THE lectures at the Royal Institution were of some help tome. I attended courses by Owen, Tyndall, Huxley, and Bain.

　　Of these, Huxley was FACILE PRINCEPS, though both Owen andTyndall were second to no other. Bain was disappointing. Iwas a careful student of his books, and always admired thelogical lucidity of his writing. But to the mixed audiencehe had to lecture to - fashionable young ladies in theirteens, and drowsy matrons in charge of them, he discreetlykept clear of transcendentals. In illustration perhaps ofsome theory of the relation of the senses to the intellect,he would tell an amusing anecdote of a dog that had had aninjured leg dressed at a certain house, after which therecovered dog brought a canine friend to the same house tohave his leg - or tail - repaired. Out would come all thetablets and pretty pencil cases, and every young lady wouldbe busy for the rest of the lecture in recording themarvellous history. If the dog's name had been 'Spot' or'Bob,' the important psychological fact would have beenfaithfully registered. As to the theme of the discourse,that had nothing to do with - millinery. And Mr. Baindoubtless did not overlook the fact.

　　Owen was an accomplished lecturer; but one's attention to himdepended on two things - a primary interest in the subject,and some elementary acquaintance with it. If, for example,his subject were the comparative anatomy of the cycloid andganoid fishes, the difference in their scales was scarcely ofvital importance to one's general culture. But if he werelecturing on fish, he would stick to fish; it would beessentially a JOUR MAIGRE.

　　With Huxley, the suggestion was worth more than the thingsaid. One thought of it afterwards, and wondered whether hiswords implied all they seemed to imply. One knew that thescientist was also a philosopher; and one longed to get athim, at the man himself, and listen to the lessons which hiswork had taught him. At one of these lectures I had thehonour of being introduced to him by a great friend of mine,John Marshall, then President of the College of Surgeons. Inlater years I used to meet him constantly at the Athenaeum.

　　Looking back to the days of one's plasticity, two men arepre-eminent among my Dii Majores. To John Stuart Mill and toThomas Huxley I owe more, educationally, than to any otherteachers. Mill's logic was simply a revelation to me. Forwhat Kant calls 'discipline,' I still know no book, unless itbe the 'Critique' itself, equal to it. But perhaps it is themen themselves, their earnestness, their splendid courage,their noble simplicity, that most inspired one withreverence. It was Huxley's aim to enlighten the many, and heenlightened them. It was Mill's lot to help thinkers, and hehelped them. SAPERE AUDE was the motto of both. How fewthere are who dare to adopt it! To love truth is valiantlyprofessed by all; but to pursue it at all costs, to 'dare tobe wise' needs daring of the highest order.

　　Mill had the enormous advantage, to start with, of aneducation unbiassed by any theological creed; and he broughtexceptional powers of abstract reasoning to bear upon mattersof permanent and supreme importance to all men. Yet, inspite of his ruthless impartiality, I should not hesitate tocall him a religious man. This very tendency which noimaginative mind, no man or woman with any strain of poeticalfeeling, can be without, invests Mill's character with aclash of humanity which entitles him to a place in ouraffections. It is in this respect that he so widely differsfrom Mr. Herbert Spencer. Courageous Mr. Spencer was, buthis courage seems to have been due almost as much to absenceof sympathy or kinship with his fellow-creatures, and to hiscontempt of their opinions, as from his dispassionate love oftruth, or his sometimes passionate defence of his own tenets.

　　My friend Napier told me an amusing little story about JohnMill when he was in the East India Company's administration.

　　Mr. Macvey Napier, my friend's elder brother, was the seniorclerk. On John Mill's retirement, his co-officialssubscribed to present him with a silver standish. Such wasthe general sense of Mill's modest estimate of his owndeserts, and of his aversion to all acknowledgment of them,that Mr. Napier, though it fell to his lot, begged others tojoin in the ceremony of presentation. All declined; theinkstand was left upon Mill's table when he himself was outof the room.

　　Years after the time of which I am writing, when Mill stoodfor Westminster, I had the good fortune to be on the platformat St. James's Hall, next but one to him, when he made hisfirst speech to the electors. He was completely unknown tothe public, and, though I worshipped the man, I had neverseen him, nor had an idea what he looked like. To satisfy mycuriosity I tried to get a portrait of him at thephotographic shop in Regent Street.

　　'I want a photograph of Mr. Mill.'

　　'Mill? Mill?' repeated the shopman, 'Oh yes, sir, I know - agreat sporting gent,' and he produced the portrait of asportsman in top boots and a hunting cap.

　　Very different from this was the figure I then saw. The halland............