James M'Linnie was, at the time of which I speak, himself in Paris, and enthusiastic in his devotion to the indefatigable and highly-gifted teachers amongst whom he lived. He wrote to me, in the letter to which I have above adverted--the first I received from him after his departure from England--in the most glowing terms respecting them; and conjured me by the love I bore our glorious profession--by my ardent aspirations after fame, and by the strong desire which, he believed, I entertained with himself and the majority of men, to serve and benefit my fellow-creatures--not to waste my precious hours in England, but to join him instantly "in the finest field of _operations_ that the world presented." "We are pigmies in London," he continued in his own ardent fashion--"boys, children, infants--they are _giants_ here. Such anatomists! such physicians! Fancy one of our first men, C---- for instance, standing for nearly one hour at the bedside of a labouring man, and tracing the fellow's history step by step, patiently and searchingly, in order to arrive at the small beginnings of disease, its earliest indications, and first causes. I saw it done yesterday by one to whom C---- could not hold a candle--a man whose reputation is continental--whose practice does not leave him a moment in the day for personal recreation--who is loaded with honours and distinctions. The students listen to him as to an oracle; and with cause. He leaps to no conclusions--his sterling mind satisfies itself with nothing but truth, and is content to labour after mere glimpses and intimations, which it secures for future comparison and study. Remind me when you come out--for come out you must--of the story of the baker. I will tell it you then in full. It is a capital instance of the professor's acuteness and ability. A patient came into the hospital a month ago; his case puzzled every one; nothing could be done for him, and he was about to be discharged. The professor saw him, visited him regularly for a week--watched him--noted every trifling symptom--prescribed for him;--in vain. The man did not rally--and the professor could not say what ailed him. One morning the latter came to the patient's bedside, and said, 'You tell me, _mon enfant_, that you have been a porter. Were you never in any other occupation?' 'Yes,' groaned the poor fellow; 'I drove a cabriolet for a year or two'---- 'Go on,' said the professor encouragingly. 'And then,' continued the man, 'and then I was at a boot-maker's; afterwards at a saddler's--and at last a porter.' 'You have never worked at any other trade?' 'Never, sir.' 'Think again--be quite sure.' 'No--never, sir.' Have you never been a baker?' 'Oh yes, sir--that was twenty years ago--and only for a few months; but I was so ill at the oven that I was obliged to give it up.' 'That will do, _mon enfant_--don't tire yourself, try and go to sleep.' In the lecture-room afterwards, the professor addressed the students thus: 'Gentlemen--once