It holds the monument of the untiring labour of a great master—the rich garnerings of a single mind—the record, alas! but of _some_ of the obligations mankind owe to the faithful pioneer of a Science which, however now partially merged in clouds and darkness, and obscured by error, still exhibits through the gloom, enough to assert its lofty original, and to foster hopes of better times. The museum of John Hunter (for it is of that we write) is one of the greatest labours ever achieved by a single individual. To estimate that labour aright, to arrive at a correct notion of the man, the spectator should disregard the number of preparations—the mass of mechanical and manipulatory labour which is involved—the toil, in fact, of mere collection; and, looking through that, contemplate the _thought_ which it records; the general nature of the plan; the manner in which the Argus-eyed Author has assembled together various processes in the vegetable creation; how he has associated them with their nearest relations in the animal kingdom; and how he has traced the chain from link to link, from the more simple to the more compounded forms, so as to throw light on the laws dispensed to Man. The spectator should then think of the Hunterian portion of the museum as the exhausting harvest of half a life, blessed with no greatly lengthened days; a museum gathered not in peaceful seasons of leisure, nor amid the ease of undiverted thought, but amidst the interrupting agitations of a populous city—the persistent embarrassments of measured means—the multiform distractions of an arduous profession—the still more serious interruptions of occasional indisposition—and, finally, amidst annoyances from quarters whence he had every right to expect support and sympathy—annoyances which served no other purpose but to embitter the tenure of life, and to hasten its termination.