LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 31 



The die hesitated between a fox-hunter and a naturalist, and it was 

 surely a good angel that turned it from sport to science. An ex- 

 perienced fox-hunter gives pleasure chiefly to himself. A great 

 naturalist advances truth, and has it in his power to delight and 

 benefit thousands. 



Waterton stayed for a short time with his uncle Sir John Beding- 

 feld in London. This gentleman's portrait used to hang in the 

 dining-room at Walton Hall, and the face had a considerable family 

 likeness to that of his nephew. On his breast was painted the ribbon 

 and badge of the Guelphic order. The way in which he won that 

 decoration showed that Sir John Bedingfeld resembled his nephew 

 not only in features, but also in intrepidity. In 1796 the carriage of 

 George III. was surrounded by an angry mob, pressing closer and 

 closer. Mr Bedingfeld got on the carriage-step, and pulling his 

 spectacle-case out of his pocket, pointed it at the crowd, and declared 

 he would shoot the first man who advanced. Te crowd took the 

 spectacle-case for a pistol, and the King's life was saved. Sir John 

 Bedingfeld introduced his nephew to the President of the Royal 

 Society. I have heard Mr Waterton say that he wore powder for 

 the last time when he went with his uncle to dine with Sir Joseph 

 Banks. The scientific Maecenas of his age was charmed with 

 the quiet demeanour and the ardour for Natural History which he 

 found united in the young squire. They became friends, and cor- 

 responded till the death of Sir Joseph Banks. The Autobiography 

 will carry on the history. 



" Sir Joseph Banks ever after took a warm interest in my adven- 

 tures. He particularly impressed upon my mind his conviction 

 that all low and swampy countries within the tropics are in general 

 very insalubrious, and fatal to European constitutions. ' You may 

 stay in them/ said he to me, ' for three years or so, and not suffer 

 much. After that period, fever and ague, and probably a liver 

 disease, will attack you, and you will die at last, worn out, unless 

 you remove in time to a more favoured climate. Wherefore,' con- 

 tinued he, ' as you have not your bread to seek, you must come 

 home once in three years, at farthest, and then all will go right.' 

 I followed this admirable advice with great success : still, I used to 



