into account at the outset of his
University career, but some two years after-
wards, 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 com-
position 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 occu-
pied 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

2 1 8 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

College, and of Trinity College. But he always
had a surprising power of getting through an
enormous quantity of work without ever seem-
ing to be in a hurry. A friend tells us that
Palmer

' Did not strike one as a man of method, as an econo-
mist 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 remark-
able body of testimonials1 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, Urdii (Hindoo-
stani), 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.'

1 Testimonials in favour of Edward Henry Palmer •, B.A. 8vo.
Hertford, 1867.

Edward Henry Palmer. 219

We have no room for quotations from the
curious and flowery compositions in which
numerous learned Orientals held up his ex-
cellencies 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 know-
ledge; 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

220 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Masnavf, Khondemir, and ,1
think Sauda; but he could explain them all without hesi-
tation. I sent a full report to the Master, and the college
elected him at once to the vacant fellowship V

It has now become an understood thing
at Cambridge that a man who is really dis-
tinguished 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 Cam-
bridge 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

1 Life, p. 48.

Edward Henry Palmer. 221

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 ac-
cepting. He had not long to wait. In less
than a year a post was offered to him which pre-
sented, 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^, 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

1 The Desert of the Exodus, 8vo. Cambridge, Deightons, 1871.

222 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

own proceedings are kept modestly in the back-
ground ; but a careful reader will soon discover
that, in addition to his appointed task as col-
lector of folk-lore, he did his full share of
topographical investigation, in which he evi-
dently 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 223

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 Bedawin gave us
throughout a correct account of their country and its nomen-
clature.

'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 further1.'

1 Desert of the Exodus, p. 325.

224 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Pen-
insula 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, Cam-
bridge, 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 De-
cember 1 6, 1869, and reached Jerusalem in

Edward Henry Palmer. 225

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
c. 15

226 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

obscurely, that the only way to solve the
' Bedouin question ' is to adopt what was called
a few years afterwards, with reference to an-
other not wholly dissimilar race, ' the bag and
baggage policy.' This deliberate opinion, ex-
pressed 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 un-
known 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 con-
clusion at last forced itself upon them, 'that,
above ground at least, there does not exist

Edward Henry Palmer. 227

another Moabite stone1.' It will be remem-
bered 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 :

1 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 neigh-
bourhood of the ancient cities, and sold to jewellers at
Nablous, by whom they were probably melted up1.'

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

1 Desert of the Exodus, p. 503.

228 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

exploring the little-known parts of Palestine at
a comparatively trifling cost had been demon-
strated ; 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 struc-
tures, 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 candi-
date for the Professorship of Arabic in the
University of Cambridge. He was unsuccessful,
and we should have contented ourselves with

Edward Henry Palmer. 229

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 wonder-
fully well, a great quantity of things in Persian, Urdti, 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 or

230 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 pre-
judices 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 accom-
plishments, 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 what-

Edward Henry Palmer. 231

ever 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 enthu-
siasm 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.

1 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

232 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 3oo/. 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 Professor-
ship, 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 embit-
tered the whole of his future connexion with the University :
it never was forgotten or forgiven V

We notice two errors of fact in the above

1 Life, pp. 120 — 125.

Edward Henry Palmer. 233

narrative. The election did not take place in
1871, but in 1870; and secondly, the Professor-
ship was then worth only £jo 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 i the Vice-Chancellor announced the
vacancy, and fixed the tlay 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 ob-
tained the Tyrwhitt Hebrew Scholarship in
1853. ^ was thought that his merits were little
known, and that he would not prove a formid-
able 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

234 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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, there-
fore, 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 indis-
pensable, 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 235

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

236 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 be-
tween a tried and an untried man. Dr Wright
was known to have received a regular educa-
tion 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 speci-
ally 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 there-
fore it was not strange that a Society which had
already gone so far should signify to him their

Edward Henry Palmer. 237

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, iS;!1.

Palmer, on the other hand, had submitted
to the electors testimonials which testified to
his wonderful knowledge of Hindustani, Per-
sian, 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 Uni-
versity, 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

1 It is stated in Nature for July 26, 1883, in an article by Prof. W.
Robertson Smith, Palmer's successor at Cambridge, that Dr Wright
was elected Fellow ' without his knowledge or consent.' We are able
to state, on the authority of Dr Phillips himself, that Dr Wright was
perfectly aware of the honour about to be conferred upon him.

