I am delighted, too, with the single sheet containing verses addressed to yourself.  The first copy by Bishop Wordsworth appears to me quite admirable from the beauty and simplicity of his Latin; and the other copies are good in their way.

     I dare say you have seen the short verses he wrote on the
     death of his first wife.  They are of Roman brevity and of
     exquisite tenderness.

One of the very pleasant days of my life was spent in a visit to the small country living of Mr. Dawes of Downing, afterwards Dean of Hereford.  Your late brother was one of the happy party.  We returned together to Cambridge at a rattling pace, and I am not sure that I ever saw his face afterwards, for very soon he had a bilious attack which induced him to seek health in his native country, and, alas! he sought it in vain, for he sickened and died, to the deep sorrow of all his friends.—­I remain, my dear Dean, very truly and gratefully yours,

     A. SEDGWICK.

* * * * *

     PROFESSOR SEDGWICK to Rev. Mr. MALCOLM.

     Trinity College, Cambridge,

     January 18, 1873.

My dear Mr. Malcolm—­The infirmity of my sight compels me to dictate this letter to one who often writes for me.  Such a bright day as this, and while the sun is shining, I could see the traces of my pen upon a sheet of paper; but the act of writing greatly fatigues me, and I dictate nearly all my letters.

I very much value your melancholy memorial of my late dear and honoured friend, the late Bishop Terrot.  Though the photo represents our late friend the bishop with his features shrouded in the cold fixity of death, yet it does bring back the original to the memory of those who knew him well, and I am greatly obliged to you for this memorial of one who has gone from our sight for ever, so far as this world is concerned.  It was very kind of you to remember the photo.

I did not know Bishop Cotterell intimately, but I have met him many times, and I think you very happy in obtaining the services of a man of such experience, talent, and zeal, in the good cause of Christian truth.

I am now a very feeble, infirm, old man, toiling in the last quarter of my 88th year.  I ought to be thankful that my mind, though feeble, remains entire:  my memory is often defective, but I have been enabled, though with great labour to myself, and with many interruptions, to dictate a preface to a catalogue published by the university of the older fossils of our collection.  They have kindly printed and given to me some extra copies of my preface, one of which I will forward to you by the book-post.

I know it can have no interest to you, excepting, perhaps, a few paragraphs in the conclusion of only two or three pages.—­I remain,