“God hath given me interesting and honourable service, yea! that which in all the world I most desired; “He hath lifted me up among the _mæcenates scientiarum_, yea! among the princes of the kingdom, and into the King’s house; “He hath lent me the largest herbarium in the world, my best delight. “He hath honoured me with the honorary title of _arkiater_, with the star of a knight, with the shield of a nobleman, and with a name in the world of letters, etc.” The only difference being that the great botanist thanked God for his herbarium, while our hospital man of science has generally little thought of God when making up his case book, unless it be to think, with Helmholtz, how much more perfect organs he could have devised had he been consulted at creation. Elsworth often thought that all their diagnosis and classification did little for the cure of disease; and that, as the labourer said of his landlord’s claret, “You didn’t get any forrarder with it all!” “Some day we shall arrive at the treatment stage,” they said; “at present all is chaos in that direction. We have not diagnosed enough,” they urge. “We must diagnose a good deal more in every part of the world; then meet in congress, then keep up discussion in a hundred societies, and, in the course of a century or so, we may begin to try to cure people; but it is too early yet. Meanwhile, we can diagnose. And take our fees? Why, certainly!” Mr. Crowe was lecturer on physiology and pathology; that is to say, he taught the students what the human body is in its normal state, and what happened to it when subject to disease. He claimed that the only gate to the true knowledge of a doctor’s work was the branch of science which formed his speciality; and, as the examiners seemed to take the same view, Mr. Crowe occupied a considerable share of the students’ time and attention. St. Bernard’s made a great fuss with Mr. Crowe, and grudged no expenditure on his department. He could have all sorts of costly and curious apparatus on application, because, in the present rage for experiment, it was found to pay. He had a beautiful laboratory for his work in the medical school, and in the hospital, fine new chambers attached to the post-mortem room, where he kept his microscopes, and made sections with the utmost patience and skill. Here he often spent whole nights alone; here it was more than rumoured the most gruesome things went on in secret, for, in the vaults below, there was a small menagerie. No one was supposed to have access to this inquisition-chamber, except he was either in Mr. Crowe’s employ, or in his completest confidence, for of late unpleasant discussions had taken place, and the subscribing public had made it pretty well known that they did not support St. Bernard’s for this sort of work. Thus, great care had to be exercised, and all Mr. Crowe’s familiars were cautioned to mind what they were about. The tabbies and the lap-dogs of the