264 MEMOIR OF GEORGE WILSON. CHAP. VI. 



" SATURDAY, December 5, 1841. 



" MY DEAR DANIEL, My own affairs look a little brighter ; a 

 few more pupils drop in, and with a desperate effort the year 

 may be got over. At present it is unpaid, thankless drudgery, 

 which makes me at times seriously contemplate the necessity of 

 packing off to some other corner of the globe. 



" A ray of golden light stole into my dark den the other day, 

 which may prove a present help, and earnest of something better 

 in store. As I was discoursing to my practical students on 

 some edifying subject, there walked into my laboratory a grave, 

 business -looking, middle-aged man, who, seeing me engaged, 

 made a courteous bow, and took a seat in an easy way at the 

 fireside. My back was to him, so that it was only when I 

 whisked round to chalk upon the board that I could catch a 

 glimpse of him ; and, from the quiet, determined look of the 

 man, I set him down as agent for the gas company, or else the 

 water-bailiff, or some other of the account-presenting gentry 

 whom I abominate. I bundled the class away as fast as possible, 

 and proclaimed myself at his service. Very good ! The rogue 

 was a lawyer, his client was landlord of certain houses in Leith, 

 near which a soap manufactory is carried on, and the soap- 

 refuse being laid before the house-windows, annoyed the in- 

 dwellers by its noisome smell. Would I analyse the said stuff, 

 and substantiate by chemic proof that it might, could, would, 

 and should have an odour ? Certainly ; but at the same time I 

 was given to understand that some of the chemists in town 

 employed by the soap-maker had sworn that the stuff had no 

 smell. Christison, however, was retained on the same side as I, 

 and so that went for little. I told the lawyer to send the stuff, 

 and I would soon tell him whether my art and my conscience 

 would allow me to say it was odoriferous. The stuff arrived ; I 

 gazed on it doubting, for I had a ' cold in my head/ and my 

 sense of smell was as good as gone. Moreover, I never cared 

 much about bad odours, as I daresay you remember : 



" For you must know that to chemists' noses, 

 Little acctistomed to smelling of posies, 

 Assa-foetida is quite the same 

 As the finest oil of roses. 



