st medals in anatomy, physiology, chemistry,
botany, materia medica, surgery, pathology, and practice of physic.

At twenty-two, in very delicate health, he entered the Royal Navy as
assistant-surgeon, and was appointed to the hospital at Haslar. His
subsequent medical career is pretty generally known. He obtained almost
every possible honour, culminating in the Presidency of the College of
Physicians for the lengthy term of six years.

Sir Andrew was devoted to the College. He made an excellent President,
and a dignified, courteous, and just chairman. His successor will find
it no easy task to fill his place.

He took an intense interest in all that concerned the welfare of the
College, and gave many proofs of his affection, one of the last being a
donation of L500 last year towards its redecoration. Not a great many
laymen know the College by sight. It is a corner building in Trafalgar
Square, the entrance facing Whitcomb Street. The meetings of the Fellows
are held in the magnificent library, lined with 60,000 volumes, chiefly
classics. Opening out of the library is the Censors' room, panelled with
old oak, and hung with portraits of former Presidents, chiefly by old
masters. At an examination the President sits at the end of the table
with his back to the fireplace, the Registrar (Dr. Liveing) opposite,
and the Censors on either side. In front of the President is a cushion
with the Caduceus, the Mace, and the Golden Cane. It was in the library
that Sir Andrew presided at the Harveian Oration the day before he was
taken ill.

Sir Andrew could not be judged of by the surface. As Sir Joseph Phayres
truly says: "I have known him intimately, and the more I knew him the
more I respected and admired him." Those who knew him best loved him
best. One has only to read how one leading man after another writes of
him with enthusiastic appreciation (in the _Medical Journal_) to learn
what his colleagues thought of his medical skill and personal character.

A bishop recently spoke of him as the truthful doctor: and a young girl,
who from a small child had stayed with him, told me he would always
correct himself if he had told an anecdote the least inaccurately; and
one day this summer when walking round their garden with him she said
the caterpillars had eaten all their gooseberry trees; "I mean the
gooseberry _leaves_," she added. Sir Andrew immediately said, "I am glad
you are particular to say what is exactly true"; but, s