"Is your Son improving in his Violin-playing, Mr. Jones?"
"Well—either he's improving, or we're getting used to it!"
Thomas Henry Huxley.
Born, May 4, 1825. Died, June 30, 1895.
Another star of Science slips
Into the shadow of eclipse!—
Yet no; the light is nowise gone,
But burning still, and travelling on
The unborn future to illume,
And dissipate a distant gloom.
True man of Science he, yet more,
Master of metaphysic lore,
Lover of history and of art,
He played a multifarious part.
With clear head and incisive tongue
Dowered, on all he touched he flung
Those rarer charms of grace and wit.
Great learning may not always hit.
To his "liege lady Science" true,
He narrowed not a jealous view
To her alone, but found all life
With charm and ethic interest rife.
Knowing plain lore of germ and plant,
With dreams of Hamilton and Kant,
All parts of the great human plan.
England in him has lost a Man.
The great Agnostic, clear, brave, true,
Taught more things, may be, than he deemed he knew.
Business.