‘I did not meet him again for more than a year, it may have been two years, after. I happened to sit next to him at a small meeting of politicians and philanthropists. Mr. Mill was at the same meeting. We had the Reform question to interest us, the question between the Northern and Southern States of America, the question of legislation affecting the position of working men, the Irish question. Radicalism was then at once curiously robust and “viewy,” a combination of qualities which politicians of a more recent birth find it perhaps a little difficult to understand. Mr. Mill belonged to some of our fraternities. Mr. Herbert Spencer was at one of them, at least. Mr. Huxley rather later came into one or two. [Sidenote: The Voice that linked.] ‘Some speaker got up who spoke well, and whom I did not know, and I asked Mr. Fawcett who it was. He told me promptly, and then to my surprise addressed me by name, and reminded me of the fact that we had talked together after his speech in St. Martin’s Hall. His power of recognising men by the sound of their voices was something wonderful. Seventeen or eighteen years afterwards, I happened to sit two rows of benches behind him in the House of Commons. The House was nearly empty. Fawcett had spoken a few words on some subject of interest in India. When he sat down I uttered one quiet “Hear, hear.” In a moment he turned towards me, and addressing me by my name, asked me whether I had seen a friend of his, the late Sir David Wedderburn, anywhere in the House that evening.’ [Sidenote: The Call of the Outside.] However great his absorption in political affairs, Fawcett never forgot to satisfy his craving for fresh air and exercise. His sanity of outlook on serious things was largely due to his power of throwing them aside to enjoy a long tramp, a ride or a wintry skate. His nerve never failed him. One frosty day he walked across the frozen fens from Cambridge to Newmarket. The country is intersected with dikes and at any moment it was possible to plunge beyond one’s depth into a half-frozen ditch. To Fawcett this was part of the fun, but his companion was far more anxious, and said that the Victoria Cross had been won by deeds requiring no greater courage and strength than this feat required of a blind man. Fawcett had learnt his lesson that for him life without courage was no life, and he habituated himself to hourly risks.