(lllii \ ^ r mm ^atk hntt (ifaUegc of Agriculture JV,t (JornEll JlniuerHltg atliata. K. 5. Htbrarg HF 5381.F8°'"^" ""'""»»>' Library ,,![,''e professions, 3 1924 013 821 628 The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013821628 VOCATIONS SETTING FORTH THE y/IRIOUS PH/ISES OF THE MECHANIC ARTS, HOME-MAKING, FARMING AND IVOODCRAFT, BUSI- NESS, THE PROFESSIONS OF LA IV, MINISTRY AND MEDICINE, PUBLIC SERVICE, LITERATURE AND JOURNALISM, TEACHING, MUSIC, PUBLIC ENTERTAINMENT AND THE FINE ARTS .'-. fVITH PRACTICAL INTRODUCTIONS BY A CORPS OF ASSOCI- ATE EDITORS WILLIAM DeWITT HYDE, D.D., LL.D. Editor-in-Chief NATHAN HASKELL DOLE, CAROLINE TICKNOR AND ALBERT WALTER TOLMAN, A.M. ASSISTANT EDITORS TSJV VOL UMES RICHL Y TLL USTRA TED BOSTON HALL AND LOCKE COMPANY PUBLISHERS EDITORIAL BOARD WILLIAM DeWITT HYDE, D.D., LL.D., Editor-in-chief, Author, President Bowdoin Col- lege; Brunswick, Maine. RICHARD COCKBURN MACLAURIK, Sc.D., LL.D., Author, President Massachusetts Institute of Technology; Boston, Massachusetts. MARION HARLAND (Mrs. Mary Virginia Terhune), Author, Lecturer; New York City. LIBERTT HYDE BAILEY, A.M., Author, Editor, Director New York State College of Agriculture, Cornell University; Ithaca, New York. ANDREW CARITEGIE, LL.D., Author, Lord Rector St. An- drew's University; New York City. The HON. MELVILLE WESTON FULLER, LL.D., Chancellor Smithsonian Institute, Member Permanent Court of Ar- bitration at The Hague, Chief Jus- tice of the United States; Wash- ington, Diitrict of Columbia. The HON. JAMES RUDOLPH GARFIELD. LL.D., Former Secretary of the Interior; Mentor, Ohio. MARY EMMA WOOLLEY, Litt.D., L.H.D.. President Mt. Holyoke College; South Hadley, Massachusetts. HENRY VAN DYKE, D.D., LL.D., Author, Professor of English Lit- erature, Princeton University; Princeton, New Jersey. HORATIO PARKER, Mus. Doc, Composer, Professor of the Theory of Music, Yale University; New Haven, Connecticut. KENYON COX, A.N.A., N.A., Author and Artist; New York City. NATHAN HASKELL DOLE, Author, Lecturer, Editor; Boston, Massachusetts. CAROLINE TICKNOR, Author, Editor; Boston, Massa- chusetts. ALBERT WALTER TOLMAN. A.M. Author; Portland, Maine. LIST OF VOLUMES Volume I. THB MECHANIC ARTS Edited by Richard Cockburn Maclaurin, Sc.D., LL.D. Volume II. HOMEMAKING Edited by Marion Harland Volume III. FARM AND FOREST Edited by Liberty Hyde Bailey, A.M. Volume IV. BUSINESS Edited by Andrew Carnegie, LL.D. Volume V. THE PROFESSIONS Edited by Melville Weston Fuller, LL.D. Volume VI. public service Edited by James Rudolph Garfield, LL.D. Volume VII. EDUCATION Edited by Mary Emma Woolley, LITT.D., L.H.D. Volume VIII. literature Edited by Henry Van Dyke, D.D., LL.D. Volume IX. MUSIC AND PUBLIC ENTERTAINMENT Edited by Horatio Parker, Mus. Doc. Volume X. THE FINE ARTS Edited by BIenyon Cox, A.N.A., N.A. , . .A I ^. ^ *.«5K««*Vt)!S-W5^IS''^ V-i)!^St''«SPS^'^''"'^'''"^'.'''- Chief Justice Fuller and Associates VOCATIONS, in Ten Volumes William DelVitt Hyde, Editor-in-Chief THE PROFESSIONS EDITED BY MELVILLE WESTON FULLER, LL.D. VOLUME V BOSTON HALL AND LOCKE COMPANY PUBLISHERS Co) F« Copyright, 1^1 By hall & LOCKE COMPANY Boston, U. S. A. (T^ 17348 Stanbopc Ipresfi F. H. GILSON COMPAHT BOSTON, U.S.A. CONTENTS Faob List of Colored Illustrations . . xi Introduction . . . . xiii Doctors, Lawyers, and Ministers . . .... 1 Br Oliver Wendell Holmes. MEDICINE The Fight with Death . . 7 By Ralph Connor. Louis Pasteur . 22 Bt Ida M. Tarbell. Medicine as a Career . 39 By John S. Billings, M.D. Edward Jenner 50 By William Walker, Jr. American Healing Around the World 58 By Edgar Allen Forbes. The Conquest of Pain . 70 By Herbert O. McCrillis. The Sempstress's Story . 85 By Gustave Droz. The Conquest op Yellow Fever 95 By Howard Kelly, M.D. Dr. Lorenz, Straightener of Children 106 By John Swain. The Choice of Medicine as a Profession . 120 By George F. Shears, M.D. Through the Flood . 127 By Ian Maclaren. How TO Study Medicine 139 By Henry S. Pritchett, Ph.D., LL.D., Pres. Carnegie Institute. LAW The Young Lawyer 146 By Albert J. Beveridqe, United States Senator. Lincoln, the Lawyer . . 166 By Frederick Trevor Hill, LL.B. The Opportunity in the Law . 185 By Louis D. Brandeis, LL.B. X Contents Page The Cross-Examination of Richard Pigott . 195 By R. Barry O'Brien. The Lawyer and His Client . . . . 207 By Walter B. Vincent. Three Classes of Lawyers . . 219 By John Brisben Walker. The Country Lawyer in National Affairs 221 By Ghover Cleveland. True Success in the Law . . . 232 By Thomas H. Hubbard, LL.D., LL.B. Daniel Webster's Early Legal Career 242 By Charleb R. Lanman, Ph.D., Prof. Sanskrit, Harvard University. The Second Dreyfus Trial . 252 By Vance Thompson. The Legal Training of Rufus Choate 265 By Edward G. Parker. The Ideal Lawyer 276 Bt David J. Brewer, Former Justice U. S. Supreme Court. THE MINISTRY What Sort of Man May Be a Minister 288 By Phillips Brooks, Henry Ward Beechee's Early Ministry 294 By Lyman Abbott, D.D., LL.D., L.H.D. The Ministry prom a Practical Point of View 300 By the Rt. Rev. William Lawrence. Dr. Grenfell's Mission . . 309 By Norman Duncan. The Claims op the Ministry upon Strong Men 317 By Georqb a. Gordon, D.D., S.T.D. The Preparation for the Ministry . 327 By the Rt. Rev. David H, Ghbeb. Charles Haddon Spurgeon . 335 By William M. Thayer. William Duncan's Work Among North American Indians . . . . 344 By Arthur T. Pierson. The Making of a Minister 356 By James M. Barbie. Russell H. Conwell 364 By Agnes Rush Burr. The Bishop and the Candlesticks . . 373 By Victor Hugo. A Call to Preach 388 By Robert Collyer. Make the Most and Best of Yourself 395 Bt Theodore T. Munger. Supplementary Readings . 400 LIST OF COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS Chief Justice Fuller and Associates Frontispiece Pasteur Saving a Life . Face page 32 The Great Physician ... . . 72 A Hypodermic Injection . . 104 The Doctor . . 144 Justice . . . 192 Lawyer Addressing the Jury 240 An Earnest Preacher . 288 The Ordination 328 NUREMBURG Cathedral . . 376 INTRODUCTION By MELVILLE W. FULLER, LL.D. " Each shall follow with cheerfulness the profession which he best understands," were the words of Horace. In commending this book on the Professions, to which it is my pleasant duty to add a few prefatory remarks, it is not too much to say that a tribute should justly be paid to those who with so much discrimination have selected its contents. It is not difficult to picture the college boy finding an answer in this volume to many questions which he is either unable to put into words or to which no faculty of any one institution could possibly furnish answers. And the book is not for the college youth alone; it is for thinking men and women. What greater appeal can there be to the fathers and mothers of the land than that the future of their sons, the special vocation or profession, shall be suggested to them in proper form? It is not an original statement that each man has his vocation, — the point is that he shall not miss it, — that like the small chickens hatched by the mother duck he shall not be pushed into the pond to drown because parental affection is determined that he shall swim. If it be true that a man with a certain strong taste or impulse which he is prevented from follow- ing finds existence almost unendurable, then it is also true that the way should be made smooth for him that he should fulfill a legitimate ambition. "Much evil, much suffering would be spared in this probationary state of xiv Introduction ours if ambition to fill high office or to charm great audi- ences by a display of talent were accompanied by a care- ful and unprejudiced examination of the aspirant." It is not my purpose to discuss here professions, as they are so admirably illustrated in the following pages. The great requisites for success in any calling are earnestness and fidelity. All the suggestion, all the affection, all the books and teachers in the world will not educate a man if he does not help himself. Let him advance, not with "a half volition," as Carlyle puts it, "making no way on the smoothest road," but let him attain his purpose, even if there be but little wisdom in it, by pushing forward with a firm and resolute will over the roughest way. If he be faithful to his calling he will succeed. The harder the struggle, the greater the reward, intellectual, moral, or spiritual, for unsuspected depths are often revealed by unlooked-for demands. Life is education. "The process of culture consists in availing ourselves of the experience of the race," and that being true, the eyes of youth should be kept wide open to the affairs of this workaday world, and so they must be taught by what steps they may climb and by what missteps they shall slip and be lost sight of. An eminent physician has said in one of the ensuing articles: "To the young man about to choose a profes- sional career, medicine at this time offers opportunity for the employment of the highest mental faculties; for the increase of knowledge, for usefulness to the world, for the attainment of true happiness, such as no other profession presents." In another article a great lawyer has justly regarded the profession of law as not only noble in itself, but as ennobling all who are counted in its ranks. And in a third a certain minister has said: "A young Introduction xv man of intellectual power may be sure of his fitness for the ministry if his whole heart kindles into flame as he reads and ponders these words: 'Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.'" Surely each calling sends forth its own peculiar appeal. And with such names as Pasteur, Jenner, Morton, Lorenz, and Osier in the medical profession ; with Marshall, Taney, Webster, Choate, and Carter in the law; with Cardinal Gibbons, Beecher, Lawrence, and Phillips Brooks in the ntiinistry, to conjure with, what youth can turn away unsatisfied when he seeks for inspiration, feeling strong within him the overpowering call to serve and to master some one of these three great professions? Washington, D. C. June 10, 1910. THE PROFESSIONS DOCTORS, LAWYERS, AND MINISTERS ^ By OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES >HAT is your general estimate of doctors, law- yers, and ministers? said I. Wait a minute, till I have got through with your first question, said the Master. One thing at a time. You asked me about the young doctors, and about our young doctor. They come home tres Men chausses, as a Frenchman would say, mighty well shod with professional knowledge. But when they begin walking round among their poor patients, — they don't commonly start with millionaires, — they find that their new shoes of scientific acquirements have got to be broken in just Uke a pair of boots or brogans. I don't know that I have put it quite strong enough. Let me try again. You 've seen those fellows at the circus that get up on horseback so big that you wonder how they could climb into the saddle. But pretty soon they throw off their outside coat, and the next minute another one, and then the one imder that, and so they keep peeling off one garment after another till people begin to look queer and think they are going too far for strict propriety. Well, that is the way a fellow with a real practical turn serves a good many of his scientific wrappers, — flings 'em off for other people to pick up, and goes right at the work of cur- 1 From "The Poet at the Breakfast Table," by Oliver Wendell .Holmes. By permission of Houghton MifHin Company. 2 The Professions ing stomach aches and all the other little mean unscientific complaints that make up the larger part of every doctor's business. I think our Dr. Benjamin is a worthy young man, and if you are in need of a doctor at any time I hope you will go to him; and if you come off without harm, I will — recommend some other friend to try him. — I thought he was going to say he would try him in his own person, but the Master is not fond of committing himself. Now, I will answer your other question, he said. The lawyers are the cleverest men, the ministers are the most learned, and the doctors are the most sensible. The lawyers are a picked lot, "first scholars" and the hke, but their business is as unsympathetic as Jack Ketch's. There is nothing humanizing in their relations with their fellow creatures. They go for the side that retains them. They defend the man they know to be a rogue, and not very rarely throw suspicion on the man they know to be innocent. Mind you, I am not finding fault with them; every side of a case has a right to the best statement it admits of; but I say it does not tend to make them sympathetic. Suppose, in a case of Fever vs. Patient, the doctor should side with either party according to whether the old miser or his expectant heir was his em- ployer. Suppose the minister should side with the Lord or the Devil, according to the salary offered and other incidental advantages, where the soul of a sinner was in question. You can see what a piece of work it would make of their sympathies. But the lawyers are quicker witted than either of the professions, and abler men generally. They are good- natured, or, if they quarrel, their quarrels are above board. I don't think they are as accomplished as the ministers, but they have a way of cramming with special knowledge Doctors, Lawyers, and Ministers 3 for a case which leaves a certain shallow sediment of intel- ligence in their memories about a good many things. They are apt to talk law in mixed company, and they have a way of looking round when they make a point, as if they were addressing a jury, that is mighty aggravating, as I once had occasion to see when one of 'em, and a pretty famous one, put me on the witness stand at a dinner party. The ministers come next in point of talent. They are far more curious and widely interested outside of their own calling than either of the other professions. I Uke to talk with 'em. They are interesting men, full of good feel- ings, hard workers, always foremost in good deeds, and, on the whole, the most efficient civilizing class, working down- wards from knowledge to ignorance, that is, — not so much upwards, perhaps, — that we have. The trouble is, that so many of 'em work in harness, and it is pretty sure to chafe somewhere. They feed us on canned meats mostly. They cripple our instincts and reason, and give us a crutch of doctrine. I have talked with a great many of 'em of all sorts of belief, and I don't think they are quite so easy in their minds, the greater number of them, nor so clear in their convictions, as one would think to hear 'em lay down the law in the pulpit. They used to lead the inteUigence of their parishes ; now they do pretty well if they keep up with it, and they are very apt to lag behind it. Then they must have a col- league. The old minister thinks he can hold to his old course, sailing right into the wind's eye of human nature, as straight as that famous old skipper John Bunyan; the young minister falls ofif three or four points and catches the breeze that left the old man's sails all shivering. By and by the congregation will get ahead of Mm, and then it must have another new skipper. 4 The Professions The priest holds his own pretty well; the minister is com- ing down every generation nearer and nearer to the com- mon level of the useful citizen, — no oracle at all, but a man of more than average moral instincts, who, if he knows anything, knows how little he knows. The ministers are good talkers, only the struggle between nature and grace makes some of 'em a little awkward occasionally. The women do their best to spoil 'em as they do the poets; you find it very pleasant to be spoiled, no doubt, so do they. Now and then one of 'em goes over the dam; no wonder, they're always in the rapids. By this time our three ladies had their faces all turned toward the speaker, like the weathercocks in a north- easter, and I thought it best to switch off the talk on to another rail. How about the doctors? I said. Theirs is the least learned of the professions, in this country at least. They have not half the general culture of the lawyers, nor a quarter of that of the ministers. I rather think, though, they are more agreeable to the com- mon run of people than the men with black coats or the men with green bags. People can swear before 'em if they want to, and they can't very well before ministers. I don't care whether they want to swear or not, they don't want to be on their good behavior. Besides, the minister has a little smack of the sexton about him ; he comes when people are in extremis, but they don't send for him every time they make a slight moral slip, — tell a lie, for instance, or smuggle a silk dress through the customhouse ; but they call in the doctor when a child is cutting a tooth or gets a splinter in its finger. So it does n't mean much to send for him, only a pleasant chat about the news of the day; for putting the baby to rights does n't take long. Besides, everybody does n't hke to talk about the next Doctors, Lawyers, and Ministers 5 world; people are modest in their desires, and find this world as good as they deserve; but everybody loves to talk physic. Everybody loves to hear of strange cases; people are eager to tell the doctor of the wonderful cures they have heard of; they want to know what is the matter with somebody or other who is said to be suffering from "a complication of diseases," and, above all, to get a hard name, Greek or Latin, for some complaint which sounds altogether too commonplace in plain English. If you will only call a headache a Cephalalgia, it acquires dignity at once, and a patient becomes rather proud of it. So I think doctors are generally welcome in most companies. In old times, when people were more afraid of the Devil and of witches than they are now, they liked to have a priest or a minister somewhere near to scare 'em off; but nowadays, if you could find an old woman that would ride round the room on a broomstick, Barnum would build an amphitheater to exhibit her in ; and if he could come across a young imp, with hoofs, tail, and budding horns, a lineal descendant of one of those "daemons" which the good people of Gloucester fired at, and were fired at by "for the best part of a month together, " in the year 1692, the great showman would have him at any cost for his museum or menagerie. Men are cowards, sir, and are driven by fear as the sover- eign motive. Men are idolaters, and want something to look at and kiss and hug, or throw themselves down before ; they always did, they always will; and if you don't make it of wood, you must make it of words, which are just as much used for idols as promissory notes are used for values. The ministers have a hard time of it without bell and book and holy water; they are dismounted men in armor since Luther cut their saddle girths, and you can see they are quietly taking off one piece of iron after another until 6 The Professions some of the best of 'em are fighting the devil (not the zoological Devil with the big D) with the sword of the Spirit, and precious Uttle else in the way of weapons of offense or defense. But we could n't get on without the spiritual brotherhood, whatever became of our special creeds. There is a genius for religion just as there is for painting or sculpture. It is half sister to the genius for music, and has some of the features which remind us of earthly love. But it lifts us all by its mere presence. To see a good man and hear his voice once a week would be reason enough for building churches and pulpits. MEDICINE THE FIGHT WITH DEATH ^ By RALPH CONNOR T Camp No. 2 Maclennan had struck what was called a hard proposition. The line ran straight through a muskeg out of which the bottom seemed to have dropped, and Maclen- nan himself, with his foreman, Craigin, was almost in despair. For every day they were held back by the mus- keg meant a serious reduction in the profits of Maclennan's contract. The foreman, Craigin, was a man from "across the line," skilled in railroad building, selected chiefly because of his reputation as a "driver." He was a man of great physical force and indomitable will, and gifted in large measure with the power of command. He knew his business thoroughly, and knew just how to get the most out of the niachinery and men at his command. He himself was an untiring worker, and no man on the line could get a bigger day out of his force than could Craigin. His men he treated as part of his equipment. He believed in what was called his "scrap-heap policy." When any part of the machinery ceased to do first-class work it was at once dis- carded, and, as with the machinery, so it was with the men. A sick man was a nuisance in the camp and must be got ' From " The Doctor, a Tale of the Rockies." Copyright, 1906, by Fleming H. Revell Company. 7 8 The Professions rid of with all possible speed. Craigin had little faith in human nature, and when a man fell ill his first impulse was to suspect him of malingering, and hence the standing order of the camp in regard to a sick man was that he should get to work or be sent out of the camp. Hence, the men thoroughly hated their foreman, but as thoroughly they dreaded to fall under his displeasure. The camp stood in the midst of a swamp, thick with underbrush of spruce and balsam and tamarack. The site had been selected after a month of dry weather in the fall, consequently the real condition of the ground was not discovered until the late rains had swollen the streams from the mountain sides and filled up the intervening valleys and swamps. After the frost had fallen the situation was vastly improved, but they all waited the warm weather of spring with anxiety. On the crest of the hill which overlooked the camp the doctor halted the team. "Where are your stables. Tommy?" "Over there beyant, forninst the cook-house." "Good Lord!" murmured the doctor. "How many men have you here?" "Between two an' three hundred, wid them that are traveHn' the road." "What are your sanitary arrangements?" "What's that?" "I mean, how do you — what are your arrangements for keeping the camp clean, free from dirt and smells? You can't have three hundred men living together without some sanitary arrangements." "Begob, it 's ivery man fer himsilf. Clane yersilf as ye can through the week, an' on Sundays boil yer clothes in soapsuds, if ye kin git near the kittles. But, bedad, it 's the lively time we have wid the crathurs." The Fight with Death 9 "And is that the bunk-house close up to the cookery?" "It is that same." "And why was it built so»close as that?" "Sure there wuz no ground left by raison av the muskeg at the back av it." The doctor gave it up. "Drive on," he said. "But what a beautiful spot for a camp right there on that level." "Beautiful, is it? Faith, it 's not beautiful that Craigin calls it, fer ivery thaw the bottom goes clane out av it till 5'^e can't git round fer mud an' the dump fallin' through to the antipods," replied Tom. "Yes, but up on this flat here. Tommy, under the big pines, that would be a fine spot for the camp." "It wud that same. Bad luck to the man who set it where it is." As they drove into the camp the cook came out with some refuse which he dumped down on a heap at the door. The doctor shuddered as he thought of that heap when the sun shone upon it in the mild weather. A huge Swede followed the cook out with a large red muffler wrapped round his throat. ' ' Hello, Yonie ! ' ' cried Tommy. " What 's af ther gittin' ye up so early?" "It is no sleep for dis," cried Yonie, thickly, pointing to his throat. The doctor sprang from the sleigh. "Let me look at your throat." "It's the docthor, Yonie," explained Tonuny, where- upon the Swede submitted to the examination. The doctor turned him toward the east, where the sun was just peeping through the treetops, and looked into his throat. " My man, you go right back to bed quick." "No, it will not to bed, " replied Yonie. "Big work to- day, boss say. He not like men sick." 10 The Professions ' ' You hear me, " said the doctor, sharply. ' ' You go back to bed. Where 's your doctor? " "He slapes in the office between meals. Yonder," aaid Tommy, pointing the way. "Never mind now. Where are your sick men?" "De seeck mans?" replied the cook. "She's be hall overe. On de bunk-house, on de cook shed. Dat is im- posseeb to mak' de cook for dem seeck mans hall aroun'." "What? Do they sit around where you are cooking?" "Certainment. Dat 's warm plas. De bunk-house she 's col'. Poor feller! But she 's mak' me beeg troub. She 's cough, cough, speet, speet. Bah! dat 's what you call lak' one beas'." The doctor strode into the cook-house. By the light of the lantern swinging from the roof he found three men huddled over the range, the picture of utter misery. He took down the lantern. "Here, cook, hold this, please, one moment. Allow me to look at your throats, men." "Dis de docteur, men," said the cook. A quick glance he gave at each throat, his face growing more stern with each examination. "Boys, you must all get to bed at once. You must keep away from this cook-house or you '11 poison the whole camp." "Where can we go, doctor? The bunk-house would freeze you and the stink of it would make a well man sick." « "And is there no place else?" "No. Unless it's the stables," said another man; "they 're not quite so bad. " "Well, sit here just now. We '11 see about it. But first let me give you something." He opened his bag, took out his syringe. "Here, Yonie, we'll begin with you. Roll up your sleeve." And in three minutes he had given The Fight with Death 11 all four an antitoxin injection. "Now, we '11 see the doc- tor. By the way, what 's his name?" "Hain," said the cook, "dat 's his nem." "Haines," explained one of the men. "Dat 's what I say, " said the cook, indignantly, "Hain." . The doctor passed out, went toward the office, knocked at the door, and, getting no response, opened it and walked in. "Be the powers, Marcisse!" cried Tommy, as the cook stood looking after the doctor, "it 's little I iver thought I 'd pity that baste, but Hivin save him now ! He 'II be thinkin' the divil's come fer him. An', begob, he '11 be wishin' it wuz before he 's through wid him." But Dr. Bailey was careful to observe all the rules that the punctilious etiquette of the profession demanded. He found Dr. Haines sleeping heavily in his clothes. He had had a bad night. He was uneasy at the outbreak of sickness in his camp, and more especially was he seized with an anxious foreboding in regard to the sick man who had been sent out the day before. Besides this, the fore- man had cursed him for a drunken fool in the presence of the whole camp with such vigor and directness that he had found it necessary to soothe his ruffled feelings with large and frequent doses of stimulant brought into the camp for strictly medical purposes. With difficulty he was roused from his slumber. When fully awake he was aware of a young man with a very pale and very stern face standing over him. Without preliminary Dr. Bailey began : "Dr. Haines, you have some very sick men in this camp." "Who the deuce are you?" replied Haines, staring up at him. "They call me Dr. Bailey. I have come in from along the line." "Dr. Bailey? " said Haines, sitting up. "Oh, I 've heard 12 The Professions of you." His tone indicated a report none too favorable. In fact, it was his special chum and confrere who had been ejected from his position in the Gap camp through Dr. Bailey's vigorous measures. "You have some very sick men in the camp," repeated Dr. Bailey, his voice sharp and stern. "Oh, a little tonsilitis," rephed Haines in an indifferent tone. "Diphtheria," said Bailey, shortly. "Diphtheria be hanged!" replied Haines, insolently; "I examined them carefully last night." "They have diphtheria this morning. I have just taken the liberty of looking into their throats." "The deuce you have! I like your impudence! Who sent you in here to interfere with my practice, young man? Where did you get your professional manners?" Dr. Haines was the older man and resented the intru- sion of this smooth-faced young stranger, who added to the crime of his youth that of being guilty of a serious breach of professional etiquette. "I ought to apologize for looking at your patients," said Dr. Bailey. "I came in thinking I might be of some assistance in dealing with this outbreak of diphtheria, and I was naturally anxious to see — " "Diphtheria!" blurted Haines. "Nothing of the sort." "Dr. Haines, the man you sent out last night had it." "Had it?" "He died an hour after arriving at No. 1." "Dead? Cursed fool! He womM go against my will." "Against your will? Would you let a man in the last stages of diphtheria leave this camp against your will with the company's team?" "Well, I knew he should n't go. But he wanted to go himself, and the foreman would have him out." The Fight with Death 13 "There are at least four men going about the camp — they are now in the cook-house where the breakfast is being prepared — who are suffering from a severe attack of diphtheria." "What do you propose? What can I do in this cursed hole?" said Dr. Haines, petulantly. " No appliances, no means of isolation, no nurses, nothing. Beside, I have half a dozen camps to look after. What can I do?" "Do you ask me? " The scorn in the voice was only too apparent. "Isolate the infected at least." Haines swore deeply to himself while, with trembling hand, he poured out a cupful of whisky from a bottle standing on a convenient shelf. "Isolate? How can I isolate? There 's no building in which — " " Make one." "Make one? Young man, do you know what you are talking about? Do you know where you are? Do you know who is running this camp?" "No. But I do know that these men must be isolated within an hour." "Impossible! I tell you it is impossible!" "Dr. Haines, an inquest upon the man sent out from this camp last night would result in the verdict of man- slaughter. There was no inquest. There will be on the next man that dies if there is any neglect." The seriousness of the situation began to dawn upon Haines. "Well," he said, "if you think you can isolate them, go ahead. I '11 see the foreman." "Every minute is precious. I gave those four men antitoxin. Are there others?" "Don't know," Haines growled, as with an oath he went out, followed by Dr. Bailey. Just outside the door they met the foreman. "This is Dr. Bailey, Mr. Craigin." Craigin growled 14 The Professions out a salutation. "Dr. Bailey here says these sick men have diphtheria." "How does he know?" inquired Craigin, shortly. "He has examined them this morning." "Have you?" "No, not yet." "Then you don't know they have diphtheria?" "No," rephed Haines, weakly. "These men have diphtheria, Mr. Craigin, without a doubt, and they ought to be isolated at once." "Isolated? How?" "A separate camp must be built and someone appointed to attend them." "A separate camp!" exclaimed Craigin; "I '11 see them blanked first! Look here, Haines, let 's have no nonsense about this. I 'm three weeks, yes, a month, behind with this job here. This blank, blank muskeg is knocking the whole contract endways. We can't spare a single man half a day. And more than that, you go talking diphtheria in this camp and you can't hold the men here an hour. It 's all I can do to hold them as it is." And Craigin went off into an elaborate course of pro- fanity descriptive of the various characteristics of the men in his employ. "But what is to be done?" asked Haines, helplessly. "Send 'em out to the steel. They 're better in the hos- pital, anyway. It 's fine to-day. We '11 send every man Jack out to-day." "These men can't be moved," said Dr. Bailey in a quiet voice. "You sent a man out yesterday and he's dead." "He was bound to go himself. We didn't send him. Anyway, it 's none of your business. Look here, Haines, you know me. I 'm not going to have any of this blank The Fight with Death 15 nonsense of isolation hospitals and all that blankety blanlc rot. Dose 'em up good and send 'em out." Dr. Haines stood silent, too evidently afraid of the foreman. "Mr. Craigin, it would be murder," said Bailey, "sure murder. Some of them might get through. Some would be sure to die. The consequences to those responsible — to Dr. Haines, for instance — would be serious. I am quite sure he will never give orders that these men should be moved." "He won't; eh? You just wait till you see him do it. Haines will give the orders right enough." Craigin's laugh was like the growl of a bear. "There 's a reason, ain't there, Haines? Now you hear me. Those men are going out to-day, and so are you, you blank, blank inter- ferin' skunk." Dr. Bailey smiled sweetly at Craigin. "You may call me what you please just now, Mr. Craigin. Before the day is over you won't have enough names left. For I tell you that these men suffering from diphtheria are going to stay here, and are going to be properly cared for." Craigin was white. That this young pale-faced stranger should presume to come into his domain, where his word was wont to run as absolute law, filled him with rage un- speakable. But there were serious issues at stake, and with a supreme effort he controlled the passionate longing to spring upon this upstart and throttle him. He turned sharply to Haines. "Dr. Haines, you think these men can go out to-day?" Haines hesitated. "You understand me, Haines; these men go out or — " Haines was evidently in some horrible dread of the fore- man. A moment more he paused and then surrendered. 16 The Professions "Oh, hang it, Bailey, I don't think they 're so terribly ill. I guess they can go out." "Dr. Haines," said Craigin, "is that your decision?" "Yes, I think so." "All right," said Craigin, with a triumphant sneer. He turned to Tommy, who was standing near with half a dozen men who had just come from breakfast. Here you, Tommy, get a couple of teams ready and all the buffalo robes you need and be ready to start in an hour. Do you hear?" "I do," said Tommy, turning slowly away. "Tommy," called Dr. Bailey in a sharp, clear tone, "you took a man out from this camp yesterday. Tell the men here what happened." " Sure, they all know it," said Tommy, who had already told the story of poor Scotty's death and of the doctor's efforts to save him. "An' it 's a fine bhoy he wuz, poor Scotty, an' niver a groan out av him all the way down, an' not able to swally a taste whin I gave it to him." Craigin sprang toward Tommy in a fury. "Here you blank, blank, blank! Do what I tell you! And the rest of you men, what are you gawkin' at here? Get to work ! " The men gave back, and some began to move away. Dr. Bailey walked quickly past Craigin into the midst of the group. "Men, I want to say something to you." His voice commanded their instant attention. "There are half a dozen of your comrades in this camp sick with diphtheria. I came up here to help. They ought to be isolated to pre- vent the spread of the disease, and they ought to be cared for at once. The foreman proposes to send them out. One went out yesterday. He died last night. If these men go out to-day some of them will die, and it will be murder. What do you say? Will you let them go?" The Fight with Death 17 A wrathful murmur ran through the crowd, which was being rapidly increased every moment by others coming from breakfast. "Get to your work, you fellows, or get your time!" shouted Craigin, pouring out oaths. "And you," turning toward Dr. Bailey, "get out of this camp." "I am here in consultation with Dr. Haines," replied Dr. Bailey. "He has asked my advice, and I am giving it." "Send him out, Haines. And be quick about it?" By this time the men were fully roused. One of them came forward. "What do you propose should be done, doctor?" he inquired. "Are you going to work, McLean?" shouted Craigin, furiously. "If not, go and get your time." "We're going to talk this matter over a minute, Mr. Craigin," said McLean, quietly. "It 's a serious matter. We are aU concerned in it, and we '11 decide in a few min- utes what is to be done." "Every man who is not at work in five minutes will get his time," said Craigin, and he turned away and passed into the office. "What do you propose should be done, doctor?" said McLean, ignoring the foreman. "Build a camp where the sick men can be placed by themselves and where they can be kept from infecting the rest of the camp. Half a day's work of a dozen men will do it. If we send them out some of them will die. Besides, it is almost certain that some more of you have already been infected." At once eager discussion began. Some, in dread terror of the disease, were for sending out the sick immediately, but the majority would not listen to this inhuman proposal. Finally McLean came again to Dr. Bailey. 18 The Professions "The men want to know if you can guarantee that the disease can be stamped out here if you have a separate camp for an hospital?" ' ' We can guarantee nothing, ' ' repUed Dr. Bailey. ' ' But it is altogether the safer way to fight the disease. And I am of the opinion that we can stamp it out." The doctor's air and tone of quiet confidence, far more than his words, decided the men's action. In a minute more it was agreed that the sick men should stay and that they would all stand together in carrying out the plan of isolation. "If he gives any of us time," said Tommy, "we '11 all take it, begob." "No, men," said the doctor, "let 's not make trouble. I know Mr. Maclennan slightly, and he 's a just man, and he '11 do what 's fair. Besides, we don't want to interfere with the job. Give me a dozen men — one must be able to cook — and in half a day the work will be finished. I will be personally responsible for everything." At this point Craigin came out. "Here 's your time, McLean," he said, thrusting a time check at him. McLean took it without a word and went over and stood by Dr. Bailey's side. "Who are coming?" called out McLean. "All of us," cried a voice. "Pick out your men, McLean." "All right," said McLean, looking over the crowd. "I'm wan," said Tommy, running over to the doc- tor's side. "I seen him shtand by Scotty whin the lad wuz fightin' fer his hfe, an' if I 'm tuk it 's him I want beside me." One by one McLean called his men, each taking his place beside the doctor, while the rest of the men moved off to work. The Fight with Death 19 "Mr. Craigin, I am going to use these men for half a day," said Dr. Bailey. For answer, Craigin, in mad rage, throwing aside all regard for consequences, rushed at him, but half a dozen men were in his path before he had taken the second step. "Hold on, Mr. Craigin," said McLean, "we want no violence. We 're going to do what we think right in this matter, so you may as well make up your mind to it." "And, Mr. Craigin," continued the doctor, "we shall need some things out of your stores." Craigin stepped back from the crowd and on to the office steps. "Your time is waiting you, men. And listen to me. If any man goes near that there storehouse door, I '11 drop him in his tracks. I 've got the law, and I '11 do it, so help me God." He went into the office and returned in a moment with a Winchester, which he loaded in full view of the men. "Never mind him, boys," said the doctor, cheerily, "I'm goiag to have breakfast. Come, Tommy, I want you. ' ' In fifteen minutes he came out, with the key of the store- house in his hand, to find the men still waitiag his orders and Craigin on guard with his Winchester. "Don't go just yet," said McLean to the doctor in a low voice, "we '11 get round him." "Oh, he '11 not shoot," said Dr. Bailey. "He will. He will. I knew him in Michigan. He '11 shoot and he '11 kill, too." For a single instant the doctor hesitated. His men were about him waiting his lead. Craigin with his rifle held them all in check. A moment's thought and his decision was taken. He stepped toward Craigin and said, in a clear voice, "Mr. Craigin, these stores are necessary to save these men's lives. I want them and I 'm going to take them. Murder me, if you Uke." 20 The Professions "Hear me, men." Craigin's voice was cold and delib- erate. "These stores are in my charge. I am an officer of the law. If any man lays his hand on that latch I '11 shoot him, so help me God." "Hear me, Mr. Craigin," replied Dr. Bailey. "I'm here in consultation with Dr. Haines, who has tm-ned over this matter to my charge. In a case of this kind the doc- tor's orders are supreme. This whole camp is under his authority. These stores are necessary, and I am going to get them." He well knew the weak spot in his position, but he counted on Craigin's nerve breaking down. In that, however, he was mistaken. Without haste, but without hesitation, he walked toward the storehouse door. When three paces from it Craigin's voice arrested him. "Hold on there! Put your hand on that door and, as God lives, you 're a dead man!" Without a word the doctor turned again toward the door. The men with varying cries rushed toward the foreman. Craigin threw up his rifle. Immediately a shot rang out, and Craigin fell to the snow, the smoking rifle dropping from his hand. "Begob, I niver played baseball," cried Tommy, rush- ing in and seizing the rifle, "but many 's the time I 've had the divarsion in the streets av Dublin of bringin' down the polismen wid a brick." A heavy horseshoe, heaved with sure aim, had saved the doctor's life. They carried Craigin into the office and laid him on the bed, the blood streaming from a ghastly wound in his scalp. Quickly Dr. Bailey got to work and before Craigin had regained consciousness the wound was sewed up and dressed. Then giving him over to the charge of Haines, Dr. Bailey went about the work he had in hand. Before the noon hour had arrived the eight men who The Fight with Death 21 were discovered to be in various stages of diphtheria were comfortably housed in a roomy building rudely constructed of logs, tar paper, and tarpaulin, with a small cook-house attached and Tommy Tate in charge. And before night had fallen the process of disinfecting the bedding, clothing, bunk-house, and cookery was well under way, while all who had been in immediate contact with the infected men had been treated by the doctor with antitoxin as a precau- tionary measure. Thus, the first day's campaign against death closed with the issue still undecided, but the chances for winning were certainly greater than they had been. What the result would be when Craigin was able to take command again no one could say. But in the meantime, for the next two days, the work on the dump was prosecuted with all vigor, the men feeling in honor bound to support the doctor in that part of the fight which fell to them. LOUIS PASTEUR 1 By IDA M. TARBELL ^^HOUGH born in the humblest of homes, Louis Pasteur's life was, from the beginning, dignified by the spirit of a household whose great concern was to live worthily of France. He was the only boy in the family, and, in spite of poverty, it was determined he should be educated. "Louis, if I can only see you one day a professor in the college at Arbois," said M. Pasteur, "I shall be the hap- piest man in the world." The privations which the father and mother and sisters cheerfully endured that he might have the advantage of the best schools were more than appreciated by the boy. Never was there a more ardent disciple of the gospel of work. "When one is accustomed to work it is impossible to do without it; besides, every- thing in this world depends on that," he wrote his sisters, when he was eighteen. As he advanced from school to school, coming at last to the Ecole Normale, in Paris, this passion for work increased. He was now twenty-one years old, and the desire to con- duct original researches in chemistry had been awakened. He was taking lectures, tutoring, reading, but somehow he found time for the laboratory. To drag him from it for daily exercise took all the tact of his most intimate friend, Chappuis, who, day after day, would go to the laboratory and sit on a stool, quietly and patiently, until ' By kind permission of the Author and of S. S. McClure. Copyright, 1903. 