asperation: "I tell thee what, Humphry, thou art the most quibbling hand at a dispute I ever met with in all my life."

He was a poet, too, among his lancets and leeches and infusions, and there are many love sonnets and descriptions of natural scenery which show real poetic talent. It was Coleridge who declared in later years that "if Davy had not been the first chemist, he would have been the first poet of his age;" and Southey said: "He had all the elements of a poet, he only needed the art. I have 1ead some beautiful verses of his. When I went to Portugal I left Davy to revise and publish my poem of 'Thulaba.'

In the early part of 1796 he attacked mathematics and in less than a year had worked through a course of "fractions, extraction of roots, algebra, Euclid's geometry, trigonometry, logarithms, sines and tangents, tables, algebraic geometry, etc." The following year he began natural philosophy, and at the end of this year, when he was nineteen, began to read chemistry, merely, however, as a branch of his professional education and with no other idea than to acquire its general principles as laid down in Lavoisier's "Elements."

The chaotic condition of the science of chemistry and the need of experimental verification-of many hypotheses the mystery of so many things fired his imagination and stimulated him to experiment. He had never seen a laboratory but he improvised apparatus and used all kinds of makeshifts-ludicrous enough at times. And by a peculiar good fortune he was thrown in contact about this time with Gregory Watt, a son of Watt the inventor, who after his university course at Glasgow, came to Penzance for his health's sake and boarded with Davy's mother. The comradeship of young Watt and the help and influence of a certain Mr. Gilcert, of Tredrea, himself an amateur scientist, enthused Davy along the lines

of investigation which were destined to make his fame and fortune.

But Davy was more a metaphysical scientist at this time, than an experimental one. He had been studying science less than four months when he elaborated a new hypothesis concerning the nature of heat and light-an hypothesis in which he had such faith that he sent it to Dr. Thomas Beddoes.

Dr. Beddoes was a physician who was also known to science as Professor of Chemistry at Oxford and the translator of Scheele's Chemical Essays, as well as for his fallacious ideas concerning the therapeutic use of gases. But these very aberrant ideas were not, however, without their gain to the world since they resulted in the establishment of the Pneumatic Institution, and indirectly were the means of starting Davy on his fruitful career of chemical investigation.

The institution to test the medicinal effects of gases was founded in 1798 at Clifton. Davy, being recommended by Mr. Gilbert, was chosen to conduct experiments both clinically and in the laboratory at the Pneumatic Hospital, and the result of his experiments was to be published in the hospital bulletin. So, about the time that England was ringing with acclamations over Nelson's victory, Davy, with his essays on "Heat and Light" packed away in his baggage, mounted the stage coach-a triumphal chariot in disguise-on his way to Clifton and fame.

In 1799 Dr. Beddoes published his "Contributions to Physical and Medical Knowledge," containing two essays by Davy; the first "On Heat, Light and the Combinations of Light, with a New Theory of Respiration;" the second "On the Generation of Phosoxygen (oxygen gas) and on the Causes of the Colors of Organic Beings." If a modern aspirant to scientific fame had put forth any such worthless work at the outset f his career it would condemn

him to perpetual obscurity. The essays pretended to be deductions drawn from experimental work; rather they were hypotheses pure and simple with inconclusive experiments to bolster them up. Lavoisier had taught that oxygen was "a simple substance associated with at matter of heat, or caloric;" Davy sought to establish that it is a compound of a simple substance and light and that therefore, it should be called phosoxygen. The reviewers either sadly flayed his theory or treated it with silent contempt. This first experience was, with all its discouragement, a valuable one to the ambitious youth of nineteen; it convinced him that in science as well as in morals "faith without good works is dead." A complete recantation of his doctrines appeared in 1800, and not long after the failure of nis essays he wrote: "When I consider the variety of theories that may be formed on the slender foundation of one or two facts, I am convinced that it is the business of the true philosopher to avoid them altogether. It is more laborious to accumulate facts than to reason concerning them; but one good experiment is of more value than the ingenuity of a brain like Newton's." In the "dark ages" six hundred years before him, Roger Bacon said practically the same thing when he declared "the natural sciences have no assured foundation excepting in observation and experience."

