The author does not claim for his work any considerable originality, but presents it as a compendium proper of the teachings of other writers. Naturally his own part in the book is not obtruded upon our notice. Now the desiderata of such a compendium are: 1. That it shall be based upon the best attainable authorities. 2. That these authorities shall be accurately represented. 3. That the compendium shall be reasonably comprehensive. In neither of these respects is the compendium of Gilbert liable, I think, to adverse criticism. The book is, undoubtedly, the work of a famous and strictly orthodox physician, possessed of exceptional education in the science of his day, a man of wide reading, broadened by extensive travel and endowed with the knowledge acquired by a long experience, honest, truthful and simple minded, yet not uncritical in regard to novelties, firm in his own opinions but not arrogant, sympathetic, possessed of a high sense of professional honor, a firm believer in authority and therefore credulous, superstitious after the manner of his age, yet harboring, too, a germ of that healthy skepticism which Roger Bacon, his great contemporary, developed and illustrated. I believe, therefore, that we may justly award to the medical pages of the Compendium not only the rather negative praise of being written as well as the work of any of Gilbert's contemporaries, but the more positive credit of being thoroughly abreast of the medical science of its age and country, an "Abstract and brief chronicle of the time." The surgical chapters of the work are unique in a compendium of medicine, and merit even more favorable criticism. The discouragement of the practice of medicine and surgery on the part of ecclesiastics by the popes and church councils of the twelfth century, culminating in the decree of Pope Innocent III in 1215, which forbade the participation of the higher clergy in any operation involving the shedding of blood (_Ecclesia abhorret a sanguine_); the relatively scanty supply of educated lay physicians and surgeons, and finally the pride and inertia of the lay physicians themselves; all these combined to relegate surgery in the thirteenth century to the hands of a class of ignorant and unconscionable empirics, whose rash activity shed a baleful light upon the art of surgery itself. As a natural result the practice of this art drifted into an _impasse_, from which the organization of the barber-surgeons seemed the only logical means of escape.