He was very accessible to anyone who might have something to say worth hearing, and he had a great many visitors, especially during the last ten years of his life. Many people distinguished in science, literature, or politics called upon him, and he always enjoyed these visits, and the excitement of them seemed to have no bad effect upon him, even in the last year, when we sometimes feared he might be fatigued by them. In consequence of his sympathy with many heterodox ideas he frequently had visits from "cranks" who wished to secure his support for some new theory or "discovery." He would listen patiently, perhaps ask a few questions, and then endeavour to point out their fallacies. He would amuse us afterwards by describing their "preposterous ideas," and if much bored, he would speak of them as "muffs." He was loath to hurt their feelings, but he generally ended by expressing his opinion quite clearly, occasionally to their discomfiture. * * * * * Dr. Littledale has contributed some reminiscences which may be introduced here. "When I first met Dr. Wallace the conversation turned on the types of visitors that came to see him, and he gave us an amusing account of two young women who called on him to read through a most ponderous treatise relating to the Universe (I think it was). At all events the treatise proved, amongst other things, that Kepler's laws were all wrong. Dr. Wallace was very busy at the time, and politely declined to undertake the task. I remember him well describing with his hands the size of this enormous manuscript and laughing heartily as he detailed how the writer of the manuscript, the elder of the two sisters, persistently tried to persuade him that her theories were all absolutely proved in the work, while the younger sister acted as a sort of echo to her sister. The climax came in a fit of weeping, and, as Dr. Wallace described it, the whole fabric of the universe was washed away in a flood of tears. "On one occasion, when I was asked by Mrs. Wallace to see Dr. Wallace professionally, he was lying on the sofa in his study by the fire wrapped up in rugs, having just got over a bad shivering attack or rigor. His temperature was 104 deg. Fahr., and all the other usual signs of acute fever were present, but nothing to enable one to form a positive opinion as to the cause. It must have been forty years since he had been in the tropics, but I think he felt that it was an attack of malarial fever. Knowing my patient, my treatment consisted in asking what he was going to do for himself. 'Well,' he said, 'I am going to have a hot bath and then go to bed, and to-morrow I shall get up and go into the garden as usual.' And he was out in the garden next day when I went to see him. This was an instance, doubtless one of many, of the 'will to live,' which carried him through a long life.