22 Louis Pasteur 23 Pasteur, conquered, jerked off his apron, saying, half angrily, half gratefully: "Well, let us go for a walk." A wonderful intimacy was kept up, during all Pasteur's student days, with the little family at Arbois. If one of his bulky letters was too long in coming, his father wrote to reproach him gently: "Your sisters were counting the days. Eighteen days! they said. Louis has never kept us waiting so long! Can he be ill? It is a great joy to me," adds the father, "to note your attachment to each other. May it always remain so." "The smallest incidents of daily life were related," says Vallery-Radot. "The father, knowing that he should inform the son of the fluctuations of the family budget, spoke of his more or less successful sales of leathers at the Besancon fair. The son was ever hunting in the progress of industry anything that could tend to lighten the father's heavy handicraft. But, though the father declared him- self ready to examine Vauquelin's new tanning process, which obviated the necessity of keeping the skins so long in the pits, he asked himself with scrupulous anxiety whether leathers prepared in that way would last as long as the others. Could he safely guarantee them to the shoemakers, who were unanimous in praising the goods of the little tannery yard, but, alas, equally unanimous in forgetting to reward the disinterested tanner by prompt payment? He supplied his family with the necessaries of life — what more did he want? When he had news of his Normalien he was thoroughly happy. He associated himself with his son's doings, sharing his enthusiasm over lectures and classes." One of the most touching features of the letters which passed between father and son at this time was the instruc- tion Louis attempted to give the elder Pasteur. He had often heard his father deplore his lack of instruction, and 24 The Professions thinking that he might help him to satisfy his desire for knowledge he proposed to send him regular lessons. The proposition was made with great delicacy. ' ' I am sending you this work to do in order that you may be able to help Josephine." Josephine was his sister. He took most seriously his task of tutor by correspond- ence; the papers he sent were not always easy. His father wrote (January 2, 1845): "I have spent two days over a problem which I afterwards found quite easy; it is no trifle to learn a thing and teach it directly afterwards." And a month later: "Josephine does not care to rack her brains, she says; however, I promise you that you will be pleased with her progress by the next holidays." As long as the father lived this intimacy continued. After Pasteur's work began to be recognized the father came several times to Paris, and there met the great scien- tists, who were as proud as he of the young man's discov- eries and promise. They were not slow to recognize the superiority of the plain old tanner. "We highly appreci- ated your father," wrote the great chemist Biot, "the rectitude of his judgment, his firm, calm, simple reason, and the enlightened love he bears you." How profoundly Pasteur himself appreciated his father's worth, how with years his love became devotion, one real- izes from the tribute he paid his memory in 1883 at a celebration in his honor, held at Dole, his birthplace: "And thou, dearest father, whose life was as hard as thy hard trade, thou hast shown me what patience and pro- tracted effort can accomplish. To thee I owe persever- ance in daily work. Not only hadst thou the qualities that go to make a useful life, but also admiration for great men and great things. To look upward, learn to the utmost, to seek to rise ever higher, such was thy teaching. I can see thee now, after a hard day's work, reading in the Louis Pasteur 25 evening some story of the battles in the glorious epoch of which thou wast a witness. Whilst teaching me to read, thy care was that I should learn the greatness of France." In 1849 Pasteur was married. He had not intended to take a wife so soon, but the ardor of his nature was too much for him. In January, 1849, he was appointed as- sistant professor of chemistry in the faculty at Strasburg. On his arrival he met Mile. Laurent, a daughter of the dean of the faculty, and two weeks later asked for her hand. Deeply in love as he was, he seems to have had a twinge of conscience when he thought of his laboratory, for in writing of the engagement he said, remorsefully, "I, who did so love my crystals!" Happily, the marriage made no difference with the crys- tals. Madame Pasteur had the intelligence to realize the possibilities in her husband's devotion to work, and from the first sought to share his labors with him. She guarded his laboratory from interruptions, served as his secretary, and became a skilhul assistant in many experi- ments — indeed, she was an adept in the sericulture pro- cesses Pasteur devised. More than this, she shared his enthusiasm. To her alone he confided first his visions of futiu^e achievements, many of them so bold that his best friends regarded them coldly and warned him of the dan- ger of perfervid imagination. How to preserve the health of his body, and the serenity of his mind, and at the same time to satisfy his heart was her constant concern. Her courage in their trials was unwavering, and her joy in his successes deep and genuine. I shall never forget the un- conscious devotion of the two as I saw them at the Pasteur Institute. Their more than forty years of life together had developed what seemed to be entire completeness of sympathy and xmderstanding. 26 The Professions The rare and beautiful sympathy which Madame Pas- teur gave her husband took away much of the sting from the hard circumstances under which almost throughout his life his original work was done. Sent to the Ecole Normale of Paris, in 1857, from the faculty of Lille, where he had for three years held the chair of chemistry, he was given the administrative work of the faculty. His duties here included a multitude of harassing details. "Catering; ascertain what weight of meat per pupil is given out at the Ecole Polytechnique. Courtyard to be strewn with sand. Ventilation of class room. Dining- hall door to be repaired," read the notes of one day. Fine work, his admirers said, for a man who had made France famous by his discoveries in crystals and fermentation; but Pasteur neither fretted nor shirked. It was his duty, and that was enough. He would find time for experiments, however, and installed a laboratory in attic rooms so poorly heated that he could not work on cold days. Here, without an attendant, and in spite of the economic and hygienic management of the institution, and the dis- cipline and moral training of pupils expected of him, he inaugurated his celebrated work on alcoholic fermentation. A little later he exchanged his attic for a tiny doorkeeper's lodge, where, to get to his drj-ing stove, he had to crawl on his knees under a staircase. In 1870, when the Prussian invasion had driven him from Paris (every one of the pupils of the Ecole Normale enUsted in 1870, and the school itself was turned into a kind of refuge for soldiers), he went to his old home in Arbois. He was very feeble, having, a year and a half be- fore, nearly died of a paralytic stroke, but work he would. "Any sort of laboratory work was difficult for him in the tanner's house, which had remained the joint property of himself and his sister," says Vallery-Radot. "His Louis Pasteur 27 brother-in-law had continued Joseph Pasteur's trade, and Pasteur applied his spirit of observation to everything around him, and took the opportunity of studying the fermentation of tan. He would ask endless questions, trying to discover the scientific reason of every process and every routine. While his sister was making bread he would study the raising of the crust, the influence of air in the kneading of the dough, and his imagination rising as usual from a minor point to the greatest problems, he began to seek for a means of increasing the nutri- tive powers of bread, and, consequently, of lowering its price." Throughout all his life his investigations were carried on imder hardship. Even after a perfect installation was provided for him by the state, the nature of his work made it often impossible for him to stay in Paris. To finish his experiments on the germ theory he climbed high Alps; to conduct his examinations of silkworms, of cattle afflicted with charbon, and of swine with rouget, he was obliged to use temporary and inconvenient quarters in the country where silkworms and cattle and swine were raised. The confinement, the hardship, and the drudgery of Pasteur's laboratory work never had the stupefying effect on his imagination and his emotions which is so often ob- servable in students carrying on trying and protracted re- searches. The harder he worked the more active his brain, the more fertile his spirit of invention. Pasteur was never a mere "laboratory pillar" — a dead scholar. Every ex- periment he imdertook was to support a theory. "Without theory, practice is but routine born of habit," he said to his students. "Theory alone can bring forth and develop the spirit of invention. To you specially it will belong not to share the opinion of those narrow minds who disdain everything in science which has not an imme- 28 The Professions diate application. You know Franklin's charming saying? He was witnessing the first demonstration of a purely- scientific discovery, and people round him said: 'But what is the use of it?' Frankhn answered them: 'What is the use of a new-born child? ' Yes, gentlemen, what is the use of a new-born child? And yet, perhaps, at that tender age, germs already existed in you of the talents which distinguished you! In your baby boys, fragile beings as they are, there are incipient magistrates, scien- tists, heroes as valiant as those who are now covering them- selves with glory under the walls of Sevastopol. And thus, gentlemen, a theoretical discovery has but the merit of its existence: it awakens hope — and that is all. But let it be cultivated, let it grow, and you will see what it will become." And Pasteur's theories had for him the added inspiration that if they were realized they would benefit mankind and bring glory to France. Nearly all of his great discoveries had their birth in his willingness to help others, or in his stern sense of duty. In order to aid a manufacturer of beet-root alcohol, who had trouble in his factory at Lille, Pasteur first undertook the study of fermentation. He carried on these experiments until he dared put out his germ theory in opposition to that of spontaneous gener- ation. With what a passion for the truth he appUed his theory? The wines of France were subject to diseases which were ruining their reputation abroad. Might not these diseases be due to ferments, originating in germs in the liquid? If these germs were destroyed would not the disease be arrested or prevented? By the simple process of heating — pasteurization, as it was called — it was proved that the cause of the disease could be removed. The application of his discoveries in fer- mentation would easily have earned him a fortune. Louis Pasteur 29 Napoleon III, who always took a lively interest in his work, once asked him why he did not take advantage of the opportunity. "In France," he answered, "scientists would consider that they lowered themselves by doing so." He feared he would ruin that simplicity of life which he felt was essential to all good achievement, stifle invention, and dull his ardor for work if he allowed himself to make money by his discoveries. Passionately interested as Pasteur was in his study of ferments, his sense of duty turned him from it in 1865, when he was asked by the government to give his atten- tion to the epidemic which had for a long time ravaged silkworms. In twenty years the loss to France from this cause had been one billion five hundred million francs. For five years Pasteur labored at the problem, completely solving it in the end. For this work he received no pri- vate reward. To have relieved the stricken districts was enough for him — that and the consciousness that France had the credit of his discoveries. This patriotic devotion, always great, was intensified by the war of 1870. When the war ended Pasteur was fifty years old, and had suffered already one paralytic stroke, but what matter? "My head is full of splendid projects; the war sent my brain to grass, but I now feel ready for further work. Perhaps I am deluding myself; anyhow I will try. . . . Why can I not begin a new life of study and work! Unhappy France, beloved country, if I could only assist in raising thee from thy disasters!" He was offered at this time a great salary to go to Pisa, to take a chair of chemistry applied to agriculture. Every facility for work was to be given him, but he refused. " I should feel that I deserved a deserter's penalty if I sought, away from my country in distress, a material situation 30 The Professions better than it can offer me." And so he began anew to work for France and humanity. The horrible mortality among the wounded in the war had wrung his heart, and as soon as he returned to Paris he began to study the causes. It was due to germs of disease carried on instruments and on cotton-wool dressing, said Pasteur. Proper care, the use of antiseptics, and sterilizing by heat would destroy the germs and prevent the putrefac- tion. It is evident enough now, but only by repeated demonstrations did Pasteur force his precautions on the physicians and surgeons of his day. They were so set on believing in spontaneous generation that they were unwill- ing even to test practices which contradicted it. The methods of caring for the wounded and the sick he invented reduced the mortality in surgical cases from fifty in one hundred to five in one hundred, and in lying-in hospitals from two hundred in one thousand to three, and, finally, to two per thousand. Charbon, or splenic fever, was ruining the flocks of France, and he attacked and conquered it; then rouget, then hydrophobia. Inspired by hope of delivering human- ity from germ diseases, he worked with feverish intensity. The harder he worked the more he accomplished, the more brilliantly the spirit of invention burned within him. He seemed to dare to grapple any mystery of life or death. He was "at boiling point " from morning until night. It is seldom that great caution goes with such ardor as characterized Pasteur. He never announced anything as final, however, until convinced that he was right. Cau- tious as he was, many of his announcements brought down the wrath of his contemporaries and forced him to heap up mountains of proof. Unwillingness to examine testimony and to accept it if it could not be weakened was always a crime in Pasteur's Louis Pasteur 31 eyes. It was an insult to science and truth, a standing in the way of the glory of France, he said, and he would defend his positions wrathfully and persistently. At the very beginning of his career certain of his conclusions in crystallography were attacked. The criticism was a trivial one — that the crystal in question was hemihedral on the left side instead of the right, as Pasteur had said ; but it was magnified to great proportions by those who did not Icnow the subject and were willing to discredit Pasteur. "Seeing that incontrovertible argiunents were required," says Vallery-Radot, "Pasteur sent for a cabinetmaker with his tools. He superintended the making of a com- plete wooden set of the crystalline forms of tartrates — a gigantic set, such as Gulliver might have seen in Brob- dingnag if he had studied geometrical forms in that island. A coating of colored paper finished the work; green paper marked the hemihedral face. As a member of the Philo- mathic Society, Pasteur asked the Society to give up the meeting of November 8, 1862, to the discussion of that subject. " Several of his colleagues vainly endeavored to dissuade him from that intention; Pasteur hearkened to no one. He took with him his provision of wooden crystals, and gave a vivid and impassioned lecture. 'If you know the question,' he asked his adversaries, 'where is your conscience? If you know it not, why meddle with it?'" M. Duclaux said about this meeting: "Pasteur has since then won many oratorical victories. I do not know of a greater one than that deserved by that acute and pene- trating improvisation. He was still much heated as we were walking back to the Rue d'Ulm, and I remember making him laugh by asking him why, in the state of mind 32 The Professions he was in, he had not concluded by hurUng his wooden crystals at his adversaries' heads." This amusing scene was duplicated more than once in the Academy of Sciences or of Medicine. Much more dramatic than any demonstration of his theory he ever gave in Paris was the great experiment he tried ia the spring of 1881, at a farm near Melun, literally before the eyes of Europe. In February of that year Pasteur had announced to the Academy of Sciences that he had dis- covered a vaccine for splenic fever, which would give a mild form of the disease to sheep, cows, and horses, and assure them of future immunity. There was much nodding of heads and curling of lips among doubters. A leader of the opposition was the veterinary surgeon, M. Rossignol. To prove Pasteur wrong, M. Rossignol raised a subscrip- tion to carry on a great experiment at the farm Pouilly le Fort, near Melun. Sixty sheep were put at Pasteur's disposal ; twenty-five were to be vaccinated by two inocula- tions, at twelve or fifteen days' interval, with some atten- uated charbon virus. Some days later those twenty-five and also twenty-five others would be inoculated with some very virulent charbon culture. "The twenty-five unvaccinated sheep will all perish," wrote Pasteur; "the twenty-five vaccinated ones will sur- vive." They were afterwards to be compared with the ten sheep which had undergone no treatment at all. It would thus be seen that vaccination did not prevent sheep from returning to their normal state of health after a certain time. Ten cows were also chosen — six to be vaccinated, four not. The inoculations took place on May 5th, 15th, and 31st, before big crowds of physicians, farmers, and veterinary surgeons. Pasteur had announced that on June 5th, at After the painting by E. pirodon Pasteur Saving a Lif^E Louis Pasteur 33 .the latest, his twenty-five sheep and six cows which had been vaccinated should be alive, and the unvac- cinated dead. During the period of waiting excitement ran high, certain veterinary surgeons even drinking to a fiasco. "Pasteur had no thought of failure," says Vallery- Radot, "until the very day before the 5th; then he re- ceived a telegram that one of his vaccinated sheep was in a bad way. By a sudden reaction, he, who had drawn up such a bold program, leaving no margin for the unexpected, and who the day before seemed of an imperturbable tran- quillity among all those sheep, the life or death of which was about to decide between an immortal discovery and an irremediable failure, now felt himself beset with doubts and anguish. Pasteur's emotional nature, strangely allied to his fighting temperament, was mastering him." "His faith staggered for a time," writes M. Roux, "as if the experimental method could betray him." The night was a sleepless one. "This morning, at eight o'clock," wrote Madame Pasteur to her daughter, "we were still very much excited, and awaiting the telegram which might announce some disaster. Your father would not let his mind be distracted from his anxiety. At nine o'clock the laboratory was informed, and the telegram was handed to me five minutes later. I had a moment's emotion which made me pass through all the colors of the rainbow. Yesterday, a con- siderable rise of temperature had been noticed with terror in one of the sheep; this morning that same sheep was well again." On the arrival of the telegram Pasteur's face lighted up; his joy was deep, and he desired to share it immediately with his absent children. Before starting for Melun, he wrote them this letter: 34 The Professions June 2, 1881. It is only Thursday, and I am already writing to you; it is because a great result is now acquired. A wire from Melun has just announced it. On Tuesday last, 31st May, we inoculated all the sheep, vaccinated and non-vaccinated with very virulent splc;nic fever. It is now forty- eight hours ago. Well, the telegram tells me that, when we arrive at two o'clock this afternoon, all the non-vaccinated subjects will be dead; eighteen were already dead this morning, and the others dying. The vaccinated ones are all well; the telegram ended by the words "stunning success "; it is from the veterinary surgeon, M. Rossignol. These experiments caused a tremendous sensation in Europe. Pasteur was hailed by all France, and the grand cordon of the Legion of Honor was offered him. It was characteristic that he made its acceptance conditional to the red ribbon being given his two collaborators, Chamberland and Roux. The news that the three had been awarded was brought them one day as they were all hard at work in the laboratory over rabbits and guinea pigs. In all the relations of life Louis Pasteur was the gentlest of men. The suffering of animals in the laboratory was an endless sorrow to him. When the first dog was trephined and inoculated with hydrophobia he was greatly disturbed. "He could be present without too much effort," writes M. Roux, "at a simple operation, such as a subcutaneous inoculation; and even then, if the animal screamed at all, Pasteur was immediately filled with compassion, and tried to comfort and encourage the victim in a way which would have seemed ludicrous if it had not been touching. The thought of having a dog's cranium perforated was very disagreeable to him; he very much wished that the experi- ment should take place, and yet he feared to see it begun. I performed it one day when he was out. The noxt day, as I was telling him that the intercranial inoculation had presented no difficulty, he began pitying the dog. ' Poor thing! His brain is no doubt injured; he must be para- lyzed!' Louis Pasteur 35 " I did not answer, but went to fetch the dog, whom I brought into the laboratory. Pasteur was not fond of dogs, but when he saw this one, full of life, curiously in- vestigating every part of the laboratory, he showed the keenest pleasure, and spoke to the dog in the most affec- tionate manner. Pasteur was infinitely grateful to this dog for having borne trephining so well, thus lessening his scruples for future trephining." When, in 1885, he first inoculated man for hydrophobia, his suffering and anxiety were terrible. The patient was a child nine years old, who had been bitten in fourteen places. Pasteur, after consulting two eminent physicians, determined to vaccinate the lad. After the inoculation began and while the result was uncertain Pasteur could neither sleep nor work. Visions of the child dying with hydrophobia tormented him. His faith in his method was shaken, and he blamed himself for daring to trust his theory. When, finally, "the dear lad," as Pasteur always called him, recovered, his joy was unrestrained.' In the fall, after this success, a Uttle gii'l of ten, who had been bitten thirty-seven days before, was brought to Pastem'. He felt that the case was hopeless, that it was too late for the treatment to stay the evU. But he found himself unable to resist the prayers of the father and mother to try and save their child. After the treatment was over the Uttle girl returned to school, when fits of breathlessness appeared, which were soon followed by con- NTilsive spasms. Pasteur hastened to her side, and new inoculations were attempted. Moments of calm followed, which inspired him with the vain hope that she might yet be saved. This delusion was short -Hved. He could not tear himself away from the child, who loved him dearly, and who gasped out a desire that he should stay with her. She felt for his hand between two spasms. Pastem- shared 36 The Professions the grief of the father and mother, and when all hope had to be abandoned he burst into tears. " I did so wish I could have saved your Httle one!" he sobbed. People wondered at his emotion. "How can Pasteur, who has received every mark of admiration, every supreme honor, whose name is connected by universal renown, still be touched by anything save the discoveries of his powerful genius ?" asked some one. Only those who came close to Louis Pasteur realized that he valued his discoveries only because they lightened human burdens or saved human lives, that when he had failed to do what he tried to do, he was as overwhelmed by the woe of the world as if he had done nothing to relieve it. How much he did do for humanity in his life can not be estimated. His discoveries are too far-reaching for calcu- lation. Consider the three great truths he established : Each fermentation is produced by the development of a special microbe. Each infectious disease is produced by the development within the organism of a special microbe. The microbe of an infectious disease, cultivated under cer- tain detrimental conditions, is attenuated in its pathogenic activity ; from virus it has become a vaccine. In 1883 the result of these discoveries were reported to the French Chamber of Deputies in the following words : "As a practical consequence of the first discovery, M. Pasteur has given rules for the manufacture of beer and of vinegar, and shown how beer and wine may be preserved against secondary fermentations which would turn them sour, bitter, or slimy, and which render difficult their trans- port and even their preservation on the spot. "As a practical consequence of the second discovery, M. Pasteur has given rules to be followed to preserve cattle from splenic fever contamination, and silkworms Louis Pasteur 37 from the diseases which decimated them. Surgeons, on the other hand, have succeeded, by means of the guidance it afforded, in effecting almost completely the disappear- ance of erysipelas and of the purulent infections which formerly brought about the death of so many patients after operations. "As a practical consequence of the third discovery, M. Pasteur has given rules for, and indeed has effected, the preservation of horses, oxen, and sheep from the an- thrax disease which every year kills in France about twenty million francs' worth. Swine will also be preserved from the rouget disease which decimates them, and poultry from the cholera, which makes such terrible havoc among them. Everything leads us to hope that rabies will also soon be conquered." A few years later and it was known that rabies had been conquered. It was realized fully, too, that the world might hope to see the day when germ diseases would be subject to human skill. Conscious as Pasteur was of the tremendous value of his work, he was singularly indifferent to the honors he re- ceived. He never regarded them as personal tributes. It was glorious that science should be so honored, he said, when he was asked to join the Acad6mie Francaise. For- eign tributes he received proudly, because they were an honor for France. Indeed, there could be little room for self in a nature so exalted. Dwelling, as he did, in the "Temple of the Future," his mind was ever fixed on the great unknown. What had been done was only a stepping-stone to what he saw to do. For that he lived and worked. To the very end of his life his fevei for discovery, his splendid audacity, his indomitable energy in attacking problems remained. Never did the faith in work, which had been his inspiration 38 The Professions in the beginning, falter. In 1884, at Edinburgh, one of the five representatives sent by France to the tercentenary of the University, he addressed the students: "Ever since I can remember my life as a man, I do not think I have once spoken for the first time with a student without saying to him, 'Work perseveringly; work can be made into a pleasure, and alone is profitable to man, to his city, to his country.'" But he reminded them, at the same time, that with work must go enthusiasm, "the beautiful word bequeathed by the Greeks, hdeo^^ an inward God." It was this "inward God," as he understood it, which inspired Louis Pasteur always. The incalculable benefit he conferred on humanity, the glory he brought to his beloved France, are the fruit of intelhgent work illumined by a noble enthusiasm. MEDICINE AS A CAREERS Bv JOHN S. BILLINGS, M. D. g aifc^ jO the young man about to choose a professional mF^^ career, medicine at this time offers opportu- i^^^Twi nity for the employment of the highest mental '2^=^-^ faculties, for the increase of knowledge, for usefulness to the world, and for the attainment of true happiness, such as no other profession presents. It is not meant by this to assert that it will certainly secure to its followers all, or indeed any, of these things, but that, given the same degree of intellect with a good preliminary edu- cation, the probabilities are that out of a thousand men taking up the study of medicine more will attain success than will do so among a similar number of young men of like character and attainments who devote themsehes to theology, law, pohtics, or education. ^Miat is the meaning of "success" in this connection? I call a successful career one in which the man has done good work, the best of which he was capable, work in which he was strongly interested and which in itself ga^•e him pleasure, work done unselfishly because he believed it to be good, work which ought to be done and not merely performed as a means grudgingly made use of to obtain wealth or fame or po\ver as the real objects sought. It is a career which has secured a happy home and sufficient means to support it, although it may not have led to wealth; it has brought to its pursuer the approval and friendship of those best acquainted with his life and work, * By permission o; the Author and Mitchell Kennerley. Copyright, 1893. 39 40 The Professions although it may not have made him famous or given him decorations or formal honors ; it has made his advice valued and sought for by those who know him, although it may not have given him an executive office or made him a ruler over his fellow men. Such a career does not protect from the affiictions and sorrows common to humanity, but it does away in a great measure with boredom and ennui, with weary waiting for something to turn up, and the work itself is the best re- source against inevitable grief. The man who achieves such a career has not been dependent on his acquaintances for his happiness, he has not fretted and worried because his family or his friends or his associations or the state have not recognized his merit according to his conception of it, for he has acted on the principle that he exists for their benefit and that they are not merely his appendages. In speaking of a medical career as a means of obtaining such success, the word medicine is used in its broadest sense to include the study of the phenomena of human life, — disease and death; — the circumstances by which these can be influenced, and the practical application of the results to prevention as well as to cure. No other pro- fession affords such opportunities for investigation and experiment or a greater field of usefulness, and no other profession demands so much knowledge of natural science and of the laws of being. Of all men the skilled physician stands nearest to the veil of Isis, which is becoming thinner, though it may never be lifted. To one who has a thirst for knowledge for its own sake or as a means for the benefit of others, the problems of the medicine of to-day offer peculiar attractions, for such a man is atvracted not by that which is known, but by that which is half known, myste- rious, tantalizing, and which apparently might be known by special study. Medicine as a Career /*! That which is unknown, but probably knowable, has, as I have said, great attractions for certain minds, and to such medicine as a career needs no other panegyric than the indication of the possibiUties which it presents. The tastes of other men inchne not so much to actual experi- ment as to the collation and comparison of the results of the experiments of others. In this, also, medicine presents at the present time peculiar attractions. Its current liter- ature is of vast extent, and while much of this literature is worthless, much of it is suggestive, and perhaps one per cent of it is of permanent value. Now, this very fact that it requires research and discrim- ination to find what is useful is attractive to certain minds. Just as, in the early days of California, pocket hunting had a zest of its own which regular quartz-mill work could not give, so the man who commences a literary research for what has been reported with regard to some peculiar disease or method of treatment may take great pleasure in the search itself and be rather disappointed than other- wise if he comes across an article in which he finds the work ably done for him. The great difficulty in this field of investigation is, for most men, the want of access to the books required. Passing now from the pleasures of study for its own sake, which in the eyes of a few surpass all others, let us briefly consider the inducements which medicine offers as a career to the man who desires knowledge mainly as the means to anend, that in being of practical utility to his fellow men. A professional man is defined as one who professes or announces that he is in possession of special knowledge such as the great majority of men do not have, and that he is willing to furnish the benefit of his knowledge to his fellow men in the shape of advice or supervision of certain of their affairs. / The Professions The three learned professions offer such advice and super- vision with reference to men's souls, property, and bodies; but, as Mr. Evarts has remarked, the field of usefulness is more universal for medicine than it is for law or theology, since there are many who have no property to be cared for and there are some with regard to whose possession of souls there may be a question ; but every one has a body, which at times is liable to require skilled management to avoid suffering and death and to enable it to do its work, although some bodies, it must be confessed, are hardly worth preserving. Almost every one sooner or later de- sires the aid of a physician's special skill for himself or for his family; wealth, genius, fame, power do not specially diminish this need, nor do poverty and ignorance exempt from it. It is true that there are things more important than bodily health, that there are times and occasions when it is one's duty to undertake or persist in a mode of life which will almost certainly produce premature disability or death, and, as Dr. AUbutt says, "there is something not heroic in the mere health hunter, a man who wanders from doctor to doctor and from land to land, not that he may do his duty the better, but that he may have an ache the less." This, however, does not make it the less neces- sary for physicians to supply the wants of all, trivial though they may seem to him, for each must be allowed to judge for himself as to where and how much the shoe pinches. Consider the practical usefulness of medicine. It is not merely physical pain in individuals that is to be lessened or averted. Its results extend far beyond the man whose disabihty is removed, whose pain is diminished, whose death is delayed, and who is thus enabled to go on with his share of the world's work; they affect the welfare and Medicine as a Career 43 happiness of his family, of his associates, and, it may be, the interests of a nation, or of the world of science, of liter- ature, or of art. It deals also with the health of cities and of nations, with great commercial interests threatened on the one hand by epidemics and on the other by unwise and unnecessary restrictions imposed under the dictates of panic, the offspring of ignorance and cowardice, and its power and possibilities are inextricably involved in many social problems of the greatest importance to modern civ- ilization. The relative influences of heredity and of environment in the production of the defective, dependent, and danger- ous classes of society, of the feeble-minded, the insane, the deaf-mutes, the vagrants, and the criminals, the means of preventing such production or of dealing with them after they have been produced, are all medical quite as much as they are sociological questions. The jurist looks to specially skilled physicians for advice in dealing with persons whose responsibility for their actions is doubtful; the wise theologian will seek their counsel in cases of morbid conscientiousness and self-reproach, of epidemic emotional manifestations under religious influence of alleged miracles. The professional educator, from the teacher in a common school to the head of a great univer- sity, has need of the information which the medical sci- ences are collecting with regard to the development of the organs of sensation, of memory, of comparison, and of judgment, which he is training for the coming generation the men and women of the twentieth century; and with regard to the effects of variations in life, food, exercise, succession or order of studies, and many other things con- nected with school or college life upon the little masses of gray nerve substance which form the physical substratum of intellect, of emotions, and of morals. 44 The Professions Whether one supposes that soul, intellect, and vital force are each distinct entities, having an existence inde- pendent of these nerve centers, or that one or more of them are the result of the organization and function of such centers, all must admit the fact that injury to these centers modifies or prevents their manifestations. With a httle change in certain cells of the cortical gray, a change which requires the use of the microscope to determine, the orator becomes speechless, the judge becomes a criminal, and the prudent man of business, the affectionate husband and father, the model citizen and pillar of the church becomes extravagant, unchaste, deceitful, and thus enters upon the first stage of a degeneration which, if unchecked, will make him a hopeless paralytic and a driveling idiot. Modern medicine possesses great knowledge and power, much more in some cases than it is allowed to use, because popular opinion has not as yet been educated to the point of appreciating its value. It is in the curious position of continually offering advice, which, if accepted, would greatly lessen the need of the public for its services. When people are ready to obey the physician it is in many cases too late for them to have the benefit of his most valuable knowledge and skill: the tissues are already degenerated, the arteries are prematurely old, the epidemic is already raging among the people. The medicine of the future is preventive medicine, that which will foresee the evil while it is as yet afar off and take measures to avert it. I have said that a successful career brings to its pursuer the approval and friendship of those who best know his work, and this is preeminently true of practical medicine. In some matters the wife trusts the medical man more than she does her husband, the youth comes to him in trouble concealed from his parents, and the man of busi- ness confides in him as he does not in his partner. The Medicine as a Career 45 skilled physician becomes not only the trusted adviser in diseases, but the personal friend, the one who is appealed to for sympathy in joy as well as in trouble, whose com- pany is sought upon all occasions, whose mere personal presence brings with it assurance and comfort. Almost every reader of this book knows some such man, in whose honesty of purpose, fidehty in keeping confidences, and readiness to undergo toil and trouble for the sake of his patients, all who know him have perfect confidence; he lives, as Mr. Bayard has said, "surrounded by an atmosphere of love and trust, holding, as it were, the heart- strings of a family in his hands." Sweet as are such trust and affection on the part of his patients, at least equally sweet are the confidence and friendship which come to him from those best qualified to' judge of that part of his work which has been done rather for the benefit of a com- munity, of science, and of the world than for the individ- uals. These are, for the most part, the members of his own profession whom he has helped. Some of them may have been his immediate pupils; others, whom he may never see, have read his writings or have in other ways obtained help from his labors and expressed their appreciation of it in many ways. Through the respect and confidence thus developed he becomes a well-known consultant, the man whose advice is sought by his brother physicians in diffi- cult cases. This increases his experience and his influence and calls his attention to the many points in which medical science is still defective; for too often when he sees the case he can but recognize its incurability and offer only tran- sient rehef from suffering. The phrase "brother physicians" is one that applies especially in medicine because for more than two thou- sand years in all civilized countries educated physicians 46 The Professions have recognized one another as belonging to a brotherhood. It comes from the time when the study of medicine was hereditary in certain famihes, and when the candidate swore by Apollo and all the gods "to reckon him who taught me this art equally dear to me as my parents, to share my substance with him and relieve his necessities if required, to look upon his offspring as my own brothers," etc. Thus medical men everywhere recognize the claim of a physician to advice and care in case of sickness or in- jury and accept no fee for it. As Weir Mitchell says, "the physician's guild is a world-wide guild, the only one." It is necessary, in speaking of medicine as a career, to consider its demands as well as its inducements, and these demands, for those who wish to secure such success as I have referred to, are for good mental capacity, for a long period of study, for much patience, for powers of physical endurance, for quick and keen sympathies, for honesty and for purity of thought, word, and deed. In the hands of the physician are placed at times not only the issues of life and death, but of things more valuable than these. Not more than one man in a thousand can properly comply with all these demands. The young man whom I would advise to take medicine as a career should have had a broad preliminary education, he should know his "humanities," and it is highly desirable that he should have taken his B. A. degree at a large university, not merely as a guarantee that he has had proper training but because of the associations which he will have formed there, the ideas which are in the air, the intelligent sym- pathy with literature, science, and art which will there be developed and which is essential to his future usefulness and happiness. He is then to take a four years' course of instruction in a medical school having ample facilities in Medicine as a Career 47 the way of laboratories and hospitals. Following this should come a service of a year and a half as resident in a large hospital. By the end of this period, and not much before the end of it, he will be qualified to form a fairly wise judgment as to his own capacity and tastes and as to the particular branch or branches of medicine which are best suited to his wishes. He must beware of beginning to specialize too soon; the foundations must be broad. Now he can decide whether his next two or three years of study shall be spent chiefly in laboratories or in clinics, or how they shall be divided between the two. As an undergraduate in medicine his work in laboratories must be confined to the learning of a few methods of technique and something of the spirit which animates research. When he comes to make original research for himself, he will find that its demands for unremittent, persistent attention and thought are such that for the time being he can do little else. The clinic instruction which he needs after his residence in the hospital is not to be had in one place or from one man ; he needs to compare the manners, the methods, and the results of different men, each the leader in his own place, and for this purpose he must travel and visit the great cUnics in different cities. This done he will be ready to go to work; he will have some idea, though probably not an adequate one, of the things he does not know, and his advice and opinions will begin to be valuable. There is little cause to fear lest he do not find employment; there is always a place for a competent and