In person he was tall, being fully six feet in height, well built though somewhat spare. A broad forehead overhanging deeply set dark brown eyes whose light shining from beneath strongly marked eye-brows told all the changes of his moods, slightly prominent cheek-bones, a pale skin, at times inclined to be even sallow, dark brown hair, allowed to grow on the face only as a small moustache, and slight whiskers, made up a countenance which bespoke at once strength of character and delicacy of constitution. It was an open countenance, hiding nothing, giving sign at once, both when his body was weary or weak, and when his mind was gladdened, angered or annoyed.
The record of some of his thoughts and work, all that he had given to the world will be found in the following pages. But who can tell the ideas which had passed into his quick brain, but which as yet were known only to himself, of which he had given no sign up to that sad day on which he made the fatal climb? And who can say whither he might not have reached had he lived, and his bright young life ripened as years went on? This is not the place to attempt any judgment of his work: that may be left to other times, and to other hands; but it may be fitting to place here on record a letter which shews how much the greatest naturalist of this age appreciated his younger brother. Among Balfour's papers was found a letter from Charles Darwin, acknowledging the receipt of Vol. II. of the _Comparative Embryology_ in the following words:
I thank you heartily for the present of your grand book, and I congratulate you on its completion. Although I read almost all of Vol. I, I do not feel that I am worthy of your present, unless indeed the fullest conviction that it is a memorable work makes me worthy to receive it.
Once again accept my thanks, for I am proud to receive a book from you, who, I know, will some day be the chief of the English Biologists.
Believe me, Yours sincerely, CHARLES DARWIN."
The loss of him was a manifold loss. He is mourned, and will long be mourned, for many reasons. Some miss only the brilliant investigator; others feel that their powerful and sympathetic teacher is gone; some look back on his memory and grieve for the charming companion whose kindly courtesy and bright wit made the hours fly swiftly and pleasantly along; and to yet others is left an aching void when they remember that they can never again lean on the friend whose judgment seemed never to fail and whose warm-hearted affection was a constant help. And to some he was all of these. At the news of his death the same lines came to the lips of all of us, so fittingly did Milton's words seem to speak our loss and grief--