238 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

dated June of the same year1. 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 con-
trary, 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 Pro-
fessorship 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 Al-
moner. It is endowed with an income of ^50
a year, paid out of the Almonry bounty, but
reduced by fees to ^40. los. If, however,
the income be small the duties are none — or,
rather, none are attached to the office as such ;

1 The Catalogue of Arabic, Persian, and Turkish MSS. in Trin.
Coll. Camb. was not published until 1871 ; but the fact that it had been
made was of course well known.

Edward Henry Palmer. 239

and moreover the Reader is technically re-
garded 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 Re-
ligion of Persia ; an Outline Sketch of Com-
parative Theology1,' and during the Easter and

1 Cambridge University Reporter, 1872, p. 181.

240 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 volun-
tary work the Council of the Senate recom-
mended (February 24, I873)1 '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. 2s. in each term for each
course of lectures from every student attending
them, provided he declared in writing his readi-
ness 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 Hindu-
stani.' 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

1 Cambridge University Reporter, 1873, p. 142.

Edward Henry Palmer. 241

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 arrange-
ment, 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 in-
evitable, it may be remarked that while the
c. 1 6

242 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

University offered ^250 to the former, they
offered only ^230 to the latter. The inten-
tion, 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 pain-
ful and irksome, for it had to be undertaken
in the midst of heavy sorrow, ill-health, pecu-
niary 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 243

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 lec-
tures, 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; an<^ 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

16 — 2

244 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 lan-
guage 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 Akh-
bar, 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 Urdu 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

Edivard Henry Palmer. 245

these Oriental 'trifles' as he would probably
have called them, we find continual contribu-
tions to English periodical literature, and three
volumes of poetry : English Gipsy Songs in
Romany (1875); tne 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 trans-
lation 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

246 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

results which were so reassuring that it was
decided to complete her cure (as it was then
believed) by a winter in Paris. There, how-
ever, 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, Bourne-
mouth. 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 247

be saddened for long together. He was always
surrounded by a pleasant atmosphere of cheer-
fulness, 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 acquaint-
ances ; 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 senti-
ment 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

248 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 pro-
fessed 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 249

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 him-
self, 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 fortu-
nate, 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 Pro-
fessor Wright's salary raised to ^500 a year,
with no hint of any corresponding proposition

250 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

being made for him1; and when the Com-
missioners 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

1 Grace of the Senate, April 29, 1875, confirming a Report of the
Council, dated March 15. We believe that it was thought desirable to
make the salary of the Professor of Arabic equal to that of the
Professor of Sanskrit, who from the creation of the Professorship in
1867 received ^"500 a year out of the University Chest.

Edward Henry Palmer. 251

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, there-
fore, 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 volun-
tarily 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 ob-

252 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

tained 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 pro-
fessionally 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 re-
membered, especially in Cambridge. For this
purpose Mr Besant has, most judiciously, sup-
plied 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 extra-
ordinary facility in the use of Persian and
Arabic, and gives a minute, and in the main

Edward Henry Palmer. 253

highly laudatory, criticism of some of his per-
formances, which ends with these words : ' In
him England loses her greatest Oriental lin-
guist, 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 V

He then proceeds to examine Palmer's prin-
cipal 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 com-
mitting if he had taken more time over the work. But, in
spite of all the objections that may be urged against it, his

1 Life, p. 142.

254 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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
Bedawi 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 V

Lastly, Mr Poole points out the peculiar
excellence of Palmer's Arabic Grammar, which
is arranged on the Arab system, in bold de-
fiance 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 histori-
cal 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 autho-
rities 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

1 Life, p. 145-

Edward Henry Palmer. 255

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 vivid-
ness 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

256 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

of anxiety arose : ( i ) 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 257

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 pos-
sible 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 Govern-
ment 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.

c 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 pro-
portions 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

c. 17

258 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

mission ; he had, in fact, already laid himself open by speak-
ing 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 fol-
lowing 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 259

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 :

17—2

260 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

'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, Mike 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 enter-
prise 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 261

attempt its destruction. Lastly, he was in-
structed, 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 communi-
cations 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

262 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 cos-
tume, 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 i. 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 accomplish-
ment 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 no in
the shade in the mountains, and in the plains

Edward Henry Palmer. 263

about twice that ' ; and yet never show, by
the slightest hint, that he was either overcome
by the physical exertion, or alarmed at the im-
minent peril which he ran at every moment.
So well was the bodily frame sustained by the
brave heart within, that he could write cheer-
fully, 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. . . .

