"He once said that if I had died at that time, there was not a doctor in
London would have approved of his treatment. He gave a description of my
case some years ago, in a lecture I think at Brighton--but of course
without the name. The particular weakness was valvular disease of the
heart, the consequence of rheumatic fever, and this treatment was
founded on the principle that Nature always works towards compensation.
He told me many years ago that that particular mischief was fully
compensated for."

[Illustration: THE READING ROOM--COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS.
_From a Photo. by Mavor & Meredith_]

He loved his work and never tired of it. He often told the story how
his first serious case, and encouraging cure, was himself. With severe
hemorrhage of the lungs, he was told it would be at the risk of his life
if he went on with his studies. A doctor, however, he made up his mind
he would be, and that he would begin by making every effort to cure
himself. With characteristic determination, he persisted in a strict
regimen of diet and fresh air. "I determined," said Sir Andrew, "as far
as my studies would allow me--for I never intended to give them up--to
live in the fresh air, often studying out of doors; and in a short time
I was so much better that I was able to take gentle exercise. I got
well, and I may almost say I got over the trouble which threatened me."
The lungs were healed, and a result which seemed inevitable avoided. He
would often say he obtained his first appointment at the London Hospital
chiefly out of pity, the authorities thinking he would not live six
months, but he outlived almost every one of them.

[Illustration: THE CADUCENS, MACE, BOOK, AND SEAL--COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS
_From a Photo by Mavor & Meredith_]

No man could have kept on for fourteen and sixteen hours a day, as Sir
Andrew did, without unbounded enthusiasm and an absorbing interest.

His enormous correspondence must have been the great tax. Most people
are disinclined to write a dozen letters at the end of a hard day's
work; but Sir Andrew often came home at eight o'clock with the knowledge
that letters would occupy him until after midnight. His letters averaged
sixty per day. These would be answered by return, except where minute
directions were inclosed.

Only the other day, a friend of his told me, Sir Andrew came in the
morning, a short time before he was taken ill, looking very tired and
worried. On being asked the reason, he said