1840 there was a deputation from the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge to the Queen, to congratulate her upon her escape from the attempt upon her life made by the pot-boy Oxford. Any member of either University was allowed to accompany the deputation. Hare being then in town, and being a member of the University of Cambridge, determined to form part of the deputation. I had only recently taken my name off the books at Cambridge in order to save further unnecessary expense there, so that I was no longer a member of the University. But being encouraged by my friend, I determined to put a bold face on, and accompany Hare, running the risk of a challenge which I was assured was not very likely to be given. I had sold my own cap and gown on leaving Cambridge, so I applied to a robemaker's for the loan of one. There was, however, so great a demand for them on the occasion that the only gown I could borrow was that of an Oxford B.A. I boldly took this and a cap, and accompanied Hare to the Thatched House Tavern, St. James's Street, where the deputation assembled. Here I managed to escape observation, and fell into the procession, which was headed by the dons, among whom were several bishops in lawn, professors, heads of houses, &c. The procession walked to Buckingham Palace, where we were ushered up the grand staircase into the antechamber. Soon some folding

doors were thrown open, and we entered the audience chamber. Here we found the Queen, seated on the throne, whilst Prince Albert, the ladies in waiting, and the various members of the Court, stood beside her. The address was duly read; Her Majesty read a suitable reply, and then the deputation bowed and backed out of the room. The folding doors were once more closed upon us, and we were left to get out of the palace as we pleased.'

Returning to London from Leeds in October of this year 1840, he resumed his studies at University College, and in the following May went in for honours at the examinations in Medical Physiology and Comparative Anatomy. The result was that in Medicine he was first, receiving the gold medal; in Physiology he was second, receiving the silver medal, and in Physiology, after an extraordinarily close contest, he was also second, and silver medallist. Writing subsequently about these successes, he characteristically observes: My gaining these three prizes was thought a great distinction, and at once placed me in a position of eminence among the students. Each of the professors whose classes I had attended invited me to his house, and, after having been shy and modest almost to a fault, I now began to form conceited opinions about myself and my abilities.'

It was at the very time when he was thus gaining distinctions which gladdened the hearts of his friends

and, above all, of his parents, that the first great sorrow of his life befell him.

"There were two or three days' interval between the end of the winter session and the commencement of the summer session, and for that short time I allowed myself complete rest from study. I had received a letter from my father mentioning that my mother was out of health, but that Mr. Hey had seen her and did not apprehend any danger. She had long been more or less an invalid, and this account of her state did not excite any alarm in me. I think it was on Saturday, May 1 (1841), that I went by railway to the village of Harrow-on-the-Hill for a day's excursion. The day was very fine and I greatly enjoyed my escape from the confinement of College lectures and London streets. I wandered through the country lanes, visiting the church and school buildings, and returned home fatigued, but delighted with my day's excursion. At that very time my mother was lying at the point of death, and I had been summoned to her bedside. There being no Sunday delivery in London, I did not receive the letter calling me to Leeds until Monday morning. I left London by the next train. When I drove up to the door of my father's house in Park Square on the evening of that day, the blinds were all drawn and I knew what had happened. My dear mother had died the previous day, May 2, 1841. She had been more

indisposed than usual for some days, and had been feverish, but no alarm had been felt. Then she had passed into a semi-comatose state, which at last became complete coma, in which she died. I believe much of her tenderest love was bestowed upon me The last words she uttered were an inquiry for me.'

The son stayed with his bereaved father and sister for a fortnight—and a sad and gloomy fortnight it was—and then returned to London and resumed his studies. He became the clinical clerk of Dr. Williams, and, besides attending the Botanical Lectures and reading for them, attended Dr. Williams in his visits. at the hospital, and kept daily records of all his cases. He also attended the Clinical Lectures of the same eminent professor, taking full notes of them, from which reports of the lectures were subsequently published in the 'Medical Gazette.' He competed at this time for two prizes given for Reports of Cases in the hospital; one the Fellows' Gold Medal, in competing for which it was necessary to give a brief report of all the medical cases in the hospital at the time, and full reports and commentaries on particular cases singled out for that purpose. The other prize was a set of books given by Dr. Thompson for reports on cases under his charge. In both of these competitions he was successful, and was highly complimented by the examiners on the merit of his

reports. On the other hand he was only second in the Botanical examination. In November of this year he passed his M.B. examination in the first class, and gained the gold medal in Botany, but to his intense chagrin did not distinguish himself in any other subject.

In February 1842 he quitted University College, where he had worked so hard and had gained such high distinction as a successful student. I find in his diary a reference to the manner in which he had lived whilst a student in London, which deserves to be quoted, for Dr. Heaton was his own severest critic, and would never have written the following lines if he had not known them to be absolutely true: At this time (1841), and for some time previously and afterwards, I might truly be said "to shun delights and live laborious days." During my time in London I scarcely went to any entertainments or relaxed my constant round of attending lectures and hospitals and reading at home early and late.' His successes in the examination had procured him much notice from the professors, and he was frequently asked to their houses. I find from his diary, however, that he declined the invitation of one of these gentlemen on the ground that the invitation was for a Sunday. His early training in the home of the Leeds nonconformist clearly still sufficed to guard him against even so slight an infraction of Puritan decorum as