1 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

264 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 1 6. — I now know where to find and how to get at
every sheikh in the Desert, and I have already got the
Teyahah, 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 1 8. — 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 \ 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.

ljuly 20. — The sheikh, who is the brother of Suleiman,
is one who engages all the Arabs not to attack the caravan of

1 This was Misleh, Sheikh of the Teyahah Arabs.— Warren's
Narrative, p. 10.

Edward Henry Palmer. 265

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.

ljuly 2i. — 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 5oo/. 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.

1 ''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 V

This Journal, it will be remarked, speaks

1 Life, pp. 266 — 278.

266 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Sey-
mour 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 i 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 2o,ooo/. to 3o,ooo/.'

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

Edward Henry Palmer. 267

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 tele-
gram, 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 respec-
tive duties. Gill had been ordered to cut the
telegraph wires from Kartarah to Constanti-
nople, and so destroy Arabi's communications
with Turkey, and Palmer had made arrange-
ments for a meeting of the sheikhs at Nakhl.
We have seen that the Journal mentions pre-
sents to the sheikhs (as much as £500 had
been promised to Misleh), and these would

268 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Beau-
champ 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 impor-
tant 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 Government1.'

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

1 Letter to Admiral Sir William Hewett, dated Suez, August 8.
Blue Book) p. 4.

Edward Henry Palmer. 269

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 i he stated that when
he started on his second journey a company of
300 or 400 Bedouin should go with him, 'for

270 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 pre-
sented 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 271

afternoon, Palmer received a package con-
taining 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.

272 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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
Palmer's 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 273

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
c. 18

274 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 mo-
lested, 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

Edward Henry Palmer. 275

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 valu-
able 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

1 8— 2

276 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 cer-
tainty. 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 de-
bate did not last long, not more than half an
hour, and then Meter retired, it being under-
stood that the five1 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

1 These five were Professor Palmer, Captain Gill, Lieutenant
Charrington, Khalil Atek the dragoman, and Bochor the cook.

Edward Henry Palmer. 277

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 pre-
cipitous 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

278 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 in-
tentionally 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 crimi-
nals. In less than two months Colonel Warren,
to whom the direction of the search-expedition

Edward Henry Palmer. 279

was entrusted1, 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 Janu-
ary 1883 ne 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 pre-
serve 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 ambus-

1 The whole story of his expedition has been admirably told by
Captain Haynes, who accompanied Colonel Warren, in Man-hunting
in the Desert. 8vo. London. 1894.

280 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

cade1, probably for the paltry gain of ^"3000,
for we have seen 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.

1 The Wady Sudr is quite out of the direct route from Moses'
Wells to Nakhl, as Palmer of course knew. He must therefore have
been induced to go that way by some earnest representation made to
him by Meter.

Edward Henry Palmer. 281

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 in-
quiry 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 Cathe-
dral. 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 Courmayeur1.
It was only in November of last year that we
drew attention to the extraordinary merits of
his Treatise on Comparative Embryology, then
just completed2. We felt that a * bright par-
ticular 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;

1 Balfour and his guide lost their lives in a couloir at the foot of the
Italian side of the Aiguille Blanche. They started from Courmayeur
to attempt the ascent of the Aiguille on the afternoon of Tuesday,
18 July, 1882, with the expectation of returning on Thursday. The
accident is supposed to have taken place on Wednesday, the ipth.

