nal institutions, enlarged and
created museums, and challenged a place in the world of science by its
literature.

In reviewing the whole course of its history we read a long list of
honored names, and a precious record written in private memories, in
public charities, in permanent contributions to medical science, in
generous sacrifices for the country. We can point to our capital as the
port of entry for the New World of the great medical discoveries of two
successive centuries, and we can claim for it the triumph over the most
dreaded foe that assails the human body,--a triumph which the annals of
the race can hardly match in three thousand years of medical history.

THE YOUNG PRACTITIONER

[A Valedictory Address delivered to the Graduating Class of the Bellevue
Hospital College, March 2, 1871.]

The occasion which calls us together reminds us not a little of that
other ceremony which unites a man and woman for life. The banns have
already been pronounced which have wedded our young friends to the
profession of their choice. It remains only to address to them some
friendly words of cheering counsel, and to bestow upon them the parting
benediction.

This is not the time for rhetorical display or ambitious eloquence. We
must forget ourselves, and think only of them. To us it is an occasion;
to them it is an epoch. The spectators at the wedding look curiously at
the bride and bridegroom; at the bridal veil, the orange-flower garland,
the giving and receiving of the ring; they listen for the tremulous
"I will," and wonder what are the mysterious syllables the clergyman
whispers in the ear of the married maiden. But to the newly-wedded pair
what meaning in those words, "for better, for worse," "in sickness and
in health," "till death us do part!" To the father, to the mother, who
know too well how often the deadly nightshade is interwoven with the
wreath of orange-blossoms, how empty the pageant, how momentous the
reality!

You will not wonder that I address myself chiefly to those who are just
leaving academic life for the sterner struggle and the larger tasks of
matured and instructed manhood. The hour belongs to them; if others find
patience to listen, they will kindly remember that, after all, they are
but as the spectators at the wedding, and that the priest is thinking
less of them than of their friends who are kneeling at the altar.

I speak more directly to you, then, gentlemen of the graduating clas