lessly ill would always hear the truth from him, but
he would leave no stone unturned to lessen their suffering. Many an
incurable patient has he sent to a home from the London Hospital, and
visited them afterwards. Only the other day I heard of patients he had
sent to St. Elizabeth's, Great Ormond Street, where incurable patients
are nursed and cared for until they die, and never left the hospital
without leaving a guinea with one of the nuns. Sir Andrew had no
stereotyped plan. It was not merely the disease, but the individual he
treated. A friend told me he saved her aunt's life. She could not sleep,
and Sir Andrew ordered them to give her breakfast at five, "for after
tossing about all night she might sleep after having some food," and so
it proved.

[Illustration: THE HARRISON WARD--LONDON HOSPITAL.
_From a Photo. by Mavor & Meredith._]

To others who might get well, he would say: "Fight for your life."

Twelve years ago a lady (whom I met lately) had hemorrhage of the lungs
three times. She was told by seven doctors in the country that she "had
not a week to live." She had young children, and determined to make a
great effort to see Sir Andrew Clark. He prophesied she would get well,
providing she at once left the damp climate where she was then living
and made her permanent home at Malvern. A week after she had taken his
remedies she walked up the Wrekin. From that day she saw Sir Andrew once
every year, and looks upon herself as a monument of his skill.

"Die to live," was a favourite saying of Sir Andrew's. "In congenial
work you will find life, strength, and happiness." This certainly was
his own experience. Only in July last he said to the writer of this
notice: "I never know what it is to feel well now, but work is the joy
of my life."

He could, however, place strict limits as to how much a _patient_ might
work. It is well known how docile and obedient a patient he had in Mr.
Gladstone. One evening, coming downstairs muffled up to avoid a worse
cold, he was met by Sir Andrew with the greeting, "Where are you going?"
"To the House," said Mr. Gladstone. "No, you are not," replied his
friend; "you are going straight to bed!" and to bed he went. Sir Andrew
also limited the time Mr. Gladstone should speak. On one occasion,
however, notwithstanding the fact that the peremptory adviser was
present, watch in hand, Mr. Gladstone, after throwing down the written
speech as the clock struck, went on for another ha