determined, caring little for empty honours, for money only to swell his museum, and nothing for courtly circles, though created surgeon-extraordinary to George III., and owing his large practice solely to the force of his character, his science, and his skill. So far he was his brother's antithesis. John was a diamond in the rough; William the gem cut and polished. And such were the two old doctors to whom England's College of Surgeons owes its Hunterian Museum; the University of Glasgow the other. Had not the brothers quarrelled, the two would have formed one grand unrivalled collection. Space is limited, and so must be our notes of these other celebrated "old doctors," whom it would be invidious to overlook. Of these EDWARD JENNER stands prominently out, but he has been already dealt with by another hand. It is scarcely possible to pass by JOHN ABERNETHY, F.R.S., the eccentric physician, whose principle was that men should eat to live, not live to eat, who maintained that the stomach was the chief seat of health or disease, according as it was used or abused, and that water was the one natural and nutrient beverage. The practical way in which he illustrated his theories respecting overfeeding,--filling a pail with food from various dishes in correspondence with the heterogeneous mixture on his patients' plates--and his brusque replies to some other of his patients, have perpetuated his name through his oddities, rather than as a benefactor of his kind, who revolutionized the medical practice of his time, and of course excited envy and antagonism. His hair, kept together at the nape of the neck with a ribbon tie, was brushed back from his forehead, and added a degree of sharpness to his somewhat hatchet-shaped face, when he told the timorous lady who was "afraid she had swallowed a spider," "Then put a fly in your mouth, madam, and the spider will come up to catch him." Or when he threw the shilling from his fee back to a mother with a delicate daughter, "Take that, madam, and buy her a skipping-rope," an intimation that exercise was needed. It was an age of coarse feeding and strong drinking, an age of drastic purges and much blood-letting, and Abernethy's temperance principles, so much in advance of his time, provoked considerable opposition from his medical brethren, whose satirical epigrams he was not slow to cap. But contemporary squibs and satires cannot affect the real good which has made Abernethy's name a household word. Indeed it has been stamped upon a biscuit. It is stamped also on a medical society he founded at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where his centenary has recently been celebrated.