2 Saturday Review, November 12, 1881.

Francis M ait land Balfour. 283

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 Prelector
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 after-

284 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

wards to be so distinguished ; and after two
years' work published a paper on The Develop-
ment 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 de-
gree, 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

Francis M ait land Balfour. 285

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 can-
didature 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 Em-
bryology, 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,

286 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 dis-
cordant 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, Com-
parative 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

Francis Maitland Balfour. 287

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 else-
where. 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 Pro-
fessor 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 Cam-
bridge, 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

288 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

sentences from the Report in which the
Council of the Senate recommended this step1 :

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

1 This Report, dated 27 March, 1882, was confirmed by the Senate
ii May; and the Professor was elected 31 May.

Francis M ait land Balfour. 289

think how short his life was — for he would not
have been thirty-one years of age until No-
vember next — that so many honours had been
showered upon him. He became a Fellow of
the Royal Society in 1878; in the autumn of

1 88 1 he received the Royal Medal; and in

1882 he was elected a member of the Council.
He was President of the Cambridge Philo-
sophical Society, and became General Secretary
of the British Association at the York Meeting
in August 1 88 1.

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 no-
thing 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 Syn-
dicates, 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

c. 19

290 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

own opinions go by without taking full ad-
vantage 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 ap-
proached 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 ig-
norance, 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 under-
stood them, and they trusted him implicitly ;
while the members of his own special class

Francis M ait land Balfour. 291

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 Cam-
bridge 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 fu/y, 1882.

19—2

HENRY BRADSHAW.

THE past twelve months have been sin-
gularly 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 Wed-
nesday week1. 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

1 Wednesday, 10 February, 1886.

Henry Brads 'haw. 293

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 Brad-
shaw 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 pro-
posed 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

294 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 biblio-
graphy, 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

Henry Brads haw. 295

thought they disliked him, and this idea in-
creased 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 under-
graduates 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

296 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere*

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, exer-
cised 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

Henry Brads kaw. 297

with the University Library began two years
afterwards. In 1856 he was appointed prin-
cipal 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 dis-
covered. 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

298 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 (i) what was Chaucer's
own work ; (2) what is the real order of the
Canterbury Tales. In the course of his re-
searches 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

Henry Bradshaw. 299

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

300 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Anti-
quarian Society ; some communications to Notes
and Queries and other periodicals ; and an
admirable edition of the new Stat^ltes 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 Hiber-
nensis, 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 eluci-
dating the history of early Irish printing ; in
knowledge of ancient service-books he was
probably second to none, and at the time of

Henry Bradshaw. 301

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 death1 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 resi-
dence 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 in-
crease 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

1 Dr Thompson died on Friday, i October, 1886.

William Hepworth Thompson. 303

Liberal and a reformer. He was a rare com-
bination 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

304 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Uni-
versity career, if it be not tempered by in-
fluences from the outside.

Academic lives usually contain few details
to arrest the biographer, and his was no ex-
ception 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

William Hepivorth Thompson. 305

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 candi-
dates 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 con-
genial. In October 1837 he was recalled to
Cambridge by the offer of an assistant-tutorship,
c. 20

306 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 remem-
bered 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 lan-
guage, 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 dis-
covery of his thoughts, not the dry elucidation

William Hepworth Thompson. 307

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 trans-
lations 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 care-
fully 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 unpre-
meditated, 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 pre-
dominates, 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

2O 2

308 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 com-
mand 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 Schleier-
macher, 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

William Hepworth Thompson. 309

of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, but
republished in && Journal of Philology (1879),
is a masterpiece. Nor must we omit an intro-
ductory 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 occa-
sionally, we must admit, some colour to the
accusation. But in reality he was an exceed-
ingly 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

3 io Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

uttered by him, became an epigram. We main-
tain, however, that he never said an unkind
word intentionally, or crushed anybody who
did not richly deserve it. For the noisy ad-
vocate 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

William Hepwortk Thompson. 3 1 1

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 notwith-
standing, the twenty years of his Mastership

3 1 2 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 pre-
sence, the dignity of which was enhanced by
singularly handsome features, and silvery hair1,
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

1 The portrait painted by Hubert Herkomer, R.A., in 1881, which
hangs in the College Hall, gives a life-like idea of him at that time,
though the deep lines on the face, and the sarcastic expression of the
mouth, are slightly exaggerated.

