denten-Gesellschaft, a company of students who proposed to study minutely and exactly all the obstacles in the way of rapid transit and the means by which each in turn could be overcome. That they have solved the problem where all the rest of the world have failed we know to-day, and Dr. Pritchett well says in that article: "The research habit once considered so far removed from utilitarian ends, is to-day the greatest financial asset of Germany."

Go around the world and you meet in Japan, in China, in India, in Egypt, everywhere, the familiar label, “Made in Germany." Why should it not hereafter be "Made in America?" When we have acquired the "research habit" and make it our best and most valuable "asset," I believe that this label will surely supplant the other. This "research habit" in medicine is of as distinct value as a financial "asset," as it is in engineering or in commerce.

The third reason that I suggest for increased endowment in medical schools is the genuine and lasting pleasure that it gives to the donors. I alluded but a moment ago to the enormous number of human lives saved to the community by surgery. Let me ask, can there be a greater pleasure to any of your rich patients than to know that he has had the comfort and the pleasure of taking a large part in such a wonderful achievement, a large part in such a superb gift to humanity, a gift far better than any warrior ever gave? Could there be a greater comfort while a man lives, or when he enters the valley of the shadow of death, than to know that his gift to a medical school has done and will always do such untold good?

Most of us work both in hospitals and in colleges. As I look over my own work in the Jefferson Hospital and the Jefferson Medical College, I see in the hospital scores of patients, even hundreds of them every year, who go out happy and in comfort, contented and restored to their families and to wage-earning power, and it is no end of pleasure

to me, as it is to you, my colleagues, to remember such cases. But when I look over the faces of the hundreds of young men that I have the pleasure of teaching, when I remember that I can instill into them high ideals, when I can bring to the birth in their lives this "research habit" and the desire to learn, and think that they will go all over the world and cure hundreds more than I can-thousands more than I can -which work is the greater? The curing of my scores of patients, or the teaching of hundreds of young men to go out to cure their scores of thousands and to bring the blessings of many an exultant wife and many a poor widow upon their heads for the work that they have learned to do through you and through me?

The joy of the teacher, gentlemen, as you know so well, is a joy that is never ending. It is one of those delights that come to us new every morning and fresh every evening, and yields a sense of satisfaction beyond anything else in this world. And if the rich men of this country will only endow our medical schools and so teach through us all of these hundreds of young men that go the world over as heralds of cheer and apostles of health, surely they will enjoy the greatest satisfaction that can be given to any man.

And when we lay us down for the last time upon our pillow, we can all thank God that we have been able to contribute, some by our work, others by their means, to this magnificent gift to humanity.

AGE AND YOUTH IN MEDICINE.*

I

KNOW nothing more inspiring than a scene like the present. Before me is a company of young women and young men, recruits in the medical army, anxious to press forward to all the dangers, trials, failures, and successes of a medical life to final victory. My career will soon end while yours is just beginning. I look toward the western setting sun, you greet the eastern rising sun. Mine is the past with its splendid accomplishments, its dismal failures, its disheartening, unaccomplished tasks. Yours is the golden future, yours to renew the attack where we have failed and to win the battles that we have lost, yours to fulfill our unaccomplished tasks. Naturally, therefore, the occasion suggests a contrast between myself and yourselves. Accordingly, I have taken as my topic "Age and Youth in Medicine."

Let me recount briefly some of the wonderful things that I have seen accomplished in the more than three-score years covered by my own life and then glance at what may be in store for you.

First, the geographical and political changes I have seen have been almost kaleidoscopic in their variety and extent.

The map of Europe has been re-made. Since 1859, the year that I graduated from the University, Italy has been recreated as a united kingdom. This new political life has been followed by a wonderful intellectual revival, so that Italian medical science and letters to-day have won an enviable place.

* Address at the Commencement of the Medical Department of Cornell University, June 8, 1904. Reprinted from the Medical Record, July 30, 1904.

Austria has lost her Italian possessions and has been deposed from her Teutonic hegemony. Germany has been created by the welding of two-score states into one imposing Imperial power. Spain, one of Lord Salisbury's "dying nations," has lost her colonies and her prestige. France has been shorn of Alsace and Lorraine. The Danubian Principalities have taken the first steps toward freedom from the rule of the 'unspeakable Turk," the one foul blot still existing on the map of Europe.

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The map of Africa has been drawn anew since my boyhood. The "terra incognita" which well described central Africa when I first studied geography, has been explored, and Stanley, its foremost explorer, lies in a new-made grave. The sources of the Nile have been found; the Mountains of the Moon have disappeared. Egypt has been renovated by Anglo-Saxon genius. The boundless resources of tropical Africa have aroused the earth-hunger of European nations until nearly the whole of it has been parcelled out among them. A railroad will shortly connect Cairo and the Cape, and modern steamers will soon ply upon every great river of the Dark Continent.

The old map of Asia has been torn in pieces by Russia. Step by step, stealthily, yet steadily, she has encroached upon the various predatory nations of Asia and has made herself master of one after another until it seemed as though everything north of the Himalayas would fall into her capacious maw. But the new map of Asia is now in the making, and in its reconstruction, Japan, thank God, will have much to say; Japan, that wonderful country, which only emerged from feudal seclusion as I was just approaching middle life and then entered upon the most remarkable career of national development ever witnessed in historic time.

And what shall I say of America? True, its boundaries had been enlarged a century ago, but it was still only a vast virgin wilderness, over which roamed the bison, the bear, the Indian, and a few adventurous trappers. In my young manhood

Indian wars were of more than annual occurrence, and practically the whole of our little army occupied frontier forts, which now are centers of a busy civilization. The "prairie schooner," slowly creeping across the plains, faintly presaged the Pacific railroads; Chicago was Fort Dearborn when I was born; St. Paul was a village and Minneapolis was a name yet uncoined even when I graduated from Brown University; Texas, California, and Alaska were all added in my early years, and even you have seen Hawaii, Porto Rico, and the Philippines become possessions of the Great American Republic.

In the arts and sciences that minister to the progress and comfort of man, the changes have been equally rapid and widespread. The railroad and the steamboat were just at the beginning of their marvellous development when I was born. No human face had yet been fixed by the complaisant sun on the plate of the daguerreotype, the ambrotype, or the photograph. The scythe has been replaced by mowing and reaping machines; typesetting and printing were done by hand instead of typesetting machines and the swift Hoe printing press. In my childhood days the ragpicker was a familiar figure on the streets, hooking over the piles of waste to find the linen rags from which paper was made, and paper, therefore, was very costly. Now, our forests are ground into paper and the modern penny newspaper has been born. I shall never forget my father's incredulity when he first read of a machine which would do the work of a woman's deft fingers, but the American sewing machine has conquered the world.

In my boyhood electricity was scarcely known outside of the laboratory. Its marvellous multitudinous uses, to-day barely at the beginning of their development, were utterly unknown. The first commercial telegraphic message was sent in the very year of my birth-now it is one of the daily needs of millions. Its omnipresent wires have scaled moun