trustworthy man — for one who can be depended on to work without supervision and to do more than the letter of his engagement calls for; and in laboratories, in hospitals, in medical schools, and in 48 The Professions the broad field of practice there are such places waiting to-day for the men who have not as yet been found for them. But it would be said by some, "You demand too much time and money for education and training; the man ought to begin to support himself long before your scheme would permit him to do so." My answer is that the man who has the means which will enable him to spend the time above indicated as required to fit him to take charge of the health and lives of his fellow men had better so invest them, while he who has not such means should carefully consider as to whether he had better not abandon all thought of studying med- icine and try some of the numerous other occupations which offer a better investment for his time and money, and in which he may be a less dangerous and more useful member of society. This country is in no need of men possessing the diploma of Doctor of Medicine; it already has at least twenty thousand more of them than it requires or can properly support : but it does need several hundred, say a thousand, more of such properly trained physicians as I have indicated, and I am quite sure that the people will be able to recognize them when they appear and will take proper care of their material interests. My young friend whose attention I wish to direct to medicine as a career will have spent five years at a good intermediate school as a preliminary to entering the university, which he does when he is about seventeen years old. He spends three or four years at the university, four years at the medical school, one and one-half years in the hospital, and two years in travel and special studies. When, therefore, he is ready to begin work he will be about twenty-eight years old, and his education, living, books, etc., will have cost about eight thousand dollars Medicine as a Career 49 from the time he entered the university. It can be done for less, but this is a fair average estimate. I am not considering medicine as a trade or looking at it from the commercial point of view. I have not pre- sented among its attractions the probabilities of being able to have a villa at Newport or to keep a yacht or fast horses, I have only claimed that it will provide means to secure a comfortable and happy home and to aid in some degree those who are less fortunate. The physician whom I have in mind can not afford to waste his time in making more money than is required for his own immediate needs and for those of his family; as one who has had special advantages in culture and in the acquisition of knowl- edge he is subject to special claims on thp part of his fel- low men who have not been granted such opportunity. The torch of science is placed in his hands, not merely to illuminate his own path but to enable him to guide and help others in their passage over Mirza's bridge, out of the darkness iato the darkness; and, moreover, it is his duty to hand it on to his successors with added fuel, that it may be more bright for them than it has been for him- self. His duties as a citizen are higher than those of non- professional men, for increase of knowledge brings with it not only power, but responsibility as well. This no doubt, brings upon him at times special cares and anxieties; he will see signs of coming trouble in what to most men may appear to add to beauty or to be evi- dences of robust health and prosperity. But these are but incidental and occasional troubles, far more than counterbalanced by the satisfaction derived from the in- teresting, continuous, useful employment and develop- ment of fevery himaan faculty which even now belongs to, and which in the near future will still more char- acterize, medicine as a career. EDWARD JENNER By WILLIAM WALKER, Jr. PWARD JENNER, who by his discovery of vaccination has preeminently acquired a right to the title of the "Benefactor of Mankind," was born at the vicarage house of Berkeley, in Gloucestershire, and was the third son of the Rev. Stephen Jenner, rector of Rockhampton and vicar of Berkeley. Jenner' s father died when he was only five years old, leaving him to be brought up under the care of his uncle. At eight years of age he was put to school at Wotton-under-Edge, from whence he was removed shortly afterwards to the care of Dr. Washborn at Cirencester. Jenner early displayed that taste for natural history which afterwards formed so marked a feature in his character. Before he was nine years old he had made a collection of the nests of the dormouse, and when at Cirencester used to spend his hours of recreation in searching for the fossils which abound in that district. After the completion of his scholastic education, Jenner removed to Sudbury, near Bristol, where he acquired the elements of surgery and pharmacy under Mr. Ludlow, an eminent surgeon in the neighborhood. Having com- pleted his term with this gentleman, he went to London and became a pupil of the celebrated John Hunter, in whose family he resided for two years, laying the founda- tion of an intimate friendship only broken by Hunter's death. Under the tuition of this distinguished anatomist he acquired an almost unrivaled skill in minute dissections and delicate injections of parts; and when, in the year 50 Edward Jenner 51 1771, Captain Cook returned from his first voyage of dis- covery, the valuable specimens of natural history, which had been collected by Sir Joseph Banks, were in a great measure arranged and prepared by Jenner, who was recom- mended by Mr. Hunter for that purpose. In executing this task, he evinced so much dexterity and intelligence, that he was offered the post of Naturalist in the next expedition, which sailed in 1772. Jenner, however, refused the offer, and determined to fix his abode at the place of his birth. He returned to Berkeley when about twenty-four years old, and at once commenced practice as a country surgeon. His first attempts were very successful; and as he added to his professional skill the manners of the thorough gentleman and the information of a scholar, he became a welcome guest in the most distinguished families. He was in the habit at this time of cultivating the art of poetry, and used to send his compositions to his friends in the ordinary interchange of literary correspondence. He was likewise clever at an epigram or a ballad, and had a natural taste for music, being able to play on the flute and violin, and sing his own verses with considerable taste and feeling. Such was the attachment of Jenner' s friends to him at this period of his career, and so highly did they value his amusing and interesting conversation, that, when he had called at their houses, either as a visitor or in his profes- sional capacity, they would accompany him, on leaving, many miles on his way home, and this, too, often at mid- night, in order that they might prolong the pleasure derived from his company and conversation. Although Jenner's time was chiefly occupied with his professional duties, he still kept up a constant and regular correspondence with his friend John Hunter on different subjects. He managed also to find leisure to institute 52 The Professions many experiments and observations in natural history, one of the results of which was his account of the cuckoo, a most carefully elaborated essay, which has always been considered as a model of accurate observation. This paper was read to the Royal Society on the 10th of March, 1788, and printed in their "Transactions." It explained the habits of this curious bird very satisfactorily, and its publication at once secured the author a considerable reputation as a naturalist. As this paper appears not to be very generally known, the following account taken from it may be interesting : "The cuckoo furtively deposits her egg in the nest of another bird; it is done not that her offspring may be a sharer of the care of the foster-parent, but that it may engross it entirely to the total destruction of its own natural offspring. A perversion of all the maternal in- stincts is a most remarkable result of this vicarious incu- bation. The hedge-sparrow, or other birds whose nests have been visited by the cuckoo, actually sometimes eject their own eggs to make room for the new guest; but it occasionally happens that this is not done; the eggs are not disturbed, and the process of hatching is allowed to go on regularly, and the young sparrows and the cuckoo emerge from the shell about the same time. "This event, when it is permitted to happen, does not at all improve the condition of the former; on the contrary, it only exposes them to greater sufferings. The size of the egg of the cuckoo does not vary much from that of the bird in whose nest it is deposited. When the young spar- row, therefore, and the intruder first come into life, they are pretty much on an equahty; but, unhappily for the foster- brethren, this inequality does not last long; the cuckoo's growth rapidly outstrips that of his companions, and he immediately exercises his new powers with abundant Edward Jenner 53 selfishness and cruelty. By a singular configuration of his own body he contrives to lodge his companions, one by one, upon his back, and then scrambling up the sides of the nest, he suddenly throws them from their seat, and completely ejects them from their own home to become the food for worms. "There is reason to believe that the unnatural parent is often an unmoved witness of this atrocity. Her whole care and affection are absorbed by the intruder, and her own flesh and blood literally turned out to perish. It sometimes, though very rarely, happens that two cuckoos' eggs are deposited in the same nest. When this occurs, and they are both hatched together, a bitter feud arises, which is only terminated by the ejection of one or other from the nest." All naturalists previous to Jenner were inclined to ascribe the peculiarity in the economy of the cuckoo to its structure; the largeness of the stomach, which is pro- tected only by a thin covering, they asserted, rendered the pressure attendant upon incubation incompatible with health. This theory is incorrect, and was adopted with- out due examination. Jenner observes, "May they not be owing to the fol- lowing circumstances: namely, the short residence this bird is allowed to make in this country, where it is destined to propagate its species, and the call that nature has upon it, during that short residence, to produce a numerous progeny? The cuckoo's first appearance here is about the middle of April. Its egg is not ready for incubation till some weeks after its arrival. A fortnight is taken up by the sitting bird in hatching the egg. The young bird generally continues three weeks in the nest before it flies, and the foster-parents feed it more than five weeks after this period : so that even if a cuckoo should be ready with 54 The Professions an egg much sooner than the time pointed out, not a single nestling would be fit to provide for itself, before its par- ent would be instinctively directed to seek a new resi- dence, and be thus compelled to abandon its young; for the old cuckoos take their final leave of this country the first week in July." The domestic incidents of Jenner's life during this pe- riod, although important to himself and his futm^e career, were not otherwise remarkable. Having experienced a disappointment in his affections early in life, he continued for many years unmarried. Ultimately, however, on the 6th of March, 1788, he was married to Catherine Kings- cote, a descendant of an ancient Gloucestershire family. In 1793 John Hunter died, and Jenner was deeply af- fected by the loss of his esteemed friend. Many years previous to this sad event, Jenner's anxious and affection- ate attention to the symptoms of the disease, which as early as 1777 had begun to attack Hunter, had enabled him to detect the true nature of his illness {angina 'pec- toris), and the result of the examination after death fully established the correctness of Jenner's views. In 1792, having determined to give up the general practice of his profession and practice as a physician only, Jenner obtained the degree of Doctor of Medicine from St. Andrews; and three years afterwards, on finding that Berkeley by itself could never support a physician, commenced making professional visits to Cheltenham, a practice which he continued for many years. We now come to the important epoch in the life of this eminent man. On the 14th of May, 1796 (commemorated in BerUn as an annual festival), he made his first success- ful vaccination on a boy of the name of Phipps, eight years old, and announced the event, in a letter to a friend named Gardner, in the following words : Edward Jenner 55 "But listen to the most delightful part of my story. The boy has since been inoculated for the smallpox, which, as I ventured to predict, produced no effect. I shall now pursue my experiments with redoubled ardor." In the year 1798 he made public the result of his con- tinued observations and experiments, published during this year his work entitled an "Inquiry into the Causes and Effects of the Variolae Vaccinae," and henceforth the imperishable name of Jenner was to be identified with vaccination. Although Jenner announced his discovery thus late in life, his attention had been drawn forcibly toward the subject when quite a youth, while pursuing his professional education in the house of his master at Sudbury. During that time, a young countrywoman having come to seek advice, the subject of smallpox was mentioned in her presence; she immediately observed, "I can not take that, for I have had the cowpox." This incident riveted the attention of Jenner, and he resolved to let no opportunity escape of procuring knowl- edge upon so interesting a subject. When, in 1770, he was prosecuting his studies in London, he mentioned the matter to Hunter, who told him not to think but try, and above all to be patient and accurate. Hunter, however, from the great number of original and important pursuits which fully engrossed his attention, was never so greatly impressed as Jenner with the probable consequences of the successful elucidation of the subject of cowpox; while other surgeons and scientific men, to whom the subject was mentioned, ridiculed the idea, and even when Jenner had drawn up his "Inquiry," he was recommended not to send it to the Royal Society, lest it should injure the scientific reputation which he had formerly acquired with that body by his paper on the "Natural History of the Cuckoo." 56 The Professions Undeterred by this want of sympathy, Jenner, during the time of his practice at Berkeley, patiently continued his investigations as to the nature of cowpox, and, grad- ually struggling through the difficulties which he had to encounter on his way, eliminated the following facts : that there were certain people to whom it was impossible to give the smallpox by inoculation, and that these had all had the cowpox; but that there were also others who had had cowpox, and who yet received smallpox. This, after much labor, led him to the discovery that the cow was subject to a variety of eruptions, of which one only had the power of guarding from smallpox, and that this, the true cowpox, as he called it, could, at only one period of its course, produce, by inoculation, such an influence upon the constitution as to render the individual safe from further contagion. This was the basis upon which the fundamental rules for the practice of vaccination were founded. The publication of his "Inquiry" excited the greatest interest, for the evidence in it seemed conclu- sive; yet the practice of vaccination met with opposition, as severe as it was unfair, and its success seemed uncer- tain until a year had passed, when upwards of seventy of the principal physicians and surgeons in London signed a declaration of their entire confidence in it. An attempt was then made to deprive Jenner of the merit of his discovery, but it signally failed, and scientific honors began to be bestowed on him from all quarters. Nothing could, however, induce Jenner to leave his native village, and all his correspondence shows that the purest benevolence, rather than ambition, had been the motive which actuated his labors. In a letter to Mr. Cfive, who instituted the first successful case of vaccination in London he says: "Shall I, who, even in the morning of my life, sought Edward Jenner 57 the lowly and sequestered paths of life, the valley and not the mountain; shall I, now my evening is fast approaching, hold myself up as an object for fortune and for fame? Admitting it as a certainty that I obtain both, what stock should I add to my little fund of happiness? And as for fame, what is it? — a gilded butt forever pierced with the arrows of malignancy." On the Continent Jenner's claims on the gratitude of mankind were quickly recognized, and the influence of his name and character was very great. On one occasion during the war he addressed a letter to Napoleon, request- ing permission for two men of science and literature to return to England; and it is related that Napoleon, being about to reject the petition, heard Josephine utter thename of Jenner; on which the Emperor paused for an instant, and exclaimed, "Jenner! ah, we can refuse nothing to that man." He subsequently made other applications both to the French and other governments, which were uniformly attended with similar success. Till the last day of his life he was occupied in the most anxious labors to diffuse the advantages of his discovery both at home and abroad; and he had the satisfaction of knowing that vaccination had even then shed its blessing over every civilized nation of the world. He died suddenly from an attack of paralysis, in July, 1823, having attained the seventy-fifth year of his age. Shortly after Jenner's death a statue was erected to his memory in Gloucester Cathedral, chiefly through the exertions of his friend and biographer, Dr. Baron; still more recently the statue in bronze by William Calder Marshall, R.A., was erected in Trafalgar Square, and afterwards removed to Kensington Gardens, as a "tribute from all nations " to the memory of this distinguished philanthropist. AMERICAN HEALING AROUND THE WORLD 1 By EDGAR ALLEN FORBES ^F, at Christmas time, we ask the man who has seen all that is worth seeing in the world what is the most beneficent work that he has wit- nessed in any quarter of the earth, he will probably name the work of the men and women who carry the gospel of Jenner and Pasteur and anaesthesia. If he shall have faced the onsweep of a pestilence or watched beside a child whose throat was fast closing with a diph- theritic membrane, the work of the educator, the engineer, the philanthropist, even of the minister himself, will have shrunk into the commonplace beside the work of the physician. We are entitled to our individual estimates of the use- fulness of the man who goes abroad with the Bible and hymn-book, but there can be little difference of opinion regarding the man or woman who carries his gospel in a surgical case, whose chapel is a thatched dispensary in an out-of-the-way place in the world. The doctor who goes a hundred or a thousand miles beyond the most distant hospital and practices his profession among an alien race — at a salary equal to that of a book- keeper — certainly need envy no other man in any part of the world his opportunities for doing good. You may journey from the Golden Gate to Stevenson's grave in the South Seas, wind your northward way through 1 By permission of the Author. Copyright, 1907, by Doubleday, Page & Company. 58 American Healing Around the World 59 the Pacific islands to Canton and Shanghai, take the over- land trail across Asia to Constantinople, or swing south to Bangkok and westward to Suez; then you may circum- navigate the Dark Continent or cross it from Cairo to Capetown and from Sierra Leone to Khartum — and in all these months and months of travel you will never be far from the American missionary physician. His diploma is from one or another of the best medical colleges in the United States and his experience has been gained in a practice probably larger than that of any professor that taught him. These countrymen of ours are in the torrid belt of Africa and at Point Barrow, four hundred miles within the Arctic Circle, where mail is delivered once a year. Their hospitals are in the New Hebrides and among the fisher- folk of Labrador, a thousand miles north of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. They are administering chloroform in Jerusalem and Damascus and Tyre, vaccinating in Peking and Singapore and on the road to Mandalay, giving qui- nine in the malarial forests of the Zambesi, the Congo, and the Niger. They are on the slopes of the Andes and high up in the Himalayas, "the roof of the world." There is a medical station at Harpoot, near the headwaters of the Tigris and the Euphrates, and these are the instruc- tions how to get there: "Cross the Bosphorus from Con- stantinople to Scutari and take the train to Angora, going thence for three weeks by caravan." Instead of the famihar "doctor's buggy," these physi- cians make their calls in canoes, jinrikishas, palanquins, sledges, wheelbarrows, and hammocks; they tour the vil- lages of their districts by boat, on elephants and camels, and afoot. They have no Waldorf-Astoria suites, but lodge in such inns as this : "A small room without windows and with no furniture except three beds. These were planks 60 The Professions covered with dirty mats, upon which coolies had smoked opium for years. A pith-wick in a saucer of peanut-oil was the only light. The floor was black earth, the walls were besmeared and moldy; everywhere were vermin. The odor of opium smoking and of pigs wallowing at the door pervaded the room." Their dispensary prescriptions are written in characters so strange that no American druggist could fill them, and their instructions to nurses are spoken in tongues not learned at their mothers' knees. Men tell us that this is the Commercial Age, that our race is money mad, that in his swift pursuit of wealth the American takes not time to eat, to think, to pray, to help. And this is our reply : Of this widely scattered staff of physicians, comprising several hundred men and women, more than half are from the United States and only a very small fraction have gone from other than Anglo-Saxon lands. The great majority of them are supported by the four aggressive denomina- tions — the Presbyterians, the Baptists, the Methodists, and the Congregationalists. The foreign medical staff of the Presbyterians numbers about a hundred, nearly half of them being women. Their hospitals are in China, Korea, India, Siam, Persia, the Turkish provinces, and West Africa. This force last year treated nearly half a million patients in these lands, prac- tically all of them with no other hope of sympathetic and scientific treatment. The Congregationahsts (The American Board), with a staff about half as large, ministered to nearly three hun- dred and fifty thousand sick people. The cost of this hu- mane work averaged about one thousand four hundred dollars for each physician, including salary, assistants, sup- pHes, and traveling expenses. They have thirteen hos- pitals exclusively for women and three for lepers. American Healing Around the World 61 The Baptists and the Methodists, with foreign medical staffs about as large, accomplished a work proportionately large and important. The individual reports from many of these hospitals, though condensed into a few sentences, tell a story that makes one feel that the age and the race have not gone wrong. Here are a few, in fragmentary form: Several hospitals reported an average of more than three operations a day throughout the year. One — in the capital of Persia — had eighty-three cataract operations, which means that the boon of eyesight was restored to that many persons in Teheran alone during a twelve-month. At Ping-tu, China, in a little hospital room eight feet wide and twelve feet long, a Southern Baptist physi- cian treated an average of more than twenty patients a day — seven thousand for the year — although his native assistant had died. The contributions from the patients — averaging fourteen cents Mexican — made the hospi- tal self-supporting. A Presbyterian physician in the province of Shantung, China, describes an emergency which would tax the skill of any hospital surgeon. A man with a large knife had run amuck, and four victims were brought to the little hospital. One had the bones of his forearm and wrist cut through, another had scalp wounds that aggregated eight- een inches in length, a third had his skull cutclear through, a fourth was so injured that parts of his skull had to be removed. The report ends modestly: "All made good re- covery." The half dozen United Presbyterian physicians along the Nile had a busy year in a hundred and forty-four villages, aside from their chief stations. One clinic alone had patients from fifty different towns — peasants and mosque teachers and green-turbaned sheiks. 62 The Professions The reports of last year are full of hospital building and extension, the doctor usually being the chief carpenter. One in North China treated six hundred patients a month while putting up his hospital. Another (in Siam), whose hospital was completed during the year, secured the brick from Siam, the lumber from the teak forests of Laos, the cement from Copenhagen, the roofing from Singapore, the ceilings and paint from London, and the hardware from New York. Report after report from hospitals in the Far East tells how the work of healing went forward in the midst of fear- ful outbreaks of cholera and smallpox. Not a physician nor a nurse deserted and none died from the plague. Native cholera corps and vaccinators were organized by the American physicians and authorized by the govern- ments to fight the epidemics. Dr. Langheim, of the Presbyterian mission to the Philippines, had charge of a corps in the island of Negros that vaccinated forty-five thousand persons by government authority. Along with the routine work of healing, brief mention should be made of other kinds of humane work that these men and women are doing. The Kerr Hospital for the Insane, at Canton, with one hundred and fifty new patients last year, is a form of beneficence that is wholly new east of Suez. The institutions for the blind and for the leprous are also parts of the medical work. Up in the Himalayas, to give a single instance, is a group of nearly a hundred lepers whom a young Methodist woman has gathered together. Not long ago a schoolgirl friend from Ohio made a long detour to visit her. She found that the young lady had herself become a leper. The visiting friend was served in separate dishes and lodged in an isolated guest- tent. This is one of the world's most pathetic examples of heroism. American Healing Around the World 63 In China, India, and other Oriental lands, the rescue of opium victims calls for most patient work. In the city of Chengchow, which is the center of overland traffic between Canton and Hankow, it is estimated that four-fifths of the male population above sixteen years of age have ac- quired the opium habit, and there is no native treatment that will reheve them of its thraldom. Many of the hos- pitals in other Chinese cities have special opium wards. At the An Ting hospital, Peking, three of the nurses are reclaimed opium victims. At one station in the Federated Malay States, where a new remedy was discovered last year, there were thirty thousand applicants within two months. As a result, the government sales of opium fell off forty-three thousand dollars. Woman's work for woman nowhere comes with a gentler grace than in these lands where the wives and daughters of the upper class are kept within four walls and where women in general often receive less consideration than domestic animals. No matter how ill they may be, it is rarely that male physicians are permitted to reheve their sufferings. One doctor who was called to a Mohammedan home insisted upon the necessity of counting a sick woman's pulse; the lord of the household went upstairs, tied a cord to thewoman'swrist, and brought the other end of the string down to the physician. Hence the need of women physicians and of such institutions as the Hodge Memorial Hospital, of Paoting-fu, North China, where eighty women patients a day were treated last year. It should be remembered that there is nothing approxi- mating medical science in the countries where these hos- pitals and physicians are at work. It is true that China is full of native "doctors," wearing huge spectacles, but their "remedies" are infinitely worse than any disease. These medicine men proceed on the theory that the human body 64 The Professions is composed of fire, earth, iron, and water; that there are five tubes leading to the stomach; that the heart has seven openings. They have never learned differently, because none dared to take a human body to pieces. Diseases in the spring are thought to come from the liver, those of summer from the heart, and so on. A universal panacea is the insertion of long needles under the skin; sometimes the needles are heated. One man with failing eyesight consulted an "oculist"; the "oculist" pierced each eye- ball with a needle to let the light in. Toothache is, of course, prevalent everywhere ; as opium is the chief Oriental remedy, its use frequently enchains the sufferer to the habit. It was explained to the late Dr. Mackay, of Formosa, that toothache is caused by the gnawing of a black worm at the roots; the logical remedy, therefore, is to hit the tooth sufficiently hard to kill the worm. In one year this physician extracted more then twenty-one thousand teeth. Equally absurd theories prevail in the neighboring countries, even among the higher classes. A wounded Korean prince was treated by a dozen court doctors; an American was then hurriedly summoned and he found that his colleagues had poured molten wax into the wounds to stop the hemorrhage. A native physician of Bangkok, who had become the possessor of a hypodermic syringe, was visited by a man whose joints were stiffened by inflam- matory rheumatism. The doctor injected oil into all the joints, on the theory that what was good for a rusty hinge should loosen up a stiff joint. The resultwas unexpectedly disastrous. Along with the terrors of the native doctor comes the heartlessness of relatives and friends. In China and else- where there is a superstitious fear that if any one dies in bed his ghost will haunt the house. The dangerously ill American Healing Around the World 65 are therefore placed on the floor, while deafening gongs are beaten to drive away the spirits of evil. The sanitary conditions that surround the sick may be inferred from the question asked by a patient brought last year to the Jun- kin Memorial Hospital in Fusan, Korea. He had been a helpless invalid for twenty-six years, during which time the cleansing virtue of water had been forgotten. While waiting in the reception room, he overheard a description of a place called heaven, which left upon his mind the vague impression of some peaceful place of rest. He was given a bath and clean linen and placed on a cot. As his head sank into the first pillow that he had ever seen, he turned his wondering eyes to the nurse. "Is this heaven? " he asked. The distress among the afflicted is also shown by a com- parison of the supply of physicians there and here. In North America, there is an average of one doctor for every six hundred and twenty-five people; in China the pro- portion is one to about two million five hundred thou- sand. When Dr. F. Howard Taylor went to the province of Ho-nan, he was the only scientific physician south of the Yellow River, among twenty millions of Chinese. One of the most interesting experiments which these physicians have made is that of training natives to extend the work of healing. Every one of these little hospitals and dispensaries, from Banza Manteke to the China Sea, is a medical college in miniature. Young men are being trained in the drug-room and to assist in operations ; the young women are given practical instruction in nursing. When their courses are finished, they may either work on the station or accept employment outside. In Canton, Peking, Beirut, Constantinople, and other large cities, these humble beginnings have aheady grown into well-equipped schools of medicine. The Union 66 The Professions Medical College of Peking has a faculty of twenty-one instructors, with a five years' course of study. All the teaching is in the Chinese language and there were thirty-nine students last season. The translation of Gray's Anatomy into Chinese for the benefit of these students was an achievement in itself. Canton Hospital had thirty-six medical students, and the Hackett Medical College for Women, in the same city, this year conferred the degree of Doctor of Medicine upon seven Chinese young ladies. In Constantinople, a New York surgeon — Dr. Carring- ton — is perfecting the plans for a training school for nurses that will do more for the decadent empire than the government has ever done. A new hospital, of which the training school will be a feature, is to be built at a cost of one hundred thousand dollars One of the most encouraging facts about this work of training is the loyalty of theyoung natives to their teachers. These mission hospitals can afford to give only the most meager allowances to native assistants, and the awakening governments are holding out lucrative offers to every native qualified to dispense, or operate, or teach, or nurse. Yet a careful search of the last reports of four of the largest missionary boards has failed to disclose a single instance where a hospital suffered the loss of an assistant on this account. These American physicians are doing more to disarm Oriental prejudice against Westerners and Western ideas than the entire diplomatic and consular service. The favorable attitude of Li Hung Chang to the United States, long before China's awakening, was largely due to the influence of Drs. Mackenzie and Leonora Howard, whose medical skill he had reason to appreciate personally. The late Dr. Mackay, a Canadian Presbyterian, edu- American Healing Around the World 67 cated at Princeton, who spent more than a quarter of a century in the island of Formosa, had an experience that has been often repeated in other places. When he took up his station in the important city of Bangkah, many years ago, the prejudice of the natives was so great that they literally tore his house to pieces and carried the frag- ments away. Fifteen years later, when he was on the eve of returning to Canada, the chief officials of the city sent a messenger with the request that he would allow himself to be carried through the streets in a Sedan-chair. Pre- ceded by the head men of the city, a procession, that in- cluded eight bands of music, an escort of soldiers, and red umbrellas of honor, accompanied him to the wharf while the city resounded with the salute of firecrackers. Many of these Americans have been especially honored by the governments in whose dominions they have done their work. One of the Baptist physicians on the Congo was made a member of the Legion of Honor; Dr. Grenfell, of Labrador, has been decorated by King Edward; Dr. Avison, of Seoul, whose report for last year included one hundred and twenty-six visits to the Emperor of Korea, ranks at court just below a cabinet minister. In striking contrast to the appreciation and honors that have been theirs in the countries where they labor, is the languid interest shown by the physicians in America in this, the most unselfish work that stands to the credit of their profession. I have been present at scores of medical and surgical meetings, ranging all the way from local societies to the American Medical Association, but I never heard even an allusion to the remarkable work of healing and of prevention being done by these overseas practition- ers. It is a long search among the medical journals of the United States before one finds a single article about any of them. 68 The Professions Much has been written and said by physicians with ref- erence to the important work of Colonel Gorgas in Ha- vana and Panama, but never a word about Dr. Kerr of Canton, whose achievements even Colonel Gorgas might envy. The men who risked their lives in the yellow-fever investigations have been appropriately applauded by their colleagues, but no medical society ever hears a ref- erence to the equally daring men that are even now im- periling their lives and those of their famiUes in cholera epidemics of the Far East. One reason for this indifference may be the fact that these physicians whose work is herein described have a habit of wrapping their powders in tracts instead of blank paper, but there is no evidence that this custom interferes with the efHcacy of the powders. Because a surgeon prays before he cuts, it must not be inferred that his hands are unsteady or his instruments unsterilized. It deserves to be said that, were it not for the religious motive, these physicians would not be doing their work in barbarous and semi-civilized lands. Their support is provided not by charitable but by religious people, and for the specific purpose of extending the boundaries of the Christian faith. With all the wealth that its membership represents who ever heard a suggestion that the American Medical Asso- ciation should send one or fifty of its members to Africa or China for unmixed humanitarian work? The commission held by these outgoing physicians reads in this way: "He sent them to preach the kingdom of God and to heal the sick." And it is simple justice to say that they are execut- ing their twofold task in a way that is both effective and inoffensive. And they are doing it at great personal sacrifice. The physician's average salary of about one thousand dollars a year is not sufficient to surround his family with even the American Healing Around the World 69 ordinary comforts of life, yet he is constantly declining positions offered to him by the native governments. These men and women have a hard and a lonely task. Practically all of their friendships must be formed among people of an alien race. For the physician's wife there are none of the refinements of cultured society. For his children there are no schools and only dark-skinned play- mates. This means that he must either be separated from his children during the most interesting years of their lives, or else must resign his post and accompany them back to the homeland. But when the "All ashore!" warning is given aboard the homeward-bound steamer, the doctor and his wife usually go down the gang-plank and watch their treasureship slip away into the misty horizon. Pos- sibly, it is the last time they are to see their children ; cer- tainly, they shall not see them again as children. Beyond the rim of any horizon that spreads out before the world-traveler's gaze, these self-exiled countrymen of ours are doing their work among the Yellow, the Brown, and the Black. Their little dispensaries are the farthest outposts of the most merciful that Western civilization has produced. A century hence the missionary physician will not be needed; his place will have been filled by native men and women trained under his direction. Here and there some white-haired patriarch in China or Bombay or on the Congo will tell to a wondering generation strange tales of The Age That Used To Be — when chloroform and vaccines and serums were unheard of, and when the white-skinned doctor was mobbed when he came across the seas. But ours is the privilege to stand afar off and watch him while he is doing his beneficent work. THE CONQUEST OF PAIN^ By HERBERT O. McCRILLIS ^E give great and just praise to the men who have annihilated space and time and made possible the communication of ideas in an instant over continents and oceans; to the men who have harnessed electricity and made it a servant of wonderful power and usefulness; to the man who found the giant Steam and set him to work in the steam-engine, in whose train have followed a multitude of discoveries and inventions. A host of claimants for honor rise up all about us as we summon those who have benefited society by their patient searching for the hidden laws and forces of nature. It is a brilliant and notable company, and our own land can claim many of them as her own. These may be styled conquerors; for all have overcome, in some degree, diffi- culties which barred the way of progress. Among them should be reckoned the one who showed us that even pain, that great enemy of man, classed so often with death itself, might be driven away and held in abeyance at the will of man; for, after all, is there any discovery in the wonderful list that can outrank that of practical anaesthesia? Yet, how many can speak the name of the man who revealed the possibility of lying down in sweet forgetfulness while the surgeon performs his nec- essary task — to save the life and health endangered by accident, war, or disease? Who was he? We shall see. ' By courtesy " New England Magazine.'' Copyright, 1908. 70 The Conquest of Pain 71 We of the present generation can only imagine, happily not realize, what old-time surgery was. A few veterans of medicine and surgery remain to tell us. Then, they say, strong men had to hold the shrieking, suffering patient to the torture of the operation, as bad as that of the ancient Spanish Inquisition. Imagine delicate women undergoing treatment under such a trying ordeal. Evidently it would be impossible for language to express the suffering of those preansesthetic days. And such was surgery until 1846. Is it any wonder that all shrank from it and preferred anything to its horrors? The result of all the experimenting from the earliest days to 1846 was fruitless as far as producing any means sure and safe by which insensibility to pain during surgery was possible. In spite of statements made to the con- trary, the world was still waiting. The sentiment of this darkness just before the dawn of discovery seems to have been fitly expressed by the cele- brated French surgeon Velpeau in 1839, when he wrote: "To escape pain in surgical operations is a chimera which we are not permitted to look for in our day." And yet, the man who was to draw aside the veil of mystery and reveal the method of painless surgery to an anxious world had, even as these words were written, reached man's estate, and commenced the search which was to end in the appUcation of ether, the wonderful thing which was to bless every race of men. William Thomas Green Morton, the revealer of painless surgery, was born Aug. 19, 1819, among the hills of the south-central part of Massachusetts, in the country town of Charlton, small in population, but beautiful for situation; nurtured in an old-fashioned, square, big- chimneyed house, which was shaded by great trees and vine-laden. 