Then amongst my many mercies at Tunbridge Wells I must reckon the severe illness which I had ten years afterwards, which I am thoroughly persuaded my Heavenly Father sent me as a blessing. It called forth the same unbounded loving-kindness from my parishioners and fellow-townsmen which I am now experiencing while dictating this sketch of my history, and I felt at the time that it brought us into a closer relationship with each other than we had ever known previously. But, above all, it burnt into my heart those words of the Apostle Paul in 2 Timothy i. 12: “I know whom I have believed.” Those six words contained the whole of my religion as I lay for weeks unable to think and pray, for they do not say, “I know _how_ I have believed Him,” nor do they refer to any qualification in my own faith, but simply to this qualification as taught in the following words, “And am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day.” It was the entire persuasion of His perfect sufficiency that kept my soul at peace, and has made me ever since thankful to God for having brought me into the happy experience of that sufficiency for one who, like me, was altogether insufficient in himself. I enjoyed also many proofs of the Lord’s providential care, one of which was so remarkable that I think it ought to be recorded. After my degree in 1834, I continued to reside at Cambridge and took mathematical pupils. One summer I took a long-vacation party to Killarney, and in the course of our residence there a young man came over from Cork to see me. He had a great wish to go to Cambridge, and having heard that there were Cambridge men at Killarney, he came over in order to obtain information. The result was that he came up the next October, and I was glad to help him in his work, in which he made good progress. But after some time he told me that the expenses had exceeded his estimate and that he feared he should not be able to complete his University career. If richness be measured by the proportion of income to expenditure, I was a richer man then than I have ever been since, as, in addition to my father’s allowance, I received a considerable income from my pupils. I therefore told him that he must go on to his degree, and with the help of my dearly beloved friend Henry Goulburn gave him a cheque which he considered would be sufficient. The result was that he took his degree and left Cambridge. After that I altogether lost sight of him, and wondered what had become of him.