in Cavendish Square before eight,' said he, 'and I will do what I can
for you.' Many years slipped by; living then in Manchester, I never took
advantage of the kind offer, and I never saw Sir Andrew until some eight
years afterwards. I was calling on my old friend, Sir Joseph Whitworth,
who at that time had rooms in Great George Street. As I came quickly out
of the front door, Clark's carriage drove up, and almost before it
stopped the Doctor 'bounced' out and we nearly ran against each other.
In one 'instant-minute,' as our American friends say, he accosted me:
'Well! How's the gout?' He had no more idea of meeting me at that moment
than of meeting the man in the moon, and yet, no sooner had he seen my
face--which he had not looked upon for eight years--than the whole
'case' flashed upon him. Since that time I have often seen him, and I
shall always retain not only a high opinion of his great gifts, but also
an affectionate remembrance of his great-heartedness."

Literary people and brain-workers particularly interested him, and they
found in the kind doctor a friend who understood them. He would advise
all writing that involved thought to be done in the morning before
luncheon. The evening might be spent in "taking in" or reading up the
subject of a book or paper, but there must be no giving out. For
brain-workers who were not strong, he insisted on meat in the middle of
the day; he declared that for this class it was "physiologically wicked"
even to have luncheon without.

To one who spoke of fatigue after a comparatively short walk, he
replied: "Walk little, then. Many who work their brain are not up to
much exercise. I hardly ever walk a mile myself; but that need not
prevent men having plenty of fresh air."

[Illustration: THE LONDON HOSPITAL