72 The Professions Here, with tlie best of environment, as a country Ijoy, and amid scenes common to New England lads of that time, he lived, until, — with the exception of academy days at Oxford, Northfield, and Leicester, covering four years, — at the age of seventeen, he left his home for Boston, to become a bookseller. From very early years young Morton had said he would be a physician. Apparently, his hope was never to be realized, for his father was not able, through business reverses, to give him the means for a medical education. About the time of the commencement of his career in Boston, however, dentistry was becoming a profession by itself. Being denied the pursuit of the study for which he longed, Morton's attention was attracted to this as allied to the study of medicine, and possible of attainment by him. In Baltimore, in 1840, the American Society of Dental Surgeons had been organized. So, becoming ac- quainted with men prominent in this new movement, he commenced his studies there, and in 1842 was ready to establish himself in business. This he did in Boston, with Horace Wells, afterward a contestant for the honor of dis- covering ansesthesia, as partner. But their business ven- ture proved unprofitable, and they separated. Later, Morton, by perseverance, study, and skill, built up a very profitable business, and established also a suc- cessful manufactory of artifical teeth. He was considered, so good authority states, superior in his profession. In 1844 he married Miss Elizabeth Whitman, of Connec- ticut. In the same year he enrolled his name as a medical student, determined, as it seems, to realize his old cher- ished hope, and obtain the knowledge needed now in the investigations which he had begun. His wife reported also another reason for this study, which was the aversion of her mother to Morton's business of dentistry, which was, H I m G) m > -\ D I -< m a > z The Conquest of Pain 73 strange as it seems to us now, looked down upon by very many. Later on, when he had made the great discovery, some enemies of his sought to detract from his abilities, and argue that he could not have done this because he was only a dentist. The fact is that he had nearly completed his second year at the Harvard Medical School. The duties which then came to him in connection with the dis- covery prevented his continuance, but he was no doubt as well fitted for the title of M.D. as many who received it after completing the four years' course. Indeed, another university conferred on him this honorary title. These investigations just spoken of were the germ of the wonderful discovery, innovation, or presentation he was soon to make, and commenced in the following way : He had found an improved method for adjusting artificial teeth in the mouth, which he hoped would prove profitable. This, however, required the extraction of all roots remain- ing in the gums. At once it was found that the great pain of doing this would keep nearly every one from having the new moimting. The need of something to prevent this pain thus came to him as a business problem, and led him to commence the search for it. To accomplish his object he commenced to experiment with various substances, and seek information upon any method that seemed promising. One of the things he used was common ether. The fact that the inhaling of ether was a relief in bron- chial troubles was applied in medical practice. And it had also been known for a great many years that it would produce stupefaction, exhilaration, or intoxication. This knowledge of it was only experimental and often made use of in medical lectures. The benumbing effect of ether locally appUed was known also, and this fact was used by 74 The Professions Morton. He rubbed the ether on the exceedingly sensitive gums of a patient he was treating and found that she felt less pain when he was working on her teeth. This observation and his study gave rise to the theory that the whole body, if brought under this influence at once, would be similarly affected. To test this the exper- iments took the form of administering ether to small ani- mals, as birds, fishes, and large insects. Morton naturally found difficulties at first, and failures. He confided to some of his friends his hopes of finding a way to extract teeth without pain. His first experiments were in the main unsuccessful ; but he persevered, believing in his theory, using as a subject for his experiments this time a large spaniel owned by him. Many times he sent the dog into complete insensibihty, from which no injury appeared on returning consciousness. He thus demonstrated that ether could be repeatedly inhaled to insensibility by an animal with safety. Mrs. Morton, in relating the story of her husband's life, says that on one occasion he came along after one of these administrations leading the dog, which walked rather unsteadily, and said, "poor Nig! I've had him asleep a long time. I was afraid I had killed him." Morton was confident that he had found something of great value. He was so sure of it that he turned over his dental practice to a friend, and determined to devote his whole time to experiments. He had reached the stage of experimenting in which inhalation of the ether by some person or persons was needed to test it still further. Every one was afraid of it. He found it impossible to induce any one outside of his office to submit to the test, though he offered a reward of money. In all previous experiments with ether, nitrous oxide, and other benumbing influences the patient had not been The Conquest of Pain 75 allowed to go into complete unconsciousness, and the gen- eral impression was that such a state, if allowed, might, probably would, result fatally. At length his assistants consented to let him try its effects on them. Though no bad result came from these experiments, the effect produced was one of more incredu- lity on the part of those taking the ether, for they were only imperfectly placed under its influence, making them intoxicated, and causing much trouble, as force was re- quired to restrain them. Morton found out that this was due to impure ether. It contained a large proportion of adulterating matter. Ridicule for him and his pretended useful preparation was the only outcome of this. Finally, desperate in his desire for proof, and believing in the safety of his discovery, he resolved to administer the ether to himself, having obtained some that was pure. Through the help of Mr. Joseph M. Wightman, a maker of scientific instruments, he had obtained an apparatus for administering the ether, which was a glass globe, hav- ing two openings, or necks, in which was placed a sponge saturated with ether. Many other more elaborate forms for the purpose were afterward made, but, in principle, the one now used after more than sixty years is almost the same. Morton afterward used these words in describing the experiment upon himself, in his Memoir addressed to the French Academy of Arts and Sciences at Paris : "Taking the tube and flask, I shut myself up in my room, seated myself in the operating-chair, and commenced inhaling. I found the ether so strong that it partially suffo- cated me, but produced no decided effect. I then satu- rated my handkerchief and inhaled it from that. I looked at my watch and soon lost consciousness. As I recovered I felt a numbness in my lips, with a sensation like night- 76 The Professions mare, and would have given the world for some one to come and arouse me. I thought for a moment I should die in that state, and the world would only pity or ridicule my folly. At length I felt a slight tingling of the blood in the end of my third finger, and made an effort to touch it with my thumb, but without success. At a second effort, I touched it, but there seemed to be no sensation. I grad- ually raised my arm and pinched my thigh, but I could see that sensation was imperfect. I attempted to rise from my chair, but fell back. Gradually I regained power over my limbs, and full consciousness. I immediately looked at my watch, and found that I had been insensible between seven and eight minutes." Morton was criticized for the daring spirit he showed in his experiments, and in the first public application of ether, and called reckless. Terrible things were prophesied as resulting from this spirit, particularly by Jackson, his greatest opponent, until after the danger was all over. Would less daring have brought to the world the price- less gift of painless surgery? Was n't it necessary for some one to dare? Did not Morton, from experiments he had already dared to perform, have a logical reason for the final and crucial tests? Having thus demonstrated to himself the safety of in- haling ether to unconsciousness, and that it prevented pain, his joy was great. His wife mentions his excitement that night, and his intense desire for an opportunity to administer the ether to some person about to endure a painful operation. Strangely enough, the opportunity came that very evening after his experiment on himself. Sometime after the usual office hours a man came to the office with his face bandaged and told Dr. Morton that he must have a tooth drawn, though, from prolonged inflam- mation and pain, it was so very sensitive that he dreaded The Conquest of Pain 77 to let the doctor touch it. Morton recognized the oppor- tunity hoped for. The man (he was Mr. Eben H. Frost, a musician, hving at 42 Prince Street, in Boston) said, "Can't you mesmerize me, doctor? It is so sensitive!" Dr. Morton assured him that he had something better than mesmerism, and, seating Mr. Frost in the operating chair, he wet his handkerchief in ether and appHed it to the patient's nose. He immediately became unconscious, and Dr. Morton extracted the tooth, which was a hard one to pull. Not a sign indicated that there was the least pain. When Mr. Frost recovered consciousness he was so sur- prised and delighted that the dreaded ordeal was all over, and so easily, that he shouted, "Glory! Hallelujah!" This was on Sept. 30, 1846, at the office of Dr. Morton, 19 Tremont Row, and Mr. Frost gave Dr. Morton a certifi- cate stating his experience, and that no unpleasant effects followed his inhalation of the ether. This was also signed as witnessed by two who assisted Morton at the time. Following this, the ether was used in many other cases by Morton in the practice of dentistry, and with equal success. However, no one but him knew what was used to put the patient to sleep; and only comparatively few knew of it at all. A new era was dawning, but the great truth was still clouded. Although it is reported to have been well known among many of the dentists that Morton had something that would deaden pain, and even reported that the preparation, as it was then called, was used in surgery, it is also very certain that the physicians and surgeons were, as a class, entirely ignorant of its existence or skeptical of the effects claimed for it. With Dr. Mor- ton remained the secret of its composition and use. No one else had made any successful pretensions to anything of the kind, and no one at that time was, known to be trying any experiments along that line. 78 The Professions At this stage of the experimentation it was proved that not only could this preparation be inhaled safely to insen- sibility, but that, while under its influence, persons did not feel the extraction of teeth or other operations said to have been performed. In dentistry it was no doubt valuable. Would it render surgery painless? To answer this in the affirmative was the goal toward which the young discoverer now pressed. Yet, how was he, a common dentist, working at a business scarcely as yet called a profession, to convince all the learned surgeons, who were, almost to a man, skeptical of the possibility of what he knew to be a fact? They had seen things tried before for which equally great results had been confidently predicted, but all had ended in ignominious failure. Surely a crucial and public test of Morton's discovery must be made. And how? Here, again, Morton's faith in his idea, his earnestness and courage, did not fail him. He sought an interview with Dr. J. C. Warren, then the senior surgeon at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston, and asked that an opportunity might be given him to try the new substance in a case of capital surgery at the hospital. To his honor let it be said. Dr. Warren listened attentively, kindly saying, at the close of Morton's statements and request, that he had long wished for something of the kind Dr. Morton had described, but never found it, and should do all he could to further his wishes. Shortly after this interview Morton received this note: Dear Sir: I write at the request of Dr. J. C. Warren, to invite you to be present on Friday morning, at 10 o'clock, at the hospital, to administer to a patient who is then to be operated upon the preparation which you have invented to diminish the sensibility to pain. Yours respectfully, C. F. Hetwood, House Surgeon to the General Hospital. Oct. 14, 1846. The Conquest of Pain 79 Dr. Morton realized that the momentous time had ar- rived, and worked steadily during the next two days to get ready for the experiment, the exceeding importance of which to the world, even to himself, he could not then have estimated. The place in which this demonstration, destined to con- fer such a blessing on mankind, was to occur was the circular operating room at the Massachusetts General Hos- pital in Boston, situated in the dome of the hospital, far from the wards, so that, it was said, the screams of the poor tortured patients of anteansesthetic days might not be heard by the other patients. How soon was all this unnerving agony to be replaced by peaceful slumber, giv- ing the surgeon hberty to use his utmost skill undisturbed ! The room has been materially unchanged since that event- ful day. The furniture, cases of instruments, seats, statue, mummy-case, have remained. Clinics are now held in the place. Grouped on the terrace seats of this amphitheater of pain were, this morning in October, 1846, an unusual num- ber of medical men and students, attracted by the word which had gone around that Morton, the dentist, would administer to the patient of that morning his preparation for making painless the impending operation. The pa- tient came in, a young man, Gilbert Abbott by name. From his neck was to be removed a tumor. Around him, as he took his place in the operating chair, gathered the surgeons, the most skillful in New England. Dr. J. C. Warren, the senior surgeon of the hospital, who was to perform the operation, was the grandfather of Dr. J. Collins Warren, prominent as a Boston physician to-day; Ms grandfather was Dr. Joseph Warren, the patriot general killed at Bunker Hill. Dr. Isaac F. Gal- loupe, of Lynn, Massachusetts, relates that Dr. Warren 80 The Professions waited a half hour for Morton. There were many sneer- ing remarks and looks during this time, and the students anticipated the fun of Morton's failure. Finally, looking around on the assembled company. Dr. Warren said, "Dr. Morton has not come; perhaps he has another en- gagement. We will proceed with the operation." At this very moment Morton entered, breathless, and red in the face from his great hurry. The cause of his tardiness was his delay in preparing the inhaler, which may now be seen in the old operating-room at the hospital. On the previous day, October 15, Dr. Gould, a friend of Morton's, had suggested, says Dr. Gal- loupe, that valves be put into the inhaler to aid the elimina- ation of expired air. At midnight, Morton had thought out the way of doing it; he then went to the house of Mr. Drake, a philosophical instrument maker, rang him out of bed, hurried him to his shop, and induced him to make the required alterations, which took well into the next forenoon. As Morton appeared with this glass instrument in his hand filled with the mysterious preparation. Dr. Warren said, "Your patient is ready." Without delay, and with no words, except a few of encouragement to Abbott, Mor- ton proceeded to the inhalation. The contents of the inhaler appeared bright red, he having used coloring-matter at first in his preparation. It is probable that few present believed in the complete success of what they saw Morton use. Very soon, however, the young dentist had the great satisfaction of seeing the man pass into complete insensibility. Then he turned to Dr. Warren in his laconic way and said, simply, "Your patient is ready, sir." Incredulity in the faces of the beholders had given place now to expressions of interest, which were intensified as The Conquest of Pain 81 Dr. Warren proceeded with the operation. The students and doctors were thunderstruck at what they saw. The silence was perfect. They got up on the backs of the seats, and those nearest were on their knees leaning over the rail in front. When he had finished the operation Dr. Warren turned to the company and said, impressively, his words intensified by the perfect stillness of the room, "Gentle- men, this is no humbug!" Abbott declared, on fully recovering consciousness, that he had felt no pain whatever, and but little sensation toward the last of the operation, caused probably by the removal of the tube from his mouth. Congratulations for Morton followed, and it must have been a happy moment for the young dentist. He was only twenty-seven years old at this time. Dr. Galloupe describes Morton as tall, straight, dignified, and rather solemn in manner, with supreme self-control, laconic in speech, using fewest words possible. After the momentous sixteenth of October, 1846, several other successful operations at the hospital under ether settled more firmly the fact of the discovery. In spite of all this, suddenly, however, the surgeons refused to use it, on the ground that, according to their rules, they could not use any secret remedies. As they did not know the composition of the red liquid used by Morton, and which had the smell of ether, they must decline its use in the hospital. So, for three weeks, the previous torture method of oper- ation was carried on. Then Morton, having by letter and in person satisfied the rigid professional etiquette by his explanation that the agent used was simple sulphuric ether, only colored by harmless matter, was allowed to use it in a case of the amputation of a leg of a young woman named AHce Mohan, Nov. 7, 1S46. The success of this operation 82 The Professions was even greater than that of the first in the complete and continued insensibiUty to all feeling. Although now publicly demonstrated beyond all possi- bility of doubting, to those who witnessed the operation, the news that at length painless surgery was at hand was received with incredulity in many quarters. Some of the leading medical papers of the country ridiculed it, and accused the Boston surgeons of being victims of a trick. A meeting of the dentists of Boston was called, and a committee of seven appointed to take "measures to sup- press the growing evil ' ' of painless^surgery ! Other dentists and physicians made war on this "quackery," as they called it. And these men held high places in their pro- fessions, too. Even religious scruples were advanced against it, to the effect that pain should be borne as dis- cipline. But, of course, the great discovery became known more and more, and its use was everywhere successful. Dr. Galloupe states that soon after October 16th Mor- ton's preparation was used in a case of cautery in which no pain whatever was felt. Dr. Warren said that this was the severest test possible, and proved the complete success of the fluid as effecting painless surgery. Dr. Cotting, one of those students present at the first operation, relates that, as the young men left the operating-room that morn- ing of Oct. 16, 1846, one of the foremost of them called to him and said, "This is a big thing. Whoever gets astride of this horse first may ride around the world ! I 'm going to try it." Of course the new method won its way over all opposi- tion. It was not long in getting over the ocean to Europe. Such is the story of the discovery, and introduction to the world, of the way to overcome pain. Morton called the fluid he used "Letheon," at first. But Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes suggested the word "anaesthetic" for the The Conquest of Pain 83 means which produced insensibiUty, and "anaesthesia" as the name of the state produced — terms now in common use. Does it not seem that the man who revealed this great truth to the world should be rewarded generously, and his discovery received with gratitude? It would be pleasant so to record it. Such was not the case while he hved. The wife of Dr. Morton has left her testimony that her husband never lived a happy life after his discovery was given to the world. He spent the rest of his days in the endeavor to establish his claim to the name, and remuner- ation from the government, for the knowledge he had made universal. Advised by two of the most prominent lawyers of the day, Gushing and Choate, to patent his discovery, he did so, but not with the idea of withholding such a gift from man, to whom it belonged. His idea was the regu- lation of it. But in after years this was misconstrued and used as an instrument against him. It is a fact that even almost at the issuance of the patent ether became general in its use, and the government disregarded its own patent in the use of it in the Mexican War. It is the purpose of this article to state the practical his- tory of anaesthesia, not to reopen the intensely bitter con- troversy which involved and ruined Morton. It is only necessary to remember that up to Oct. 16, 1846, the world did not know what Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes named "Anaesthesia." However, very soon after the promulga- tion of the fact by Morton, Oct. 16, 1846, claimants sprang up and asserted that they knew all about it, and to them belonged the honor of discovery. Chief of these were Dr. Horace Wells, of Hartford, Connecticut, and Dr. Charles T. Jackson, of Boston — the former, a dentist; the latter, a chemist, physician, and scientist of abihty. Both had been associated with Morton for a time. 84 The Professions As a consequence of the specious reasoning advanced by these, the pubhc became confused, and even medical socie- ties, both here and abroad, were divided in their opinions. Entering into the struggle of many years to prove his claim, Morton lost all and became poor. Although the government of his own country persist- ently refused him recognition, and remuneration for the patent it had given him, and which had been continually violated by the use of ether in the army and navy, the governments of other countries did confer upon him deco- rations and medals. From Russia he received the cross of the Order of St. Vladimir; from Norway and Sweden, the cross of the Order of Vasa. The French Academy of Arts and Sciences sent him the Montyon prize, which was a gold medal. The Massachusetts General Hospital has always ac- knowledged him as the discoverer of anaesthesia, and its surgeons were foremost in attempts to secure for him proper recognition from the government, and remunera- tion. From the hospital he received a silver casket con- taining one thousand dollars. Dr. Morton was stricken with apoplexy and died in New York, July 15, 1868, at the age of forty-eight. His wife tells, in her article, of his suddenly losing consciousness as they rode toward Washington Heights that evening. As soon as possible he was carried to St. Luke's Hospital, where the physicians unsuccessfully used their skill to revive him. The chief surgeon recognized him at once, and, turning to some students who were present, said, "Young gentlemen, you see lying before you a man who has done more for humanity, and for the relief of suffering, than any man who has ever hved." THE SEMPSTRESS'S STORY ^ By GUSTAVE DROZ ]ES, Ma'm'selle Adele," said the sempstress, ' ' the real happiness of this world is not so un- evenly distributed after all." Louise, as she said this, took from the reserve in the bosom of her dress a lot of pins, and applied them deftly to the trimming of a skirt which I was hold- ing for her. "A sufficiently comfortable doctrine," I answered, "but it does seem to me as if some people were born to hve and to die unhappy." " It is only folks who never find anybody to love enough; and I think it 's nobody's fault but their own." "But, my good Louise, wouldn't you have suffered much less last year, when you came so near losing your boy, if you had n't cared so much for him?" I was only drawing her on, you see: Louise's chat was the greatest resource to me at that time. "Why, Ma'm'selle Adele, you are surely joking. You 'd as well tell me to cut off my feet to save my shoes. You '11 know one of these days — and not so far off neither, maybe — how mighty easy and sensible it would be not to love your children. They are a worry, too; but oh, the dehght of 'em! I 'd like to have had anybody tell me not to love my darling because it might grieve me, when he lay there in his mother's lap, with blue Ups, gasping for his breath, and well-nigh dead ; his face blackish, and his ' Translated by E. T. D. Meyers. By permission of West, John- ston & Company. 85 86 The Professions hands like this piece of wax. You could see that every- thing was going against him; and with his great big eyes he was staring in my face, until I felt as if the child was tugging at my very heartstrings. I kept smiUng at him, though, through the tears that bUnded me, hard as I tried to hide them. Oh! such tears are bitter salt indeed, ma'm'selle! And there was my poor husband on his knees, making paper figures to amuse him, and singing a funny song he used to laugh at. Now and then the corners of his mouth would pucker, and his cheeks would wrinkle a little bit under the eyes. You could tell he was still amused, but in such a dreamy way. Oh ! our child seemed no longer with us, but behind a veil, like. Wait a minute. You must excuse me, for I can 't help crying when I think of it." And the poor creature drew out her handkerchief and fairly sobbed aloud. In the midst of it, however, she smiled and said, "Well, that 's over now; 't was nothing, and I 'm too silly. And, ma'm'selle, here I 've gone and cried upon your mother's dress, and that 's a pretty business." I took her hand in mine and pressed it. "Aren't you afraid you''ll prick yourself, ma'm'selle? I 've got my needle in that hand," she said playfully. "But you did not mean what you said just now, did you?" "What did I say?" "That it would be better not to love your children with all your heart, on account of the great anxiety. Don't you know such thoughts are wicked? When they come into your head your mind wants purifying. But I 'm sure I beg your pardon for saying so." "You are entirely right, Louise," I returned. "Ah! so I thought. And now, let me see. Let's fix this ruche; pull it to the left a little, please." The Sempstress's Story 87 "But about the sick boy. Tell me about his recovery." "That was a miracle — I ought to say two miracles. It was a miracle that God restored him to us, and a miracle to find anybody with so much knowledge and feeling, — such talent. Such a tender heart, and so much, so much ! — I 'm speaking of the doctor. A famous one he was, too, you must know; for it was no less than Doctor Faron. Heaven knows how he is run after; and how rich and celebrated he is! Aren't you surprised to hear that it was he who attended our little boy? Indeed, the wonders begin with that. You may imagine my husband was at his wits' end when he saw how it was with the child; and all of a sudden I saw him jump up, get out his best coat and hat, and put them on." " 'Where are you going?' I asked. '"To bring Doctor Faron.' "Why, if he had said 'To bring the Prime Minister,' it would have seemed as likely. " ' Don't you beUeve Doctor Faron is going to trouble himself about such as we. They will turn you out of doors. ' "But it was no use talking, my dear. He was already on the stairs, and I heard him running away as if the house was on fire. Fire, indeed ; worse, far worse than any fire ! "And there I was, left alone with the child upon my knees. He would n't stay in bed, and was quieter so, wrapped up in his little blanket. Here will he die, I thought. Soon will his eyes close, and then it will be all over; and I held my own breath to listen to his feeble and oppressed pantings. "About an hour had passed, when I heard a rapid step on the stairs — (we are poor, and live in attic rooms) . The door opened, and my husband come in, wet with per- spiration and out of breath. If I live a century I '11 not forget his look when he said : 88 The Professions " 'Well?' "I answered, 'No worse. But the doctor?' " ' He's coming.' "Oh, those blessed words! It actually seemed as if my child were saved already. If you but knew how folks loved their little ones! I kissed the darling, I kissed his father, I laughed, I cried, and I no longer felt the faintest doubt. Such gleams of hope are sent by God's mercy to strengthen us in our trials. It was very foolish, too; for something might easily have prevented the doctor's coming, after all. "'You found him at home, then?' I inquired of my husband. "Then he told me, in an undertone, what he had done, stopping every now and then to wipe his face and gather breath : " ' I ran to the Children's Hospital, which he manages, hoping to find him there. The porter showed me a low door at the end of the courtyard. I knocked and was let into a room full of young fellows, all smoking, talking, and laughing away at a great rate.' " ' Ah ! the wretches ! and with dying folks all round 'em. ' ' ' " ' Don 't say that until you know all. " What do you want here, friend?" says a tall one in a white apron and black sleeves, and who, seeing my troubled looks, took me on one side. " What's the matter?" " ' " I 'm sorry to trouble you, sir," I began. " ' " No ceremony, man. Speak out." " ' " I 'm looking for Doctor Faron, to come and save my child, sir. He 's dying with croup. I 'm not rich, but all I can raise I will give." " ' " Oh! that 's aP right," says he. " How old 's the child?" " ' " Four years old, sir." The Sempstress's Story 89 " ' " Who 's been attending it?" " ' "A doctor who gives him little white pills in a heap of water, sir." " ' "Ah! ha!" says he, smiling; "well, don't be down- hearted," and with that he threw off his apron and black sleeves and wrote something on a bit of paper. " ' " Take this to Doctor Faron. That 's his address. Where do you live? I '11 come when I get my coat on." "'"Oh! how kind, sir!" " ' I could have hugged him. But he said, "Come, no nonsense, friend! Away with you ! " Sol hurried off to Doctor Faron's house, with the note; but he was dining out. " ' " Where? " I asked, as the servant held the door ajar. " '"Don't know," says he, very short; and shut the door in my face. " 'At that I got angry, and it seems to me the child came before my eyes. I pushed open the door, and in I went. '""That won't do," I said. "One of the hospital doctors sent me here, and I must know where to find your master, and quick, too." " ' Seeing that I would n't stand trifling, he gave me the direction, and growled, "Now clear out, and shut that door." " ' So I rushed away to the Rue de Lille. The court- yard was full of carriages, and the windows all a blaze of light; and in I went, for all that. " ' " My boy will die ! — my boy will die ! " I kept repeat- ing, as I elbowed through the people. An old servant stopped me in the antechamber. "Where now? " says he. " ' " I want to speak to Doctor Faron," says I; " I must speak to him. Get him to come out here, won't you, please? " " ' The old fellow looked at me hard, and then said, very kindly: "Sit down there an instant, and I '11 try." 90 The Professions What possessed me to sit there and cry, with all those servants hurrying about with plates and dishes, I can't tell; but I could n't help it. " ' In a minute or so here comes a large gentleman with a white cravat on. "Where 's the man that wants me?" he asks in a gruff voice. Then seeing me there in the corner in such a state, with a searching look at me he took the note, read it, and said quietly, "Ah! the noble boy." Then, turning to me, "Go home, my man; I '11 be there directly. Cheer up; I '11 lose no time." ' "My husband had scarcely uttered these words," con- tinued Louise, "when I heard a step on the stairs. It was he! it was that blessed angel of a doctor come to help us in our sore distress. "And what do you think he said in his deep voice when he got into the room? " 'God bless you, my friends, but I nearly broke my neck on those stairs. Where 's that child?' " 'Here he is, my dear, darling doctor.' I knew no better way to speak to him, with his dress-cravat showing over his great coat and his decorations dangling like a little bunch of peas at his buttonhole. "He took off his wrappings, stooped over the child, turned him over, more gently even than his mother could have done, and laid his own head first against his back, then against his breast. How I tried to read his eyes! but they know how to hide their thoughts. " 'We must perform an operation here,' says he; 'and it is high time.' "Just at this moment the hospital doctor came in, and whispered to him, ' I am afraid you did n't want to be dis- turbed, sir.' " 'Oh, never mind. I am sorry it was n't sooner, though. Get everything ready now.' The Sempstress's Story 91 "But, Ma'm'selle Adele, why should I tell you all this? I 'd better mind my work." "Oh! go on, Louise, go on!" "Well, then, ma'm'selle, if you believe me, those two doctors — neither of 'em kin, or even friends till then — went to work and made all the preparations, while my husband went off to borrow lights. The biggest one tied a mattress on the table, and the assistant spread out the bright little knives. "You, who have not been through it all, ma'm'selle, can't know what it is to have your own little one in your lap, to know that those things are to be used upon him, to pierce his tender flesh, and, if the hand that guides them be not sure, that they may kill him. "When all was ready, Doctor Faron took off his cravat, then lifted my child from my arms and laid him on the mattress, in the midst of the lamps, and said to my poor man: " 'You will hold his head, and your wife his feet. Joseph will pass me the instruments. You 've brought a breath- ing tube with you, my son?' " 'Yes, sir.' "My husband was as white as a sheet by this; and when I saw him about to take his place with his hands shaking so much, it scared me, so I said : " 'Doctor, please let me hold his head!' " 'But, my poor woman, if you should tremble?' " 'Please let me do it, doctor!' " 'Be it so, then,' and then added, with a bright look at me, and a cheering smile, ' we shall save him for you, my dear; you are a brave little woman, and you deserve it.' "Yes, and save him, did he! God bless him! save him as truly as if he had snatched him from the depths of the river." 92 The Professions "And you did n't tremble, Louise?" "You may depend on that. If I liad, it would have been the last of my child." "They gave him back to me, pale and with bloodless hps, it is true, but with hfe in his look, and breathing — breathing the free, fresh air. " 'Kiss him, mother,' says the doctor, 'and put him to bed. Cover the place with some light thing or other, and Joseph must stay with you to-night; won 't you, Joseph? Ah, well, that 's all arranged.' "He put on his things and wrapped himself up to go. He was shaking hands with my husband, when I seized one hand and kissed it — like a fool, as I was — but I did n't stop to think. He laughed heartily, and said to my husband, 'Are you not jealous, friend? Your wife is making great advances to me. But I must be off now. Good-night, good people.' "And from that night he always talked so friendly and familiarly to us, not a bit contemptuously either, but as if he liked us, and was glad to be of service to us. "The next morning, at half-past five, there he was as fresh as a rose, and larger, as it seemed to me, than before. And no wonder, neither, for don't you think he had brought four bottles of old Bordeaux, two in his pockets and two under his arms! " 'The httle fellow must take this,' says he. 'Every- thing gone on well in the night, eh?' " 'Admirably well, sir,' answered Mr. Joseph. I call him Mr. Joseph, but I have since found out that he was a rising physician, nephew to the old doctor, and 'way above the common run. But he always spoke to the other like a soldier to his general. "Well, that's not all the doctor did; for during the entire week after, he came every day, and when I would The Sempstress's Story 93 hear his carriage rumbUng over our poor little street, I would say, ' Heaven knows what we shall ever do to pay him.' For we well knew that Doctor Faron attended dukes and noblemen, and charged them thousands. "We had some hundred francs in the Savings, to be sure, but I was thinking what we should do if he charged two or three times as much. You can understand how very awkward it would have been. It fairly made me sick. "At last, one morning when my husband was at home, I mustered up all my courage and began: " ' Doctor Faron, you have been so good, too good to us. You have saved our boy's life.' " 'You may prate over that just as much as you please, my dear; but recollect it is my trade to cut up such little chaps.' " 'But not those who live on the fifth floor in the Rue Serpente, sir.' "You see, ma'm'selle, how I was leading up to the question? " 'How 's that? how 's that? Why, what are you talk- ing about? Those before anybody else, to be sure. Are they not most in need? ' " 'I know you have the best heart in the world, doctor, but that 's not what I mean. Now that the child is well, we want to — we are not rich — but still — ' "By this time I was as red as a cock's comb, and the more I tried to express myself the worse it got. " ' You want to pay me. I see, I see,' said he, suddenly. 'Well, you owe me precisely nothing, if you don't think that too much.' " 'Oh! doctor! we could n't — we must — ' " 'Let us pay according to our means, doctor,' says my husband. '"Well, then, I don't want to wound you, my friends. 94 The Professions If you prefer to pay sorae thing, my charge is just fifty francs. And now don't bother me any more about it. [He pretended to be angry, and it was so droll.] Don't bother me, I say, you lunatics. Fifty francs, I tell you, and not a copper less; in specie, too; no paper money for me. Next Sunday dress the little man, and have him ready, for I wish him to take a turn in the Bois de Boulogne.' " ' Ah! there 's no end to your kindness, doctor.' " 'Don't interrupt me, I say. After his drive, bring him to see me; and let him fetch the money himself. Do you hear? ' "Well, ma'm'selle," added Louise, "that very evening here comes a basket of wine, although we had n't finished the other. What a man! you may well say. And I de- clare to you, if he had wanted my right arm, I should have said, 'Cut it off, sir.' "Fifty francs, indeed! It wasn't the twentieth of what we owed him; and he only took that to save our feelings. And seeing this, I was still more anxious to please him; so I bought some linen, the finest I could get, and did n't I make him an elegant set of shirts!" "I was full of work at that time, but I made all those shirts at night; and it gave me such satisfaction to think, 'Ah! you won 't let us pay you — you obstinate man — but you can't prevent my sitting up and working for you the livelong night;' and the way I worked! You should have seen me at it! "You may depend on it there was plenty of hem- stitching on those shirts, ^nd you know when I try I can hemstitch. "But I am trifling away my time, and this dress will never be done." THE CONQUEST OF YELLOW FEVERS By HOWARD KELLY, M.D. 10 interesting are great events and great deeds that we are apt to despise the realm of Httle things. I strongly believe that the kingdom of LilUput is more important than that of Brobdingnag, for attention to small duties is the only path to great achievement. To show how true this is, let me remind you that one of the great achievements of the last century, the control of the dreadful yellow fever, was accomplished by fixing the attention upon an object so insignificant that for centuries it had gone unheeded. Yellow fever, like the plague, the cholera, and other kindred diseases, is found in suitable climates at all times ; but at intervals it spreads from its center and becomes an epidemic. The plague and the cholera are now pretty much confined to eastern Europe and Asia; but yellow fever has existed for centuries in the southern United States, whence, from time to time, it has spread northward along the Atlantic seaboard as far as Philadelphia and New York, or even as far as Nantucket Island and Hali- fax. In a little over a century there have been three great epidemics of yellow fever in the United States: in 1793, in 1853, and in 1878. The epidemic of 1793 was especially severe in Philadel- phia, where it lasted from early August to late November. Another terrible visitation was in New Orleans, in 1853, but the greatest was the epidemic in New Orleans and ^By permission of the Author, " The Youth's Companion," and Ginn & Company. Copyright, 1907. 95 96 The Professions Memphis, in 1878. An excellent account of it has been left by Mr. J. M. Keating, a citizen of Memphis, who stayed in the city throughout the epidemic and gave what help he could to the unfortunates. The pestilence began in May, but not until August did it excite alarm. Then the city became panic-stricken. "Men, women, and children," says Keating, "poured out of the city by every possible conveyance — by hacks, buggies, wagons, furniture vans and street drays ; away by bateaux, by boats, by anything that could float on the water; and by the railroads, the trains on which were so packed as to make every step of the way to St. Louis or Cincinnati a positive torture. . . . The aisles of the cars were filled and the platforms crowded." Those left in the city saw the usual scenes of cruelty, and also, it is good to remember, the usual instances of kindness. Much good was done by the Howard Associa- tion, named after the English philanthropist. Its (mem- bers nursed the sick, relieved the destitute, and cared for the dead. Their work will always remain, as Keating says, "a monument of human love." This epidemic was particularly widespread. It raged through nearly the whole South, and, like all others, lasted until the autumn brought frost and cool weather. But although people noticed this, no one thought of connecting it with the mosquito. The loss by yellow fever is probably greater than by any disease except cholera and the plague. No treatment has ever been found of marked benefit. New Orleans has lost at different times forty-one thousand three hundred and forty-eight lives from it; Philadelphia, ten thousand one hundred and thirty-eight; Memphis, — in 1878 alone, — fifty-one hundred and fifty; and Norfolk, Virginia, in 1855, over two thousand. But these deaths, terrible as The Conquest of Yellow Fever 97 the number is, do not represent the whole loss. The pecuniary loss is great; directly, in sums spent to reheve the sufferers and to control the disease, and indirectly, through the injury to business. For example, the direct loss to the country in 1878, when the disease was wide- spread, was estimated as not less than one hundred millions of dollars. During the epidemic of 1793 the nature of yellow fever began really to be studied, and then began the long debate between physicians as to the contagiousness of the disease. This was discussed for years, until, indeed, the rise of the theory of "fomites." According to this the disease was conveyed by invisible particles given off by the sick, and spread by their clothing and the articles used by them. This idea was accepted, and an elaborate system of disinfection was introduced at all seaports to exclude the fomites. In New York, for in- stance, great screws were bored into bales of goods, and then steam was forced into the holes to kill the fomites. All such expensive precautions were mere waste of time and money; they did not touch the real cause of offense. I have mentioned the horrors of yellow fever and dwelt upon the trouble and the expense of attempts to control it because I want you to appreciate our present blessing of immunity, and to realize the debt of gratitude we owe to the men who gave it to us. The time came at last when the problem of yellow fever was to be solved. Several times the secret had been nearly guessed. In 1848 Dr. J. C. Nott of Mobile wrote a paper in which he insisted that yellow fever must be carried by some in- sect which kept close to the ground, and suggested the mosquito. In 1881 Dr. Carlos J. Finlay, still living in Havana, declared that if a yellow-fever patient were 98 The Professions bitten by a mosquito of a particular species, which he named, and if the mosquito afterward bit some one else, the second patient would have the disease. After Doctor Finlay's suggestion, the mosquito was not mentioned in connection with yellow fever for nearly twenty years. Scientific people were agreed that the only thing to do was to find its germ, as had already been done in the case of tuberculosis, of malaria, and of typhoid fever. Several claimed to have discovered it, but careful investi- gation always showed that they were mistaken. At last, just at the close of the century, came the right man, and with him two associates, who again took up the problem and solved it by practical experiment. Walter Reed was born at Farmville, Virginia, on Sep- tember 13, 1851. He was educated at private schools and at the University of Virginia Medical School. At twenty- four he became a surgeon in the United States army. When still very young. Doctor Reed made up his mind that what he wished most to accomplish was something which would relieve human suffering. This desire never forsook him. As an army surgeon he lived for eighteen years in remote places, most of the time on the Western frontier, where there were no facilities and no time for scientific work. But in 1900, when Doctor Reed, then forty-nine years old, had for some years been stationed in Washington, where he was able to pursue scientific studies, an outbreak of yel- low fever among the American soldiers at Havana gave him his opportunity. The United States government placed him at the head of a commission to investigate the disease. Dr. James Carroll of the army, Dr. Jesse W. Lazear of Johns Hopkins University, and Dr. Aristides Agramonte, a Cuban gentleman, who, having had yellow fever, was considered "immune," were the other members. The Conquest of Yellow Fever 99 The first thing Doctor Reed did in Cuba was to study carefully the cases of yellow fever which he saw there. He soon concluded that there was no truth in the doctrine of fomites. He next decided that it was useless to spend time in looking for the germ of yellow fever, but that the thing to do was to "find out how the disease spread. To this end, he concluded to test the suggestion made by Doctor Nott and Doctor Finlay, that the disease is carried by the mosquito. Now there was only one way to prove such a theory, and that was by experiments upon human beings. If a mosquito which had bitten a yellow-fever patient were allowed to bite a well person, and the well person within a short time developed yellow fever, there would be every reason to accept the mosquito theory, although it would be necessary to repeat the experiment a number of times before the theory was established. Doctor Reed and his associates agreed that one of them ought to be the first subject. Doctor Carroll volunteered to risk his life for the purpose. Doctor Lazear apphed a mosquito of the species sug- gested by Doctor Finlay to a patient in the yellow-fever hospital, and then, nearly two weeks afterward, to Doctor Carroll. Four days later Doctor Carroll fell ill of the disease, from which he barely escaped with his life. Before Doctor Carroll had recovered Doctor Lazear contracted the disease also from a mosquito bite received in the yellow-fever hospital. He was sitting with the yel- low-fever patients when he noticed a mosquito on his hand. Instead of brushing it off, he let it remain until it had bit- ten him severely. Five days later he was taken ill with the disease, and then, and not till then, did he tell the others what had happened. He was sure he had taken the disease from the mosquito. 