is to be supposed, dare not possess an artistic soul to be saved; and therefore, perhaps, it is that it builds huge and ugly caravanserais of which no one, except perhaps the shareholders, would keenly regret the disappearance. But both artists and antiquaries would have blessed the directors--and such a blessing would have done them no harm--if they had been ingenious and pious enough to leave some relic of the old buildings as a memorial of the old days and the old life of the High Street. A picture of the College in the High Street has recently been drawn by one who lived and worked in it, though some thirty years after James Thomson brought his family to live in its courts. Professor G. G. Ramsay has thus portrayed some features of the place, which may interest those who would like to imagine the environment in which Lord Kelvin grew up from childhood, until, a youth of seventeen, he left Glasgow for Cambridge.[4] "There was something in the very disamenities of the old place that created a bond of fellowship among those who lived and worked there, and that makes all old students, to this day, look back to it with a sort of family pride and reverence. The grimy, dingy, low-roofed rooms; the narrow, picturesque courts, buzzing with student-life; the dismal, foggy mornings and the perpetual gas; the sudden passage from the brawling, huckstering High Street into the academic quietude, or the still more academic hubbub, of those quaint cloisters, into which the policeman, so busy outside, was never permitted to penetrate; the tinkling of the 'angry bell' that made the students hurry along to the door which was closed the moment that it stopped; the roar and the flare of the Saturday nights, with the cries of carouse or incipient murder which would rise into our quiet rooms from the Vennel or the Havannah; the exhausted lassitude of Sunday mornings, when poor slipshod creatures might be seen, as soon as the street was clear of churchgoers, sneaking over to the chemist's for a dose of laudanum to ease off the debauch of yesterday; the conversations one would have after breakfast with the old ladies on the other side of the Vennel, not twenty feet from one's breakfast-table, who divided the day between smoking short cutty pipes and drinking poisonous black tea--these sharp contrasts bound together the College folk and the College students, making them feel at once part of the veritable populace of the city, and also hedged off from it by separate pursuits and interests." The university removed in 1871 to larger and more airily situated buildings in the western part of the city. Round these have grown up, in the intervening thirty-eight years, new buildings for most of the great departments of science, including a separate Institute of Natural Philosophy, which was opened in April 1907, by the Prince and Princess of Wales. CHAPTER II CLASSES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. FIRST SCIENTIFIC PAPERS