was an every-day occurrence. Considering the risks run, and the few, if any, precautions taken against accidents, it is surprising how small a number of injuries were received. The only two serious wounds I recollect he sustained, were in the hand and eye; the one from receiving on his hand a quantity of melted potash; the other from the explosion of a detonating compound. Had his constitution been bad, the use of both hand and eye would probably have been impaired; indeed, the eye ever after retained the mark of the wound inflicted on the transparent cornea, and never perfectly recovered its strength."*

Davy gave his first lecture in the Institution in the year 1801, the subject being that which from a very early period had most deeply interested him-galvanism; and in connection with which some of his greatest future triumphs were to be achieved. Sir Joseph Banks, Count Rumford, and other distinguished men were present, and highly pleased with the new lecturer. Dr. Paris speaks of his uncouth appearance; whilst, on the other hand, the ladies, it appears, remarked that his" eyes were made for something besides poring over crucibles." In 1807 he announced that discovery in the Institution of which Dr. Paris says, "Since the account given by Newton of his first discoveries in optics, it may be questioned whether so happy and successful an instance of philosophical induction has ever been afforded as that by which Davy discovered the composition of the fixed alkalis," through the power of decomposing them by galvanism.

But to some the history of the Royal Institution presents a feature of greater attraction even than Davy's connection with it. It was within its walls that Coleridge delivered his famous lectures on poetry, and among many other important services rendered to the art and faculty divine, through their medium promulgated those views on Shakspere which have since spread far and wide, and entitle one to hope the great bard will be at last esteemed as justly in his own as in foreign countries. From what we have written, the objects of the Royal Institution will be tolerably apparent; in official language, they are "to diffuse the knowledge and facilitate the introduction of useful inventions and improvements; and to

* Memoirs, vol. i. p. 256.

teach, by courses of lectures and experiments, the application of science to the common purposes of life." The Institution possesses quite a staff of professors; two of the professorships have been endowed by the munificence of a single individual, and are called by his name, Fullerian. Besides the laboratory, there is a museum and a noble library. Members are admitted by ballot and on payment of an entrance-fee of six guineas, and five guineas yearly.

From the Royal Institution, where Davy fulfilled so long and so honourably the post of Chemical Professor, to the Royal Society, of which he became the President, the thoughts pass by a natural transition. And now, like the traveller who has ascended to the source of some magnificent river, along the banks of which, far away on either side, he has seen the evidences of the fertility that those waters have done so much to create, we rest content, and look upon our literary, as he upon his actual, journey as essentially finished, and resign ourselves to the reflections naturally suggested by such a position. In glancing over the history of the Royal Society, it is this consideration of its relative situation as regards all the other learned bodies of the Metropolis that even more than the intrinsic value of that history, great as it is, makes, and must ever make it most deeply interesting. Boyle, in a letter of the date of 1646, speaks of the Invisible or Philosophical Society, and there can be little doubt but he refers to the meetings from which the Royal Society sprang, and which, being held in all sorts of places, now at the lodgings of one of the members, now at the Gresham College, and now somewhere in the neighbourhood of the latter, were practically invisible enough to all but the initiated. Among these members were Dr. Wilkins, afterwards Bishop of Chester, the author of a 'Discovery of a New World' in the Moon, and of suggestions as to the best way of getting to it; Dr. Wallis, the eminent mathematician; and Dr. Goddard, a physician in Wood Street; all of whom during the Commonwealth obtained appointments at Oxford, and there formed a similar society. In 1659 most of the members of the two societies found themselves met together once more in London, and then, joining with the two Gresham professors of astronomy and geometry, Christopher Wren and Rooke, who were at that time delivering lectures in the college, and with several persons of distinction, the whole met after the lectures in an adjoining room for philosophical conversation. And so matters went on very pleasantly till the resignation of the Protectorship by Richard Cromwell, when the apartments occupied for scientific purposes were converted into quarters for soldiers, and the members of the society for a time dispersed. On the Restoration, however, they met again, and began to form themselves into a regular society. An address was presented to the king, who gave it a very flattering and promising reception; and, two years later, something better still, namely, a charter of incorporation under the name of the Royal Society, also granting the usual privileges of holding lands and tenements, suing and defending in courts of law, having a coat of arms and a common seal. The noble spirit in which the Society commenced operations is attested by the resolutions drawn up at the time, in which it was "agreed that records should be made of all the works of nature and art of which any account could be obtained; so that the present age and posterity might be able to mark the errors which have been strengthened by long prescription, to

