He was a great pedestrian, and, being very much attached to
the north of London, would take long, slow tramps ten miles out in
the direction of Highgate, Wood Green, etc. I have a very distinct
recollection of calling upon him in Myddelton Square at the time when
I was living close to him in Percy Circus. Books were piled up from
floor to ceiling, apparently in great confusion, but he seemed to
remember where to find every book and what there was in it. It is a
singular fact that the only person outside those I have mentioned who
seems to have known him was that brilliant but eccentric journalist,
Thomas Purnell, who had an immense opinion of him and used to call
him 'the scholar.' How Purnell managed to break through the icy wall
that surrounded the recluse always puzzled me; but I suppose they
must have come across one another at one of those pleasant inns in
the north of London where 'the scholar' was taking his chop and
bottle of Beaune. He was a man that never made new friends, and as
one after another of his old friends died he was left so entirely
alone that, I think, he saw no one except Mr.
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