314 Memoir of Charles Cardale Bahington. 



tive, son of one Say-well of Prating Eow, must have felt 

 ill at ease in the Cambridge of those days. 



Eansack his library; ask his aims from "the dead alive 

 and busy" there. You will find in the Museum — for the 

 bulk of his botanical books, with his entire herbarium,* both 

 now bequeathed to the University, have long dwelt there for 

 public use, he claiming his share as one of the public — more 

 than 1600 volumes. Some journals of associations he lodged 

 on public shelves, number by number, as they came. In his 

 study still nestles something of botany and zoology, far more 

 of archaeology. English, Irish, Scotch, Welsh societies, 

 national or local — he seems to have been parcel of all, to 

 have worked for all. E. A. Freeman, Basil Jones, Gr. T. 

 Clarke, Henry Bradshaw, Irish Crosses and Kound Towers, 

 Minsters and Roman Roads, Roman Bath for auld lang syne, 

 pottery and coins, were fish welcome to his net as Hooker, 

 Berkeley, De Candolle, mosses and brambles, moths and 

 beetles. Humboldt's Kosmos and Gilbert White's Selborne, 

 lives of Adam Sedgwick, J. S. Henslow, Edward Forbes, the 

 Voyage of the Beagle, tell of labours which prompted and 

 guided his. History was his pastime ; whilst feeling safer 

 with his friend Freeman, he still would not blush to be 

 caught with Froude's "Armada," or "Erasmus." The quar- 

 terly of his choice was "The English Historical Review." 

 At home in every nook of the British, including the Channel, 

 Islesf (for he had paced them north and south, east and 

 west, chasing flowers and iasects, works of stone age or of 

 bronze, of Kelt or Roman, Saxon or Norman) be was scarcely 

 less at home, by others' eyes, all the world over— eyes of 

 Franklin or Cameron, Nordenskjold, Curzon, Hue, Palgrave, 

 Tristram. He was no stranger to Milman's History of the 

 Jews, Stanley's Sinai and Palestine. 



For indeed he loved to link Nature with Mind, wherever 

 he strayed. Scott's poetry or novels, Wordsworth's verse, 

 were his guides through scenes which they paint; at Dun- 



* The University can now show 400,000 specimens. The collection 

 to which he succeeded would long ago have perished, had he not 

 "poisoned" the sprigs. 



t Once only, in 1846, did he stray where the Queen's writ does 

 not run — to Iceland. Else he was home-sick as Socrates, though 

 citizen, it is true, of a larger state. 



