s deeply and
deliberately--like an epicure with his "wine searching the subtle
flavor."

His library at his death consisted of about 14,000 volumes; probably the
largest number of books ever collected by a person of such limited
means. Among these he found most of the materials for all he did, and
almost all he wished to do; and though sometimes he lamented that his
collection was not a larger one, it is probable that it was more to his
advantage that it was in some degree limited. As it was, he collected an
infinitely greater quantity of materials for every subject he was
employed upon than ever he made use of, and his published Notes give
some idea, though an inadequate one, of the vast stores he thus
accumulated.

On this subject he writes to his cousin, Herbert Hill, at that time one
of the librarians of the "Bodleian:"--"When I was at the British Museum
the other day, walking through the rooms with Carey, I felt that to have
lived in that library, or in such a one, would have rendered me
perfectly useless, even if it had not made me mad. The sight of such
countless volumes made me feel how impossible it would be to pursue any
subject through all the investigations into which it would lead me, and
that therefore I should either lose myself in the vain pursuit, or give
up in despair, and read for the future with no other object than that of
immediate gratification. This was an additional reason for being
thankful for my own lot, aware as I am that I am always tempted to
pursue a train of inquiry too far."

The reader need not be told that the sorrows and anxieties of the last
few years of my father's life had produced, as might be expected, a very
injurious effect upon his constitution, both as to body and mind.
Acutely sensitive by nature, deep and strong in his affections, and
highly predisposed to nervous disease, he had felt the sad affliction
which had darkened his latter years far more keenly than any ordinary
observer would have supposed, or than even appears in his letters. He
had, indeed, then, as he expressed himself in his letter declining the
Baronetcy, been "shaken at the root;" and while we must not forget the
more than forty years of incessant mental application which he had
passed through, it was this stroke of calamity which most probably
greatly hastened the coming of the evil day, if it was not altogether
the cause of it, and which rapidly brought on that overclouding of the
intellect which soo