und myself
introduced to new scenes and new companionships.

I can scarcely credit my memory when I recall the first impressions
produced upon me by sights afterwards become so familiar that they
could no more disturb a pulse-beat than the commonest of every-day
experiences. The skeleton, hung aloft like a gibbeted criminal, looked
grimly at me as I entered the room devoted to the students of the school
I had joined, just as the fleshless figure of Time, with the hour-glass
and scythe, used to glare upon me in my childhood from the "New England
Primer." The white faces in the beds at the Hospital found their
reflection in my own cheeks, which lost their color as I looked upon
them. All this had to pass away in a little time; I had chosen my
profession, and must meet its painful and repulsive aspects until they
lost their power over my sensibilities.

The private medical school which I had joined was one established by Dr.
James Jackson, Dr. Walter Channing, Dr. John Ware, Dr. Winslow Lewis,
and Dr. George W. Otis. Of the first three gentlemen I have either
spoken elsewhere or may find occasion to speak hereafter. The two
younger members of this association of teachers were both graduates of
our University, one of the year 1819, the other of 1818.

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 Germa