“And would you be the man,” said Harvey, smiling, “who should recommend me to quit the peaceful haven, where I now pass my life, and launch again upon the faithless sea? You know full well what a storm my former lucubrations raised. Much better is it oftentimes to grow wise at home and in private, than by publishing what you have amassed with infinite labour, to stir up tempests that may rob you of peace and quiet for the rest of your days.” “True,” said I; “it is the usual reward of virtue to have received ill for having merited well. But the winds which raised those storms, like the north-western blast, which drowns itself in its own rain, have only drawn mischief on themselves.” Upon this he showed me his ‘Exercises on the Generation of Animals,’ a work composed with vast labour and singular care; and having it in my hands, I exclaimed, “Now have I what I so much desired! and unless you consent to make this work public, I must say that you will be wanting both to your own fame and to the public usefulness. Nor let any fear of farther trouble in the matter induce you to withhold it longer: I gladly charge myself with the whole business of correcting the press.” Making many difficulties at first, urging, among other things, that his work must be held imperfect, as not containing his investigations on the generation of insects, I nevertheless prevailed at length, and he said to me, “I intrust these papers to your care with full authority either speedily to commit them to the press, or to suppress them till some future time.” Having returned him many thanks, I bade him adieu, and took my leave, feeling like another Jason laden with the golden fleece. On returning home I forthwith proceeded to examine my prize in all its parts, and could not but wonder with myself that such a treasure should have lain so long concealed; and that whilst others produce their trifles and emptinesses with much ado, their messes twice, aye, an hundred times, heated up, our Harvey should set so little store by his admirable observations. And indeed, so often as he has sent forth any of his discoveries to the world, he has not comported himself like those who, when they publish, would have us believe that an oak had spoken, and that they had merited the rarest honours,--a draught of hen’s milk at the least. Our Harvey rather seems as though discovery were natural to him, a thing of ease and of course, a matter of ordinary business; though he may nevertheless have expended infinite labour and study on his works. And we have evidence of his singular candour in this, that he never hostilely attacks any previous writer, but ever courteously sets down and comments upon the opinions of each; and indeed he is wont to say, that it is argument of an indifferent cause when it is contended for with violence and distemper; and that truth scarce wants an advocate.