William Hepworth Thompson. 313

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 come1 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

1 Mr Trotter died on the morning of Sunday, 4 December, 1887.

Coutts Trotter. 315

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

3 1 6 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 dis-
armed 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 Uni-
versity' 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 — dis-
entangle 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

Coutts Trotter. 317

which was commonly accepted by those present
as exactly resuming the general sense of the
meeting. He was in favour of a wide enlarge-
ment of University studies, especially in the
scientific direction — a course which was impos-
sible 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 dis-
pensed 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

3 1 8 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 every-
body— 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 surprise1. He had
become an institution of the place. While
everything around him changed, and old things
became new, his venerable figure remained un-
altered, 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 Cam-
bridge differed as widely from what it is now

1 Dr Okes died on Sunday, 25 November, 1888.

320 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 for-
ward 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 educa-
tion ; 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 col-
legers, in what even devoted Etonians have
called 'a proverb and a reproach '--Long

Richard Okes. 321

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. in-
tended 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 ;

r. 21

322 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

and until a few months ago, when the last
remnant of this part of the old college was ab-
sorbed 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
King's 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 con-
sequence of these well-intentioned provisions,
scholars of King's were not allowed to compete
for University honours, but obtained their de-
grees 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

Richard Okes. 323

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 cer-
tainly was had he wasted his time at Cam-
bridge ; 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 re-
plied 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 re-
spected by everybody, and at the same time
beloved by those boys who saw enough of him

21 2

324 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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

Richard Okes. 325

negotiations were pressed forward without loss
of time, and on the ist 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-Chan-
cellor ended, he took but little part in University
business. He served on the Council of the
Senate from 1864 to 1868, and he was occasion-
ally 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
Cap^U, and the virtual dethronement of the
Heads of Colleges, must have seemed to him
to be changes which savoured of sacrilege.

326 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 re-
strictions, 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 in-
stincts 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

Richard Okes. 327

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 con-
temporary. The remark had a deeper meaning
than its author either imagined or intended.

i December, 1888.

HENRY RICHARDS LUARD1.

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 Uni-
versity. The University of our own time, due
to more recent legislation, did not come into
being until he had reached middle life.

1 Dr Luard died on Friday, i May, 1891.

Henry Richards Luard. 329

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 v/as 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 ad-
vantages 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

330 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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, how-
ever, 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

Henry Richards Luard. 331

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 re-
sented 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

332 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

had belonged to Porson, and had been anno-
tated by him, with notices of his life and
labours, all of which he bequeathed to the
Library of Trinity College ; and he edited
Person'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 clas-
sical 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 arm-
chair, 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 Corn/till
Magazine, which he had taken in from the
beginning ; and I have heard him admit, more

Henry Richards Luard. 333

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 pub-

334 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

lished ? " 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 ex-
istence 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 exceed-
ingly 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 iS which he contributed to the Church

Henry Richards Luard. 335

Quarterly Review^. Further, he took an in-
telligent 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 un-
common 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

1 Church Quarterly Review, Vol. IX. pp. 1—39.

336 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 thorough-
ness 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

Henry Richards Liiard. 337

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 appre-
ciated in Germany than in England, but even
here scholars like Bishop Stubbs and Professor
Freeman have spoken with cordial appreciation
c. 22

338 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 dis-
charged 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 con-
fusion, and prepared an excellent catalogue on

Henry Richards Luard. 339

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 in-
dexed with his own hand. These separate in-
dexes 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 docu-
ments 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 wrho spoke
to the undergraduates as one who had passed
through the same temptations as themselves,

22 2

340 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 mea-
sures ; he sympathized with their troubles ; he
relieved their necessities ; in a word, he exer-
cised an unbounded influence over them, while
refraining from interference in matters of moral
indifference. His memory will long be vene-
rated 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 men-
tioning it ; but those who know best tell me
that his labours among the poor were unre-
mitting, and that his generosity knew no limits.
Nor should it be forgotten, in even the most
summary record of Luard's life at Cambridge,

Henry Richards Luard. 341

that it was he who got Great S. Mary's re-
stored 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 asto-
nished 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 scorn-
fully 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

342 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 con-
cealed 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 impulsive-
ness 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 de-
lighted 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 itn salon, as the French say,

Henry Richards Luard. 343

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 in-
teresting 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 ! quanta minus
est cum aliis versari quam tui meminisse?

RICHARD OWEN1.

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 re-

1 i. The Life of Richard Owen. By his Grandson, the Rev.
RICHARD OWEN, M.A., with the Scientific Portions revised by C.
DAVIES SHERBORN, and an Essay on Owen's Position in Anatomical
Science by the Right Hon. T. H. HUXLEY, F.R.S. Second edition,
2 vols. (London, 1895.)

