PERSONAL REMINISCENCES. 35 



first looked down the microscope, and then at me, and 

 only said, as he gave my hand a firm grip, " All right, 

 sir ; good night ! " 



Now, my friend, if you should be so happy as to be a 

 teacher (but, stop ! "IF" / we are all teachers, and can- 

 not help it), here's a lesson for your encouragement. 



Weeks after this, a dear friend came up to me, saying, 

 " Oh, I say, Crowther, what have you been doing ? " 



" Doing ! " I answered ; " many things. Why ? " 



" Well," he said, " there's a man employed in Deptford 

 dockyard, and he's going about amongst all the men 

 talking about nothing but ' Crowther ' and bees' legs ! " 



Sometimes a different result has attended the labour 

 of love, but often spiced with what may reasonably 

 provoke a smile, although it be of graver sort. 



Once, after a severe affliction, when I was over-sensitive 

 and easily unnerved, I received an enigmatical letter 

 from a very dear friend, whom I truly loved and would 

 not wound for the world a clergyman, who had formerly 

 been my pastor. He lived at some distance. I said to 

 myself, "There's something between the lines in this 

 mysterious note, and I shall have no peace till I know 

 what it means ; I shall go and find out for myself." Reach- 

 ing his London residence, I found him absent. I stayed 

 till he returned, and then we had some such conversation 

 as this : " My dear Mr. A., you have written me a note 

 which reads like a mysterious riddle. There's more in it 

 than is expressed what is it ? What have I done that 

 appears to have offended you ? " " Oh, nothing very 

 particular," said he, " nothing very particular ; only only 

 that lecture you've been giving at Mr. Spurgeon's ! " 



Now, the truth was this : I had been giving one of my 

 entomological talks to the children at Stockwell, belong- 

 ing to Mr. Spurgeon's orphanage, and a favourable report 



