Edward Augustus Freeman 281 



hands by the end of last January. But for a 

 death most lamentably sudden and premature 

 there was no reason why the whole task should 

 not have been soon accomplished. The author 

 seems to have fallen a victim to his superabundant 

 zeal and energy. He had always been a traveller, 

 visiting in person the scenes of his narratives, nar- 

 rowly scrutinizing each locality with the eye of an 

 antiquarian, exploring battlefields and making draw- 

 ings of churches and castles, running from one end 

 of Europe to the other to verify some mooted point. 

 It was, I believe, on some such expedition as this 

 that he found himself, last March, at Alicante, 

 where an attack of smallpox suddenly ended his 

 life. 



To the faithful students of his works the tidings 

 of Freeman's death must have come like the news 

 of the loss of a personal friend. To those who 

 enjoyed his friendship even in a slight way the 

 sense of loss was keen, for he was a very lovable 

 man. Some people, indeed, seem to think of him 

 as a gruff and growling pedant, ever on the look- 

 out for some culprit to chastise ; but, while not 

 without some basis, this notion is far from the 

 truth. Freeman's conception of the duty of a 

 historian was a high one, and he lived up to it. 

 He had a holy horror of slovenly and inaccurate 