2. Richard Owen. (Article in the Dictionary of National
Biography, vol. xlii.) By Sir W. H. FLOWER, K.C.B. (London,
1895.)

Richard Owen. 345

sorted 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, con-
tinued, 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?'

346 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 fruit-
ful 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 knight-
hood. 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

Richard Owen. 347

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 remark-
able composition ; not merely for what it says,
but for what it does not say ; and we recom-
mend 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 VV. 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

348 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 refine-
ment 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 cir-
cumstances, and continued to live, as before,
at Lancaster. Owen's education began at the
grammar-school there in 1810, when he was

Richard Owen. 349

six years old, and ended in 1820, when he was
apprenticed to a local surgeon. Of his school-
days but little record has been preserved. One
of the masters described him as lazy and impu-
dent ; 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 exami-
nations, and so laid the foundation of his know-
ledge 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 unfortu-
nately 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

350 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 note-
worthy that, while at Edinburgh, Owen and one
of his friends founded a students' society, which
at his suggestion was called, by a sort of pro-
phetic 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 rough-
ness and kindness which was natural to his new
patron.

Richard Owen. 351

1 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 for-
midable 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 tete-a-tete
with the great doctor, he found him, to his surprise, con-
siderably 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

35 2 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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-con-
servator 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 prac-
titioner 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

Richard Owen. 353

work during the former period must of necessity
take into account the history and extent of the
vast collection which he was expected to cata-
logue 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 occu-
pations 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 pheno-
mena 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,
c. 23

354 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 physio-
logical 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 ? ' ex-
claimed 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

Richard Owen. 355

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 Sur-
geons, and a building, to which Parliament
contributed ,£27,500, was built for its reception.
This was opened in 1813.

When Owen was appointed assistant-con-
servator 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

23—2

356 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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

Richard Owen. 357

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.
1 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

35 8 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

(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 com-
plete mastery of the subject from the historical,
as well as from the anatomical, side. The
mere number of these communications, ad-
dressed 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

Richard Owen. 359

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

360 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Jiis 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 illus-
trating 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

Richard Owen. 361

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 re-
search 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 privi-
leged 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 con-
clusions 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

362 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 ex-
haustive 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

Richard Owen. 363

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 mono-
graphers. There is nothing better in the Memoires 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 de-

364 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

scribed 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

Richard Owen. 365

of an accident, and Owen remained as sole
assistant at ^200. In July 1833 his salary
was raised to ^300, and in 1835 ne 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 dis-
secting-room, and his wife's diary contains
many amusing references to the pervading
odours caused by the examination of a rhino-
ceros or an elephant, or to such disturbances
as the following : * Great trampling and rush-
ing 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. Ulti-
mately, in 1842, Owen became sole curator,
with Mr Quekett as his assistant. This was,

366 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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

Richard Owen. 367

stipulated that its contents should be illustrated
by an annual course of twenty-four lectures.
Up to 1836 this course had been divided be-
tween 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 sub-
ject ; 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 in-
teresting 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,

368 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 dis-

Richard Owen. 369

coursing 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 acci-
dents presently threw an attractive paleonto-
logical 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

c. 24

37° Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 "re-
ferable 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

Richard Owen. 371

hands. A fragment of bone was offered for
sale to the College of Surgeons, with the state-
ment 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 intro-
duced 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

24—2

372 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 ex-
haustive 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 beast1.'

The suggestion was received with sceptical
astonishment, and the paper in which Owen
announced it to the Zoological Society (No-
vember 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 con-
cluded that there existed somewhere in New
Zealand — then but partially explored — a race

1 Extinct Wingless Birds of New Zealand, Preface, p. i.

Richard Owen. 373

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].

