and the house had changed hands. I went to another house near the Primrose Hill, where I had lived for over a year. My old landlady in that house had a daughter of about eight years who must be a woman of 25 or 26 now! But I could find no trace of the landlady or her daughter there,—the people who occupied the house knew nothing of them. But no place in London had stronger associations for me than the University College where I had studied so long under some of the ablest of professors and best of men that I have known anywhere. Many a dark, misty, rainy day in autumn, many a frosty, wintry day had I passed in that gloomy Gower Street, under that dark pile of buildings which I now revisited again after so many years. I knew the Philosophy class and the Mathematics class well. I knew where I had worked in the Electricity laboratory, and where I had studied Sanscrit under that eminent German scholar now no more. And above all I knew the English literature class and the genial, good-hearted, noble-souled Professor who is still the Professor in that subject. He had been a real friend to us at a time when we needed friendly assistance and help,—and a better man I have never met since.
I need hardly say that I took an early opportunity to see Professor Henry Morley to pay to him that homage of respect and affection which I have ever felt for him. A friend who was the companion of my studies in those days, and who is now on furlough like myself went with me, and I cannot say how happy we felt to see the old man again among his books. Age had slightly
