Inquisitive folk often overburthened Snow, after these events, with a multitude of questions of an unmeaning kind. He answered them all with goodnatured reserve. “Her Majesty is a model patient,” was his usual reply: a reply which, he once told me, seemed to answer every purpose, and was very true. One lady of an inquiring mind, to whom he was administering chloroform, got very loquacious during the period of excitement, and declared she would inhale no more of the vapour unless she were told what the Queen said, word for word, when she was taking it. Her Majesty, replied the dry doctor, asked no questions until she had breathed very much longer than you have; and if you will only go on in loyal imitation, I will tell you everything. The patient could not but follow the example held out to her. In a few seconds she forget all about Queen, Lords, and Commons; and when the time came for a renewal of hostilities, found that her clever witness had gone home to his dinner, leaving her with the thirst for knowledge still on her tongue. From the literary and general history of Dr. Snow, let us turn for a few pages to his history personal. I will take the mean of the last eight years of his life,—the period in which I knew him,—as the period from which to draw particulars. He was of middle size, and, some years since, slender; but of late he had become of slightly fuller build. His long life in comparative student loneliness had made him reserved in manner to strangers; but with private friends he was always open, and of sweet companionship. With his increased popularity he became less reserved to strangers; and within the last few years he so far threw off restraint as to visit the opera occasionally. But he moderated every enjoyment, and let nothing personal stand in the way of his scientific pursuits. He was the impersonation of order. He had his time and place for everything; he kept a diary, in which he recorded the particulars of every case in which he administered chloroform or other anæsthetic, with comments on the results of the administration, and hints as to dangers avoided or chanced. He kept a record of all his experiments, and short notes of observations made by his friends. He rose early, and retired early to rest,—at eleven o’clock. He seemed, whenever he was waited on, as though he had nothing in hand, and were always open to an engagement. Anything and everything of scientific interest arrested his attention, and his kindliness of heart was at all times in the foreground. When I was living at Mortlake, he would run down, on request, after his day’s duties were over, to a _post-mortem_, to see a poor patient, or to take part in an experiment, returning as cheerily as though he had been to receive the heaviest fee. I name this as but one example of his kindly nature; there are many who could corroborate the example in like personal manner.