n a large school is necessarily
limited, but it should be, and, so far as my experience goes, it is,
eminently cordial and kindly. You will leave with regret, and hold
in tender remembrance, those who have taken you by the hand at your
entrance on your chosen path, and led you patiently and faithfully,
until the great gates at its end have swung upon their hinges, and the
world lies open before you. That venerable oath to which I have before
referred bound the student to regard his instructor in the light of a
parent, to treat his children like brothers, to succor him in his day of
need. I trust the spirit of the oath of Hippocrates is not dead in the
hearts of the students of to-day. They will remember with gratitude
every earnest effort, every encouraging word, which has helped them in
their difficult and laborious career of study. The names they read on
their diplomas will recall faces that are like family-portraits in their
memory, and the echo of voices they have listened to so long will linger
in their memories far into the still evening of their lives.

One voice will be heard no more which has been familiar to many among
you. It is not for me, a stranger to these scenes, to speak his eulogy.
I have no right to sadden this hour by dwelling on the deep regrets
of friendship, or to bid the bitter tears of sorrow flow afresh. Yet I
cannot help remembering what a void the death of such a practitioner as
your late instructor must leave in the wide circle of those who leaned
upon his counsel and assistance in their hour of need, in a community
where he was so widely known and esteemed, in a school where he bore so
important a part. There is no exemption from the common doom for him
who holds the shield to protect others. The student is called from his
bench, the professor from his chair, the practitioner in his busiest
period hears a knock more peremptory than any patient's midnight
summons, and goes on that unreturning visit which admits of no excuse,
and suffers no delay. The call of such a man away from us is the
bereavement of a great family. Nor can we help regretting the loss
for him of a bright and cheerful earthly future; for the old age of a
physician is one of the happiest periods of his life. He is loved and
cherished for what he has been, and even in the decline of his faculties
there are occasions when his experience is still appealed to, and his
trembling hands are looked to with renewing hope and trust, a