374 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 master-
piece 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 con-
figuration ; 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 for-
mations in England, published by the Paleonto-
graphical Society, of which he was one of
the first and most ardent supporters ; on the
Archceopteryx from Solenhofen ; on the Great
Auk ; and on the Dodo, one of the repre-

Richard Owen. 375

sentations 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 de-
cline. 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 dis-
tinguished/ This offer, which was gratefully
accepted, laid the foundation of an inter-
course between Owen and Sir Robert which
ripened by-and-by into something like friend-
ship. Dinners in London were succeeded by
visits to Drayton, at one of which Owen

376 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 de-
scribe 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 ex-
pressive 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 ceremo-
nious courtesy, coupled with the formal exact-
ness 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

Richard Owen. 377

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 com-
parative 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 XL and Richard ///., 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

37 8 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 acquaint-
ance with literature was wider than might
have been expected from his absorbing oc-
cupations in other directions, and his retentive
memory enabled him to quote pages of Milton,
Shakespeare, and other standard writers. He

Richard Owen. 379

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

380 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 philan-
thropy,' he not only withdrew his resignation,
but consented to serve on a commission to
consider the state of Smithneld Market and
the meat supply of London (1849), a subject

Richard Owen. 381

on which he held very decided opinions. Pro-
bably his zoological qualifications, coupled with
his knowledge of what had been effected on the
Continent in the way of establishing extra-
mural 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 Phoenix ; 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 annota-
tions of Shakespeare ; and he demolished one-
of the many sea-serpents in which a marvel-
loving public from time to time believes. He

382 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Super-
intendent 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 re-
sponsible, as he was, to the trustees. Great
advantages were expected to result from this
new departure, and Owen was warmly con-
gratulated. 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 Im-
perator was sadly wanted in that vast establishment ' (ii. 19).

With Lord Macaulay, anxiety for Owen
himself had been paramount :

Richard Owen. 383

1 1 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 dis-
appointment. 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

384 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 con-
tain 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

Richard Owen. 385

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 op-
position and ridicule. When it was debated in
the House of Commons, Mr Gregory, M.P.
for Galway, got it referred to a Select Com-
mittee, 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 Blooms-
bury ; 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
c. 25

386 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

of Mr Gladstone, then Chancellor of the Ex-
chequer, 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 ob-
structing 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 dif-
ferent from that which Owen originally pre-
scribed. 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

Richard Owen. 387

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 ana-
logous parts of the elephant and tapir ; nor those of the
ichthyosaurus without reference to the skeletons of croco-
diles 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 col-
lections in accordance with these most reason-
able 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 col-
leagues 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 pro-
ceeded, with renewed activity, to occupy himself
in various directions. In 1857 he gave lectures

25—2

388 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 con-
vinced) 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 founda-
tions 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

Richard Owen. 389

of the paleontological memoirs to which we
have already alluded. He continued to pub-
lish 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 Verte-
brates, 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

3QO Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 Ana-
tomy are some * General Conclusions/ which
contain, so far as human intelligence can pene-
trate 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, O ken's Lehrbuch der Natur phi-
losophic, a translation of which was published
by the Ray Society, in 1847, at his instance.
In his Archetype and H ontologies of the Verte-
brate Skeleton (1848) he says:

'The subject of the following essay has occupied a
portion of my attention from the period when, after having

Richard Owen. 391

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 pre-
viously 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 dif-
ferent 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 vertebrae,
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 specu-
lations. 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

39 2 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 con-
structed. 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 dis-
covered 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 form1.'

1 Anatomy, in. 796.

Richard Owen. 393

In this quotation he is in the main stating
the views he held in 1849, f°r 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 can-
not 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 pro-
perty/ 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 aug-
mented by ;£ioo a year. But, though it
pleased him to be always pleading poverty, he
was really a comparatively wealthy man, and

394 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

when he died left ^"30,000 behind him. His
wife died in 1873, an(^ m's only son 'm 1886 ;
but a solitude which might have been painful
was enlivened by the presence of his son's
widow and her seven children. Owen de-
lighted 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

Richard Owen. 395

printed1 ; 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 arche-
type 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 genera-
tion, 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 Casar 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

1 We must except one delivered to the Young Men's Christian
Association at Exeter Hall in the autumn of 1863. It is called : On
some Instances of the Power of God as manifested in His Animal
Creation ; and was published in the series of Exeter Hall Lectures by
Messrs Nisbet. It is as accurate as it is courageous, and both in
conception and execution does Owen infinite credit.

396 Old Friends at Cambridge and elsewhere.

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 dex-
terity with which he handled his adversaries,
naturally discouraged those who would other-
wise 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 contra-
dictions. 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;

Richard Owen. 397

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 ! '

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