or else wasted my energies in wrong directions.  I read everything I could lay hands upon, including novels, and took up all sorts of pursuits to drop them again quite as speedily.  No doubt it was very largely my own fault, but the only instruction from which I ever obtained the proper effect of education was that which I received from Mr. Wharton Jones, who was the lecturer on physiology at the Charing Cross School of Medicine.  The extent and precision of his knowledge impressed me greatly, and the severe exactness of his method of lecturing was quite to my taste.  I do not know that I have ever felt so much respect for anybody as a teacher before or since.  I worked hard to obtain his approbation, and he was extremely kind and helpful to the youngster who, I am afraid, took up more of his time than he had any right to do.  It was he who suggested the publication of my first scientific paper—­a very little one—­in the Medical Gazette of 1845, and most kindly corrected the literary faults which abounded in it, short as it was; for at that time, and for many years afterwards, I detested the trouble of writing, and would take no pains over it.

It was in the early spring of 1846, that having finished my obligatory medical studies and passed the first M.B. examination at the London University—­though I was still too young to qualify at the College of Surgeons—­I was talking to a fellow-student (the present eminent physician, Sir Joseph Fayrer), and wondering what I should do to meet the imperative necessity for earning my own bread, when my friend suggested that I should write to Sir William Burnett, at that time Director-General for the Medical Service of the Navy, for an appointment.  I thought this rather a strong thing to do, as Sir William was personally unknown to me, but my cheery friend would not listen to my scruples, so I went to my lodgings and wrote the best letter I could devise.  A few days afterwards I received the usual official circular of acknowledgment, but at the bottom there was written an instruction to call at Somerset House on such a day.  I thought that looked like business, so at the appointed time I called and sent in my card, while I waited in Sir William’s ante-room.  He was a tall, shrewd-looking old gentleman, with a broad Scotch accent—­and I think I see him now as he entered with my card in his hand.  The first thing he did was to return it, with the frugal reminder that I should probably find it useful on some other occasion.  The second was to ask whether I was an Irishman.  I suppose the air of modesty about my appeal must have struck him.  I satisfied the Director-General that I was English to the backbone, and he made some inquiries as to my student career, finally desiring me to hold myself ready for examination.  Having passed this, I was in Her Majesty’s Service, and entered on the books of Nelson’s old ship, the Victory, for duty at Haslar Hospital, about a couple of months after I made my application.