In thinking over the question of trembling, memory has become so excited, that wherever I seek a place of repose amongst my recollections, I still see people before me, trembling. The first, dimmest of these recollections is of an old uncle of mine, a veteran, who, while I was a child, used to take me on his knee to tell me about Napoleon’s battles, and I would look at his snuff-box shaking in his hands and could not understand why I must help him to steady his fingers, as he showed me the picture of the emperor on his medal. And behind him I see a simple, affectionate old lady who used to say tender words to me with her trembling voice. She was the godmother of my mother, and was always so indulgent with me when I played near her little work-table, and used to watch me contentedly over her spectacles, waiting till I had drawn the thread through the big-eyed needle, and telling me that her hands no longer obeyed her. Then the trembling fit which came over me in the Alps when I had wandered through a glacier, risking my life at every step, and it seemed a miracle that I should have escaped the dreadful abyss which was ready to engulf me. Again, amongst the first recollections of my hospital life, I see the emaciated faces of trembling invalids poisoned with quinine or mercury; the convalescent, sitting up in bed, unable to steady the cup in their hand; the anæmic, who, from loss of blood, performed every movement tremblingly; the ravingly hysterical, who only found rest in sleep. I recall again the times and places when I have hurried excitedly to fires, boiler-explosions, to the ruins of fallen buildings, and have seen men whose teeth chattered in consequence of burns received, strong workmen laid on stretchers who trembled from the effect of their contusions. I remember the night-watches, when we used to relieve each other in attendance on those unfortunate beings who had fallen a prey to tetanus, and whose life had to be prolonged by inhalations of chloroform. In the long, silent halls of the infirmaries I still see the pitiable look of those suffering from _tabes dorsalis_ or _paralysis agitans_, who could not stand steadily, nor indeed erect themselves at all, as though a curse were agitating the muscles, over which the will had lost all control, and which at last became so rigid that even the bones of the skeleton were bent and deformed.