sympathy is concerned; he must be ready "to weep with those who weep and to rejoice with those who rejoice."

Alexander Pope was not a physician. He was, as one of his critics said, a poor little, deformed, drawn-up thing like an interrogation point, that could ask questions. But he was both poet and philosopher, and "Pope's Essay on Man" will be read as long as the English language is read, and that will be until the end of time.

You remember those celebrated lines:

In these times, and especially within the last few years, it has been the fashion for some of the most learned in biblical study to question the inspiration of the Bible; but as one of our distinguished Americans said, "these fellows need the M. D., more than the D. D." A friend of mine, a physician, was talking with a lawyer as to the relative merits of the preacher and the doctor, and the lawyer said: "As the soul is of more value than the body, it follows that the preacher is of more benefit, because the doctor saves only the body." "Well, my friend," said the doctor (addressing the lawyer), "the best way to save your soul is to keep it in your body as long as possible, and that is what your physician is trying to do."

"The proper study of mankind is man." was created in the image of God. "In the He him."

Yes, that is it. Man image of God created

It is said that Galen (or Claudius Galenus) one of the most distinguished of the ancient physicians, was converted to a belief in the existence of a great and all-wise God from the discovery and examination of a human skeleton. After studying the beautiful harmony of its mechanism, he is said to have declared that such a work was too wonderful for any but God. And well he might feel and think that way! He began to study man, and in the skeleton he saw design and wisdom infinite and power beyond all estimate set forth. What nice adjustment of the various parts! What architect with all his diagrams and books could ever invent machine

like this to run for half a century or more with nothing lost from friction or decay? Here is the place, this arching cavity, in which the heart, secure in its retreat, throbbed with the pulse of life. 'Tis silent now. Did it beat more with sorrow or with joy? Did grand emotions swell within his breast, or did he plod his careless way along with stoical indifference? Alas! I cannot tell-his history is hid!

Within these hollow orbits once were placed the eyes-the "soul's interpreters." Perhaps they beamed with intellectual light—the flash from out their hidden depths revealing rare attainments in the realm of thought. Or yet it may be that, with drowsy vacancy, they showed a spirit dull and passionless. But however this may be, we know that in his ardent youth those eyes "looked love to eyes that spoke again," but now their light is fled, their ardor

gone.

Here are the hands! Poor hands! What good they did I know not; perhaps they may sometimes have served unholy purposeswhose hands have not? And now this empty skull reminds me of the brain it once inclosed. What thoughts do crowd me now! The human brain, fit theme for song! 'Twas this enabled Morse to see the means by which we now compel the electric flash to bear our messages to distant lands. 'Twas with this light that Galileo saw the revolution of the earth upon its axis; although for this he was imprisoned and subjected to the taunts of those who walked in darkness, yet to-day his name is honored and oblivion has covered the names of those who sought to deprive him of his liberty.

We are speaking now of the student's first impressions of the wonderful mechanism of the human body and the wonderful achievements of man, who is to be his chief study. Do you remember the immortal Edward Jenner, who was scorned and scoffed at as a fanatic and a fool, when even the streets of London were filled with caricatures of "Jenner riding a cow," and now every adult and every child wears the "Jenner Coat of Arms.”

And when we begin the study of the human body can we forget these things? Will they not be an inspiration to us?

The celebrated Corliss engine, which was set in motion by Presi

dent Grant at the great Centennial of American Independence, was an object of interest and wonder to every person present, and also to every person who read of it in the daily press.

And yet every one who saw it, or read of it, had in his own bosom a greater mystery-the heart, throbbing with the pulse of life; the brain that enabled him to think about it; the eye with which he looked at it; the lungs by which he drew in the breath of life; all mysteries, greater than any ingenuity of man could possibly imagine.

The student of medicine, at the very beginning, comes into close relationship with the most interesting and the grandest part of the study of nature—the study of man himself, and the study of life and death.

Life and death are linked in a mystical union. We do not know what life is-imagination shrinks from the task, and swift-winged fancy soon returns with fruitless efforts to behold the wonders of the infinite. No poet ever can sing nor artist paint the mystery of life. No scientist can tell its seat in the human temple.

The study of life and death, of how to preserve the one and of how to escape the other, is a noble study, and this is our work. Even from the very beginning of a medical student's life, it should begin to develop his character for truth, justice, nobility and un

selfishness. Let him start with this idea. The mountain stream that dances playfully along, turning the miniature mills of the children who sport upon its banks, is soon merged into the mighty river, bearing the messengers of commerce on its bosom, and deciding the situation of the great cities of the world. So it is with character. The men who have attracted the admiration of the world were moved along by easy steps of which they were scarcely

aware.

In all scientific study, and especially in the study of medicine, there is abundant opportunity for developing the faculty of thinking, and thought, when properly directed, is "the making of a man." When Alexander H. Stephens started out for himself as a young lawyer at Crawfordville, Ga., he had a lonely time. He wrote in his diary that he spent many days in his office alone waiting for the clients that did not come, but he spent the time in hard study and in patient thinking. He was making ammunition then for the great battles of life in which he was to engage, but of which he knew nothing at that time. In a few years the opportunity was presented to him, and he was fully equipped and ready for the contest.

You will see the time, gentlemen, as perhaps all of us have, when you will be sick at heart waiting for the patients that do not come, and whilst you are very glad that the people are so healthy and none sick, yet you cannot help wishing that if there should be any sick they might send for you for relief. If this condition of things should ever happen to you, I beg you to have patience. Keep cool and wait. You will see many wise travelers going cheerily along through fair weather or foul, "carrying their sunshine with them." You will see many with "excelsior" on their banners, and you may catch the spirit that animates them. The silent pleadings of the representatives of true nobility will woo you to come and march with this column. Be ready, be fully equipped, and one patient may bring you a hundred more.

It is fair to compare the professions sometimes. Do you remember the celebrated S. S. Prentiss? He went to Vicksburg, thoroughly educated, but without money. He taught school and studied law, but after his first speech at the bar, he was invited by one

of the leading lawyers of that city to be his partner in business. From that hour his fame began.

What would have been the condition of the human race except for the doctors? They have saved so many. According to the theory of Malthus there are too many of us, not too many doctors, of course, but too many people, and this doctrine as treated in a recent article in the North American Review by the distinguished president of Brown University shows that at the present ratio of the increase of births over deaths, that the time will come, perhaps not more than five hundred years in the future, when there will be hardly standing room on the earth. But, thanks to the doctors, the standing room that is still left is made a good deal more comfortable and agreeable all around.

Of course, we know that everybody must die, but the desire of the human family seems to be to put off that event as long as possible. Let me give you two pictures, which are from real life. The first was in the city of Baltimore. A young woman was dying. She knew it. She had two little children. She called for them and kissed them both good night, as was her custom, and then said that was "good night," now this is "good-bye." Do you remember Juliet's good night to Romeo, when she stood in radiant beauty at the window, and he waited in humble submission below-do you remember her "good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night until it be to-morrow?"

That was a pathetic scene, you think, but how different was the case of this young mother when she bade her little children goodnight and then good-bye, knowing that to-morrow would find her in the everlasting beyond-beyond "the smiling and the weeping," the children orphans, the home desolate and the one inspiration and life of that home gone-to return no more.

Do you wonder that the good doctor felt emotions that he "could not express yet could not all conceal?" Do you wonder that his unbidden tears would flow? Do you wonder that he felt that he was on the very threshold between life and death and that he was in the very prescence of the Infinite? Do you wonder that he realized more fully than ever the force and fulness of Cato's soliloquy,