142 CAMBRIDGE. ^TAT. 19-22. 



cousin Whitley's rooms in St. John's, or at the rooms of some 

 other of his old Shrewsbury schoolfellows, with many of 

 whom I was on terms of great intimacy. But it certainly was 

 in the summer of that year that our acquaintance ripened 

 into intimacy, when we happened to be together at Barmouth, 

 for the Long Vacation, reading with private tutors, — he with 

 Batterton of St. John's, his Classical and Mathematical Tutor, 

 and I with Yate of St. John's." 



The intercourse between them practically ceased in 1831, 

 when my father said good-bye to Herbert at Cambridge, on 

 starting on his Beagle voyage. I once met Mr. Herbert, then 

 almost an old man, and I was much struck by the evident 

 warmth and freshness of the affection with which he remem- 

 bered my father. The notes from which I quote end with 

 this warm-hearted eulogium : " It would be idle for me to 

 speak of his vast intellectual powers . . . but I cannot end 

 this cursory and rambling sketch without testifying, and I 

 doubt not all his surviving college friends would concur with 

 me, that he was the most genial, warm-hearted, generous, and 

 affectionate of friends ; that his sympathies were with all that 

 was good and true; and that he had a cordial hatred for 

 j everything false, or vile, or cruel, or mean, or dishonourable. 

 I He was not only great, but pre-eminently good, and just, and 

 I loveable." 



Two anecdotes told by Mr. Herbert show that my father's 

 / feeling for suffering, whether of man or beast, was as strong 

 \ in him as a young man as it was in later years : " Before he 

 I left Cambridge he told me that he had made up his mind not 

 j to shoot any more ; that he had had two days' shooting at his 

 friend's, Mr. Owen of Woodhouse ; and that on the second 

 day, when going over some of the ground they had beaten 

 on the day before, he picked up a bird not quite dead, but 

 I lingering from a shot it had received on the previous day ; 

 f and that it had made and left such a painful impression on 

 I his mind, that he could not reconcile it to his conscience to 

 :' continue to derive pleasure from a sport which inflicted such 

 cruel suffering." 



