ng with reverence in the august service of the church, and later,
they and their guests, or as many as could be held, crossed to the
Combination Room, where Sedgwick filled the chair, and led the
conversation, not to glorify himself, not to display his own powers,
which were great, but to let his guests know among whom they were
placed--philosophers, first men of science, first scholars, leaders in
all kinds of learning, meeting in a noble equality, proud to meet under
his presidency--_that_ I take to be the highest triumph of civilised
hospitality. At the time of these letters the philosopher is old, but
vigorous in mind, and even gay at the age of eighty-eight.

The death of Bishop Terrot called forth the following letter from the
venerable Professor:--

* * * * *

PROFESSOR SEDGWICK to the Rev. Mr. MALCOLM.

Trinity College, Cambridge, May 1, 1872.

Dear Mr. Malcolm--I had been previously informed of the death
of my dear old friend, the Bishop of Edinburgh, but I am very
grateful to you for thinking so kindly of me, and for
communicating particulars about which I was not acquainted
previously. Accept my expressions of true-hearted sympathy,
and pray impart them to the surviving members of dear Bishop
Terrot's family. He was an old, an honoured and beloved
friend; God laid upon his old age an unusual load of the
labours and sorrows of humanity, but they are over now, and
he has reached his haven of shelter from external sorrow and
his true and enduring home of joy and peace, in the presence
of his Maker and Redeemer. I am very infirm, and am affected
by an internal malady, which, through the past winter, has
confined me to my college rooms, but I have to thank my Maker
for thousands of little comforts to mind and body, by which
I am hourly surrounded, and for His long-suffering in
extending my probation till I have entered on my 88th year.
My eyes are dim-sighted and irritable, so that I generally
dictate my letters; now, however, I am using my own pen to
express my thanks to you, in this time of your sorrow for the
loss of one so nearly and dearly connected with your clerical
life. My memory is not much shaken, except in recalling names
not very familiar to me, and I think (with the painful
exception I have alluded to) that my constitutional health is