upon Parturition," his last labors in the service of science. and humanity.

Three years after he entered upon his duties at the Jefferson he published his splendid "System of Surgery"-a work which, though in many respects its pathology and its practice are now obsolete, is a mine of information, a monument of untiring labor, a text-book worthy of its author, and one which has been the companion and guide of many generations of students. It was translated into several foreign tongues and passed through six editions, the last appearing only seventeen months before his death. That even when verging upon fourscore he should have been willing to throw aside all his strong prejudices and accept the then struggling principles and practice of Listerism shows the progressive character of his mind and his remarkable willingness to welcome new truths.

From his removal to Philadelphia until his death, twentyeight years later, his life can be summed up in a few sentences: daily labor in his profession, editorial labor without cessation for some years in managing the "North American MedicoChirurgical Review," the successor of the Louisville "Medical Review," of which he had also been the editor; article after article in journals; address after address; twenty-six annual courses of lectures on surgery to thousands of students; labors without ceasing until he wrapped the drapery of his couch. around him and calmly passed away.

In reviewing his life we may fittingly consider it from the standpoint of the surgeon, the author, the teacher, and the

man.

As a surgeon he was painstaking, thorough, and careful in his investigation of a case, skillful as an operator, and, having so vast an experience and equally extensive acquaintance with the wide literature of his profession, he was scarcely ever perplexed by the most difficult case and rarely at a loss as to the proper course to pursue in the most unexpected emergencies.

He was a practitioner of the old school, who always mingled medicine with surgery, and attributed much of his success in the latter to his experience in the former. In theory he sometimes clung to beliefs, which, in practice, he abandoned. In one of his later papers, "A Lost Art," and in his lectures, he still advocated bloodletting; but in the nearly twenty years in which as a student, an assistant in his clinic, and a quiz-master I saw much of his practice I only remember two cases in which he actually bled his patients.

His influence on the profession was marked and wholesome. For many years he was almost always at the annual meetings of the American Medical Association and the American Surgical Association, was looked up to in both as the Nestor of the profession, and his papers and his wise words of counsel moulded both the thought and the action of his brethren to a notable degree. He founded two medical journals, was the founder of the Pathological Society of Philadelphia and of the Philadelphia Academy of Surgery, the founder and first president of the American Surgical Association, and the first president of the Alumni Association of the Jefferson Medical College. It is peculiarly fitting, therefore, that these last two associations should unite to-day in erecting and unveiling the bronze statue of one who did so much for them and whom they rightly delight to honor. All who knew his tall, manly figure and his fine face will agree that it is a speaking likeness, both in pose and feature. Could I only get a glimpse of the right hand which holds his familiar scalpel I would recognize the man. Ex pede Herculem! Ex manu Gross !

As an author, his chief characteristics were untiring industry, comprehensiveness, methodical treatment of his subject, and a singular felicity of style, especially for one who acquired English so late and with difficulty. In fact, through life his speech, by a slight, though not unpleasant, accent, always betrayed his German descent.

He "blazed" more than one new trail" in the forests of

surgical ignorance. In the early part, and even in the middle of this century, it was rare for Americans to write medical books. The most they did was either to translate a French or a German work or to annotate an English one. He was one of the earliest to create an American medical literature of importance, and his works on the "Urinary Organs," on "Foreign Bodies in the Air-passages," and his text-book on "Surgery" gave a position to American surgery abroad which we can now hardly appreciate; while, as already related, his "Pathological Anatomy" was the very first work in the English language on that most important branch of medicine.

His experiments and monograph on "Wounds of the Intestines" laid the foundation for the later studies of Parkes, Senn, and other American surgeons, and have led to the modern rational and successful treatment of these then so uniformly fatal injuries. He first advocated abdominal section in rupture of the bladder, the use of adhesive plaster in fractures of the legs, amputation in senile gangrene, and the immediate uniting of tendon to tendon when they were divided in an incised wound. Had he lived but a year or two longer bacteriology would have shown him that scrofula was of tuberculous origin, and not, as he so firmly believed and vigorously taught, a manifestation of hereditary syphilis.

That his eminence as an author should have met with recognition from scientific organizations and institutions of learning is no cause of surprise. It made him the president of the International Medical Congress of 1876, a member of many of the scientific societies of Europe as well as of America, and won for him the LL.D. of the University of Pennsylvania, and I believe the unique honor in America of having had conferred upon him the highest degree of all three of the leading universities of Great Britain-Oxford, Cambridge, and Edinburgh. Indeed, it is both significant and pathetic to note that he laid down his pen just after recording in his

autobiography the announcement of the honor which the University of Edinburgh intended to bestow upon him at its tercentenary celebration.

As a teacher, I can speak both with personal knowledge and enthusiasm. I can see his tall, stately form, his handsome face, his glowing features, his impressive gestures. He was earnestness itself. Filled to overflowing with his subject, his one desire was to impart to us as much of the knowledge he possessed as our young heads could hold. Repetition did not blunt the novelty nor time lessen the attraction of his theme. It always seemed as if he were telling us for the first time the new story of the beneficent work that surgery could do for the injured and the suffering. His whole heart was in his work. Especially did he inculcate the principles of surgery, for he was convinced, and rightly, that one who was thoroughly imbued with these could not go far wrong in his practice.

His own statement of one of the qualifications of a teacher is so true, yet so often forgotten, that, in spite of its mixed metaphor, I will quote it: "A teacher should be bold and decided in his opinions; not too positive, but sufficiently so to be authoritative. The student cannot judge for himself. The knowledge that is placed before him must be, so to speak, well digested for him." His sense of the heavy responsibility of the teacher is well shown by the following from his autobiography: "Nothing was more offensive to me than applause as I entered the amphitheatre, and I never permitted it after the first lecture. I always said, 'Gentlemen, such a noise is more befitting a theatre or a circus than a temple dedicated not to Esculapius, but to Almighty God, for the study of disease and accident, and your preparation for the great duties of your profession. There is something awfully solemn in a profession which deals with life and death, and I desire, at the very threshold of this course of lectures, to impress upon your minds its sacred and responsible character, that

you may be induced to make the best possible use of your time, and conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the dignity of Christian gentlemen.'

The value of recitations in a medical course I fully appreciate and indorse. They will occupy in the future a much larger place in our medical schools than they now do. But I am equally convinced that such a voice, such a presence, such an impressive, earnest lecturer will never lose their powerful influence nor their place in instruction.

As a man, he was beautiful in his relations with his family, who were devoted to him with an affection that was unusually strong; upright in all his dealings, and despising cant and pretense and anything unworthy a true gentleman. Few men were more widely known in and out of the profession, and few ever had the good fortune to know intimately so many distinguished people of both continents. Wherever he was known he was respected, and by those who knew him intimately he was beloved.

Such, then, was the man whom we are gathered to-day to honor. The American Surgical Association, the Alumni Association of the Jefferson Medical College, and a few friends who have gladly united with us in this service of affectionate remembrance, have presented his statue to the people of the United States, to stand forever in our beautiful capital city as a mute, yet eloquent, evidence of our esteem for his personal worth and his professional attainments.

It is strange that the human race has failed so grievously to recognize publicly its great medical benefactors. Mr. Lecky, in his last remarkable book, in speaking of the rewards of genius in Great Britain, after enumerating the chief of the extraordinary and beneficent achievements of medical men in the present century, says, "England may justly claim a foremost place in this noble work, and many of her finest intellects have been enlisted in its service. In no single instance has this kind of eminence been recognized by a