100 The Professions For a while he did fairly well, but on the fourth day he became worse, and on the eighth day he died. He had given his life for the cause he served as truly as any soldier in battle. As his friend Doctor Carroll says, "He died that his fellow men might live in comfort and happiness. It is no exaggeration to say that hundreds, nay, thousands, in the Southern states owe their lives, and certainly their prosperity, to the work in which he was engaged, and for which he and his family have paid such a fearful penalty." His death was a terrible loss to the commission. His abilities were great, and his fine character and affectionate nature made him greatly beloved. Doctor Reed and Doctor Carroll decided that there was now enough proof of the mosquito theory to justify further experiments on human beings, provided, of course, that these understood the risk fully, and gave their free con- sent. A station named Camp Lazear was built, and Con- gress apprQpriated money to reward volunteers. When all was ready. Doctor Reed was told that two men wished to see him. These were two young privates from the regiment stationed at Havana. Both were from Ohio. Their names were John R. Kissinger and John J. Moran. They had heard of the intended experiments, and wished to offer themselves for the purpose. Doctor Reed ex- plained fully the suffering and danger which they would have to endure, but they were not daunted. Then he spoke of the money reward, but both young men promptly declined it. They said that they had volunteered for humanity's sake, and they made it a condition that they should not be paid. Doctor Reed, greatly moved, touched his cap to them. "Gentlemen, I salute you," he said. "In my opinion," he has said since, "this exhibition of The Conquest of Yellow Fevei 101 courage has never been surpassed in the annals of the United States army." Kissinger underwent the first experiment in Camp Lazear. On December 5, 1900, he was bitten by five infected mosquitoes, that is, mosquitoes which had bitten a yellow-fever patient, and on December 8th he was sharply attacked by the disease. For several days he was so seriously ill that Doctor Reed was most anxious, but finally he made a complete recovery. Moran's turn came next, but he did not then take the disease. Later, however, in the course of another set of experiments, he was again inoculated, and had a well- marked attack which established the point then in ques- tion. Other experiments followed, and afforded abundant evidence that mosquitoes carry the disease. But it was also necessary to show conclusively that yellow fever is not carried by means of fomites. A tiny house was built. It had one room with two small windows and a door all on the same side, so that as there could be no draft through the room no germs could be blown away. The atmosphere was kept warm and moist. Three large boxes, containing sheets, pillow slips, and so forth, used by the yellow-fever patients were brought from the hospital at Havana. Three volxinteers. Dr. R. P. Cooke, an army surgeon, and two privates. Folk and Jernigan, unpacked these un- pleasant articles and made up the beds with them, hang- ing all not so used round the room. In these beds they slept for twenty nights, and at one time actually used the shirts which the yellow-fever patients had worn. Yet not one had yellow fever, and the commission felt it had proved that yellow fever is never due to fomites. Other experiments cleared doubtful points connected with the mosquito theory. I wish I could describe these, 102 The Professions but there is room only to state conclusions drawn from them, as follows : Only the female of the mosquito named Stegomyia fasciata carries yellow fever. The mosquito can not infect any one until at least twelve days after biting a yellow-fever patient. These experiments finished, Doctor Reed returned to the United States, and Doctor Carroll followed him soon afterward. The next summer, however. Doctor Carroll returned to Cuba to perform other experiments necessary to the perfection of the work. He proved that the mosquito can infect for at least fifty- seven days after biting the yellow-fever patient, and he also found that the specific germ of yellow fever, for which so many people had sought in vain, is almost certainly ultramicroscopic. The only means of protecting cities and persons from yellow fever is the destruction of the mosquitoes and the larvse, or "wrigglers." Fortunately, this is easy and cheap. It has been tried several times with entire success. At Havana in 1901 the disease was thus completely and promptly stamped out. The same thing occurred in New Orleans in 1905, although, as the theory was not fully aeeepted, success came more slowly. The method of kiUing the mosquitoes is this: The city or town is divided into sections, and squadrons of workers under the control of a central office visit every house where a case of yellow fever is reported. All the windows having been closed and the chimney stopped up, pots containing sulphur — or pyrethrum — are placed in the rooms, and a little alcohol is poured on each. The rooms are darkened except for one spot of bright fight. Then the men, setting fire to the alcohol, go out quickly, shutting the door and carefully pasting paper over its cracks. The Conquest of Yellow Fever 103 The mosquitoes, stupefied by the burning sulphur, crawl to the light, so that they are found collected there when the room is opened. At the end of about four hours the men return, sweep up all the mosquitoes, carry them away, and burn them. To destroy the mosquitoes, however, is not enough; their eggs and larvae must also be killed. The female mos- quito deposits her eggs on stagnant water, where they float until hatched. The thing to do, therefore, is either to get rid of the water or else to prevent the eggs from hatching. To accomplish this, all streets are swept free of puddles. Pools of standing water, whenever possible, are filled up, and all cisterns, water tanks, and the like, are covered by the working squadrons with kerosene oil. If this work is done as soon as a case of yellow fever is re- ported, there will never again be an epidemic of the dis- ease. And if mosquitoes are systematically destroyed wherever they exist, there will be no yellow fever at all, for a yellow fever without a mosquito is an impossibility. At the close of his yellow-fever work in Cuba Doctor Reed taught for two years in Washington. It was a source of great happiness to him that his heart's desire had been granted, and he had been permitted to make a discovery which diminished suffering throughout the world. But he had worked so long and so hard in the service of his fellow men that his health began to fail. In November, 1902, he was attacked by appendicitis and had to undergo an operation. Brave for himself, he was anxious about his wife and daughter. Just before the operation he said to Major Kean, an old friend, "I am not afraid of the knife, but if anything hap- pens to me I am leaving my wife and daughter so little!" And as he became unconscious, he continued to murmur, "So little, so little!" 104 The Professions He did fairly well at first, but soon began to fail. He died November 22, 1902, at the age of fifty-one. He was buried at Arlington, where Mrs. Reed has erected a mon- ument overlooking the city of Washington, with an in- scription which closes with these words; "He gave to man control over that dreadful scourge, yellow fever." So ended a noble life. Its closing event was one of the greatest scientific discoveries of the century, and the de- liverance of the world from a most terrible scourge. Yet Doctor Reed's work has not received the gratitude it deserves at the hands of his country. The members of his own profession, it is true, have displayed a most hearty appreciation of the distinction conferred upon them all by Doctor Reed's achievements, and they, together with some outsiders, have contributed most' generously to a fund for a memorial, which is now nearly completed, but this is entirely the work of individuals; the country has done nothing beyond granting Mrs. Reed a very modest pension. Doctor Carroll's work was no less valuable than Doctor Reed's. He risked his life in the cause, a risk which cir- cumstances did not call upon Doctor Reed to assume. Moreover, his attack of yellow fever has left him with a permanent heart affection which hampers his activities. Yet the United States has made him no acknowledgment whatever. Doctor Lazear laid down his hfe for his work, and his colleagues at the university have erected a tablet there to his memory, but the country has done nothing beyond granting his widow and her two Uttle children a pension of a few dollars a month. I take pains to tell all this, because some who read it may in the future become legislators and have it in their power to influence their country in other affairs of the A Hypodermic Injection The Conquest of Yellow Fever 105 same kind. Therefore, I beg them to remember that the man who makes a scientific discovery which benefits his country and his fellow-men is just as much entitled to the gratitude of that country as the man who wins a victory on the battlefield, or sets on foot a great commercial enter- prise; and it is the duty of those who administer the affairs of the nation to investigate into the nature of such services, to appreciate them at their true value, and to recompense them by appropriate rewards. Now, to return to the lesson- of which I spoke in the beginning — the lesson of little things. The result of Walter Reed's life was a great achievement, but the lesson of his life lies in the little things of every-day occurrence. Whatever his hand found to do he did it with all his might, although for nearly twenty years he expended all his en- ergies and his brilliant abilities on the trivial duties which most of us despise. His life on the frontier was the most arduous and the least distinguished that an American physician can lead, but it was the training acquired in that hard school which taught him a self-reUance and a power of resource without which he would never have accomplished his great work when the moment for it came. For centuries the scientific world had believed that yellow fever could be controlled or prevented only by the extension of knowledge leading to some great scientific revelation. But Reed overcame this terrible scourge by destroying the little every-day pest, the mosquito, just as David overthrew the giant with a smooth pebble from the brook. DR. LORENZ, STRAIGHTENER OF CHILDREN 1 By JOHN SWAIN IMAGINE the street in front of a big hos- pital filled with a crowd of earnest, eager men and women, carrying in their arms helpless and deformed children. Imagine yourself one of them, and that for three, four, even half a score years you have watched a son or daughter grow- ing from infancy into childhood, unable to walk or run and play, unable to go about with other children and to enjoy life as they do; able only to sit patiently on the floor or lie endlessly in bed, and suffer physically and mentally, without hope of relief. Imagine that in all those years you had believed that for this your child the future held nothing but sorrow and darkness. And then imagine that you had suddenly learned that within this hospital was a stranger come from over the sea with a wonderful healing power for just such cases, and that under the deft touch of his strong hands your little one could quickly be made whole and well. When you have imagined all that, you will have a faint idea of the feeling that moved the great throng, which on a day in October besieged the Cook County Hospital in Chicago, imploring an interview with Dr. Adolf Lorenz, of Vienna, who was then operating in the clinical amphitheater; who was straightening and restoring to health and grace and normal functions the crippled ' By permission of the Author and " McClure's Magazine." Copy- right, 1902. 106 Dr. Lorenz, Straightener of Children 107 children who were being brought to him — and doing it free of charge. A faint idea you may have, but a true conception never. For one who has not so lived with a helpless child of his own that grows daily more deformed and more pitiable, and has not for years felt his heart daily wrenched with sorrow at his own inability to relieve the suffering, can feel no more than a shadow of the emo- tion with which these men and women crowded in to touch the hand and even kiss the coat hem of the surgeon. It was an emotion which words could not have expressed, yet which was instantly interpreted and found ready response in the heart of the typical old Teuton professor as he came out of the hospital and stood before them saying, as One in Judaea, "Suffer little children to come unto me." That was a moment which might well have been the culminating triumph of any man's life, thus to have his helpless fellow beings appealing to him for the relief which he alone had found it possible to give. And yet it was not with triumph, but with sorrow and infinite sympathy, that in the instant before he began his min- istrations the world-famous surgeon, himsslf familiar through a life of struggle with the hardships of a laborer's task, paused and, looking out over the throng, said, "Poor people! I did not know there were so many cripples in the world." America has seen many healers of the hysterical order, Dowies and Schlatters, giving little and taking much; it has witnessed annual pilgrimages to the shrines of St. Anne, in which thousands have participated; but not in the memory of the present generation, at least, has it witnessed such a flocking together of the multitude to receive the aid of a practical surgeon, who came asking nothing, but giving much, freely laying hands on them 108 The Professions and making them whole. And if that would imply that Dr. Lorenz gained from his recent tour of America honor and affection, it must be added that though the great majority whom he treated gave him no more than that, yet from those who were able and willing to pay he col- lected such fees as heretofore we have been accustomed to hear of only in connection with grand-opera stars and Bohemian viohnists. Fifty thousand dollars would be a mild estimate of the profits of the specialist's six weeks' trip to this country. Double would probably be nearer the amount. Yet so completely did his humanitarian work among the poor overshadow his few highly paid cases among the rich, that the latter are almost entirely lost sight of in contemplation of the whole. Lolita Armour, a favorite grandchild of Philip D. Armour, had been, in the five years since her birth, unable to walk. She was suffering, technically, from bilateral congenital dislocation of the hips. She was a bright and happy child, and very popular, but apparently hopelessly crippled. Every year increased her helplessness, and her parents cast about for some means to relieve her. They finally put her under the care of a Chicago surgeon, famous for his work in orthopedics, and by him she was taken East for examination by other orthopedists. There was apparently but one thing to do — to operate by what is known as the "Lorenz method" of reducing the dislo- cation — an operation which has made famous its dis- coverer. The surgeon performed the operation, and put both hips in plaster casts. After a time the casts were removed, and it was found that one hip was entirely cured. The other had slipped out of joint again and required a second operation. At this point, Lolita's father, J. Ogden Armour, went to Vienna for the originator of the operation. This was Dr. Lorenz, Straightener of Children 109 Adolf Lorenz, professor of surgery in the University of Vienna, and head of the department of orthopedics in the Genercl Hospital of the Austrian capital. Dr. Lo- renz was willing to take the case, but desired the little girl to be brought to him. But Mr. Armour, acting as American millionaires are supposed to act abroad, offered a price sufficient to "buy" Dr. Lorenz for six weeks — or, what was the same thing, it was sufficient to compensate him, not only for his trip across the Atlantic and for the operation, but for his loss of time and labor abroad, and that of his assistant. Dr. Frederick Mueller, as well. Of Dr. Lorenz before he came to attend Lolita Armour, Chicago had heard nothing; but the surgical fraternity had, for his progress in the past few years has been almost identically that of orthopedy itself. Austria knew him long ago, for he grew up there a shining example of the truth that it is not in the new world alone that the poor boy can make his way to the top. Lorenz was a poor boy, a very poor one. He was born on a farm, of peasant stock, and during all his boyhood and young manhood toiled as only farmers toil who have never had the advan- tage of American farming machinery. Plowing, sowing, reaping, working before sunrise and after sunset, he built the massive frame and the enormous muscles which make him now able to perform operations unaided for which others require apparatus and assistance. Not until he had secured in his farm neighborhood his early education and was ready to enter the university of Vienna as a medical student did he go to the capital. He landed there a green boy, with little to go on but determination. But he had lots of that, and went ahead. There were no better surgeons in Europe then tlian the men he studied under, and they had no readier pupil than he. Yet all through the university he was still the 110 The Professions farm boy. He was still one of the people. And when, after graduation, he became the assistant of his old master and later his successor, and began to become known as the greatest of them all, he still found time to give his best services to those from whom he would take nothing, and to take from the rich whatever he thought was due. Lorenz had chosen that department in surgery which gave the most play to his love of humanity — orthopedics. He became literally all that the word implies, ' ' a straight- ener of children, " and gloried in his success. All his efforts were spent in endeavors to make his work more successful and to reduce painful consequences. When- ever he made a step in advance, he quickly published it and urged it upon others, for the benefit of the little ones. He straightened curved backs, re-formed club feet, corrected bowed legs and knocking knees, set wry necks upright, and in other ways remedied and improved the cripples who were brought to him. Perhaps most of all he gave his attention to the troubles of the hip joint, and especially to congenital dislocation. When he began to practice, a child who was born with the head of the femur outside of the acetabulum, or hip socket, was doomed to remain a cripple through life. There was no way of remedying the defect. Paolo Poggi was working with it in Italy. Lorenz went at it in Menna. Almost simultaneously they developed a mode of oper- ation — possibly Poggi having something of advantage in it — in which, by cutting down into the hip, laying open the defective joint, scooping out a false socket and placing the head of the femur in it, and then binding it in place until it had healed there, something of an im- provement in the joint could be made. There were many dangers in it. Blood poisoning might follow. Suppur- ation often did. The child might not be able to rally Dr. Lorenz, Straightener of Children 111 from the shock. Or, more commonly than these, the joint became stiff, so that the patient would always be lame. But generally the child could walk after a fashion. Five hundred times Lorenz operated by that method, always trying to improve it. He wanted to do it without the knife, for it is always his aim to do away with the use of the knife as far as he possibly can. He found that in every child under thirteen years on whom he operated there was always to be found some remaining socket, however defective. He thought that if the femur could be placed in this and held there a joint could be formed without cutting. He went to work on that hypothesis, and at last evolved the present "bloodless" method. Some idea of the importance of this step may be gained from the fact that Lorenz alone has operated by it, he says, one thousand times in Vienna. He gave it to the world, and went to Paris to exhibit it at clinics, from which it spread quickly to America, and it has been used many times here. This, then, was the operation which was to be performed on the little Armour girl. It consists of kneading and tearing the muscles of the hip and thigh until they are virtually stripped from the bone. The thigh is then given a powerful downward wrench in the axis of the body, and the head thrust into the socket. Then the leg is twisted out to an angle in which it cannot escape the socket, and there it is bound in plaster bandages. For six months the child must walk with these on, every step driving the thigh bone deeper into the acetabulum and helping to round out the joint. By that time the muscles have grown into their new positions, the liga- ments are strong, and the patient should be well. The stages of the work are, first, the tearing loose of the muscles. 112 The Professions and second, the fastening of the leg in a certain position. The operation can be performed by many surgeons; but Lorenz, by virtue of those great farmer muscles and hands, is able to do it more quickly, more skillfully, more speedily than any one else. Every surgeon knows that the fear of the knife, felt to some extent by every one, is greater among the poor than among the well-to-do. Persons ignorant of the methods of modern surgery had often rather suffer slow torture and death from deformity or wasting disease than submit to a cutting operation. For this reason they keep away as much as possible from the free wards of the County Hospital, where they believe the doctors are con- stantly seeking opportunities for cutting them open. Here and there through Chicago, and all through the country, were homes sheltering children suffering as Lolita Armour was, and their parents, not knowing that they could be cured without cutting, probably not knowing that it could be done without expense, hid them, grieved over them, and beUeved them hopelessly deformed. So when an enterprising city editor picked out the news of the coming of Lorenz and featured it as the "story of the day," with an account of what the surgeon could accomplish, he conveyed wonderfully welcome news to many homes. When the papers, on the day after the Armour operation, reported that on the following day the famous foreigner would conduct a clinic at a local hospital and operate free of charge on a poor little girl afflicted just as the millionaire's daughter had been, to show Chicago surgeons how he worked, there was a rush to find him. His apartments in the Auditorium Hotel were besieged from daylight to dark by fathers and mothers carrying their cripples. The hospital at which he appeared was surrounded. His appearance on the Dr. Lorenz, Straightener of Children 113 street was the signal for the gathering of a crowd. The newspapers made his features — or rather his beard and his enormous figure — familiar to the public, and he found no place in Chicago where he could escape the crowd. The amazement of the Chicago surgeons at the number of cripples suffering from hip dislocation within their city was immense, but it did not equal that of Lorenz. "Where do they come from?" he exclaimed, on behold- ing the throng that met him at his first clinic. "I did not know that any city in the world had so many. " Later the puzzle was in some way explained when it was found that a farmer near Delavan, Wisconsin, had mortgaged his farm, and with the money brought his crippled child to Chicago to Lorenz; that a resident of Nebraska had come six himdred miles, bringing his httle girl ; that from Memphis a gentleman had brought his only son; that from all the Mississippi Valley they were flock- ing to Chicago. And Lorenz, when he saw how they came, seemed to feel that his knowledge had been given him in trust for them. He held chnic after clinic at the County Hospital, at Wesley, at Mercy, and at other institutions, working endless hours over them. Typical of these occasions was his appearance at Mercy Hospital at the regular clinic of Dr. J. B. Murphy. The big amphitheater was crowded with medical students and doctors, and with others who had been able to obtain admission. Some of the best known surgeons of the country were gathered on the front benches, watching with absorbing interest the work of the master. One by one the tiny children — some only two or three years old — were brought in and held up in the arms of the surgeon, while he examined the joint and showed to the audience what the defect was. Tenderly he handled 114 The Professions the little ones. He quieted their fears, and sent them back to be given the anaesthetic. Then, as they were brought back to him and placed on the operating table, he would lay his enormous hands on the affected thigh, and, with a running explanation, interspersed with unexpected humor, and a comparison of the case in hand with others, he would knead and pull and twist, till it seemed as if the little one must be dis- membered. There was no suffering, for the anaesthetic prevented that. And the work was done so skillfully and so swiftly that the enormous strength was often lost sight of. But when, with a final tug, he pulled the thigh down, having literally rubbed the bone free, and then, turning it out at a sharp angle, held it in position for the ad- ministering of the plaster cast, there was always a round of clapping, even of cheers, that showed the admiration of the doctors for his work. This pleased Lorenz. He would laugh like a boy and pat the child again tenderly. He was proud of his work, and he was proud to have it recognized, and he often looked up to tell the crowd so. Not all the cases he operated on were of hip dislocation. There was a seven-year-old boy with a wry neck brought in, and on him similar methods were used. While he lay unconscious Dr. Lorenz, bracing the little head against his own hip, drew up the shoulders till it seemed as if the neck would collapse. Then he pulled the head out as if he would wring it off. He twisted, pulled, tugged, and at last, by a subcutaneous tenotomy, cut a single cord which remained obstinate, and, straightening the head, held the boy up to be seen. "You see, the neck is somewhat improved," he said, laughing happily. Then he bent it over in the opposite direction and held it there while bandages were applied, that it might overcome the tendency to go back to its deformity. Dr. Lorenz, Straightener of Children 115 A girl of sixteen, with a club foot which all her life had lamed her and rendered her an object of pity, was brought in. It was a sadly deformed foot, which had turned a life that should have been bright and happy into one of bitterness. Lorenz examined it a moment, and then with his powerful hands began tearing the ligaments apart, stretching, crunching, compressing, and then remolding. Wonderfully quickly it was done, and in a few minutes he stood aside and the spectators beheld, instead of the deformity, a foot as graceful and well-shaped as its mate. A moment later it was hid from sight in plaster bandages. In another case he set a defective knee without removing the patella, as is commonly done, and so prevented all danger of stiffness. And when all was done he went to an anteroom where he could meet those waiting to see him. If in the clinic he had been bringing joy to many hearts, in the receiving-room it was his fate to give grief to as many more. They came with hip disease, with paralysis, with countless other troubles which either fell outside his scope or were too difficult to be treated in so short a stay. But to many he promised aid, telling them to come to his clinic next day, and giving their names to his assistant. They came with money that represented chattel mortgages on their furniture; laborers brought all their wages and money they had borrowed; but the vast majority came penniless; and to all the recep- tion was the same, for the heahng art as understood by Lorenz makes no distinction on account of money. There were many touching scenes in this Uttle ante- chamber. Crowds of pale-faced women and frightened children waited their turn; weeping mothers went home heartbroken, and others became fairly hysterical with joy. A worn Uttle woman, thin, haggard, ragged, carried 116 The Professions in her arms a crippled girl of three years. She found herself in the front rank, and timidly handed up the little girl to be examined. Hope lighted her face, anxiety and love were mingled with it. She watched the surgeon's countenance as he deftly felt the child's hip and knee. She read the unfavorable answer before he spoke it. The child was hopelessly paralyzed, and he could do nothing for her. The mother sank sobbing to the cement floor, but the surgeon bowed, and, taking her hand, raised her up. Tears were in his own eyes at her grief. It was not like that of those who were stronger and had other children. To the little woman this child was all the world. And Dr. Lorenz, bending, kissed her hand as he restored the child, saying in German, which was her tongue, "Madam, I can not help your child. But God may heal her in His own time." On another day a policeman in uniform, a man with a record for bravery in service, found himseK one of the disappointed ones when the surgeon, wearied by hours of operating and examining, was forced to stop work for the day. At such a time the mask which convention puts upon the feehngs is cast aside, and the natural father- and mother-love stand gloriously naked and unashamed. The policeman was crying, and making no effort not to. He held the child aloft when Dr. Lorenz came out, and caught the surgeon's attention. The latter could not resist the appeal to make a quick exam- ination as he passed. "Come to me to-morrow morning and I will treat her," he said in a low tone. "Give your name to my assistant." And as he went away the policeman's joy was as tearful as his sorrow had been. Of course the Chicago papers made much of the presence in their city of this distinguished foreigner who went Dr. Lorenz, Straightener of Children 117 about working miracles of good. And Dr. Lorenz, reading the extravagant things they said about him, laughed his hearty, boyish laugh, and was immensely pleased. For he is a very human man, and is proud of the success he has attained. That was to be known from the way he described himself. "Who are you in your own country. Dr. Lorenz?" an interviewer asked him. He settled his long, muscular form deeper into an easy chair, and held up a big hand on the fingers of which to reckon his honors. "Well," he said, in rich German dialect, "I am, let me see — what you would call in Enghsh — Councillor of State. That is an honorary title — what you have not in America. ' ' This he reckoned on his thumb as an especial distinction. Fingers would do for the rest. "Then, I am Herr Doctor Professor Adolf Lorenz, professor of surgery in the University of Vienna." The ponderous title was rolled out with happy enthusiasm. "Then, also, I am Doctor Lorenz, head of the department of orthopedics in the — the — what you would call the Common — no, the General — Hospital in Vienna." He paused again and ran hastily over the fingers, frowned, smiled, and added, "And then I am also Doctor Adolf Lorenz, the great orthopedic surgeon." And he made that cover both remaining digits. Two weeks Dr. Lorenz remained in Chicago, and then went on west, stopping in Denver, in Salt Lake, and in San Francisco, and in each case remaining long enough to repeat in smaller measure his Chicago adventures. He operated free of charge in scores of cases, in Chicago alone giving more than forty children what they had never hoped to have — the abihty to walk. And he collected fabulous sums of money from his few paying 118 The Professions cases. Aside from the Armour fee he was paid two thousand dollars for an operation on the daughter of a wealthy North Side family. From another he had five hundred dollars. From others, who were wilUng to pay tOjhave the work done at home and in private, rather than in cUnic, similar sums. And every day, when he was not entirely busy in hospitals, he received these people at his rooms, charging them twenty-five dollars a visit, and collecting in this way more than a thousand dollars in the two weeks. And there was a curious feature about this that was never made public during his stay, doubtless to the loss of a good newspaper "story." For he brought with him from Vienna enough money for all his expenses, added to it his fees in Chicago and elsewhere in currency, and, scorning letters of credit or checks, carried this whole amount around with him in his pockets. Holdups are of daily — almost hourly — occurrence in Chicago, and the imagination deUghts to picture the scene that would have followed had some enterprising thug known of the enormous wad the surgeon carried in his pocket. Lorenz is not a timid man, and one can fancy the way in which he would have unset the various joints and kneaded the muscles of the surprised bandit. On his arrival he insisted on calling on the surgeon who had already operated on Lolita Armour, as a spectator and friend. And having found in the local surgeon — himself famous all over America — a man after his own heart, he settled down in his office, making that his headquarters, and assigning to the local specialist the task of classifying his patients for him. The Chicagoan, too much amused at this turn of affairs to protest at it, did as he was directed, and sud- denly found his own office calls rising from about eight Dr. Lorenz, Straightener of Children 119 per day to fifty or sixty. For Dr. Lorenz, in all his ex- aminations, was saying to the complicated cases which he could not treat in his brief stay, "Go to Dr. , and have him take the case." Of course, when the newspapers took Lorenz up, there were others ready to run him down. There were sur- geons who said, in disgruntled manner, "I have been performing that operation for years myself." And, there were others to defend him, who, while admitting this, asserted that they had never been able to do it as well as Lorenz. But these quarrels affected the Austrian not a bit. When asked about his coming he laughed. "It was so foolish," he said once. "They begged me to come, and paid me for it, when their own doctor could have done as well. But I am very, very glad I came, for the poor people seemed not to know they could be cured, and I have taught them that, at least." And that is very true. But Dr. Lorenz had to teach it to the rich as well as the poor; the surgeon turned a deaf ear to the entreaties of a rich man who offered him one hundred thousand dollars or more to treat his child in St. Louis and recommended him to try American surgeons. Orthopedy is as old as the healing art. In the earliest civilized times men and women and children were placed in rude frames to correct deformities. But never has its power to relieve suffering been brought home to the people as it was by this child-loving farmer-boy surgeon. THE CHOICE OF MEDICINE AS A PROFESSION By GEORGE F. SHEARS, M.D. I HE complaint that the profession of medicine BM^^A ^^ overcrowded is a cry constantly recurring S^^^R^ in the medical and lay press, and one that y^*-^ a1 is not difficult of proof, if the number of physicians per capita of population is taken in evidence, or if the unfortunate financial status of a portion of the profession is to determine the question. It is true that competition presses severely in many quarters, that there are large numbers of practitioners who experience great difficulty in making both ends meet, that the end of the year finds the outgoings of a large share of medical men perilously near the income, and that the earning of many a medical man who has spent years in acquiring a medical education is often less than that of an ordinary mechanic. But the same statements hold true of every vocation in life, and if one is to be deterred from the selection of a profession by these considerations, or limits his choice to those vocations in which the income is assured, he will look long and far. The opportunity is as great to-day to make a name and place for oneself in the profession of medicine as in any time that has passed. The pro- fession is not crowded by competents, but by incompetents, using the term in its broadest sense. The demand for a good, staple article is as constant in the professional market as in the mercantile one, and the finished product will receive as prompt recognition. 120 The Choice of Medicine as a Profession 121 By one, then, whose tastes and inclinations point toward medicine as a profession, and wiiose mental inventory leads him to believe he possesses the qualities requisite to success in this department of life's work, the cry of the pessimist may be discarded, and he may enter the avenue which leads to the profession with the calm assurance that his opportunity for usefulness is limited only by his abilities. It must not be understood that the lack of financial reward is the only drawback to the life of a medical man. The student seeking the profession must be willing to give up more than the hope of great reward. Probably no other profession demands the complete absorption of one's whole life as does the medical pro- fession. It is a life of devotion, hard work, and moderate financial compensation without the glittering rewards of commercial life, or the civic honors of the pubhc ser- vice, or the social distinction that falls to the lot of more favored occupations. And yet, to the earnest, aspiring man or woman to whom work is as the breath of his nostrils, and the thought of service an inspiration, no other profession has more to offer. "It is," says Oilman, "a calling which gives employ- ment to the utmost capabilities of human nature — all that is best in physical, intellectual, moral and social characteristics. It exercises the highest powers of sym- pathy, memory, imagination, observation, reflection and judgment. " It brings the pleasures of intellectual associations, the love of devoted adherents, and, not least of all, the satis- factory knowledge that one's every effort is toward the betterment of those with whom he comes in contact, and not, as is often the case in commercial life, to their injury. It must not be understood, because in this 122 The Professions enumeration of the advantages of the profession that emphasis is placed on the intellectual rewards, that it does not offer other advantages of a more material char- acter. It must not be forgotten that the profession offers to poor men or women the immediate exercise of their only capital — brains and education. The commercial man must have money or wait long years in positions of dependence. The professional man's capital is at hand, no power can destroy it; only the loss of physical, moral, or intellectual vigor may diminish his resource or curtail his labors. While great wealth may never be the medical man's reward, the honors of life are not entirely lacking. The profession has a place in the world, and has made that place recog- nized by its value to mankind. And it is destined to higher honors and more prominent positions. In the republics of the United States and France the members of the learned professions have the social and public recognition that their abilities warrant, and the medical man may aspire to any position of trust and confidence; while in monarchical countries honors are being bestowed and patents of nobility conferred in a way that indicates the prominent position of the profession in the pubUc eye. In Germany patents of nobility to Leyden, Koch, Roentgen, and others are some of the recent indications; while the English papers are filled with the opinions of Sir Frederick Treeves, M. D., Sir Francis Laking, M.D., Sir James Reid, M.D., Sir William MacCormac, M.D., and others. The press no longer ridicules or finds fault with the government in the granting of these titles as it did less than a hundred years ago, when King George VI knighted his doctors, but, instead, expresses its approval and urges still greater consideration. The Queen of Portugal now adds M.D. to her name, as honor earned, The Choice of Medicine as a Profession 123 not conferred; and the "London Lancet" recommended to a Prince of Wales to rear one of his sons as a physician rather than to the profession of arms. The young man who looks forward to the medical profession as his life work, and hopes for the highest success, must build on no uncertain foundation. Medi- cine is not only a progressive, but a complex, science. A knowledge of anatomy, a familiarity with the pre- scriptions of some famous man in certain forms of disease is no longer sufficient to insiu-e a position in the pro- fession. The practice of medicine depends more and more on the sciences, demands more and more the accuracy that comes from personal experiment and observation, more and more the good judgment that comes only to the trained mind. Chemistry, physics, botany, biology, embryology, bacteriology are indispensable to the physi- cian of to-day whose practice may lead him from ques- tions of physics in the proper disposition of sewage to questions of bacteriology in the determination of the presence and life habits of those micro-organisms that are so potent for good and evil. A practical question, and one that comes to the man who has decided that he has the natural equipment that makes for success in the profession, is how best to fit himself to meet his life work. On general principles, it may be said that the plan which makes the best man is the most stable foundation upon which to make a good doctor. The development of a sound physique is not one of the least of these requirements. The work of the profession is arduous, the toil is unremitting, the hours necessarily irregular, the demand for sustained effort over a consider- able period of time frequent, the necessity for exposure unavoidable. 