After surviving for many years the dangers of savage countries and high mountains, Sandy Wollaston has died from a bullet in the quiet courts of King's, the chance and innocent victim of something more like a South American shooting affray than anything else.

He was an extreme example of a man of genius whose outstanding gifts did not, and were not meant to, find an outlet in any of the fields of express achievement which is ordinarily thought of as the proof of success. He had a very rare kind of excellence, the nature of which it is difficult to write down. It was to be found not in his thoughts or his achievements or even in his feelings, but in some quality of his actions in themselves as distinct from their causes or consequences. The presence of an emergency might heighten it, and might certainly add an element of excitement which he would himself enjoy, and give opportunity for other qualities he had; but emergency was not required for this peculiar quality to find expression—the most ordinary and commonplace circumstances would give scope for it. He was, therefore, a person in whose company it was an exceptional delight to have any experience involving action, however trivial. His eye and his voice lent enhancement to small things as well as to great. Wollaston was properly described by Mr Baldwin, on the occasion of inauguration last week into the office of Chancellor of the University, as a prince amongst men.