When they were introduced to the lady, Abernethy said: "Well, now, I should be very well satisfied with Mr. ——'s report of your case; but he says I must examine the limb for myself: so here goes."—A somewhat repulsive beginning to a delicate lady, perhaps; but nothing could be more cautiously gentle than his examination. In conducting it, he had avoided one test which usually _does_ give a little pain. The other surgeon, deeming the decision to be very important, reminded him of this test (raising the limb and striking the heel gently), which he then proceeded to do with equal gentleness. "That will do," said he. "Now, sir, shall we go into another room?" "No, sir," replied the surgeon. "If you please, Mr. Abernethy, I should prefer your at once telling the patient what is your opinion on the case." He then declared his opinion; but, fearing he might injure one or other party, with the following exordium: "Now, madam, we are all liable to mistakes: there is no man living who does not make more or less; and I am sure I make mistakes; therefore I may do so in my opinion of your case. But for the life of me I cannot perceive that you have any disease in your hip." He then gave a short, but most lucid view of what he conceived to be the cause of her pain, and illustrated it by referring to something which happened to himself in one of his own severe rheumatic attacks. The result proved that he was quite right as to his view of the case; the lady, by exercise and other means (which, had the hip been diseased, would have only exasperated her complaint), had a good recovery. One very great charm in Abernethy in consultation was, that there was no difficulty in getting him to speak out. Some men are so afraid of being wrong, that they never give you the whole of their opinion in a case involving any difficulty. It is so obscure, and followed up by so guarded a prognosis, that it sometimes amounts to no opinion at all.