Lecturers will sometimes endeavour to illustrate a point which is difficult or obscure by something more difficult still, or something borrowed from another branch of science. Sometimes the illustrations are so lengthy, or intrinsically important, that a pupil forgets _what principle_ it was that was _to be illustrated_. When we are desirous of learning something about water or air, it is painful for a pupil to be "reminded" of the "properties of angles," which it is an even chance he never knew. It is equally uncomfortable to many an audience, in lectures on _other subjects_, to have the course of a cannon-ball, which three pieces of string would sufficiently explain, for mere purposes of illustration, charged with the "laws of projectiles," the "composition of forces," &c. We are of course not thinking of learn_ed_ but learn_ing_ audiences. To the former, lectures are of no use; but we allude to learners of mixed information and capacity; like young men who have been residing with medical men in the country; who come to a lecture for information, and who require to be interested, in order that they may be instructed. Abernethy's illustrations were always in simple language. Rough ridden sometimes by a succession of many-footed Greek compounds, the mind of a student loves to repose on the refreshing simplicity of household phrases. Abernethy had stories innumerable. Every case almost was given with the interest of a tale; and every tale impressed some lesson, or taught some relation in the structure, functions, or diseases of the body. We will give one or two; but their effect lay in the admirable manner in which they were related. If he was telling anything at all humorous, it would be lighted up by his half-shut, half-smiling, and habitually benevolent eye. Yet his eye would easily assume the fire of indignation when he spoke of cruelty or neglect, showing how really repulsive these things were to him. Then his quiet, almost stealthy, but highly dramatic imitation of the manner of some singular patient. His equally finished mode of expressing pain, in the subdued tone of his voice; and then when something soothing or comfortable had been successfully administered to a patient, his "Thank you, sir, thank you, that is very comfortable," was just enough always to interest, and never to offend. Now and then he would sketch some patient who had been as hasty as he himself was sometimes reported to be. "Mr. Abernethy, I am come, sir, to consult you about a complaint that has given me a great deal of trouble." "Show me your tongue, sir. Ah, I see your digestive organs are very wrong." "I beg your pardon, sir; there you are wrong yourself; I never was better in all my life," &c. All this, which is nothing in telling, was delivered in a half-serious, half-Munden-like, humorous manner, and yet so subdued as never to border on vulgarity or farce.