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where I was glad to feel in safety. The Irish dash in Tyndall's blood gave a charm to all he did. He was then fast rising, but had not yet reached the fulness of his subsequent height in popular reputation, which is perhaps the time in the mental development of a man at which his character shows at its brightest.

My wife and I found a frequent travelling-companion in Miss Brandram, afterwards the wife and subsequently the widow of A. MacLennan, the writer on various phases of prehistoric societies, Marriage by Capture, Totems, etc. She was a great friend to both of us; a companion and` kind nurse to my wife when she was ill, an excellent walking companion to myself, and always ready to be of service. She helped me much in revising some of my earlier writings, especially the last edition of my Art of Travel.

During her widowhood Mrs. MacLennan travelled with us again, but at last a disaster occurred at a time when we were living at Cimiez, above Nice. There is a high-level railway from Nice to Grasse that passes the little station of the Saut de Loup, a waterfall about an hour's walk (I think) from the station, which we wanted much to see. The footpath runs along a hillside and is perfectly good, but too narrow for two persons to walk abreast. I n more than one place a streamlet cascades over it. Near its destination the path is crossed by a more considerable streamlet running among stones, that make steppingstones near enough to the surface to prevent the feet being much wetted while crossing it, and which any one accustomed to mountain walking would trip over without remark. The pathway was broader at this