view by a very thin veil. It seems to me there is
a hand somewhere that will lead us safely across, but I cannot tell. No
one can tell."

This interesting speech, made scarcely a day before he closed his eyes
in death, was typical of his whole generous, trustful, philosophical
point of view.

"If there be green fields and placid waters beyond the river that he so
calmly crossed," so ran an editorial in the local county paper edited by
one of his most ardent admirers, "reserved for those who believe in and
practice upon the principle of 'Do unto others as you would have them do
unto you,' then this Samaritan of the medical profession is safe from
all harm. If there be no consciousness, but only a mingling of that
which was gentleness and tenderness here with the earth and the waters,
then the greenness of the one and the sparkling limpidity of the other
are richer for that he lived, and wrought, and returned unto them so
trustingly again."

_Culhane, the Solid Man_

I met him in connection with a psychic depression which only partially
reflected itself in my physical condition. I might almost say that I was
sick spiritually. At the same time I was rather strongly imbued with a
contempt for him and his cure. I had heard of him for years. To begin
with, he was a wrestler of repute, or rather ex-wrestler, retired
undefeated champion of the world. As a boy I had known that he had
toured America with Modjeska as Charles, the wrestler, in "As You Like
It." Before or after that he had trained John L. Sullivan, the world's
champion prize fighter of his day, for one of his most successful
fights, and that at a time when Sullivan was unfitted to fight any one.
Before that, in succession, from youth up, he had been a peasant
farmer's son in Ireland, a scullion in a ship's kitchen earning his way
to America, a "beef slinger" for a packing company, a cooks' assistant
and waiter in a Bowery restaurant, a bouncer in a saloon, a rubber down
at prize fights, a policeman, a private in the army during the Civil
War, a ticket-taker, exhibition wrestler, "short-change man" with a
minstrel company, later a circus, until having attained his greatest
fame as champion wrestler of the world, and as trainer of John L.
Sullivan, he finally opened a sporting sanitarium in some county in
upper New York State which later evolved into the great and now
decidedly fashionable institution in Westchester, near New York.

It has always been in