of it, in the centre of the town. The Physical Institute, Professor
Röntgen's particular domain, is a modest building of two stories and
basement, the upper story constituting his private residence, and
the remainder of the building being given over to lecture rooms,
laboratories, and their attendant offices. At the door I was met by an
old serving-man of the idolatrous order, whose pain was apparent when
I asked for "Professor" Röntgen, and he gently corrected me with "Herr
Doctor Röntgen." As it was evident, however, that we referred to the
same person, he conducted me along a wide, bare hall, running the
length of the building, with blackboards and charts on the walls. At
the end he showed me into a small room on the right. This contained
a large table desk, and a small table by the window, covered
with photographs, while the walls held rows of shelves laden with
laboratory and other records. An open door led into a somewhat larger
room, perhaps twenty feet by fifteen, and I found myself gazing into
a laboratory which was the scene of the discovery--a laboratory which,
though in all ways modest, is destined to be enduringly historical.

There was a wide table shelf running along the farther side, in front
of the two windows, which were high, and gave plenty of light. In the
centre was a stove; on the left, a small cabinet, whose shelves held
the small objects which the professor had been using. There was a
table in the left-hand corner; and another small table--the one on
which living bones were first photographed--was near the stove, and
a Rhumkorff coil was on the right. The lesson of the laboratory was
eloquent. Compared, for instance, with the elaborate, expensive, and
complete apparatus of, say, the University of London, or of any of the
great American universities, it was bare and unassuming to a degree.
It mutely said that in the great march of science it is the genius of
man, and not the perfection of appliances, that breaks new ground in