124 The Professions The longevity of the medical man is materially less than that of workers of other professions. Only those with a sound physique, other things being equal, can win in a struggle for success. The sick look with confidence to the well. They demand the hearty dogmatism that comes from the overflowing of animal spirits. They enjoy the cheerful optimism that comes from a good digestion. They lean upon the doctor in their weakness, and yield willing obedience to his kindly influence. Much of the power possessed for good may be outside of pills or potions, correct theories or sound deductions. No preparation can be too thorough, no education too liberal for the practitioner of medicine. He needs his mathematics, his geometry, his trigonometry for a proper understanding of his physics and his electricity; he needs logic, that his deductions may be sound; he needs lan- guages, that he may express himself correctly, and that he may glean from the labors of contemporaries of other nations and races. He needs the knowledge and love of literature, that he may be in touch with the ideals and aspirations of mankind, that he may, when the days become long and the flesh weary, rest in an ideal land of thought and sentiment. The student contemplating the study of medicine may determine, if he desires, that he will follow some particular line ; but he must not allow himself to fall a victim to the idea that he may limit his range of studies to the specialty he professes to follow. The physician who is best fitted to follow any special line of work is he who has secured a thorough grounding in the principles of the entire range of professional subjects. Neither is a theoretical knowledge sufficient to justify him in the selection of a specialty. Only the broad knowledge that comes to him from The Choice of Medicine as a Profession 125 practice for many years as a general practitioner can give to iiim tliat view of the entire field, that wide general- ization, that intimate knowledge of the relations of different organs, that confident recognition of the power of the general organism to recuperate itself and change local conditions, that insight into the value of general treatment that is so necessary, if his decisions are to be of value to the profession and to his patient. One form of preparation is rarely emphasized, and yet is no unimportant feature, whether looked upon wholly from the standpoint of the physician himself or his value to the community, and that is the acquirement of true business habits. There is a general idea that business methods and professional methods are incompatible, and so they are if by business methods are meant the conducting of one's relations to the public with the sole idea of pecuniary profit. The man who thinks more of his fee than of his results, more of his financial reward than of his opportunity to do good, more of political preferment than of his integrity, can never be a great doctor. The man who forgets the poor, neglects the unfortunate, or hesitates to use his skill, or fails to do his best because dollars are not forthcoming, is a poor man, a poor doctor, and a creature to be despised. More than to be despised is he who makes use of the high office of his profession to deceive the sick and un- fortxmate or to pander to the lowest demands of the degraded. The sick man is naturally credulous. He is governed by his hopes and desires rather than by his judgment. He is easily deceived. It may be easy and profitable to claim to cure incurable diseases, to make unnecessary surgical operations, to discover serious con- ditions where none exist, to terrorize the fearful into the payment of large fees, but it is no less criminal an act 126 The Professions on the part of the physician because he deals with things intangible that may not be amenable to law. There may be temporary financial returns to the physician who encourages vice, who uses his medical knowledge to violate the laws of Nature and of man, but it is the uncertain profit that comes to the criminal. If one does not instinctively draw away from the tempta- tions, if his ethical sense does not protect him, if his professional obligations do not restrain him, let him remember that, leaving all other considerations aside, it is not good business; that, in the long run, the profit is on the side of respectability. Fortunately, the exer- cise of all the virtues is not incompatible with the ac- quirement of habits of regularity, promptness in keeping appointments, systematic arrangements of time, system- atic keeping of accounts, promptness in meeting obli- gations, a nice consideration of ways and means, and a prompt and manly way of dealing with patients with regard to their accounts. There still remains in the minds of many laymen the Old World idea that a pro- fessional fee is a gratuity, and differs from other obli- gations. The business methods of many doctors favor this idea. The young man who enters the profession to-day should have no patience with such an idea. A prompt and proper compensation for services rendered should be insisted upon, not as a favor, but as a right. Even the good doctor, Weelum MacLure, whom Ian Maclaren eulogizes, and over whose story so many eyes have moistened, might have served his community better had he collected his fees, indulged more freely in medical books, and acquired the knowledge that would have enabled him to make the simple operations that are often necessary to the saving of human life. THROUGH THE FLOODS By IAN MACLAREN OCTOR MacLURE did not lead a solemn procession from the sick bed to the dining room, and give his opinion from the hearth- rug with an air of wisdom bordering on the supernatural, because neither the Drumtochty houses nor his manners were on that large scale. He was accustomed to deliver himself in the yard, and to conclude his direc- tions with one foot in the stirrup; but when he left the room where the life of Annie Mitchell was ebbing slowly away, our doctor said not one word, and at sight of his face her husband's heart was troubled. He was a dull man, Tammas, who could not read the meaning of a sign, and labored under a perpetual disa- bility of speech; but love was eyes to him that day, and a mouth. "Is 't as bad as yir lookin', doctor? tell 's the truth; wuU Annie no come through?" and Tammas looked MacLure straight in the face, who never flinched his duty or said smooth things. "A' wud gie onything tae say Annie hes a chance, but a' daurna; a' doot yer gaein' tae lose her, Tammas." MacLiire was in the saddle, and as he gave his judgment he laid his hand on Tammas's shoulder with one of the rare caresses that pass between men. "It 's a sair business, but ye 'ill play the man and no vex Annie; she 'ill dae her best, a '11 warrant." "An' a '11 dae mine," and Tammas gave Mac Lure's ^ From " A Doctor of the Old School " in " Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush." 127 128 The Professions hand a grip that would have crushed the bones of a weak- hng. Drumtochty felt in such moments the brotherliness of this rough-looking man, and loved him. Tammas hid his face in Jess's mane, who looked round with sorrow in her beautiful eyes, for she had seen many tragedies, and in this silent sympathy the stricken man drank his cup, drop by drop. "A' wesna prepared for this, for a' aye thocht she wud live the langest. . . . She 's younger than me by ten years, and never wes ill. . . . We 've been mairit twal year laist Martinmas, but it 's juist like a year the day. ... A' wes never worthy o' her, the bonniest, snoddest (neatest), kindliest lass in the Glen. ... A' never cud mak oot hoo she ever lookit at me, 'at hesna hed ae word tae say aboot her till it 's ower late. . . . She didna cuist up tae me that a' wasna worthy o' her, no her, but aye she said, ' Yir ma ain gudeman, and nane cud be kinder tae me.' . . . An' a' wes minded tae be kind, but a' see noo mony little strokes a' micht hae dune for her, and noo the time is by. . . . Naebody kens hoo patient she wes wi' me, and aye made the best o' me, an' never pit me tae shame afore the fouk. . . . An' we never hed ae cross word, no ane in twal year. . . . We were mair nor man and wife, we were sweethearts a' the time. . . . Oh, ma bonny lass, what 'ill the bairnies an' me dae withoot ye, Annie?" The winter night was falling fast, the snow lay deep upon the ground, and the merciless north wind moaned through the close as Tammas wrestled with his sorrow, dry-eyed, for tears were denied Drumtochty men. Neither the doctor nor Jess moved hand or foot, but their hearts were with their fellow creature, and at length the doctor made a sign to Marget Howe, who had come out in search of Tammas, and now stood by his side. Through the Flood 129 "Dinna mourn tae the brakin' o' yir hert, Tammas," she said, "as if Annie an' you hed never luved. Neither death nor time can pairt them that kive; there's naethin' in a' the warld sae strong as luve. If Annie gaes frae the sicht o' yir een she 'ill come the nearer tae yir hert. She wants tae see ye, and tae hear ye say that ye 'ill never forget her nicht nor day till ye meet in the land where there 's nae pair tin'. Oh, a' ken what a 'm sayin', for it 's five year noo sin George gied awa, an' he 's mair wi' me noo than when he wes in Edinboro' and I wes in Drimi- tochty." "Thank ye kindly, Marget; thae are gude words and true, an' ye hev the richt tae say them ; but a' canna dae without seein' Annie comin' tae meet me in the gloamin', an' gaein' in an' oot the hoose, an' hearin' her ca' me by ma name, an' a '11 no can tell her that a' luve her when there 's nae Annie in the hoose. " Can naethin' be dune, doctor? Ye savit Flora Cammil and young Burnbrae, an' yon shepherd's wife Dunleith wy, an' we were a' sae prood o' ye, an' pleased tae think that ye hed keepit deith frae anither hame. Can ye no think o' somethin' tae help Annie, and gie her back tae her man and bairnies?" and Tammas searched the doctor's face in the cold, weird light. "There 's nae pooer in heaven or airth like luve," Marget said to me afterwards; "it maks the weak strong and the dumb tae speak. Oor herts were as water afore Tammas's words, an' a' saw the doctor shake in his saddle. A' never kent till that meenut hoo he hed a share in a' body's grief, an' carried the heaviest wecht o' a' the Glen. A' peetied him wi' Tammas lookin' at him sae wistfully, as if he had the keys o' life an' deith in his hands. But he wes honest, and wudna hold oot a false houp tae deceive a sore hert or win escape for himsel'." 130 The Professions "Ye needna plead wi me, Tammas, to dae the best a' can for yir wife. Man, a' kent her lang afore ye ever luved her; a' brocht her intae the warld, and a' saw her through the fever when she wes a bit lassikie ; a' closed her mither's een, and it wes me hed tae tell her she wes an orphan, an' nae man wes better pleased when she got a gude husband, and a' helpit her wi' her fower bairns. A've naither wife nor bairns o' ma own, an' a' coont a' the fouk o' the Glen ma family. Div ye think a' wudna save Annie if I cud? If there wes a man in Muirtown 'at cud dae mair for her, a 'd have him this verra nicht, but a' the doctors in Perthshire are helpless for this tribble. "Tammas, ma puir fallow, if it could avail, a' tell ye a' wud lay doon this auld worn-oot ruckle o' a body o' mine juist tae see ye baith sittin' at the fireside, an' the bairns roond ye, couthy an' canty again; but it 's no tae be, Tam- mas, it 's no tae be." "When a' lookit at the doctor's face," Marget said, "a' thocht him the winsomest man a' ever saw. He wes transfigured that nicht, for a 'm judging there 's nae trans- figuration like luve." " It 's God's wull an' maun be borne, but it 's a sair wuU for me, an' a 'm no ungratefu' tae you, doctor, for a' ye 've dune and what ye said the nicht," and Tammas went back to sit with Annie for the last time. Jess picked her way through the deep snow to the main road, with a skill that came of long experience, and the doctor held converse with her according to his wont. "Eh, Jess, wumman, yon wes the hardest wark a' hae tae face, and a' wud raither hae ta'en ma chance o' anither row in a Glen Urtach drift than tell Tammas Mitchell his wife wes deein'. "A' said she cudna be cured, and it wes true, for there 's juist ae man in the land fit for 't and they micht as weel Through the Flood 131 try tae get the mune oot o' heaven. Sae a' said naethin tae vex Tammas's hert, for it 's heavy eneuch withoot regrets. "But it 's hard, Jess, that money wull buy Hfe after a', an' if Annie wes a duchess her man wudna lose her; but bein' only a puir cotter's wife, she maun dee afore the week 's oot. "Gin we hed him the morn there 's little doot she wud be saved, for he hesna lost mair than five per cent o' his cases, and they 'ill be puir toon's craturs, no strappin' women like Annie. "It 's oot o' the question, Jess, sae hurry up, lass, for we 've hed a heavy day. But it wud be the grandest thing that was ever dune in the Glen in oor time if it could be managed by hook or crook. "We 'ill gang and see Drumsheugh, Jess; he 's anither man sin' Geordie Hoo's deith, and he wes aye kinder than fouk kent" ; and the doctor passed at a gallop through the village, whose lights shone across the white frost-bound road. " Come in by, doctor; a' heard ye on the road; ye 'ill hae been at Tammas Mitchell's; hoo 's the gudewife? a' doot she 's sober." "Annie 's deein', Drumsheugh, an Tammas is like tae brak his hert." "That 's no lichtsome, doctor, no lichtsome ava, for a' dirma ken ony man in Drumtochty sae bund up in his wife as Tammas, and there 's no a bonnier wumman o' her age crosses oor kirk door than Annie, nor a cleverer at her wark. Man, ye 'ill need tae pit yir brains in steep. Is she clean beyond ye?" "Beyond me and every ither in the land but ane, and it wud cost a hundred guineas tae bring him tae Drumtochty." 132 The Professions "Certes, he 's no blate; it 's a fell chairge for a short day's work; but hundred or no hundred we 'ill hae him, an' no let Annie gang, and her no half her years." "Are ye meanin' it, Drumsheugh?" and Mac Lure turned white below the tan. " William Mac Lure," said Drumsheugh, in one of the few confidences that ever broke the Drumtochty reserve, "a 'm a lonely man, wi' naebody o' ma ain blude tae care for me livin', or tae lift me intae me coffin when a 'm deid. "A' fecht awa at Muirtown market for an extra pund on a beast, or a shillin' on the quarter o' barley, an' what 's the gude o 't. Burnbrae gaes aff tae get a goon for his wife or a buke for his college laddie, an' Lachlan Campbell 'ill no leave the place noo withoot a ribbon for Flora. "Ilka man in the Kildrummie train has some bit fairin' in his pooch for the fouk at hame that he 's bocht wi' the siller he won. "But there 's naebody tae be lookin' oot for me, an' comin' doon the road tae meet me, and daffin (joking) wi' me aboot their fairing, or feeling ma pockets. Ou ay, a 've seen it a' at ither hooses, though they tried tae hide it frae me for fear a' wud lauch at them. Me lauch, wi' ma cauld, empty hame! " Yir the only man kens, Vveelum, that I aince luved the noblest wumman in the Glen or onywhere, an' a' luve her still, but wi' anither luve noo. "She hed given her heart tae anither, or a 've thocht a' micht hae won her, though nae man be worthy o' sic a gift. Ma hert turned tae bitterness, but that passed awa beside the brier bush whar George Hoo lay yon sad simmer time. Some day a '11 tell ye ma story, Weelum, for you an' me are auld freends, and will be till we dee." MacLure felt beneath the table for Drumsheugh's hand, but neither man looked at the other. Through the Flood 133 " Weel, a' we can dae noo, Weelum, gin we haena mickle brichtness in oor ain hames, is tae keep the licht frae gaein' oot in anitlier hoose. Write the telegram, man, and Sandy 'ill send it aff frae Kildrummie this verra nicht, and ye 'Ul hae yir man the morn." "Yir the man a' coon ted ye, Drumsheugh, but ye 'ill grant me ae favor. Ye 'ill lat me pay the half, bit by bit, — a' ken yir wuUin' tae dae 't a', — but a' haena mony pleesures, an' a' wud like tae hae ma ain share in savin' Annie's life." Next morning a figure received Sir George on the Kil- drummie platform, whom that famous surgeon took for a gillie, but who introduced himself as "Mac Lure of Drum- tochty." It seemed as if the East had come to meet the West when these two stood together, the one in traveling furs, handsome and distinguished, with his strong, cultured face and carriage of authority, a characteristic type of his profession; and the other more marvelously dressed than ever, for Drumsheugh's topcoat had been forced upon him for the occasion, his face and neck one redness with the bitter cold; rough and ungainly, yet not without some signs of power in his eye and voice, the most heroic type of his noble profession. MacLure compassed the precious arrival with observ- ances till he was securely seated in Drumsheugh's dog- cart — ■ a vehicle that lent itself to history — with two full-sized plaids added to his equipment — Drumsheugh and Hillocks had both been requisitioned — and MacLure wrapped another plaid round a leather case, which was placed below the seat with such reverence as might be given to the queen's regalia. Peter attended their de- parture full of interest, and as soon as they were in the fir woods MacLure explained that it would be an eventful journey. 134 The Professions "It 's a' richt in here, for the wind disna get at the snaw, but the drifts are deep in the Glen, and th'ill be some engineerin' afore we get tae oor destination." Four times they left the road and took their way over fields, twice they forced a passage through a slap in a dyke, thrice they used gaps in the paling which MacLure had made on his downward journey. "A' seleckit the road this mornin', an' a' ken the depth tae an inch; we 'ill get through this steadin' here tae the main road, but oor worst job '11 be crossin' the Tochty. "Ye see the bridge hes been shakin' wi' this winter's flood, and we daurna venture on it, sae we hev tae ford, and the snaw's been melting up Urtach way. There 's nae doot the water 's gey big, an' it 's threatenin' tae rise, but we 'ill win through wi' a warstle. "It micht be safer tae lift the instruments oot o' reach o' the water; wud ye mind haddin' them on yir knee till we 're ower, an' keep firm in yir seat in case we come on a stane in the bed o' the river." By this time they had come to the edge, and it was not a cheering sight. The Tochty had spread out over the meadows, and while they waited they could see it cover another two inches on the trunk of a tree. There are sum- mer floods when the water is brown and flecked with foam, but this was a winter flood, which is black and sullen, and runs in the center with a strong, fierce, silent current. Upon the opposite side Hillocks stood to give directions by word and hand, as the ford was on his land, and none knew the Tochty better in all its ways. They passed through the shallow water without mishap, save when the wheel struck a hidden stone or fell suddenly into a rut; but when they neared the body of the river MacLure halted, to give Jess a minute's breathing. "It 'ill tak ye a' yir time, lass, an' a' wud raither be Through the Flood 135 on yir back; but ye never failed me yet, and a wumman's life is hangin' on the crossin'." With the first plunge into the bed oi the stream the water rose to the axles, and then it crept up to the shafts, so that the surgeon could feel it lapping in about his feet, while the dogcart began to quiver, and it seemed as if it were to be carried away. Sir George was as brave as most men, but he had never forded a Highland river in flood, and the mass of black water racing past beneath, before, behind him, affected his imagination and shook his nerves. He rose from his seat and ordered MacLure to turn back, declaring that he would be condemned utterly and eter- nally if he allowed himself to be drowned for any person. "Sit doon," thundered MacLure; "condemned ye will be suner or later gin ye shirk yir duty, but through the water ye gang the day." Both men spoke much more strongly and shortly, but this is what they intended to say, and it was INlacLure that prevailed. Jess trailed her feet along the ground with cunning art, and held her shoulder against the stream; MacLure leant forward in his seat, a rein in each hand, and his eyes fixed on Hillocks, who was now standing up to the waist in the water, shouting directions and cheering on horse and driver. "Haud tae the richt, doctor; there's a hole yonder. Keep oot o't for ony sake. That 's it; yir daein' fine. Steady, man, steady. Yir at the deepest; sit heavy in yir seats. Up the channel noo, an' ye 'ill be oot o' the swirl. Weel dune, Jess, weel dune, auld mare ! Mak straicht for me, doctor, an' a '11 gie ye the road oot. Ma word, ye 've dune yir best, baith o' ye this mornin'," cried Hillocks, splashing up to the dogcart, now in the shallows. "Sail, it wes titch an' go for a meenut in the middle; a 136 The Professions Hielan' ford is a kittle (hazardous) road in the snaw time, but ye 're safe noo. "Gude luck tae ye up at Westerton, sir; nane but a richt-hearted man wud hae riskit the Tochty in flood. Ye 're boond tae succeed aifter sic a graund beginnin','' for it had spread already that a famous surgeon had come to do his best for Annie, Tammas Mitchell's wife. Two hours later MacLure came out from Annie's room and laid hold of Tammas, a heap of speechless misery by the kitchen fire, and carried him off to the barn, and spread some corn on the threshing-floor and thrust a flail into his hands. "Noo we 've tae begin, an' we 'ill no be dune for an' oor, and ye 've tae lay on without stoppin' till a' come for ye, an' a '11 shut the door tae haud in the noise, an' keep yir dog beside ye, for there maunna be a cheep aboot the hoose for Annie's sake." "A '11 dae onything ye want me, but if — if — " "A '11 come for ye, Tammas, gin there be danger; but what are ye feared for wi' the Queen's ain surgeon here?" Fifty minutes did the flail rise and fall, save twice, when Tammas crept to the door and listened, the dog lifting his head and whining. It seemed twelve hours instead of one when the door swung back, and MacLure filled the doorway, preceded by a great burst of light, for the sun had arisen on the snow. His face was as tidings of great joy, and Elspeth told me that there was nothing like it to be seen that afternoon for glory, save the sun itself in the heavens. "A' never saw the marrow o't, Tammas, an' a '11 never see the Hke again; it 's a' ower, man, withoot a hitch frae beginnin' tae end, and she 's fa'in' asleep as fine as ye like." "Dis he think Annie . . . 'ill live?" Through the Flood 137 " Of coorse he dis, and be aboot the hoose mside a month ; that 's the gude o' bein' a clean-bluided, weel-hvin' — " "Preserve ye, man, what 's wrang wi' ye? it 's a mercy a' keppit ye, or we wud hev hed anither job for Sir George. "Ye 're a' richt noo; sit doon on the strae. A '11 come back in a whilie, an' ye 'ill see Annie juist for a meenut, but ye maunna say a word." Marget took him in and let him kneel by Annie's bedside. He said nothing then or afterwards, for speech came only once in his lifetime to Tammas, but Annie whispered, "Ma ain dear man." When the doctor placed the precious bag beside Sir George in our solitary first next morning, he laid a cheque beside it and was about to leave. "No, no," said the great man. "Mrs. Macfadyen and I were on the gossip last night, and I know the whole story about you and your friend. "You have some right to call me a coward, but I '11 never let you count me a mean, miserly rascal," and the cheque with Drumsheugh's painful writing fell in fifty pieces on the floor. As the train began to move, a voice from the first called so that all in the station heard. "Give's another shake of your hand, Mac Lure; I 'm proud to have met you; you are an honor to our profession. Mind the antiseptic dressings." It was market day, but only Jamie Soutar and Hillocks had ventured down. "Did ye hear yon, Hillocks? hoo dae ye feel? A '11 no deny a 'm lifted." Halfway to the Junction Hillocks had recovered, and began to grasp the situation. "Tell 's what he said. A' wud like to hae it exact for Drumsheugh." 138 The Professions "Thae 's the eedentical words, an' they 're true; there 's no a man in Drumtochty disna ken that, except ane." "An' wha 's that, Jamie?" " It 's Weelum MacLure himsel. Man, a've often girned that he sud fecht awa for us a', and maybe dee before he kent that he hed githered mair luve than ony man in the Glen. " 'A 'm prood tae hae met ye,' says Sir George, an' him the greatest doctor in the land. 'Yir an honor tae oor profession.' "Hillocks, a' wudna hae missed it for twenty notes," said James Soutar, cynic-in-ordinary to the parish of Drumtochty. HOW TO STUDY MEDICINE ^ By henry S. PRITCHETT n!53 0-DAY there are some hundreds of thou- sands of young men and youths in our coun- n^^MlM try who are thinking more or less seriously ■^^=^-*' of adopting some profession, and many thou- sands of these are looking toward the profession of medi- cine and surgery. Hundreds of others will be attracted toward that profession by the advertisements of medical schools, for medical advertising is a business in our coun- try. A large mmaber of young men who are clerks in country stores or assistants in railway offices have been led to undertake the study and practice of medicine as a result of the alluring inducements held out by these advertisements, inducements which paint the life of the physician and surgeon in glowing colors and the receipts from professional fees in the most optimistic vein. The spectacle which this presents — that is to say, the spectacle of men being led into a profession so serious and important as that of the physician and surgeon by the mere influence of an advertisement — is something which one can not see in any other country. It exists in the United States because of the excessive number of medical schools in this country and the resulting compe- tition for students. There are nearly as many medical schools in the United States as in all of the rest of the civilized world put together. These medical schools in some instances are splendid institutions abreast of the ' By courteous permission of the Author and " The Outlook." Copy- right, 1910. 139 140 The Professions science and the practice of the day, such as those of the Johns Hopkins University, of Harvard, and of Ann Arbor. But the majority are proprietary schools — that is to say, schools' which are owned by an individual or by a group of individuals, and which depend for their con- tinued existence upon securing a considerable number of students. This solicitation is made in most cases through advertisements which are intended to catch the eye of the boy or the young man who is tired of his present job and is anxious to find another. The consequences of this overmultiplication of medical schools striving to get students has resulted in a great overproduction of physicians and surgeons. There are more physicians to-day in the United States to each ten thousand inhabitants than in any other country in the world; and, unfortunately, the vast majority of these men have had no adequate preparation in their profes- sion, and a very large proportion of them have gone into it with little conception of its obligations and its de- mands. As a result, the hving which the average doctor is able to make is a meager one, and in the little towns of two and three thousand inhabitants, where ordinarily one finds from five to ten physicians, the practitioner can expect only a bare living. The situation is one calling so strongly for improvement, and one in which the youth who goes into the profession is so often the victim of false representations, that I venture to state a few of the preliminary facts which the young man who is looking toward medicine ought to take into account. First of all, no young man who is thinking of the pro- fession of medicine should allow himself to be influenced by the commercial argument. Medicine is a profession, not a business, and the man who goes into it, whether he gain a large practice or a small one, must give out How to Study Medicine 141 much more than he receives, not necessarily in money, but in effort and sympathy and sacrifice. The man who is seeking a business which will bring him money should look elsewhere. Second, no man, whether young or of more mature age, should choose a school in which to study medicine through an advertisement. You may be sure that the institu- tion which seeks to secure your attendance as a student through alluring advertisements is in every case a bad place for study, and that the very fact of these specious advertisements is a proof of its weakness and incompe- tency. If you have decided to study medicine, find out from the best-informed physicians of your neighborhood where medicine may be rightly studied, but do not make, in any case, your decision from the advertisements or the solicitations of the medical schools themselves^ Furthermore, the boy of this generation who looks toward medicine must understand that medicine has almost been made over in the last twenty years. To-day the practice of medicine rests upon the application of certain fundamental sciences, many of which have had their development in these last two decades. For example, physiological chemistry, the chemistry which undertakes to deal with the processes of digestion and of assimilation, was hardly known as a practical science twenty years ago, but to-day it is playing a most important role in the equipment of the rightly trained physician. The men who graduated twenty-five years ago from the medical school had never made a culture of bacteria. To-day no man can practice medicine without day-by-day examinations of the by-products of the human body. In a word, the medical and surgical practice of our day is nothing other than the application of those funda- 142 The Professions mental sciences — physiology, anatomy, bacteriology, physiological chemistry, and the like — which deal with the functions and the construction of the human mech- anism. Therefore, any man who is to practice medicine in the future must have a grounding in these sciences, and a thorough one. All this has brought it about that the physician of this generation must be not only grounded in the technique of these fundamental sciences, but he must be an edu- cated man as well. If you are clerking in a store, or keeping books in a railway office, or traveling for some commercial house, and have come, through one means or another, to consider medicine as a calhng, don't imagine for a moment that you can be a successful and rightly fitted practitioner of medicine without a good general education, and, if you are in earnest about your profes- sion, you will go to work to get this general education first before undertaking the other. The day of the uneducated doctor is past, except as he is able to impose his practice upon people who do not know what they are entitled to have in the way of medical treatment. Above all, do not let yomrselves be misled or deceived by the plea put forward by the commercial medical schools, that they are to serve the poor boy. This as- sumes that the poor boy is in some way or other to be got into the practice of medicine without complying with the requirements of that profession which other boys are to submit to. On the face of it, this is a concession to the poor boy. As a matter of fact, it is not only an insult to his intelligence, but its real purpose is to serve the weak and ill-prepared medical schools which can live only by drawing to their doors a mass of uneducated and unfit men, the great majority of whom are turned out from How to Study Medicine 143 these low-standard institutions at the end of one or two years. The fact is that a poor boy has no right to go into the practice of medicine with any lower qualification than the rich boy. The practice of medicine is one of the great human professions which affect profoundly not only the health but the moral and social lives of a community. No man has a right to go into it unless he will fit himself fairly for the work. Educational opportunities in Amer- ica are to-day so generous that any poor boy with the right stuff in him who desires to enter medicine can seciu-e, not only the necessary medical education, but the requisite general education. It is only a question of his persistence and his courage and his energy; and the young man who allows himself to be persuaded into the profession by the advertisement of some school which offers to provide a short cut for the poor boy may feel sure that in the end he will find himself in a profession in which he will be utterly outclassed and in which he can obtain only such practice as may not be desired by the competent practitioner. To-day the medical colleges of the country are gradu- ating many more physicians than can possibly find places for a fair practice. Little towns which could support in comfort two competent practitioners are called upon to support half a dozen, and this means usually a half- dozen incompetent men. The boy who is looking toward medicine may well take these facts into account, and fairly face the further fact, that unless he has a good edu- cation and unless he will go to a well-equipped medical school, he can have no real opportunity for a useful and satisfactory life in this profession in the future. As to which : medical schools are prepared to teach medicine in the modern way, the medical student who is 144 The Professions in earnest can learn from any well-informed practitioner in his own neighborhood. Only let him be sure to get his advice from some man who knows the medical teach- ing of the last two decades, not from one who takes his recommendations from his recollections of the didactic medical teaching of twenty-five years ago. There is one other word which the man who has to do with education — and this is quite as much a question of education as it is of medical practice — feels he must say to the future practitioner, and that is a word concerning the matter of medical sects. It is a very common thing to find the young candidate for medicine more concerned over the question whether he shall be allopath, homeo- path, eclectic, or osteopath than to find him seriously inquiring as to the nature of the instruction he is to seek. This is partly due to lack of information concerning the modern training in medicine, and partly to the fact that a large number of men are entering the profession from the standpoint of a commercial, not from the stand- point of a professional, career, whose chief attraction to the true physician lies in the opportunity to serve humanity. Now, the question of medical sects is a difficult one to deal with, even for an outsider, and I do not intend for a moment to urge one or the other of these sects upon the consideration of any young man. I wish only to call his attention to this fundamental consideration which he generally loses sight of. Whether a man call himself an allopath, a homeopath, an osteopath, or an eclectic, he is going to be called upon to diagnose and treat the same diseases. In a little western town a hundred miles from a railway I have seen a man who had spent two short winters in an osteopathic establishment undertake to diag- nose appendicitis, rheumatism, adenoids, various diseases H X m D o o -i o How to Study Medicine 145 of children and of adults, and to treat them all by one mechanical process. In other words, whether a man calls himself by one name or another, he must know those fundamental sci- ences upon which medicine rests, and these are just as necessary for one medical sect as for another. The man who thinks that he can prepare himself for a rapid medical practice by joining one sect rather than another is not only getting ready for a bitter disappointment, but he is getting ready also to do the gravest kind of injustice to the people upon whom he seeks to practice, since he under- takes to deal with the very questions of life and death without having prepared himself in any fair way to know what those issues are or how to deal with them. Whether you undertake to be one thing or another, do not for a moment forget that this fundamental study and prepara- tion is absolutely necessary if you are to be an honest man as well as a practicing physician. I venture, therefore, to urge every young man who has in mind the practice of the noble profession of medicine to face the requisites of that profession before he em- barks on it, to get a fair general education before he begins his professional education, and to understand clearly that he can not get a modern medical education in a proprietary, advertising medical school which lives on the fees of its students, even if that school finds shelter under the charter of a well-known college or university. THE YOUNG LAWYERS By albert J. BEVERIDGE 'T used to be a part of the creed of a certain denomination that a man should not be admitted to the ministry who had not re- ceived his "call." This is true of the profession of law. So, at the begin- ning of your beginnings, do not begin at all unless you see a certainty of misery if you do not. Unless you are convinced that you would rather work, toil, nay, slave for years to secure recognition in the law, than to be honored and enriched in some other occupation, do not enter this profession of supreme ardor. And, above all things, do not enter it if you expect to practice law principally for the purpose of making money. It is not a money-making profession. The same effort, acumen, and enthusiasm expended in almost any other occupation will bring you financial returns tremendously out of proportion to your most successful compensation in the law, measured by mere money. The money- making conception of our profession is not only errone- ous, but ruinous; for you must remember, to begin with, that you are practicing the science of justice. If possible, get a thorough college education before you touch a law book. If you can get a college education, do not "read law" while you are at college. If you go to college, do not take what is known as the "scientific" course, or "physical" course. Take the classical course. ' From "The Young Man and the World." By courtesy of Senator Beveridge and permission of D. Appleton & Company. Copyright, 1910. 146 The Young Lawyer 147 Next to geometry and logarithms and the Bible, the best discipline preparatory to making you a lawyer is the translation of Latin. Latin is the most logical language the world has ever seen, or is likely ever to see. After you get your college course, then go to a thor- oughly first-class law school. After this spend two or three years in active work in the office of some successful lawyer who has lots of practice, and who will load off on your shoulders as much work as possible. If you can not go to a law school, your training in the law office will do you nearly as well. You can get along without your law school, but you can never get along without your training in the law office. The way to learn to swim is to swim. But if you can not get a college education, do not get discouraged. It is possible that you are an Abraham Lincoln, or a John Marshall, or some person like that; and if you are you will succeed anyhow. Even if you are not so highly gifted you can win in the law without a college education if you are naturally a lawyer and will work hard enough. If you have to choose between a law school and a college education, take the latter. But the training afforded by a clerkship in an active lawyer's office is more helpful than either. If you can be so fortunate as to get the firm or attorney with whom you are studying to let you draft pleadings, take depositions, examine witnesses, make arguments to court and jury, get out transcripts for appeal, write briefs, petitions, motions, and all the rest of that careful and painstaking work which makes the daily life of the lawyer, you will equip yourself for actual practice better than in any other way I know of. The firm will gladly let you do this work if you show yourself competent. But this does not mean that you 148 The Professions are merely to sit around the office and say "bright things." There is nothing in "bright things" — there is everything in good judgment and downright hard work. In active practice never forget that you are a sworn officer of justice quite as much as is the judge on the bench. It is impossible for you to put your ideals of your pro- fession too high or to attach yourself to them too firmly. "Never take a case," said Horace Mann, "unless you believe your client is right and his cause is just." On the contrary, Lord Brougham declared that "the con- scientious lawyer must be at the service of the criminal as well as of the state." And this great lawyer proceeds to argue with characteristic ability that it is as much the duty of the lawyer to work for the cause he knows to be wrong as for the cause he knows to be right. Briefly, the reason is that it is the very essence of justice that every man shall have his day in court; that the attorney is but the trained and educated mouth- piece of his client; and that to refuse the cause of a client in which the attorney does not believe is to relegate all the controversies to the judge in the first instance, which, of course, would render the administration of practical justice impossible. This is the prevailing practice of our profession, and it is a serious thing to question its correctness. Its ethics are as wide as they are ingenious, and when one beholds them through the medium of the great English- man's wonderful argument they seem radiant with ag- gressive truth. Nevertheless, I am almost of opinion that Horace Mann was right. It is certain that in his beginnings the young lawyer ought to lean to that view. If you consider it your duty to take any side of any case that offers, right or wrong, it is no far cry to considering it your duty to make the cause you have espoused a good The Young Lawyer 149 one before the court. And when that conception has shot its cancerous roots and filaments through your brain and conscience, the suggestion to your unscrupulous client of facts that do not exist, and all the alluring infamies of sharp practice, are possible. It is said that burglary exercises such a fascination that, once the dehrium of its danger is tasted, a man can never put that fatal wine away. An old and dis- tinguished lawyer once told me that one of the most brilliant young lawyers he ever knew said to him, at the conclusion of a legal duel, in which he had resorted to the sharpest practice and won, "That was the most delicious experience of my life." Yes, and it was the most fatal. He became, and is, an attorney of uncommon resource, ability, and success, with many cases and heavy fees; nevertheless, his life is a failure, for his profession and even his clients know him for a dealer in tricks. Senator McDonald, an ideal lawyer in the ethics, learning, and practice of his pro- fession, told me that one of the justices of the Supreme Court once said to him of a certain great corporation lawyer of acknowledged power and almost unrivaled learning : "Mr. would be the greatest lawyer in the world if he were not a scoundrel. As it is, I brace my- self to resist him every time he appears before me." One of the ablest circuit court judges of the federal bench said almost precisely the same thing to me of the same man. So you perceive it does not pay to be understood to be capable, or even great, in the wrong. In time it means ruin ; and therefore I think, on the whole, that it would be wise for you never to take a cause which, after you have a full statement from your client, you believe to be wrong. 