i88o.] 
His Life and Character . 
3i 
his visit to England was to be presented to the most learned, 
the most illustrious, the most — But before he could get 
any further in his adulatory address the objedt of it had 
uttered a sharp cry of pain as if he had been wounded, 
rushed hatless down the stairs and into his carriage, scream- 
ing shrilly to his coachman to drive as fast as possible to 
Montague Place, where he doubtless solaced himself by 
making a host of perfectly unnecessary measurements. 
His appearance, it need hardly be said, was as singular as 
his manners. He dressed always in the same bygone 
fashion. Judging by the only portrait of him in existence 
— taken stealthily and piecemeal on several occasions by one 
Alexander, the draughtsman of the Barrow Expedition — he 
bore but few marks of his rank about him. His costume, 
which he never altered, winter or summer, consisted of a 
greyish violet, as much stained and faded as poor Goldy’s 
famous peach blossom velvet ; black breeches, and untidy- 
gartered white hose and low shoes, the pinched up face and 
ungainly figure surmounted by a low-crowned three- 
cornered hat. He spoke in a thin, reedy voice, tremulous 
from nervousness, but always with extreme appositeness 
and great gentleness. He was singularly quick of apprehen- 
sion, and understood everything at a mere word or glance. 
How he schooled himself into attending and speaking at 
the Royal Society meetings is a puzzle to every one 
acquainted with his singular shyness. Sir Joseph Banks 
often shielded him from intrusion by warning all strangers 
of his peculiarity. The only way of entering into conversa- 
tion with him was to speak with an averted face, as if some 
one else was being addressed. He would then converse 
freely ; but as soon as he was in any way taken notice of, he 
would dart off like a startled fawn. 
With all his eccentric ways he was so coldly gentle and 
kind that his contemporaries tell us that he was not merely 
looked up to and honoured by his brethren of the Royal 
Society, but actually loved by many of them. There was 
nothing of the surly misanthrope about him, and several of 
his afts seem to indicate that somewhere about his anatomy 
there was sometimes flowing a tiny warm rivulet of love of 
his kind. If asked to subscribe to any charity he would 
look down the list for the largest donation, and immediately 
sign a cheque for the amount. During his lifetime he gave 
his splendid library for the use of the public, taking out the 
books he wanted, and signing a receipt for them. His dar- 
ling apparatus was also at the service of any deserving 
student ; and on one occasion, when his curator was driven 
