around the walls of that drawing-room, in which his commanding form,
in the strength and beauty of meridian life, towers up in the rural
landscape, surrounded by cattle and sheep bearing the impress of his
skill and care. A little incident occurred a few years ago, which
may illustrate this personal aspect better than any simile of
description. On the occasion of one of the great Agricultural
Expositions in Paris, a deputation or a company of gentlemen went
over to represent the Agricultural Society of England. Mr. Webb was
one of the number; and some French nobleman who had known him
personally, as well as by reputation, was very desirous of making
him a guest while in Paris. To be sure of this pleasure, he sent a
special courier all the way to Folkestone, charged with a letter
which he was himself to put into the hands of Mr. Webb, before the
steamer left the dock. "But how am I to know the gentleman?" asked
the courier; "I never saw him in my life." "N'importe," was the
reply. "Put the letter in the hand of the noblest-looking man on
board, and you will be sure to be right." The courier followed the
direction; and, stationing himself near the gangway, he took his
master's measure of every passenger as he entered. He could not be
mistaken. As soon as the plank was withdrawn, he approached Mr.
Webb, hat in hand, and, with a deferential word of recognition, done
in the best grace of French politeness, handed him the letter. One
of the deputation, noticing the incident, and wondering how the man
knew whom he was addressing without previous inquiry, questioned him
afterwards on the subject, and learned from him the ground on which
he proceeded. The photographic likeness presented in connection
with this notice was taken shortly before his decease, at the age of
nearly sixty-six, and when his health was greatly impaired.

Few men ever carried out so fully the injunction, not to let the