160 The Professions Many of the most excellent men of our profession will dissent from this view. Their argument is usually that of Lord Brougham, summarized above. Also, they will declare that a lawyer may be quite wrong in his first impression that his client has not the right of an impending controversy. They will cite you instances where they have entered into the conduct of a case with much doubt in their hearts as to the rightfulness of their client's position; but that this doubt became an affirmative cer- tainty before they were half through with it — they knew their client was right. The answer to this is that any man can work himself into an enthusiastic belief in almost anything if he goes upon the theory that the thing is true, and gives all his energy and ability to proving its truthfulness to others and to himself. This is peculiarly the case with the most sincere and genuine men. I repeat, therefore, that upon a point so vital, and about which there are such sharp differences of opinion by equally good and wise men, it is better for you to incline to the stricter view of legal ethics. So, if you believe your client t'o be in the wrong, frankly tell him so; show him why; induce him to compromise and to settle, if he ought. If he will not, because he is obstinate, he will probably lose his case anyhow: and of course blame his lawyer for the loss. So that if you do not have that case you have lost nothing. On the other hand, you have gained. The chent will' say: "If I had followed his advice I should not have had the expense and humiliation of defeat." In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the honest client will respect you for your position. If the cHent persists in his course because he is a scoundrel, then, doubly, you can not afford to take his unjust case. After a few years The Young Lawyer 151 of such practice you will have acquired a moral influence with court, jury, and people which will be, even from a money point of view, the most valuable item in your equipment. PubUc confidence is the young man's best asset. And you will be surprised to find how little you will lose, in the way of fees, by this course. Of course there is a large class of cases in which the correct application of the law is very doubtful, with lines of decisions on both sides; as, for example, in cases of the distribution of funds of an insolvent corporation, consti- tutional questions, and the relative equities of conflict- ing interests. These are fair examples of controversies where a lawyer may rightfully and righteously accept a retainer upon any of half a dozen sides. But in the ordinary course of practice perhaps it is better to stick to Horace Mann rather than to Lord Brougham, and reject employment in a case you believe to be wrong. While the law is not a money-making profession, either in theory or practice, the young lawyer should begin by charging every cent his services are worth. It is not only degrading, but reveals a base attitude of mind and character, to charge a little fee in the beginning as a bait for a bigger one in future cases. Maintain the dignity of your effort. I am assuming that Nature began the work of making you a lawyer before you were born; that you have been preparing yourself, with the enthusiasm of the artist and the passion of professional devotion, for the work of your great calling, by years and years of discipline and study such as no other calling requires; that, with your natural qualification and your general equipment, you are bringing to your client's particular case an indus- try that knows no limit in his immediate service. This being true, tell him frankly that you propose to 152 The Professions give him the best that is in you (and that best is your very life, — no less, — for you write "victory" at the end of every one of your cases with your heart's blood; or "defeat," if you do not win), and that for this best which is in you you will charge the highest professional fee justified by your services and the magnitude and difficulty of his case. At the same time, never turn a poor client away from your office door because that client comes with no gold in his hand. When a lawyer is too busy to give counsel without fee and without charge to a poor man or woman that lawyer has too much business. I know — we all know — of very eminent lawyers constantly engaged in causes involving large interests, who nevertheless find leisure, many times each year, to serve by advice and counsel, and sometimes even by the active conduct of cases, numbers of the children of poverty, and to serve them without a penny of compensation. Be very careful of the class of business you accept at first. I knew a young lawyer who had just opened his office, and within a month, by one of those accidents that occur to every attorney, he was offered a case on a contingent fee in which the probability of considerable reward amounted almost to a certainty. He needed the money — was nearly penniless. He was newly married, had no clients and few acquaintances; but it was not the quality of practice to which he wished to devote his career. He courteously declined the case as if he had been a millionaire, and directed his would-be client to an attorney who would care for it properly. Out of that case the latter attorney, by a compromise, in two weeks made fifteen hundred dollars. Neverthe- less, the young man was right, and acted with a far- seeing wisdom as rare as the courage which accompanied The Young Lawyer 153 it. Of course, I assume that you are going into the pro- fession for the purpose of becoming a lawyer, and not a mere conductor of legal strifes. If you are, you must deny yourself. Self-denial is the price of strength, as any college athlete will tell you. Self-denial is the road to wealth, as any banker will tell you. Self-denial is the method of all excellencies, as all human experience will tell you. But this is moralizing. I do not mean that you should decline small cases. Bj'' no means. Take a five-dollar case, and work with the same sincerity that you would on a fifty-thousand- dollar case. "Despise not the day of small things." In selecting your business, I refer to the quality, and not the magnitude, of cases. Again, again, and still again, this counsel: Care for your small case with the same pains- taking labor you bestow upon a large one. Never lose sight of the fact that your greatest reward is not your fee, but the doing of a perfect piece of work. The same fervor and ideality should govern your labors in a lawsuit as inspire and control the great artist and inventor. A distinguished sculptor said to me one evening: "I wish the matter of compensation could be wiped out of my consideration. I must give it attention for obvious reasons, but it is the matter of least moment to me, and has absolutely no influence upon my work." It is no wonder that that man achieved an immortal renown at thirty-seven. Doctor Barker, the recent occu- pant of the Chair of Anatomy in the University of Chicago, recently elected to an even more notable position in the Johns Hopkins University, who has won for himself a permanent place in the high seats of his profession by his work on neurology, was in a company one evening. Said one of his admirers: 154 The Professions "Why don't you go into practice? You could easily make a great fortune before you are forty." Listen to the answer: "Money does not interest me." We all remember Agassiz's famous reply to a propo- sition to deliver one lecture for a large fee: "I must decUne, gentlemen; I have no time to make money." That was why he was Agassiz. Quite as lofty ideals should inspire the work of those who make their vows to the greatest of all sciences, the science of justice, and the greatest of all arts, the art of adjusting the rights of men. No lawyer can become great who does not resolve, at the beginning of each case, to make his conduct of it a perfect piece of work, regardless of compensation. John M. Butler, the partner of Senator McDonald, and one of the best lawyers the central western states ever produced, was so careful of pleadings and briefs that he would not endure a blurred or broken letter, and bad punctuation was a source of real irritation to him. Many times have I, as his clerk, required his printer to take out an indistinct letter. It was Mr. Butler's ideal to achieve perfection as nearly as possible. The most perfect legal argument I ever heard occupied less than an hour. Not a word was wasted. Not a single digression weakened the force of the reasoning. Not a de- cision was read from. It was assumed that the learned judges before whom the cause was being heard knew some- thing of the law and the decisions themselves. You see the same thing in its highest form in Marshall's decisions. I once advised a class of law students to com- mit to memory half a dozen of Marshall's greatest opin- ions. After years of reflection I think I shall stand by that advice. In making an argument before a court or jury, remem- The Young Lawyer 155 ber that the most important thing is the statement of your case. A case properly stated is a case nearly won. Beware of digression. It calls attention from your main idea. It is a fault, too, which is well-nigh universal. I advise every young lawyer, as a practice in accurate thought, to demonstrate a theorem of geometry every morning. There is no such remorseless logic as that of logarithms. It will produce a habit of definiteness, directness, and concentration invaluable to you. The young gallants of a century ago used to practice fencing for an hour each morning. Why should not you do the same thing in intellectual fencing — you, the devotee of the noblest swordsmanship known to man, the swordsmanship of the law? Do not be what is known as a "case lawyer" — an attorney who does not know the law as a science, but merely looks up precedents and texts concerning a par- ticular case. You may prevail in your "lawsuit," but you will not be a lawyer. Stick close to the elemental Blackstone. You can never get along without Black- stone. Do not read a condensed edition of that great commentator; it is like reading expurgated Shakespeare. I understand that one of the justices of the Supreme Court still reads Blackstone once each year. This may be a fable, but I hope it is not. You can not do a better thing. Thirty minutes each day will give you Black- stone from cover to cover in less than a year, with many holidays. Few modern "textbooks" are of permanent value. But don't miss the introduction to Stephens's "Plead- ing, " and also the introduction to Stephens's " Digest of the Law of Evidence." Both are classics and give you the reason and the spirit of our law in fascinating form. 156 The Professions Let your reading in the law be mainly upon the general principles of the common law. The study of the civil law will also be helpful — although English jurisprudence developed of and by itself with only moderate help from the Romans. Reading statutes is unprofitable. You should never answer a question or proceed in a case on the presumption that you remember the statute. The rule of Sir Edwin Coke ought to be your rule. "I should feel," said Coke, "that I ought to be put out of my profession if I could not answer a question in the common law without referring to the books. I should feel that I ought to be put out of my profession if I would answer a question in the statute law without referring to the statute." Do not confine yourself to law books. A man who does so is like the farmer who persists in planting the same soil with the same crop; exhaustion, barrenness, and un- profitableness are the results in each case. Read gener- ously, widely. It is impossible for a man to be a great lawyer, as far as the learning of his profession is con- cerned, who has not saturated himself with the Bible. He may be a great practitioner, but not a great lawyer. It illuminates all our law — is the source of much of it. There is no more curious and fascinating study than a comparison of the ordinances of the Hebrews with what we think our modern statutes. Read deeply in science. Read widely the great novelists. They are scientists of human nature, and you are dealing with human nature in your profession. Read profoundly in history. A comprehensive knowledge of history is absolutely indispensable to an understanding of our Con- stitution. The "Federalist," the constitutional debates, and all the discussions that preceded and accompanied the adoption of our organic law are bewilderingly full of The Young Lawyer 157 historical references. If you were to study every decision on constitutional questions made by every court in this country, you could not understand the Constitution. You must go back to the roots of it. Trace out the growth of our institutions in Holland. Work out the modifications by these upon institutions adopted from England. Follow the indigenous development of both of these from the old Crown Charters, and finally up to the Constitution itself. Then take Bancroft's "History of the United States " ; then that great monument of intellectual achievement in the realm of historical criticism, Von Holtz's "Constitu- tional History of the United States." Books like Douglass Campbell's remarkable production, Fisher's convincing yet novel essay, and other like serious and original works, too numerous. to properly mention here, are helpful. You will say this is a heavy task I am assigning you. It is, indeed. But have you not chosen the profession of the law? And, if so, do you dare to be less than a lawyer? How dare you not shoulder your glorious burden with patience, fortitude, and determination? Do not be as if you were to enlist as a soldier and end as a camp follower. I am told that the leader of the American bar has a standing order with his booksellers to send him every new book of approved merit in all the departments of literature. The result is that when he comes before the court his mind is fresh and sparkling with clear ideas and varied knowledge poured into his brain from every moun- tain peak of inspiration in all the world of human thought. He brings to the service of his cKent not only a study of his case and an understanding of the grand science of the law, but the vivifying, vitalizing power of all the great minds in all the realms of intellect. 158 The Professions If you say you have no time for all this, the answer is : If that is true, you have no time to be a great lawyer. You have the time, if you will use it. A little less linger- ing at the club, an economy of hours here and there — this will give you time, and to spare. Of course if you would rather "loaf" than be great, if you hunger rather after the fleshpots than the lawyer's wreaths, this advice is not for you. Do not use intoxicants. Even beware of coffee; it is one of the most powerful nerve and brain stimulants. The coffee habit is as easily formed, and as remorseless, as the alcohol habit. After a while, if excessively used, it produces its sure result; your faculties h.'^ve been sharpened by this intellectual emery wheel until the edges begin to crumble. Your mind becomes dull; you pass your hand wearily over your eyes; you don't know what is the matter with you and say so. Overwork, overstimulation, and the worry these produce are what is the matter with you. There are lawyers in every town who day by day and year by year find that they have to work harder to under- stand a case or master a precedent than they did the year before. Whereas formerly they could get the point of a precedent by reading it over once, they must now read it over four or five times. You usually find them the victims of ceaseless toil without rest, of that destroying fretfulness which brain-fag brings, and of some flogger of exhausted nerves, such as coffee in excess. Do not work late at night. It is a fictitious clearness of mind that comes to the midnight toiler. This also grows into a habit. Conform to Nature. Go to bed early. Get up early, and do your fine and original work in the morning. It will be hard for you to form the habit, but after you have done it you will be amazed at the The Young Lawyer 159 comparatively immense nervous power you possess in the morning hours. In trying a case before a jury, never be trivial. Do not bandy gibes, no matter how witty you may know yourself to be in repartee. The jury, and even the court, may laugh, but they are not impressed, and you have not helped your case; and you are there to win your case. As in your argument, so in your examination of witnesses, keep to the point. In arguing a case, no matter what its nature, before a court or jury, never rage or rave. Get to the point. Speak with great earnestness, but not with violence or volume of sound. Remember that even the most terrible emotions of the human heart in their most intense ex- pression are comparatively quiet. Be earnest. Be sin- cere. Be the master of your case, and the result must be satisfactory. It sometimes becomes necessary for an attorney to assert his rights and privileges to the judge himself. Do not shrink from it. It is your duty to your cUent, your profession, and the cause of justice. Never cringe to a court, never cringe to any one. He will despise you for it, and properly so. Remember the dignity of your profession. Erskine, in his first case, rebuked a preju- diced and perhaps an unjust judge with such vigor that England rang with it. Cultivate lucidity of style. You will do that at some risk at first. When a young lawyer is extremely clear, he is apt to be regarded as not deep. Abstruseness in expression is very frequently regarded as an indica- tion of profundity. Nevertheless, persist in a clear and simple style. Make the statement of your case and the argument in support of your propositions so lucid and plain that the judge or jury will say: "Why, of course, 160 The Professions that is so. What is the use of the young man stating that?" The study of Abraham Lincoln's speeches will be very helpful. Two or three of Roscoe Conkling's arguments after he left the Senate are models of perspicuity. Mr. Potter's argument in the legal tender cases is a model — it is EucUd stated in terms of the law. Webster's argu- ments you will study, of course. Blackstone is one of the clearest writers who ever illustrated the great science to which you and I are devoted. Perhaps as great a logician as ever lived was the Apostle Paul; read him as a master of logical utterance. Never be ponderous; never be florid. At the same time, never be dry. Be clear; be pointed, be luminous. I remember having heard both sides of a case argued before an eminent Federal Judge. One of the lawyers made a long, turgid, "profound" — and musty — argu- ment; proceeding like a draft horse from milepost to milepost, until the alert mind of the judge was almost frantic with impatience. The lawyer on the other side is one of the most eminent members of our profession. He is as lithe as a panther physically and mentally, sharp as a serpent's tooth, as lucid as the atmosphere on a cloudless day, and yet as suggestive as a hickory-wood fire in the old home fire- place on a wintry night. He paced the floor in impatience while Mr. Turgidity blew the clouds of dust from prece- dent after precedent. When it came his time to reply, he did so with a clear- ness and wealth of expression, an appropriateness of illustration, and a simplicity of reasoning that made one feel that the other man had committed an imperti- nence in presenting his side at all. Of course he won his case. The Young Lawyer IGl Respect yourself. A man may lose his money, his reputation — may even lose everything; and yet he has not lost everything if he retains his self-respect. Be a gentleman at the outset of your career and forever. Do not move among men like a beggar for favors. Do not wear poor clothes. Apparel yourself like a gentleman. No chent worth having respects you for advertising your poverty. Do not fear that your community will not know that you are poor. They know it, and sym- pathize with you. But every one of our race likes to see a man "game." Therefore, dress well. Bear yourself like a man who has prosperous potentiaUties if not pros- perous assets. Keep your office in as perfect condition as yourself. Remember that it is yoiu* workshop. Put all your extra money into books. There is no adornment of an office equal to a library, just as there is no adornment of a mechanic's shop equal to his tools. You know what you think of a doctor when you find his office equipped with the latest appliances. Do not permit your office to be a loafing place even for your fellow lawyers. You can not afford to cultivate professional courtesy at the expense of the disciphne of your office. It is nothing to your client that your friends find your society so charming that they seek the felicity of your conversation even in your office. Or, rather, it is something to your client — he wants his case won and he thinks that will take all your time. And so it will. Be very careful of the places you frequent. Remem- ber that Pericles was never seen except upon the street leading to the Senate House. Don't imitate anybody — be yourself. Still, if you must have the stimulus of imi- tation, pick out a man like Pericles for your model. 162 The Professions Depend upon yourself; do not call into council another attorney. This is a point on which most lawyers will disagree with me. Nevertheless, if you are not competent to handle your case, you have done wrong to open an independent office. If you call in another attorney, every probability is that you will suggest all the solutions yourself and in reality win the case; but your old and dis- tinguished associate will get all the credit. But you need all the credit for work which you really do. See well to your evidence before you go into the trial of a cause. Be very cautious on cross-examination. It is the most powerful but most dehcate and dangerous instrument known to the surgery of the law. Do not bluster, "bulldoze," or browbeat a witness; there is nothing in it. You only make the jury sympathize with the person abused. Remember that an American loves nothing so much as fair play. When on a jury, he is apt to regard you and the witness as adversaries, you the stronger and with immense advantage. Ask few questions on cross-examination. Employ the Socratic method always. Ask only those questions the logical conclusion of which is irresistible, and sto-p there. Don't press the conclusion on the witness. It is your province to show that in your argument. A timid witness, whom you know to be telling the truth, may often be confused by cross-examination and made to make a false statement; but this you have no right, as an honorable attorney, to make him do. A just judge ought to stop you if you try it. To confuse a witness whom you know to be telling the truth is not skill; it is a trick, and a very miserable trick, whose per- formance requires neither real abiUty nor learning. Think what a tremendous intellectual effort the prop- erly conducted lawsuit is. You must know your case; The Young Lawyer 163 you must know your evidence; you must know each witness as a person and each item of his testimony; you must know the law apphcable to your general proposition, and the general law upon its various ramifications; you must study the witnesses of the other side; and, almost more important than any of these, you must study that wonderful combination of intellect, prejudice, and passion called the jury. When the time comes for you to address that jury you must thoroughly understand each man. This is not that you may influence him, or "play upon" him, or resort to any of the devices of the baser sort. It is that you may know how best to get the truth of your case to him. How to get your theory, your cause, before each juror should be your only concern. Never try to be "eloquent." Never be funny. Wit may cause laughter, it never produces conviction. A joke may divert, it never persuades. It is unnecessary even to arouse a jury's sympathies. Forget everything except making the juror understand your case. The result will be that he will understand your case, and if he under- stands it, and it is a case you ought to win, his under- standing of it means that you will win it. Take at least one excellent legal periodical. There are four or five "law" magazines published in v^erica, some of them very good indeed. Do not pay any atten- tion to the digests of cases with which some of these periodicals burden their pages, except to see if there is a recent decision on some case you are trying. You can not remember them, and the effort to do so will only confuse. But you will usually find in each number one serious and profitable article, and possibly more, on matters of real interest to the profession. Read such articles very carefully. 164 The Professions The methods of scientific scholarship are now invading the law, and many of these legal essays are superb pieces of work. Now and then you will find a monograph of monumental worth. Such is the remarkable introduc- tion to Stephens's admirable work on "Pleading," to which I have already called your attention. Take part in politics. I know that it is an ordinary saying that a lawyer should leave politics alone. It is not true. What right have you, a member of the great profession which, more than all other forces combined, has established and defended liberty, to withdraw your- self from active participation in the sacred function of self-government? You have no such right. Of course you should not make politics your pro- fession. That is fatal to your success in the profession of the law. It is one profession or the other, one love or the other. But take part in your party's primaries. Make yourself so wise and useful that you will be an indis- pensable party counselor. By all means be a "factor" in your party. As you value life itself, do not permit yourself ever to be made a lobbyist under the guise of general employ- ment by a corporation or any other interest concerned in legislation. It is no doubt proper for a lawyer to make a legal argument before a legislative committee in behalf of clients. Nevertheless, I advise you not to do it. It is the first step toward the disreputable form of lobbying. There is, of course, perfectly proper and even necessary lobbying. But then tjou are a lawyer, are you not? We all know instances of brilliant lawyers and powerful men who have thus sold their birthrights for messes of pottage. No matter how much you need money, never accept a retainer or fee of any kind from any corporation, person, or "interest" which really does not want your The Young Lawyer 165 active service, but in that manner is purchasing your silence. Accept no employment except real, genuine employ- ment for actual, tangible, and honest work. Money obtained from any other kind of employment is a loss to you in every way, even financially. Think daily of the nobility and dignity of your pro- fession. Remember the great men that have adorned it and established the pillars of its glory. They were gentlemen, men of learning, of breeding, of honor as delicate as a woman's blush. Be you such, or leave the profession. Keep in mind the lords of the bar. Resolve each morning when you awake that, to the utmost of your efforts, you will strive to be one of them — in learning full and thorough, in courtesy delicate, in courage fearless, in character spotless, in all things and at all seasons the true knight of Justice. Finally, preserve your health, preserve your health, preserve your health. Work, work, work. Cling to the loftiest ideals of your profession which your mind can conceive. Do these; keep up your nerve; never despair; and success is certain, distinction probable, and greatness possible, according to your natural abilities. LINCOLN, THE LAWYERS By FREDERICK TREVOR HILL HE quality of the talk which passed over the counters of Offutt's store was probably- superior to the quality of its merchandise, for, despite the remarkable popularity of the salesman, the business dwindled until it finally "winked out, " as Lincoln said of one of his later ventures. At this crisis, however, an event occurred which set all the country talking, and the passing of the village emporium was scarcely noticed. Black Hawk, an Indian chief, was reported to be on the warpath, and the governor of the state hastily called for volunteers. Lincoln in- stantly responded, and was subsequently elected captain of his company — a success which, he declared, gave him more pleasure than any of the honors which afterward fell to his lot. The so-called Black Hawk War lasted only a few weeks. It was in many ways a ridiculous, if not contemptible, affair, and Lincoln did not reach the front until it was virtually over. His company was disbanded shortly after it was formed, but he reenlisted as a private for the remainder of the campaign, and was finally mustered out by a young lieutenant of the regular army, whom he was destined to meet again under more dramatic auspices, — Major Robert Anderson, the commander of Fort Sumter. It was characteristic of the man that at a time when ' By courtesy of the Author and The Century Company. Copyright, 1906. 166 Lincoln the Lawyer 167 military titles were the fashion Lincoln did not retain his, and would never permit any one to address him as captain. Indeed, years afterward, when congressmen attempted to make political capital for General Cass out of that gentleman's not too distinguished record in the War of 1812, he disposed of the pretensions with a laugh at his own military history. "By the way, Mr. Speaker," he began with deep gravity, "did you know that I am a military hero? Yes, sir. In the days of the Black Hawk War I fought, bled, and came away. ... I was not at Stillman's defeat, but I was about as near to it as Cass was to Hull's surrender, and, like him, I saw the place very soon afterward. . . . If General Cass went in advance of me in picking huckle- berries, I guess I surpassed him in charges upon the wild onions. If he saw any live, fighting Indians, it was more than I did; but I had a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes. Mr. Speaker, if I should ever conclude to doff whatever our Democratic friends may suppose there is of black-cockade federalism about me, and there- upon they shall take me up as their candidate for the presidency, I protest they shall not make fun of me, as they have of General Cass, by attempting to write me into a mihtary hero. " Farcical as this campaign was, it had, nevertheless, an important bearing on Lincoln's professional career; for it brought him to the notice of his future law partner, Major John T. Stuart, one of the Springfield volunteers, and the major's friendly advice and the use of his small law library encouraged the ex-clerk to pursue his legal studies. The political canvass in lUinois was almost over when the "veteran" of the Black Hawk War returned to New Salem; but there was still time to make a few 168 The Professions speeches in aid of his candidacy for the state legislature, and he threw himself into the contest with vigor and spirit. When the votes were counted, however, he found himself rejected — the first and only time he was ever defeated by direct popular vote. But Lincoln had stated in the circular announcing his candidacy that if the people should see fit to keep him in the background, he was too familiar with disap- pointments to be very much chagrined, and there is no indication that he was particularly discouraged at the result, although it compelled him to seek immediate employment, and interfered to that extent with his preparation for the bar. He had to earn his living, but if he could find work which would allow him some leisure for study, he did not care much what it was, and when a dissolute fellow named Berry, who had purchased an interest in a grocery store, proposed a partnership, Offutt's ex-clerk grasped the opportunity. A more ill-assorted couple than Berry and Lincoln it would be difficult to imagine, but their ideas of the part- nership were mutually satisfactory. The senior partner drank up all the profits of the business, and the junior member devoted himself to the study of law. As might be expected, this division of the labors and responsibil- ities of shopkeeping was not highly remunerative, and Lincoln afterward remarked that the best stroke of business he ever did in the grocery line was when he bought an old barrel from an immigrant for fifty cents and discovered under some rubbish at the bottom a complete set of Blackstone's Commentaries. That was a red-letter day in his life, and we have his own word for it that he literally devoured the volumes. They must, indeed, have been a glad contrast to the dry Indiana statutes; and if Lincoln's choice of a profession must be Lincoln the Lawyer 169 attributed to a law book, no more plausible selection than Blackstone's Commentaries could possibly be made. Berry & Lincoln virtually lived on their stock of mer- chandise, Berry drinking and Lincoln eating it up, and matters soon reached a crisis which drove the junior partner out into the fields again, where he undertook all sorts of rough farm labor, from splitting rails to plowing. As a man-of-all-work, however, Lincoln did not prove altogether satisfactory to his employers. He was too fond of momiting stumps in the field and "practising polemics" on the other farm hands, and there was some- thing uncomfortable about a plowman who read as he followed the team, no matter how straight his furrows ran. Such practices were irritating, if not presumptuous, and there is a well-known story about a farmer who found "the hired man" lying in a field beside the road, dressed in his not too immaculate farm clothes, with a book instead of a pitchfork in his hand. "What are you reading?" inquired the old gentleman. "I 'm not reading; I 'm studying," answered Lincoln, his wonderful eyes still on the pages of his book. "Studying what?" "Law, sir." The old man stared at the speaker for a moment in utter amazement. "Great — God — Almighty!" he muttered as he passed on, shaking his head. But even with odd jobs and the postmastership of New Salem, Lincoln could Scarcely make ends meet, and he was glad to receive the appointment of deputy to Calhoun, the county surveyor. He was sorely in need of the salary, but he would not accept the office under any misunderstanding. With characteristic frankness he admitted that he knew nothing about surveying, and 170 The Professions explained that he was not of his employer's pohtical faith. Being assured, however, that his politics made no difference, he applied himself to the study of surveying, and so well did he qualify himself for the work that none of his surveys was ever questioned, and the information he acquired stood him in good stead when he came to practice law. One of his legal opinions on a question of surveying is in existence to-day. Meanwhile what remained of the grocery business was sold on credit. The purchasers defaulted, and Berry died, leaving his partner to shoulder all the not incon- siderable debts. Credit in those days was freely extended and it was not considered dishonorable to evade the payment of claims which passed into the hands of speculators. Berry & Lincoln had obtained very little when they purchased the grocery, and the sellers probably parted with the firm's notes for a small fraction of their face value. The men who bought paper of that sort usually sold it again at the first opportunity or traded it off for something else, and thus it passed from hand to hand until some speculator who had obtained it for nothing or next to nothing appeared and demanded the uttermost farthing. Naturally, this dubious business encouraged evasion of the debts, and pubhc opinion countenanced the repudi- ations. But to Lincoln a promise was a promise, and although the action of one of the parties who had acquired his and Berry's notes was particularly contemptible, he stooped to neither compromise nor evasion. Little by httle he reduced the claims, and fourteen years after- ward he devoted part of his salary as congressman to this purpose, and finally extinguished what he jestingly termed his "national debt." Lincoln the Lawyer 171 In these days, when lawyers of high standing lend themselves to the thousand and one trickeries by which bankruptcy has become a new way to pay old debts, when influential firms accept retainers from insolvent clients who retain their memberships in fashionable clubs and managing clerks are encouraged to make "affidavits of merit" on behalf of such gentry, it is refreshing to think of the struggling Illinois law student who refused to take advantage of the law. This episode would be of merely passing interest did it not foreshadow Lincoln's conduct when face to face with the countless temptations and sophistries of the profession. It is important solely because it is illustra- tive and characteristic of his entire legal career, and it will be seen that he never consented to do anything in a representative capacity which he would not countenance in himself as an individual, that he maintained the ideals of advocacy in his daily contact with the legal world, and made no sacrifice of private principles in his long and active experience. Had he no other claim than this to legal recognition, that service alone should entitle him to high rank as a lawyer, and to far higher standing in the profession than that assigned to many acknowledged leaders of the bar. It will be demonstrated, however, that honor and honesty were not the only rare legal qualities which distinguished Lincoln the lawyer in his three-and-twenty years of practice. His duties as surveyor carried Lincoln to all parts of Sangamon County and widened his acquaintance until, in 1834, he felt himself strong enough to make another canvass for the legislature. This time he was successful beyond his hopes, securing more votes than any other candidate save one; and some idea of the esteem in which 172 The Professions his neighbors held him may be gathered from the result in New Salem, where he received 208 out of the 211 ballots cast, a tribute which proves that a man is some- times a prophet even in his own country. The duties of a State legislator in those days were even less confining than they are now, and although the re- muneration was small, it enabled Lincoln to drop his surveying work and devote his entire leisure to the law. He had already begun practice in an apprentice way, occasionally drawing deeds and bills of sale for his neigh- bors and "pettifogging" before Justice Bowling Green; and biographers, better acquainted with hterary values than with law, have seized upon the fact that he was not paid for this work to illustrate his generosity and help- fulness. One of the recent histories states that "poor as he was, he never accepted a fee for such services because he felt that he was fully paid by the experience." Probably it more than paid him, but in view of Ilhnois law, which imposes a heavy penalty on unlicensed persons who accept compensation for attorney work, and in the light of similar provisions in the Indiana Revised Statutes, which Lincoln is supposed to have memorized, page, verse, and chapter, the attempt to praise his for- bearance makes a ludicrous virtue of necessity. Lincoln protested that no pseudo-partisans of his should ever make fun of him by trying to write him into a military hero; but he could not protect himself on every side, and his friends, the eulogists, have certainly done their best to make him ridiculous. At the next election the young law student was again a candidate for the legislature, and his friends were so anxious for his success that they raised two hundred dollars to defray the expenses of a thorough canvass. He was triumphantly elected at the head of the poll, and Lincoln the Lawyer 173 returned one hundred and ninety-nine dollars and twenty- five cents of the campaign fund, stating to the subscribers that his total outlay had been only seventy-five cents. His plurality at this election was even more a personal tribute than the vote of the previous year, for his services during his first term in the legislature had not been remarkable. Indeed, there is nothing particularly note- worthy in his legislative record from beginning to end, except as it illustrates his growing poUtical sagacity and genius for leadership. At the close of his second term, in March, 1837, he moved to Springfield. He was then in his twenty- ninth year, vigorous in body, serious-minded and develop- ing intellectually with every fresh mental impulse. He arrived at the new State capital without money and with no baggage to speak of, but soon found himself among friends. Joshua Speed, a prosperous merchant, offered to share his lodging with the embryo lawyer, and was promptly taken at his word. This arrangement was merely temporary, for a few days later Major Stuart, in whose office Lincoln had served an informal legal apprenticeship, offered him a partnership, and the firm of Stuart & Lincoln entered on the practice of law, the junior partner literally living in the office. It is improbable that Lincoln was obUged to pass any examination for admission to the bar. Certainly there is no record of any such formality, and the existing stat- utes did not, in express terms, provide for it. There was, however, a provision which permitted attorneys from other states to be licensed without examination, which suggests that native candidates may have been subjected to some sort of mental test. Certainly, ten or fifteen years later, Lincoln himself was appointed by the ]74 The Professions court to examine applicants; but the requirements, even at that date, were not very severe, and about the most important question which a novitiate had to answer was what he proposed to do for the bar in the way of an initiatory "treat," and this took every form, from a dinner to drinks all around. There is no doubt, however, that he was legally quali- fied on March 24, 1836, and his professional life properly dates from then. Illinois was only just emerging from the condition of a frontier state in 1836, and all departments of the goverimient were still very simply administered. The judges were in some respects superior to their brethren of Indiana, but they were not overburdened with learn- ing; and although Governor Ford's "History of Early Ilhnois" records the names of half a dozen attorneys of reputed ability and scholarship, it is doubtful if the rank and file of the primitive bar knew much more law than the layman of equal intelligence. Most of the courthouses were log built, as in Indiana, but in some districts the sessions were held in the bar- rooms of taverns, and the absence of all formality in the proceedings is best illustrated by the fact that in the Circuit Court of Washington County, held by Judge John Reynolds, the sheriff usually heralded his Honor by singing out: "Come in, boys! Our John is a-goin' to hold court!" to which cordial invitation those having business with the law responded. Picturesque as was this old regime, and practical as it was for pioneer conditions, it speedily yielded to the march of progress, and when Lincoln joined the ranks of the profession it had virtually disappeared. Already the log courthouses had given way to frame buildings and structures of brick, and the steadily increasing im- Lincoln the Lawyer 175 migration was bringing legal talent of a higher order than the state had ever known. A new generation of judges and lawyers was soon to control the administration of justice, and before many years the local bar of Spring- field was to produce jurists and statesmen of national repute. Major Stuart, with whom Lincoln had joined forces, was not, in his early years, a well-read or even an industri- ous lawyer, but he was popular and had an extensive, if not very lucrative, practice, which he was entirely wilUng to intrust to his new associate. Indeed, when the firm was formed he was so deeply engrossed in politics that he gave