ich (to the best of my belief) I dissected, to the
horror of the bedmaker, in my College rooms.

Then the late Mr. Clark, superintendent of the Museum of Zoology, and one
of the kindest of men, occasionally gave us beasts to cut up. I shall
never forget my pride of heart when a preparation which I made of a
hedgehog's inside was placed in the Museum.

Just as I was leaving Cambridge in 1869 or '70 there arrived that great
man, Sir Michael Foster, who organised the revolution in which the
futilities of the early 19th century were blown to fragments, and in
their place a sound system of practical instruction was created. Foster
was discovered by Huxley, and it was through him, and thanks to the
patriotism of Trinity College in creating for him the post of Praelector,
that Foster got this great opportunity. The effect of what he did for
English education has been incalculably great. His pupils have gone
forth into all lands, and have spread the art of learning and teaching
wherever they have come to rest.

In thinking over the reformation wrought by Michael Foster I am
somehow--quite inconsistently--reminded of the great scene in _Guy
Mannering_. I see in imagination the cold dark cave at Warroch Head,
where Dirk Hatteraick lurks; he plays the part of False Science in the
Mystery Play, and the cave is the Cave of Inanity. Then comes the great
flare of light, as Meg Merrilees throws the torch on to the heap of flax,
and her cry, "The hour is come and the man!" while Harry Bertram with his
supporters rush in and bind False Science fast. Harry Bertram is, of
course, Michael Foster, and I should say that Dandie Dinmont is Coutts
Trotter. Meg Merrilees is naturally Huxley, who was the magician of the
affair (she is always said to have looked like a man). Here all analogy
breaks down. Meg was killed by False Science, Huxley was not; indeed it
was the other way. Harry Bertram lived happily ever afterwards. Michael
Foster was not so fortunate, and I am ashamed to think that before he
died he was misunderstood and half forgotten in his own University.

I must apologise for this outburst of incoherence; I am afraid it was not
this sort of thing that Tyndall had in mind when he pleaded for the
scientific imagination--that is something much more serious.

Not only does the student of to-day get good practical teaching, but he
has the great advantage of being under professors who are generally
engaged in original work.