Thus was formed, and thus was dispersed the famous Babraham flock.  And such were the labors of Jonas Webb for the material well-being of mankind.  These alone, detached from those qualities and characteristics which make up and reflect a higher nature, entitle his name to a wide and lasting memory among men.  And these labors and successes are they that those who have read of them in different countries know him by.  These comprise and present the character they honor with respect.  What he was in the temper and disposition of his inner life, in daily walk and conversation, in the even and gentle amenities of Christian humility, in sudden trials of his faith and patience; what he was as a husband, father, friend and neighbor, to the poor, to the afflicted in mind, body or estate,—­ all this will remain unwritten, but not unremembered by those who breathed and moved within that disk of light which his life shed around him.

Few men have lived in whom so many personal and moral qualities combined to command respect, esteem, and even admiration.  In stature, countenance, expression, and deportment, he was a noble specimen of fully developed English manhood.  To this first, external aspect, his kindly and generous dispositions, his genial manners, his delicate but dignified modesty, his large intelligence and large-heartedness, gave the additional and crowning characteristic of a Christian gentleman.  Many Americans have visited Babraham, and enjoyed the hospitalities which such a host could only give and grace.  They will remember the paintings hung around the walls of that drawing-room, in which his commanding form, in the strength and beauty of meridian life, towers up in the rural landscape, surrounded by cattle and sheep bearing the impress of his skill and care.  A little incident occurred a few years ago, which may illustrate this personal aspect better than any simile of description.  On the occasion of one of the great Agricultural Expositions in Paris, a deputation or a company of gentlemen went over to represent the Agricultural Society of England.  Mr. Webb was one of the number; and some French nobleman who had known him personally, as well as by reputation, was very desirous of making him a guest while in Paris.  To be sure of this pleasure, he sent a special courier all the way to Folkestone, charged with a letter which he was himself to put into the hands of Mr. Webb, before the steamer left the dock.  “But how am I to know the gentleman?” asked the courier; “I never saw him in my life.”  “N’importe,” was the reply.  “Put the letter in the hand of the noblest-looking man on board, and you will be sure to be right.”  The courier followed the direction; and, stationing himself near the gangway, he took his master’s measure of every passenger as he entered.  He could not be mistaken.  As soon as the plank was withdrawn, he approached Mr. Webb, hat in hand, and, with a deferential word of recognition, done in the best grace of French