the manner in which you have proposed this toast; I would thank with equal warmth an assembly which, in intellectual measure, is, probably, as distinguished as any of the same size ever addressed by man, for the way in which they have received it; and I would extend my thanks to my friends of the Department of Science and Art, for their spontaneous kindness to an old colleague, who for many years lent his humble aid to the department in diffusing sound scientific knowledge among the masses of the people. My own scientific education began late. It had, of necessity, to be postponed until after I had reached the age of seven or eight and twenty. Notwithstanding this drawback, in learning, teaching, and working in the laboratory, I have been permitted to enjoy a spell of thirty-nine years. In 1850, during a flying visit from Germany to England, I stood, for the first time, in the bright presence of Faraday. In February, 1853, I gave my first Friday evening lecture in the Royal Institution; and three months afterward, on the motion of Faraday, the old chair of Natural Philosophy, which had been filled at the beginning of the century by Thomas Young, was restored, and to it I was elected. It causes me genuine pleasure to think that I shall be succeeded in that chair by so true and so eminent a man of science as Lord Rayleigh.
It is not my intention to overburden you with egotism to-night; but, casting an earnest glance back upon the past, a few words seem due from me to the memory of one or two of the group of good men, no longer with us, with whom I was so intimately associated. Regarding Faraday, I will confine myself to stating that years have not altered my estimate of the beauty and the nobleness of his character. He was the prince of experimental philosophers; but he was more than this—in every fiber of his mind he was a gentleman. It is, however, of two of our honorary secretaries that I wish now to speak; premising that, for the first seven years of my life in the Royal Institution, the post of honorary secretary was held by a cultivated and very worthy gentleman, the Rev. John Barlow. From 1860 to 1873—that is, for a stretch of thirteen memorable years—I had the happiness of working hand in hand with Dr. Bence Jones. Never in my experience have I met a man more entirely and unselfishly devoted to the furtherance of scientific work. I hardly like to mention the following incident, because it furnishes but a scanty measure of his devotion. On one occasion I was in need of funds to carry out some experiments of a delicate and costly character. Bence Jones came to me, and after some hesitation—for he knew that money was likely to raise a difficulty between us—he said, with earnestness: "Dear Tyndall, behave as my friend; do me the favor and the honor of devoting this to your investigation. There is more, if you need it, where that came from." He handed me a check for £100. Had I asked for £1,000, he would have given it to me, and the world, as far as he was concerned, would have been none the wiser. Bence Jones was a strong man, and