But his work at the Pneumatic Institution was not all in vain. He won commendation from Dr. Priestly, a great chemist of his time, for his researches concerning the chemical relations of galvanism and the nature of gases. He also began the administration of laughing gas, nitrous oxide, and the inhalation of this new and strange commodity became almost a fashionable folly. But most of all he came in contact with and formed friendships with Southey, Coleridge, Tobin (the dramat

ist), the Wedgwoods and Maria Edgeworth-connections which served him well in the years that followed.

Coleridge, especially, was attracted to him, and their copious correspondence shows a mutual admiration and a degree of friendship attributable only to their entire sympathy of intellect. And Southey was so impressed with his literary talents that a joint poem was projected dealing with the deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt. Science, fragments of romance and lines of poetry are strangely mixed in Davy's note books during this period-but it is notable that he also wrote "Skepticism in regard to theory is what we ought most rigidly to adhere to," a dogma taught him by his initial failure as a sci.ntific essayist.

In 1801 he was called to be "Assistant Lecturer in Chemistry, Director of Laboratory, and Assistant Editor of Publications," by the Royal Institution, founded in London by Count Rumford, at a salary of "one hundred guineas per annum, room, coals and candles to be furnished to him." He accepted the position and plunged into the vortex of London life.

Count Rumford was so unimpressed by Davy's personal appearance that the latter was required to give a specimen of his abilities in a small lecture room to a select few before he would be allowed to speak in the larger theatre. The first lecture entirely removed any prejudice, and six weeks after his arrival he delivered his first lecture to the Institution proper and made a most favorable impression-so much so that by June 1st he was made Lecturer on Chemistry instead of Assistant. His style of lecturing was florid enough to distinguish him from the more jejune and less literary scientists of his time, while his ready adaptability, as shown in his lectures on the Chemistry of Tanning and Agricultural Chemistry, as well as his good sense and modesty made him in the

T was

I commencement day at

Mount St. Edward's. The sombre granite building had assumed a festive look, every column and balustrade decked with the class colors in gay bunting, and with Old Glory floating triumphantly to the breeze. Even the hothouse had been pressed into service and Brother Anselm had brought forth his most treasured pots of fern and palms, not to mention. huge bouquets of roses, to enhance the general beauty.

The soft June air was liquid in its sweetness. The breezes played caressingly over beds of geranium and coleus. that relieved the green sward here and there and blew in at the windows of the study hall where already the ranks were formed for the entrance march.

A band of handsome lads indeed. Any college might well be proud to call itself the Alma Mater of the most ordinary in its ranks, and the picturesque caps and gowns of the graduates served to render these all the more attractive. "Now, Frank, are you quite sure of your lines?" queried Brother Ambrose, as he paused in his survey of the wellformed rows, and addressed the first graduate, a slender, dark-haired youth. "Yes? That's good. All ready now? March!"

There was a burst of applause from the breathless audience as the young men stepped upon the stage, and fond mothers and proud fathers craned their necks to secure a better view of some beloved hopeful. In the front seat Ruth Ransom sat with her father and mother, and in all that assemblage there was no happier heart that hers. And why not? Was it not Frank Ransom's graduation day? Was not Frank her only brother, her

idol, the object of her worshipping devotion? Was not Frank the valedictorian of the occasion, and was not this the glorious climax of all his years of study and achievement? Ruth, who was three years Frank's junior, could scarcely contain herself, but kept nudging her mother every few minutes as some evolution in the march brought him into better view. But her rapture knew no bounds when Frank, without note of any kind, stood erect and calm, ready to deliver the valedictory. The handsome lad, with his earnest, thoughtful face, now becomingly flushed, his gentle, manly bearing, charmed the audience at once, and as the well-delivered oration ended, he sat down amid rounds of applause. Prouder than ever though was the moment when the Brother Director, during the award of diplomas, made the announcement that for studiousness and general excellence in conduct, a special gold medal was bestowed upon Mr. Frank Ransom. The picture of the young man kneeling to receive the handsome badge from the hand of his late instructor was one that Ruth Ransom treasured in her memory through all the after years.

Well, it was all over, and the boys stood clasping the hands of doting parents and admiring friends and receiving with becoming modesty their congratulations. "So this is our little Ruth," cried Frank, as he gave the girl a brotherly caress. "How you have grown since last September! If you keep on, you'll be taller than your big brother, sis."

"Oh, Frank, I'm so glad you are coming home for good," the girl cried. "We have missed you so much. Still, you must be sorry to leave this lovely place where the Brothers are so kind."