348 
I first saw Wallace about twenty-five years ago, 
introduced by a dear common friend and fellow- 
worker at the problems of evolution. We were on 
a short walking-tour, and our road lay through 
Godalming, where Wallace was then living. From 
that time I have been happy in his friendship and 
his kind encouragement and help. 
Wallace possessed, like Charles Darwin, a 
charming personality. He was tall, with a magni- 
ficent head, a strong, clear, and pleasant voice, a 
hearty laugh, a keen sense of humour, an intense 
and vivid interest in the most varied subjects, 
But the central secret of his personal magnetism 
lay in his wide and unselfish sympathy. 
It might be thought by those who did not know 
Wallace that the noble generosity which will 
always stand as an example before the world was 
something special—called forth by the illustrious 
man with whom he was brought into contact. 
This would be a great mistake. Wallace’s atti- 
tude was characteristic, and remained character- 
istic to the end of his life. 
A keen young naturalist in the north of Eng- 
land, taking part in an excursion to the New 
Forest, had called on Wallace and confided to him 
the dream of his life—a first-hand knowledge of 
tropical nature. When I visited Old Orchard in 
the summer of 1903, I found that Wallace was 
intently interested in two things: his garden, and 
the means by which his young friend’s dream 
might best be realised. He then, and later on in 
many a letter, eagerly discussed the most favour- 
able localities, the scientific memoirs to be carried, 
the means by which the journey could be under- 
taken, the disposal of collections, and every cir- 
cumstance that would be likely to affect the 
success of the expedition, The subject was re- 
ferred to in seventeen letters to the present 
writer: it formed the sole topic of some of them. 
It was a grand and inspiring thing to see this 
great man identifying himself heart and_ soul 
with the interests of one—till then a stranger— 
in whom he recognised the passionate longings of 
his own youth. By the force of sympathy he 
re-lived in the life of another the splendid years 
of early manhood. 
In 1889, when the degree of D.C.L. was con- 
ferred upon him, Wallace stayed with us, and I 
was anxious to show him something of Oxford; 
but, with all that there is to be seen, one subject 
alone absorbed the whole of his interest. He was 
intensely anxious to find the rooms where Grant 
Allen had lived. He had received from Grant 
Allen’s father a manuscript poem giving a picture 
of the ancient city dimly seen at midnight from 
an undergraduate’s rooms. With the help of 
Grant Allen’s college friends we were able to visit 
every house in which he had lived, but were 
forced to conclude that the poem was written in 
the rooms of a friend or from an imaginary point 
of view. 
Of Wallace’s energy and love of work much 
might be written. About ten years ago, at the 
age of eighty, he moved from Parkstone to Old 
Orchard, Broadstone, having himself superin- 
NO. 2299, VOL. 92] 
NATURE 
| I addressed a friendly remonstrance to Wallace 
| NOVEMBER 20, 1913 
* 
tended the building of the house and the layin 
out of the garden. In a letter written May < 
1903, he speaks of ‘the charming ‘lodge in { 
wilderness’ I have got here in which to end fr 
days on earth. I assure you I am enjoying 
perhaps more than I should ever have done at 
earlier period.’’ How entirely this happy an 
pation was fulfilled is well shown by the foll 
ing words written March 13, 1911, when Wal 
was more than eighty-eight :— 
But what I am mainly at work (or at play) w 
now is my garden, and I have suddenly developed 
sad mania for Alpine plants, more especially for my 
old favourites, the genus Primula, which has é 
ceived such wonderful additions lately from the Hima-— 
layas, but more particularly from N, China. My 
resuscitated hobby is due to my having now, the very 
first time in my life, a bit of ground really suitable 
for them, combining shelter, good aspects, a moist 
(even boggy in parts) subsoil, a moister atmosphere, 
and a good and varied soil. The new Primulas i 
troduced by Veitch, Bees, and several others are 
so grand and charming that I have raised some from 
seed, and have applied for others (and for Ane " 
generally) to Kew, Edinburgh, Cambridge, and Dub-— 
lin Botanical Gardens, and have already got such 
fine lot of plants—about 20 species of Primulas ani 
150 of Alpines generally—with promises of more, tha’ 
I am laying out a regular Alpine and bog garden, o 
quite small scale, buying stone and stone chippi 
by the ton or truck-load, collecting sand and road 
scrapings, protecting against rabbits, &c., which all 
give me very interesting occupation, so filling up my 
time and powers of work that I have little time or 
energy for reading anything but newspapers, novels, 
and the regular supply of scientific or political 
periodicals. ‘= 
And Wallace invoked for his friends the power 
which brought youth and happiness to his old 
age. ‘Many happy returns (and lots of work),”” 
were his birthday wishes to the writer in 1909. 
With the love of work we must above all asso- 
ciate the enthusiasm which Wallace put into all 
that he did—the bright, boyish spirit which shone 
in him as it did in Darwin. “I’ve enjoyed every 
minute of the time, Why, he has the spirit of a 
boy of eighteen!’ was my daughter’s comment 
on an afternoon spent at Old Orchard in the 
autumn of 1906. No youth gazing for the first 
time on the wonders of nature in the tropics could 
feel more enthusiasm than is expressed in Wal- 
lace’s words describing a visit to the Natural 
History Museum on the morning after his Friday 
evening lecture at the Royal Institution in 
January, 1909 :— ; 
I had a delightful two hours at the museum on. 
Saturday morning, as Mr. Rothschild brought from 
Tring several of his glass-bottomed drawers with his 
finest New Guinea butterflies. They were a trea 
I never saw anything more lovely and interesting! 
The history of that Friday evening lecture 
Wallace’s last appearance before the scientific 
public—is given in the following passage, which 
is of interest in many ways, and recalls especially 
the famous 1858 essay—thought out in two hours 
and completed in three evenings. When the 
promise to the Royal Institution was made known, 
