In conversation it was Sir William’s great delight, whenever possible, to turn the subject to his own particular studies and pursuits; but, as mentioned by an exalted personage on an occasion referred to in the sequel, he never wearied his hearers. In a new or rare animal, his delight was almost childish; and the present writer has often reflected how intense would have been his pleasure had he been spared to see the first specimen brought to this country of that wonderful animal, the okapi of the Semliki Forest. To his official subordinates Sir William was also readily accessible—possibly almost too much so; and he had always a word of praise for work faithfully carried out under his direction, even if, from a slight misunderstanding of his instructions, it had not been executed precisely on the lines he himself would have desired. He was never above lending a hand himself at manual work; and the writer well recollects an occasion at the museum where a large animal was, with some difficulty, being moved, and Sir William, although at the time manifestly unfit for severe physical effort, would insist upon aiding in the task. As a host, Sir William Flower, ably seconded by Lady Flower, had few rivals and no superiors; and although he absolutely detested tobacco, such was his good-nature, that he would not deny his male friends the luxury of an after-dinner cigarette—the idea of ladies smoking would probably have been too much even for his good-nature and tolerance of other people’s little weaknesses. This chapter may be fitly brought to a close by referring to the fact that it was largely owing to the advocacy of Sir William that a statue of his intimate friend Huxley was placed in the Central Hall of the Natural History Museum, in company with those of Darwin and Owen, so that “Huxley and Owen, often divided in their lives, would come together after death in the most appropriate place and amidst the most appropriate surroundings.” In this Valhalla of men pre-eminent in British biological science of the nineteenth century, Flower’s own bust has found its home; but of this more anon. In this connection it may be added that Sir William Flower wrote for the _Proceedings_ of the Royal Society the obituary notice of Sir Richard Owen, who had been his predecessor in his own two most important offices. Despite the fact that Flower had been instrumental in overthrowing at least one of Owen’s “pet theories,” this biographical notice is written in the kindest and most sympathetic spirit, giving full credit to the “immense labours and brilliant talents” of this truly remarkable man. An earlier obituary notice from Flower’s pen which appeared in the same journal was devoted to a sketch of the life of George Rolleston, the brilliant Professor of Anatomy and Physiology of Oxford, whose comparatively early death in 1881 was one of the real losses to biological science.