At last York must be again left; the London student life was in view. In the summer of the year at which we have arrived, 1836, he set off from York to Liverpool, and, trudging it afoot from Liverpool through the whole of North and South Wales, turned London-ward, calling at Bath by the way, on a visit to his uncle, Mr. Empson, to whom, to the end of his life, he was devotedly attached. October 1836—eventful October—brought him to the “great city”, and placed him on the benches of the Hunterian School of Medicine in Windmill-street: a school long since closed, and now almost a myth; like the mill which gave the name to the locality. I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. Joshua Parsons of Beckington, near Bath, for an insight into the life and manners of my beloved friend during his student career. Mr. Parsons had the happiness to be the special fellow-student of Snow. Their friendship, cemented early in life, never declined, but had added to it, “on my part,” says Mr. Parsons, “respect and admiration for the solid talents and industry of my old colleague.” Speaking of their common labours, Mr. Parsons writes as follows: “Our acquaintance commenced in 1836, at the Hunterian School of Medicine in Windmill-street, where we were both dissecting at that time. It happened that we usually overstayed our fellows, and often worked far on into the evening. The acquaintance thus grew into intimacy, which ended by our lodging and reading together. We were constant companions from that time till I left town, in October 1837. During that period Dr. Snow was, as a student, characterized by the same mental qualities which have marked him ever since. Not particularly quick of apprehension, or ready in invention, he yet always kept in the foreground by his indomitable perseverance and determination in following up whatever line of investigation was open to him. The object of this steady pursuit with him was always _truth_: the naked truth, for its own sake, was what he sought and loved. No consideration of honour or profit seemed to have power to bias his opinions on any subject. At the period of our co-residence he was a strict vegetarian, and many and great were the controversies held between us on the subject. These led to trials of our comparative strength and endurance, in one of which, on Easter Monday 1837, we walked to St. Alban’s, and back to town through Harrow,—a distance, I believe, of rather more than fifty miles. On reaching the Edgeware Road, my companion was fairly beaten, and obliged to reach home in an omnibus. But though this, you will say, shows a fair amount of strength, yet it was my impression that my friend’s constitutional powers were impaired by his mode of living, for I observed that he suffered from an amount of physical excitability not to be looked for in a man of his bodily powers and placid mental organization. I remember, on two or three occasions, so slight an injury as a cut of the finger