The past twelve months have been singularly fatal to Cambridge; but no loss has caused grief so widespread and so sincere as that of the distinguished scholar and man of letters who passed quietly away while sitting at his library-table on the night of last Wednesday week[113]. If proof were needed of the respect in which he was held, we have only to point to the vast assemblage of past and present members of the University which filled the chapel of King’s College on Monday last to do honour to his funeral. Nor will the grief be confined to Cambridge. Though Mr Bradshaw rarely quitted his own University, and took no trouble to bring himself into notice, few men were more highly appreciated, both at home and abroad. It is hardly necessary to observe that this recognition of his merits was of no sudden growth. We can recall the time when he was working silently and unknown, and when even a small circle of devoted friends had not realised the extent and thoroughness of those studies which he carefully kept in the background. But gradually the world of letters became aware that there were many points in bibliography and kindred subjects which could not be set on a right footing unless the inquirer were willing to pay a visit to him. No one who did so had any cause to regret his journey. He was certain to be received with a courtesy which, we regret to say, is nowadays commonly called old-fashioned, and to find himself before he left far richer than when he came. Mr Bradshaw was the most unselfish of men; and the stores of his knowledge were invariably laid open, freely and ungrudgingly, to every inquirer, provided he was satisfied that the work proposed would be thoroughly well done. He was modest to a fault; and we believe that he really preferred to remain in the background, while others, at his suggestion and with his help, worked out the subjects in which he took special interest. It was no fault of theirs if his share in their work remained a secret. His generous wish to help others forward made him refuse more than once, as we well know, to allow his name to appear in connexion with work that he had really done; and posterity will have to tax its ingenuity to discover, from a few words in a preface or a line in a note, how much belongs of right to him. Nor was it only in subjects with which he was specially familiar that his help was valuable. He seemed equally at home in all branches of knowledge. He knew so thoroughly how materials should be used, and in what form the results would be best presented, that, whether the subject were art, or archeology, or history, or bibliography, or early English texts, his clear and accurate judgment went straight to the point, and reduced the most tangled facts to order. But, devoted student as he was, he was no bookworm. He took the liveliest interest in all that was going on around him. His strong common sense, his kind, charitable nature, and his habit of going to the bottom of every question presented to him, enabled him to sympathize with those who had arrived at conclusions widely different from his own. As a younger man he was too reserved, too diffident of himself, to feel at ease in the society of men of his own standing. He thought they disliked him, and this idea increased his natural sensitiveness and his love of retirement. The truth was that he was too honest to be popular. Like Alceste in _Le Misanthrope_, he would rebuke insincerity and pretentiousness with a few blunt stern words that made the offender tremble; and, if he disliked anybody, as happened sometimes, he took no pains to conceal it. Hence he was respected, but he was not liked. By slow degrees, however, the natural geniality of his disposition gained the upper hand, and the warm heart which beat under that calm exterior was allowed to assert itself. The old severity of denunciation, instead of being exercised on individuals, was reserved for slovenly work, unjust criticism, or unfair treatment. He began to go more into society, in which he took a keen pleasure, though he would rarely allow himself to spend what he called an idle evening. At all times he had sought the company of young people. At a period when undergraduates hardly ventured to speak to men older than themselves, his quiet kindness attracted them to him, and obtained their confidence. In him they were certain of a friend whose sympathy never failed them, and from whom, no matter what trouble or difficulty had befallen them, they were sure of advice and help. Many a man now successful in life may thank him for the influence which, exercised at a critical time, determines a career for good; and not a few have been enabled by his generosity to begin the studies in which they are now distinguished.