This my correspondent understood to mean the experiments had been
successful.

"He once said that if I had died at that time, there was not a doctor in
London would have approved of his treatment. He gave a description of my
case some years ago, in a lecture I think at Brighton--but of course
without the name. The particular weakness was valvular disease of the
heart, the consequence of rheumatic fever, and this treatment was
founded on the principle that Nature always works towards compensation.
He told me many years ago that that particular mischief was fully
compensated for."

[Illustration: THE READING ROOM--COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS.
_From a Photo. by Mavor & Meredith_]

He loved his work and never tired of it. He often told the story how
his first serious case, and encouraging cure, was himself. With severe
hemorrhage of the lungs, he was told it would be at the risk of his life
if he went on with his studies. A doctor, however, he made up his mind
he would be, and that he would begin by making every effort to cure
himself. With characteristic determination, he persisted in a strict
regimen of diet and fresh air. "I determined," said Sir Andrew, "as far
as my studies would allow me--for I never intended to give them up--to
live in the fresh air, often studying out of doors; and in a short time
I was so much better that I was able to take gentle exercise. I got
well, and I may almost say I got over the trouble which threatened me."
The lungs were healed, and a result which seemed inevitable avoided. He
would often say he obtained his first appointment at the London Hospital
chiefly out of pity, the authorities thinking he would not live six