restore truths which have been long neglected, and to extend the uses of those already known; thus making the way easier to those which were yet unknown. It was also resolved to admit men of different religions, professions, and nations, in order that the knowledge of nature might be freed from the prejudices of sects, and from a bias in favour of any particular branch of learning, and that all mankind might as much as possible be engaged in the pursuit of philosophy, which it was proposed to reform not by laws and ceremonies, but by practice and example. It was further resolved that the Society should not be a school where some might teach and others be taught, but rather a sort of laboratory where all persons might operate independently of one another." We have already seen what an immense amount of good, direct and indirect, has flowed from the Royal Society; we may now see in this brief outline of its original views that such admirable results have been but the natural consequences of admirable principles. The combined objects and effects of all the learned societies of the present day could hardly be more accurately described than they are in this important document dated nearly two centuries back. And it was no mere flourish of the pen, but a genuine preparation for downright hard labour. The world of knowledge was before the members to choose what paths they would, and with characteristic ardour they chose all, or something very like all; but that was in consequence of the universality of their minds, not through conceit, or presumption; and they went to work with a full consciousness of what would be demanded from them. They divided themselves into committees. In March, 1644, we find no less than eight of these in operation; one to consider and improve all mechanical inventions, a second to study astronomy and optics, a third to study anatomy, a fourth chemistry, a fifth geology, a sixth the histories of trade, a seventh, to collect all the phenomena of nature hitherto observed, and all experiments made and recorded; an eighth, to manage the correspondence; whilst Penny Cyclopædia,' article Royal Society.

*

later in the year we find a ninth constituted, it having been "suggested that there were several persons of the society whose genius was very proper and inclined to improve the English tongue, and particularly for philosophical purposes;" which can hardly be questioned when we know that among the members of the society were such men as John Dryden and Edmund Waller, both of whom, with Evelyn and Sprat, were included in the committce then voted. Among the other members of the society at the same time were Dr. Ent, the friend and defender of Harvey; Boyle, the great cultivator of experimental science; Sir Kenelm Digby; the poets Denham and Cowley; Ashmole, Aubrey, Isaac Barrow, Hooke, the distinguished chemist and mechanician, who professed to have anticipated Newton, a somewhat later member of the society, in his grandest discoveries; Spratt, another poet in his way, afterwards Bishop of Rochester; and many others of scarcely less distinction. It is pleasant to have even the driest description of the meetings of such men ; and such is afforded to us by an eye-witness, Sorbière, historiographer to Louis XIII., who came to England in 1633, was elected a member of the society, and published a narrative of his adventures, including a tolerably full account of the body he had joined. He notices first the beadle, "who goes before the president with a mace, which he lays down on the table when the society have taken their places." This mace, still in the society's possession, was the gift of Charles II.; it was the mace referred to by Cromwell, when he turned the Commons out of the house of Parliament, and bade his soldiers "Take away that bauble." "The room," continues Sorbière," where the society meets is large and wainscotted; there is a large table before the chimney, with seven or eight chairs covered with green cloth about it, and two rows of wooden and matted benches to lean on, the first being higher than the others, in form like an amphitheatre. The president and council are elective; they mind no precedency in the society, but the president sits at the middle of the table in an elbow-chair, with his back to the chimney. The sccrctary sits at the end of the table on his left hand; and they have each of them pen, ink, and paper before them. I saw nobody sit in the chairs; I think they are reserved for persons of great quality, or those who have occasion to draw near the president. All the other members take their places as they think fit, and without ceremony; and if any one comes in after the society is fixed, nobody stirs, but he takes a place presently where he can find it, so that no interruption may be given to him that speaks. The president has a little wooden mace in his hand, with which he strikes the table when he would command silence; they address their discourse to him bare-headed till he makes a sign for them to put on their hats; and there is a relation given in a few words of what is thought proper to be said concerning the experiments proposed by the secretary. There is nobody here eager to speak, that makes a long harangue, or intent upon saying all he knows; he is never interrupted that speaks, and differences of opinion cause no manner of resentment, nor as much as a disobliging way of speech; there is nothing seemed to me to be more civil, respectful, and better managed than this meeting; and if there are any private discourses held between any while a member is speaking, they only whisper, and the least sign from the president causes a sudden stop, though they have not told their mind out. I took

special notice of this conduct in a body consisting of so many persons, and of such different nations." And it was worthy of notice, as showing how truly the many remarkable men congregated upon those "wooden and matted benches" had imbibed the calm philosophical spirit in which alone truth can be successfully sought. At the same time one must acknowledge that some of the occupations of this august assembly must excite a smile. Boyle was at one time requested to examine the truth of the notion, that a fish suspended by a thread would turn towards the wind. At another the members of the Society tested by direct experiment the truth of the opinion that a spider could not get out of a sphere enclosed within a circle formed of a powdered unicorn's horn! We should like to have marked the progress of that experiment, carried on, as we may be sure it was, with all the usual formalities and decorum so circumstantially described by Sorbière. As a contrast to this picture suppose we look in upon the Society now. Let us step in here beneath Sir William Chambers's sumptuous archway at Somerset House, and passing through a door on the left, ascend the circular staircase to the apartments of which it enjoys the use through the liberality of the crown. We must not expect to find the vigour that characterised its youth. It was no doubt a consciousness