“It was his wish,” says his brother, “to have seen the Royal Society an efficient establishment for all the great practical purposes of science, similar to the college contemplated by Lord Bacon, and sketched in his New Atlantis; having subordinate to it the Royal Observatory at Greenwich for astronomy; the British Museum, for natural history, in its most extensive acceptation.” Realising in his own case what such a laboratory as that of the Royal Institution, supported wholly by private liberality, had done for science, it was his desire that similar laboratories, amply provided with all means requisite for original inquiry, should be maintained and administered by the Society. But, as his brother adds, the Government, although ready enough to consult him when in want of his knowledge or of that of other Fellows of the Society, was lukewarm and indifferent in matters of science, and he received no effectual support. It is true that towards the end of his Presidency the Society received a mark of Royal favour by the foundation of the Royal Medals in 1825, but from various causes the medals were not actually forthcoming until 1833, when the Duke of Sussex was in the Chair, although no fewer than ten awards had been made in the meantime. In his attention to the personal duties of his office Davy was unremitting. His addresses were a feature of the session; in these he displayed all the ardour, eloquence and poetical fervour, and, it may be added, all the egoism, which characterised his lectures. He delighted to dwell upon the power and dignity of science, its worth as a mental instrument, and its value to the national life. In his announcements of the awards of the Society’s medals the range of his knowledge, his power of exposition, and his faculty of felicitous expression found ample opportunity for exercise. He was the first President to introduce obituary notices of Fellows, and his _éloges_ are marked by judgment, taste, and warmth of feeling. In everything that related to the dignity and ceremony of his office he was, as might have been expected, most punctilious. Although as a rule somewhat careless in dress, he invariably took the chair in full Court dress, sitting covered, and with the mace of office--the veritable “bauble” which Cromwell ordered to be removed from the table of the House of the Commons--in front of him, as is still the custom. To enhance his dignity we are told that he petitioned Government for the Red Ribbon of his predecessor, and it was said that he felt so certain his request would be granted that his name was printed with the coveted letters K.B. appended.