Under the influence of Sachs, Ward might have become a distinguished morphologist. But his work in Ceylon led him into a field of research from which he never deviated. A survey of his performance as a whole, such as I have attempted, has a scientific interest of its own. His research was not haphazard. A continuous and developing thread of thought runs through it all. The fundamental problem was the transference of the nutrition of one organism to the service of another. Of this, in Ceylon, Ward found himself confronted with two extreme types, and of both he made an exhaustive study. In Hemileia it was ruthless parasitism; in Strigula advantageous commensalism. Bornet put Schwendener's theory on a firm foundation when he effected the synthesis of a lichen; Ward, in another group, did the same thing for the ginger-beer plant. In such cases the partnership is beneficial. The problem is to trace the process by which one partner gets the upper hand and becomes merely predatory. Ward inherited a strong taste for music, though I believe he never cultivated it. A musical simile may not inappropriately be applied to his work. In its whole it presents itself to me as a symphony in which the education of protoplasm is a recurring _leit-motiv_. A few words must be said as to his personal characteristics. He had all the qualifications for the kind of research to which he devoted himself. He was singularly dexterous and skilful in manipulation. He was a refined and accomplished draughtsman, and was therefore able to do himself justice by illustration. He was rigorous in demanding exhaustive proof. This almost deteriorated into a defect. He would pursue every side issue which presented itself in a research, and was quite content if it led to nothing. He would say in such a case: "I will not leave a stone unturned." He was apt, too, I think, to attack a problem in too generalised a form. In his nitrogen work it always seemed to me that he wasted energy on remote possibilities, when a clean-cut line of attack would have served him better[134]. But his mind worked in that way, and he could not help himself. It was, I think, one of the most fertile in suggestion that I ever came across. In later years, in conversation especially, thought seemed to come quicker than words to express it. In this respect he reminded one of Lord Kelvin. In such a predicament he would simply remain silent, and slowly move his head. This habit, I think, explains the reputation of being "mysterious" which he seems to have acquired latterly at Cambridge. He was not without the honour at home which he deserved, apart from the affection of his friends, and had he lived would doubtless have received it from abroad. He was elected F.R.S. in 1888, and received the Royal Medal in 1893. He was elected an Honorary Fellow of Christ's College in 1897, and received an Honorary D.Sc. from the Victoria University in 1902.