Is it wonderful that such a man, supposed by
those who did not know him to be cold, stern, and dry, should have
been enthusiastically beloved by those who did?
It is little to say, that my own friendship with him was, from first
to last, never once ruffled by difference or misunderstanding of any
kind. Differences of opinion we had in abundance; but my open avowal
of them was always recognized by him as one of the strongest proofs of
respect, and served to cement instead of weakening our attachment.[1]
The nearest approach made throughout our intercourse to any thing of
an unpleasant character was about the time of his retirement from the
India House. Talking over that one day with two or three of my
colleagues, I said it would not do to let Mill go without receiving
some permanently-visible token of our regard. The motion was no sooner
made than it was carried by acclamation. Every member of the
examiners' office--for we jealously insisted on confining the affair
to ourselves--came tendering his subscription, scarcely waiting to be
asked; in half an hour's time some fifty or sixty pounds--I forget the
exact sum--was collected, which in due course was invested in a superb
silver inkstand, designed by our friend, Digby Wyatt, and manufactured
by Messrs.
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