Dr. Lewis was a great favorite with students.  He was a man of very lively temperament, fond of old books and young people, open-hearted, free-spoken, an enthusiast in teaching, and especially at home in that apartment of the temple of science where nature is seen in undress, the anthropotomic laboratory, known to common speech as the dissecting-room.  He had that quality which is the special gift of the man born for a teacher,—­the power of exciting an interest in that which he taught.  While he was present the apartment I speak of was the sunniest of studios in spite of its mortuary spectacles.  Of the students I met there I best remember James Jackson, Junior, full of zeal and playful as a boy, a young man whose early death was a calamity to the profession of which he promised to be a chief ornament; the late Reverend J. S. C. Greene, who, as the prefix to his name signifies, afterwards changed his profession, but one of whose dissections I remember looking upon with admiration; and my friend Mr. Charles Amory, as we call him, Dr. Charles Amory, as he is entitled to be called, then, as now and always, a favorite with all about him.  He had come to us from the schools of Germany, and brought with him recollections of the teachings of Blumenbach and the elder Langenbeck, father of him whose portrait hangs in our Museum.  Dr. Lewis was our companion as well as our teacher.  A good demonstrator is,—­I will not say as important as a good Professor in the teaching of Anatomy, because I am not sure that he is not more important.  He comes into direct personal relations with the students,—­he is one of them, in fact, as the Professor cannot be from the nature of his duties.  The Professor’s chair is an insulating stool, so to speak; his age, his knowledge, real or supposed, his official station, are like the glass legs which support the electrician’s piece of furniture, and cut it off from the common currents of the floor upon which it stands.  Dr. Lewis enjoyed teaching and made his students enjoy being taught.  He delighted in those anatomical conundrums to answer which keeps the student’s eyes open and his wits awake.  He was happy as he dexterously performed the tour de maitre of the old barber-surgeons, or applied the spica bandage and taught his scholars to do it, so neatly and symmetrically that the aesthetic missionary from the older centre of civilization would bend over it in blissful contemplation, as if it were a sunflower.  Dr. Lewis had many other tastes, and was a favorite, not only with students, but in a wide circle, professional, antiquarian, masonic, and social.

Dr. Otis was less widely known, but was a fluent and agreeable lecturer, and esteemed as a good surgeon.

I must content myself with this glimpse at myself and a few of my fellow-students in Boston.  After attending two courses of Lectures in the school of the University, I went to Europe to continue my studies.

You may like to hear something of the famous Professors of Paris in the days when I was a student in the Ecole de Medicine, and following the great Hospital teachers.