In passing through the Tyro, on my way into the north of Italy, I found in a small inn, remote from medical attendance, an English traveller seized with acute inflammation of the lungs, and in a state of imminent danger.
I devoted myself to him night and day; and, perhaps more through careful nursing than active remedies, I had the happiness to effect his complete recovery.

The traveller proved to be Julius Faber, a physician of great distinction, contented to reside, where he was born, in the provincial city of L----, but whose reputation as a profound and original pathologist was widely spread, and whose writings had formed no unimportant part of my special studies.

It was during a short holiday excursion, from which he was about to return with renovated vigour, that he had been thus stricken down.

The patient so accidentally met with became the founder of my professional fortunes.

He conceived a warm attachment for me,--perhaps the more affectionate because he was a childless bachelor, and the nephew who would succeed to his wealth evinced no desire to succeed to the toils by which the wealth had been acquired.