little or no attention to the law, and Lincoln had to assume virtually all responsibility for the business. Of course, if the procedure had been complicated or technical, a novice would have speedily come to grief; but the character of litigation was very simple in those days, the precedents were few and far between, and the legal forms exceeding elastic. Lincoln met such difficul- ties as there were in his own way, asking as little advice as possible and exercising his ingenuity to bridge the gaps in his information when his partner was not avail- able for consultation. The habit of standing on his own feet and doing his own thinking, which was thus forced upon him at the very outset of his practice, became his most notable trait. One of his contemporaries, closely in touch with his professional life, testifies that he never asked another lawyer's advice on any subject whatsoever. He listened to his associates and consulted with them, but he worked out his own problems, and there was never anything of the "brain-tapper" about his relations with the bar. The influence of this early training is plainly dis- cernible in the remarkable self-reliance and resoiuce- 176 The Professions fulness which he exhibited in his later years. New questions did not confuse him; he faced emergencies with perfect serenity, and he had long been accustomed to responsibility when he was called upon to decide questions of national import. Springfield, the new capital of Illinois, was a mere village when Stuart & Lincoln hung out their shingle. The statehouse had not been built, the sessions of the legislature were held in a church, and the houses were scattered and poorly constructed. The business centered around a vacant plot of ground which passed for a public square, and many of the lawyers' offices were "in their hats." Lincoln's partner, however, was a person of some importance in the community, and his office was situated in Hoffman's Row, over what was then the county court- house. Compared with the luxury and convenience of modern law chambers, the appointments of this office seem somewhat meager. The furniture consisted of a roughly made table, one chair, a lounge, a bench, and an old wood stove, and the library comprised five Ilhnois Reports and about twenty volumes of miscellaneous law books, legislative reports, and congressional documents, arranged on clumsy board shelves nailed to the bare walls. Inadequate as this equipment may appear, it was superior to that of the average country practitioner. Indeed, Mr. Conkling, in his legal reminiscences of Chicago, states that there were not at that time half a dozen law libraries in the city which could boast a hun- dred volumes, and that the Revised Statutes, the Illinois Form-book, and a few elementary treatises constituted the usual legal outfit. In this small, bare, and uninviting office Lincoln passed much of his time for the next few years, working there Lincoln the Lawyer 177 by day and sleeping at night on the crazy old lounge, covered with a buffalo robe. Fortunately for him, there was no necessity for such engrossing desk work as is now required of ambitious attorneys; but there was more dull, clerical routine than falls to the lot of the average practitioner of to-day. All legal papers had to be written out in longhand; and as there were no duplicating machines, every additional copy meant con- siderable manual labor, and most of this drudgery fell upon the junior partner. He not only drew the papers, but he kept the books of the firm, and while Stuart was in Congress he tried almost all the cases. That he had virtually no legal precedents to guide him was distinctly an advantage. In these days of encyclopedias and digests, a man who enters upon the study of law with a creative mind, capable of logical deductions and close reasoning, is apt to become^" case- ridden" before he has fairly started on his practice. Many modern students unconsciously surrender their judgment to the guidance of the court of last resort. Their sense of justice sways with the prevailing opinion; they cease to reason, and merely parrot the latest de- cisions. Lincoln was subjected to no such stunting influences. He reasoned out new propositions with an unbiased mind, not with the idea of agreeing or disagreeing with the previously expressed conclusions of some other intellect, but to get at the truth of the matter; and doubtless this training enabled him at a later period to state political issues with more originality and clearness than any other speaker of his day. There is a story to the effect that when he argued his first appeal before the Supreme Court at Springfield, he announced that all the adjudications he had been able 178 The Professions to find were against his contention, and he would, there- fore, merely read the decisions he had collated and submit the matter to the court. If this story be true, it is certainly fortunate that legal precedents were rare in Illinois, otherwise Lincoln might have been browbeaten by authority, as are some of our case lawyers of to-day. The anecdote is not authenti- cated, however, and it is probably apocryphal. Even if the young advocate had been doubtful of his cause, he would never have meekly read it out of court with adverse decisions. As a matter of self-interest, he would have made the best argument of which he was capable; for the public was largely represented at all judicial hearings, and it was highly important for a beginner to make a good impression on the assembled audience. He was far too shrewd to have made an exhibition of himself by quoting decisions against his own chent, and tamely submitting his cause to the court. Such a per- formance would have ruined a newcomer, for it would have been laughed at in every corner of his small commu- nity before the day was over. Lincoln, on the contrary, made a favorable impression from the start, and Spring- field soon came to hold his legal ability in high esteem. Although it was important for a young attorney to give a good account of himself in the public sessions of the courts, it was scarcely less essential that he should make himself felt in the rough-and-tumble debates at the general store or other headquarters of public opinion. The lawyer who waited for business to come to him in those days would never have built up a clientele. The village forums were the places where reputations were won or lost, and the man who made his mark there was soon sought as a legal champion. Lincoln more than held his own in these semi-public discussions and arguments, Lincoln the Lawyer 179 and before long his advent was hailed with delight by the habitues of Speed's store, the most popular arena in Springfield. But though his friends and neighbors recognized his ability and proclaimed it, his uncouth appearance was decidedly against him, and he not only failed to inspire strangers with confidence, but actually invited their derision and contempt. Shortly after he became associated with Stuart, the latter sent him to try a case in McLean County for an Englishman named Baddeley, giving him a letter of intro- duction, which advised the client that he could rely upon the bearer to try his case in the best possible manner. Baddeley inspected his counsel's partner with amaze- ment and chagrin. The young man was six feet four, awkward, ungainly, and apparently shy. He was dressed in ill-fitting homespun clothes, the trousers a Uttle too short, and the coat a trifle too large. He had the appear- ance "of a rustic on his first visit to the circus," and as the chent gazed on him, his astonishment turned to indig- nation and rage. What did Stuart mean by sending a country bumpkin of that sort to represent him? It was preposterous, insulting, and not to be endured. Without attempting to conceal his disgust, Baddeley unceremoniously dispensed with Lincoln's services and straightway retained James A. McDougall, later a United States senator from California, to take charge of the case. History does not relate whether the irate Englishman won or lost the cause, but we know that he lived to be- come one of Lincoln's most ardent admirers. This was not the last time Lincoln's personal appear- ance was to prejudice him in the practice of the law. Many years later, Stanton, then one of the leading lawyers in the country, was to snub "the long-armed 180 The Professions creature from Illinois" who presumed to assist him in a celebrated case; and he also lived to revise his judgment and acknowledge the superiority of the man he flouted. The record of Lincoln's practice with Stuart is very meager and unsatisfactory. The first case with which his name was connected as an attorney was Hawthorne vs. Woolridge, one of three cases growing out of the same matter which was being litigated in Stuart's office before Lincoln was admitted to the bar, and of which he appar- ently had charge during his apprenticeship. The action, however, never came to trial, being settled out of court, and the papers indicate that it and the other cases with which it was connected made much ado about nothing, a not uncommon feature of pioneer lawsuits. People carried their differences into the courts far more readily in those days than they do now, and petty actions for trespass, assault, and similar grievances filled the docket. The conduct of such cases did not require any very intimate knowledge of law; and as the advocates rehed largely on fervid oratory to influence the juries, Lincoln had no trouble in meeting his opponents on even terms. Some of his early pofitical speeches which have been preserved demonstrate that he was capable of providing flowery eloquence of the most sonorous quality when occasion demanded it, and unquestionably he gave the country jurors just the sort of talk they liked, for he was admittedly successful as a pleader. Springfield instantly recognized Lincoln as a first-class stump speaker, an irresistible mimic, and an inimitable raconteur, and it was not long before his humorous stories and dry, witty remarks began to pass from mouth to mouth; but he had been in practice, fully a year before he demonstrated his qualities as a lawyer, and then it was discovered that this tolerant, good-natured attorney. Lincoln the Lawyer 181 though slow to wrath, was, when once aroused, a relent- less enemy to the evildoer. One James Adams, who called himself a general and posed as a lawyer, became a candidate for the office of probate justice in Springfield. At or about the same time a widow named Anderson discovered that some one had forged her husband's name to a deed of his real estate, and that the property to which she supposed she was entitled stood in the name of "General" Adams. At this stage of the proceedings she retained Stuart & Lincoln, and trouble began for the "general." Lincoln speedily made up his mind that this man was a scoundrel, and he not only brought suit for the recovery of the widow's property, but camped on Adams's trail, attacking him with handbills, newspaper articles, and in the courts, and never resting until he unearthed a copy of a New York indictment charging him with another forgery, and describing him as "a person of evil name and fame and of wicked disposition." This put the "general" to flight; the woman won her suit and recovered the property, and Lincoln's services as a lawyer began to be in demand. But though his cases were numerous, they were not very lucrative. Only two or three of the fees recorded in the firm's books for the year 1837 amount to fifty dollars, and most of the entries show five dollars charged as trial fee. A chancery case under date 1837-8 shows a debit of fifty dollars, below which is written "credit by coat to Stuart, fifteen dollars, " making the net cash charge thirty-five dollars, which indicates that the firm sometimes "took it out in trade." These modest retainers, however, do not by any means indicate that Stuart & Lincoln were unsuccessful or even in a small way of business. The firm ranked well in Springfield, and the capital was at that period second 182 The Professions only to Chicago in importance in the state of Illinois. The days of great retainers and vast fortunes accumu- lated in the practice of the law had not as yet arrived, and the highest legal authorities in the land did not command very princely revenues. There is reason to believe that Daniel Webster's income from the practice of his profession did not average ten thousand dollars a year, and often fell far short of it. Lincoln never kept any private account books, and the firm records are incomplete, so it is impossible to tell exactly what his early practice was worth in dollars and cents. At all events, it was sufficient, with his salary as State legislator, to enable him to pay his expenses and reduce his debts, and this was his only ambition in monetary matters. In 1839, while Lincoln was attending the sessions of the legislature, a company of players "on tour" reached the city, and their adventures, as described by the late dean of the American stage, then a little lad of ten, give an excellent picture of the times. "Springfield being the capital of Illinois," writes Mr. Jefferson in his Autobiography, " it was determined to devote the entire season to the entertainment of the mem- bers of the legislature. Having made money for several weeks previous to our arrival, the manager resolved to hire a lot and build a theater. The building of a theater in those days did not require the amount of capital that it does now. Folding opera chairs were unknown. Gas was an occult mystery not yet acknowledged as a fact by the unscientific world of the West. The new theater was about ninety feet deep and about forty feet wide. No attempt was made at ornamentation; and as it was unpainted, the simple hnes of architecture upon which it was constructed gave it the appearance of a large dry- Lincoln the Lawyer 183 goods box with a roof. I do not think my father nor Mr. McKenzie (his partner) had ever owned anything with a roof until now, so they were naturally proud of their possession. " In the midst of our rising fortunes a heavy blow fell upon us. A religious revival was in progress at the time, and the fathers of the church not only launched forth against us in their sermons, but by some political maneu- ver got the city to pass a new law enjoining a heavy license against our ' unholy ' calling. I forget the amount, but it was large enough to be prohibitory. Here was a terrible condition of affairs. All our available funds in- vested, the legislature in session, the town full of people, and we, by a heavy license, denied the privilege of open- ing the new theater. "In the midst of these troubles a young lawyer called upon the manager. He had heard of the injustice, and offered, if they would place the matter in his hands, to have the license taken off, declaring he only desired to see fair play, and he would accept no fee whether he failed or succeeded. The young lawyer began his harangue. He handled the subject with tact, skill, and humor, tracing the history of the drama from the time when Thespis acted in a cart to the stage of to-day. He illus- trated his speech with a number of anecdotes, and kept the council in a roar of laughter; his good humor pre- vailed, and the exorbitant tax was taken off. " This young lawyer," continues Mr. Jefferson, " was very popular in Springfield and was honored and beloved by all who knew him, and after the time of which I write he held a rather important position in the government of the United States. He now Hes buried near Springfield, under a monument commemorating his greatness and his » virtues — and his name was Abraham Lincoln." 184 The Professions There are many more or less authentic anecdotes con- cerning Lincoln's early practice, but neither the character of the litigation in which he was engaged nor its remuner- ation affords any fair criterion of his legal ability. He should be judged by the place he won for himself among his contemporaries. The newly settled states attracted immigration of a high order of intelligence, and Ilhnois was particularly fortunate in its new citizens. Young men came from the East and the South, Americans of energy, ambition, and strength, who rapidly adapted themselves to their new surroundings and became thoroughly identified with the local interests. Douglas, Baker, Logan, Edwards, McClernand, Stuart, Trumbull, McDougall, Browning, Hardin, Davis, Lincoln — every one of them was of Anglo- Saxon stock. These were some of the men with whom Lincoln associated in his practice, and many of them were already admitted to the bar when he joined the ranks of the profession. Among the members of the backwoods legislature to which Lincoln was first elected were a future President of the United States, a future candidate for the presi- dency, six future United States senators, eight future members of Congress, a future cabinet secretary, and no less than three future judges of the state, to say nothing of other men who distinguished themselves profession- ally in later years. Almost without exception, these men were lawyers, and Lincoln met and practiced against all of them during the four-and-twenty years of his pro- fessional life. To hold one's own in such a briUiant coterie would certainly be a creditable achievement, but it can be demonstrated that Lincoln, early in his career, became one of the leaders, if not the leader, of the Spring- field bar. THE OPPORTUNITY IN THE LAW^ By LOUIS D. BRANDEIS HE legal profession affords in America unusual opportunities for usefulness. That this has been so in the past, no one acquainted with the history of our institutions can for a mo- ment doubt. The great achievement of the English- speaking people is the attainment of liberty through law. It is natural, therefore, that those who have been trained in the law should have borne an important part in that struggle for liberty and in the government which resulted. Accordingly, we find that, in America, the lawyer was in the earlier period almost omnipresent in the state. Nearly every great lawyer was then a statesman; and nearly every statesman, great or small, was a lawyer. De Tocqueville, the first great foreign observer of American political institutions, said of the United States of seventy- five years ago: "In America there are no nobles or literary men, and the people are apt to mistrust the wealthy; lawyers, consequently, form the highest political class. As the lawyers form the only enlightened class whom the people do not mistrust, they are naturally called upon to occupy most of the public stations. They fill the legisla- tive assemblies and are at the head of the administration ; they consequently exercise a powerful influence upon the formation of the law and upon its execution." For centuries before the American Revolution the law- yer had played an important part in England. His im- portance in the state became much greater in America. ' By courtesy of the Author and " The American Law Magazine." 185 186 The Professions This was partly, as indicated by De Tocqueville, because there was no class like the nobles which took part in government by reason of privilege, but more largely be- cause with the introduction of a written constitution the law played with us a far more important part in the ordi- nary conduct of political life than it did in England. Legal questions were constantly arising and the lawyer was necessary to settle them. But, I take it, the paramount reason why the lawyer has played so large a part in our political life is this: his training fits him especially to grapple with the questions which are presented in a democracy. The whole training of the lawyer leads to the develop- ment of judgment. His early training — I mean his work with books, in the study of legal rules — teaches him patient research and develops both the memory and the reasoning faculties. He becomes practiced in logic; and yet the use of the reasoning faculties in the study of law is very different from their use, say, in metaphysics. The lawyer's processes of reasoning, his logical conclu- sions, are being constantly tested by experience. The facts are running up against him at every point. Indeed, it is a maxim of the law: " Out of the facts grows the law "; that is, propositions are not considered abstractly, but always with reference to facts. Again, in the investigation of the facts the lawyer differs very materially from the scientist, or the scholar. The lawyer's investigations into the facts have necessarily present in them the limitations of time and space. His investigations have reference always to some prac- tical end. Unlike the scientist he ordinarily can not refuse to reach a conclusion on the ground that he lacks the facts sufficient to enable one to form an opinion. Generally he must form an opinion from those facts which The Opportunity in the Law 187 he has gathered; he must reason from the facts within his grasp.- If the lawyer's practice is a general one, his field of observation extends in course of time into almost every sphere of business and of life. The facts so gathered ripen his judgment because his memory is trained to retentive- ness and his mind practiced in discrimination as well as in generahzation. He is an observer of men even more than of things. He not only sees men of all kinds but knows their deepest secrets; sees them in situations which "try men's souls." He is apt to become a judge of men. Then, contrary to what might seem to be the habit of the lawyer's mind, the practice of law tends to make the lawyer judicial in attitude and extremely tolerant. His profession rests upon the postulate that no contested ques- tion can be properly decided until both sides are heard. His experience teaches him that nearly every question has two sides; and very often he finds — after decision of judge or jury — that both he and his opponent were in the wrong. The practice of law creates thus a habit of mind, and leads to attainments which are distinctly different from those developed in most professions or outside of the pro- fessions. By reason of that fact the lawyer has acquired a position materially different from that of other men. It is the position of the adviser of men. In reviewing American conditions, after his recent visit, Mr. Bryce said: "Lawyers are now to a greater extent than formerly business men, a part of the great organized system of indus- trial and financial enterprise. They are less than formerly the students of a particular kind of learning, the practi- tioners of a particular art. And they do not seem to be so much of a distinct professional class." 188 The Professions This is a statement of a very sympatlietic observer of American institutions; but it would seem from tliig that Mr. Bryce coincided in the view commonly expressed, that the bar had become commercialized in becoming a part of business. I am inclined to think that this view is not altogether correct. Probably business has become pro- fessionalized even more than the bar has become conamer- cialized. Is it not this which has made the lawyer so important a part of the business world? The ordinary man thinks of the bar as a body of men who are trying cases, perhaps even trjdng criminal cases. Of course there is an immense amount of litigation going on and a great deal of the time of many lawyers is devoted to litigation. But by far the greater part of the work done by lawyers is not done in court at all, but in advis- ing men in important matters, and mainly in business affairs. In the guiding of great affairs industrially and financially the lawyers haveplayed an ever-increasing part, have played it mainly, because the particular mental attri- butes and attainments which the legal profession develops are demanded in the proper handling of these great affairs, be they financial, industrial, or commercial. The magnitude and scope of these operations remove them almost wholly from the realm of "petty trafficking" which people formerly used to associate with trade. The questions which arise are more nearly questions of states- manship. The relations created call in many instances for the exercise of the highest diplomacy. The magni- tude, difficulty, and importance of the questions involved are often as great as in the matters of State with which lawyers were formerly frequently associated. The ques- tions appear in a different guise but they are similar. The relations between rival railroad systems are like the relations between neighboring kingdoms. The relations The Opportunity in the Law 189 of the great trusts to the consumers or to their employees is like that of feudal lords to commoners or dependents. The relations of public service corporations to the people raise questions not unlike those presented by the monop- olies of old. So, some of the ablest American lawyers of this genera- tion, after acting as professional advisers of great corpora- tions, have became finally their managers. The controlling intellect of the great Atchison Railroad System, its vice- president, Mr. Victor Morawetz, graduated at the Harvard Law School about twenty-five years ago and shortly after- wards attained distinction by writing an extraordinarily good book on the Law of Corporations. The head of the great Bell Telephone System of the United States, Mr. Frederick P. Fish, was at the time of his appointment to that office, probably our leading patent lawyer. In the same way and for the same reason, lawyers have entered into the world of finance. Mr. James J. Storrow, who was a law partner of Mr. Fish, has become leading member of the old banking firm of Lee, Higginson & Co. A former law partner of Mr. Morawetz, Mr. Charles Steele, became a member of the firm of J. P. Morgan & Co. Their legal training was called for in the business world because business had become largely professionalized. And therefore, although the lawyer is not playing in affairs of State the part that he did, his influence is, or at all events may be, quite as important as it ever was in the United States; and it is simply a question how that influ- ence is to be exerted. It is true that at the present time the lawyer does not hold that position with the people that he held seventy- five or indeed fifty years ago ; but the reason is not lack of opportunity. It is this: Instead of holding a position of independence, between the wealthy and the people, pre- 190 The Professions pared to curb the excesses of either, able lawyers have, to a large extent, allowed themselves to become adjuncts of great corporations and have neglected their obligation to use their powers for the protection of the people. We hear much of the "corporation lawyer" and far too little of the "people's lawyer." The great opportunity of the American bar is and will be to stand again as it did in the past, ready to protect also the interests of the people. Mr. Bryce in discussing our bar said, in his "American Commonwealth " : "But I am bound to add that some judicious American observers hold that the last thirty years have witnessed a certain decadence in the bar of the great cities. They say that the growth of the enormously rich and powerful corporations, willing to pay vast sums for questionable services, has seduced the virtue of some counsel whose emi- nence makes their example important." The leading lawyers of the United States have been engaged mainly in supporting the claims of the corpora- tions; often in endeavoring to evade or nullify the extremely crude laws by which legislators sought to regulate the power or curb the excesses of corporations. Such questions as the regulation of trusts, the fixing of raUway rates, the municipalization of public utilities, the relation between capital and labor, call for the exercise of legal abihty of the highest order. Up to the present time the legal ability of a high order which has been expended on those questions has been almost wholly in opposition to the contentions of the people. The leaders of the bar, without any preconceived intent on their part, and rather as an incident to their professional standing, have, with rare exceptions, been ranged on the side of the corpora- tions, and the people have been represented in the main by men of very meager legal ability. The Opportunity in the Law 191 If these problems are to be settled right, this condition can not continue. Our country is, after all, not a country of dollars, but of ballots. The immense corporate wealth will necessarily develop a hostility, from which much trouble will come to us unless the excesses of capital are curbed, through the respect for law, as the excesses of de- mocracy were curbed seventy-five years ago. There will come a revolt of the people against the capitalists unless the aspirations of the people are given some adequate legal expression; and to this end cooperation of the leaders of the bar is essential. For nearly a generation the leaders of the bar, with few exceptions, have not only failed to take part in any con- structive legislation designed to solve, in the interest of the people, our great social, economic and industrial problems, they have failed likewise to oppose legislation prompted by selfish interests. They have often gone further in disregard of public interest. They have, at times, advo- cated as lawyers legislative measures which as citizens they could not approve, and have endeavored to justify them- selves by a false analogy. They have erroneously assumed that the rule of ethics to be applied to a lawyer's advocacy is the same where he acts for private interests against the public as it is in litigation between private individuals. The ethical question which laymen most frequently ask about the legal profession is this : How can a lawyer take a case which he does not believe in? The profession is regarded as necessarily somewhat immoral, because its members are supposed to be habitually taking cases they do not believe in. As a practical matter, I think the lawyer is not often har- assed by this problem, partly because he is apt to believe at the time in most of the cases that he actually tries, and partly because he either abandons or settles a large number 192 The Professions of those he does not believe in. In any event, the lawyer recognizes that in trying a case his prime duty is to present his side to the tribunal fairly and as well as he can, relying upon his adversary to present his case fairly and as well as he can. As the lawyers on the two sides are usually reasonably well matched, the judge or jury may ordinarily be trusted to make such a decision as justice demands. But when lawyers act upon the same principle in sup- porting the attempts of their private clients to secure or to oppose legislation, a very different condition is presented. In the first place, the counsel selected to represent impor- tant private interests possesses usually ability of a high order, while the public is often inadequately represented or wholly unrepresented. That presents a condition of great unfairness to the public. As a result, many bills pass in our legislatures which would not have become law if the pubUc interest had been fairly represented; and many good bills are defeated which, if supported by able lawyers, would have been enacted. Lawyers have, as a rule, failed to consider this distinc- tion between practice in the court involving only private interests and practice before the legislature or city council where public interests are involved. Some men of high professional standing have even endeavored to justify their course in advocating professionally legislation which in their character as citizens they would have voted against. Furthermore, lawyers of high standing have often failed to apply in connection with professional work before the legislature or city council a rule of ethics which they would deem imperative in practice before the court. Lawyers who would indignantly retire from a court case in the justice of which they believed, if they had reason to think that a juror had been bribed or a witness had been sub- orned by their cUent, are content to serve their client by After the paintiiiii hii simmons Justice The Opportunity in the Law 193 honest arguments before a legislative committee, although they have as great reason to think that their client has bribed members of the legislature or corrupted pubhc opinion. This confusion of ethical ideas has prevented the bar from taking at the present time the position which it held formerly as a brake upon democracy, and which I believe it must take again before the serious questions now before us can be solved. Here, consequently, is the great opportunity of the bar. The next generation must witness a continuing and ever- increasing contest between those who have and those who have not. The industrial world is in a state of ferment. The ferment is in the main peaceful, and, to a consider- able extent, silent; but there is felt to-day very widely the inconsistency in this condition of political democracy and industrial absolutism. The people are beginning to doubt whether in the long run democracy and absolutism can coexist in the same community; beginning to doubt whether there is a justification for the great inequalities in the distribution of wealth, for the rapid creation of for- tunes, more mysterious than the deeds of Aladdin's lamp. The people have begun to think; and they show evi- dences on all sides of a tendency to act. Those of you who have not had an opportunity of talking much with laboring men can hardly form a conception of the amount of thinking that they are doing. With many it is the all- absorbing occupation, the only thing that occupies their mind. Many of these men, otherwise uneducated, talk about the relation of employer and employee far more in- telhgently than most of the best educated men in the com- munity. The labor question involves for them the whole of life and they must in the course of a comparatively short time realize the power which lies in them. 194 The Professions Many of their leaders are men of signal ability, men who can hold their own in discussion or action with the ablest and best educated men in the community. The labor movement must necessarily progress; the people's thoughts will take shape in action, and it lies with us, with you to whom in part the future belongs, to say on what lines the action is to be expressed; whether it is to be expressed wisely and temperately or wildly and intemperately ; whether it is to be expressed on lines of evolution or on lines of revolution. Nothing can better fit you for taking part in the solution of these problems than the study and preeminently the practice of law. Those of you who feel drawn to that profession may rest assured that you will find in '"it an opportunity for usefulness probably unequaled. There is a call upon the legal profession to do a great work for this country. THE CROSS-EXAMINATION OF RICHARD PIGOTTi By R. BARRY O'BRIEN JIGOTT'S evidence came practically to this: he had been employed by the Irish Loyal and Patriotic Union to hunt up documents which might incriminate Parnell, and he had bought the facsimile letter, with other letters, in Paris from an agent of the Clan-na-Gael, who had no objection to injur- ing Parnell for a valuable consideration. . . . During the whole week or more Russell had looked pale, worn, anxious, nervous, distressed. He was impa- tient, irritable, at times disagreeable. Even at luncheon, half an hour before, he seemed to be thoroughly out of sorts, and gave you the idea rather of a young junior with his first brief than of the most formidable advocate at the Bar. Now all was changed. As he stood facing Pigott, he was a picture of calmness, self-possession, strength; there was no sign of impatience or irritabiUty; not a trace of illness, anxiety, or care; a slight tinge of color hghted up the face, the eyes sparkled, and a pleasant smile played about the mouth. The whole bearing and manner of the man, as he proudly turned his head toward the box, showed courage, resolution, confidence. Addressing the witness with much courtesy, while a profound silence fell upon the crowded court, he began: "Mr. Pigott, would you be good enough, with my Lords' permission, to write some words -on that sheet of ' From the Life of Lord Russell of Killowen by R. Barry O'Brien. 195 196 The Professions paper for me? Perhaps you will sit down in order to do so?" A sheet of paper was then handed to the witness. I thought he looked for a moment surprised. This clearly was not the beginning that he had expected. He hesi- tated, seemed confused. Perhaps Russell observed it. At all events he added quickly: "Would you like to sit down?" "Oh, no, thanks," replied Pigott, a little flurried. The President: "Well, but I think it is better that you should sit down. Here is a table upon which you can write in the ordinary way — the course you always pm'sue. ' ' Pigott sat down and seemed to recover his equilibrium. Russell: "Will you write the word 'livelihood'?" Pigott wrote. Russell: "Just leave a space. Will you write the word 'likelihood'?" Pigott wrote. Russell: "Will you write your own name? Will you write the word ' proselytism, ' and finally (I think I will not trouble you at present with any more) ' Patrick Egan' and 'P. Egan'?" He uttered these last words with emphasis, as if they imported something of great importance. Then, when Pigott had written, he added carelessly: "There is one word I had forgotten. Lower down, please, leaving spaces, write the word ' hesitancy. ' " Then, as Pigott was about to write, he added, as if this were the vital point, "with a small 'h. '" Pigott wrote and looked relieved. Russell: "Will you kindly give me the sheet?" Pigott took up a bit of blotting paper to lay on the sheet, when Russell, with a sharp ring in his voice, said rapidly, "Don't blot it, please." The Cross-Examination of Richard Pigott 197 It seemed to me that the sharp ring in Russell's voice startled Pigott. Wliile writing he had looked composed; now again he looked flurried, and nervously handed back the sheet. The attorney-general looked keenly at it, and then said, with the air of a man who had himself scored: "My Lords, I suggest that had better be photographed, if your Lordships see no objection." Russell (tiu-ning sharply toward the attorney-general, and with an angry glance and an Ulster accent, which sometimes broke out when he felt irritated): "Do not interrupt my cross-examination with that request." Little did the attorney-general at that moment know that, in the ten minutes or quarter of an hour which it had taken to ask these questions, Russell had gained a decisive advantage. Pigott had in one of his letters to Pat Egan spelt "hesitancy" thus, "hesitency." In one of the in- criminatory letters "hesitancy" was so spelt; and in the sheet now handed back to Russell, Pigott had written "hesitency " too. In fact, it was Pigott's spelling of this word that had put the Irish members on his scent. Pat Egan, seeing the word spelt with an "e" in one of the in- criminatory letters, had written to Parnell, saying, in effect : "Pigott is the forger. In the letter ascribed to you 'hesitancy' is spelt 'hesitency.' That is the way Pigott always spells the word." These things were not dreamt of in the philosophy of the attorney-general when he interrupted Russell's cross- examination with the request that the sheet be photo- graphed. So closed the first round of the combat. Russell went on in his former courteous manner, and Pigott, who had now completely recovered confidence, looked once more like a man determined to stand to his guns. Russell, having disposed of some preliminary points at 198 The Professions length (and after he had been perhaps about half an hour on his feet), closed with the witness. Russell: "The first publication of the articles 'Parnell- ism and Crime' was on the 7th March, 1887?" Pigott (sturdily): "I do not know." Russell (amiably): "Well, you may assume that is the date." Rigott (carelessly) : "I suppose so." Russell: "And you were aware of the intended publica- tion of the correspondence, the incriminatory letters?" Pigott (firmly) : "No, I was not at all aware of it." Russell (sharply, and with the Ulster ring in his voice) : "What?" Pigott (boldly): "No, certainly not.'" R\i>^sell: "Were you not aware that there were grave charges to be made against Mr. Parnell and the leading members of the Land League?" Pigott (positively): "I was not aware of it until they actually commenced." Russell (again with the Ulster ring) : "What?" Pigott (defiantly) : "I was not aware of it until the publi- cation actually commenced." Russell (pausing, and looking straight at the witness) : "Do you swear that?" Pigott (aggressively): "I do." Russell (making a gesture with both hands, and look- ing toward the bench): "Very good, there is no mistake about that." Then there was a pause; Russell placed his hands be- neath the shelf in front of him, and drew from it some papers, Pigott, the attorney-general, the judges, every one in court looking intently at him the while. There was not a breath, not a movement. I think it was the most dra- matic scene in the whole cross-examination, abounding as The Cross-Examination of Richard Pigott 199 it did in dramatic scenes. Then, handing Pigott a letter, Russell said calmly: "Is that your letter? Do not trouble to read it; tell me if it is your letter." Pigott took the letter, and held it close to his eyes as if reading it. • Russell (sharply): "Do not trouble to read it." Pigott: "Yes, I think it is." Russell (with a frown): "Have you any doubt of it?" Pigott: "No." Russell (addressing the judges): "My Lords, it is from Anderton's Hotel, and it is addressed by the witness to Archbishop Walsh. The date, my Lords, is the 4th of March, three days before the first appearance of the first of the articles, ' Parnellism and Crime. ' " He then read : "Private and confidential. "My Lord: — The importance of the matter about which I write will doubtless excuse this intrusion on your Grace's attention. Briefly, I wish to say that I have been made aware of the details of certain proceedings that are in preparation with the object of destroying the influence of the Parnellite party in Parliament." Having read this much Russell turned to Pigott and said: "What were the certain proceedings that were in prep- aration?" Pigott: "I do not recollect." Russell (resolutely): "Turn to my Lords and repeat the answer." Pigott: "I do not recollect." Russell: "You swear that — writing on the 4th of March, less than two years ago?" Pigott: "Yes." 200 The Professions Russell: "You do not know what that referred to?" Pigott: "I do not really." Russell: " May I suggest to you? " Pigott: "Yes, you may." Russell: " Did it refer to the incriminatory letters among other things?" Pigott: "Oh, at that date? No, the letters had not been obtained, I think, at that date, had they, two years ago?" Russell (quietly and courteously): "I do not want to confuse you at all, Mr. Pigott." Pigott: "Would you mind giving me the date of that letter?" Russell: "The 4th of March." Pigott: "The 4th of March." Russell: "Is it your impression that the letters had not been obtained at that date?" Pigott: "Oh, yes, some of the letters had been obtained before that date." Russell: "Then, reminding you that some of the letters had been obtained before that date, did that passage that I have read to you in that letter refer to these letters among other things?" Pigott: "No, I rather fancy they had reference to the forthcoming articles in the 'Times.'" Russell (glancing keenly at the witness): "I thought you told us you did not know anything about the forth- coming articles." Pigott (looking confused): "Yes, I did. I find now I am mistaken — that I must have heard something about them." Russell (severely): "Then try not to make the same mistake again, Mr. Pigott. 'Now,' you go on [continu- ing to read from Pigott's letter to the archbishop], ' I can The Cross-Examination of Richard Pigott 201 not enter more fully into details than to state that the proceedings referred to consist in the publication of cer- tain statements purporting to prove the complicity of Mr. Parnell himself, and some of his supporters, with mur- ders and outrages in Ireland, to be followed, in all proba- bihty, by the institution of criminal proceedings against these parties by the Government.' " Having finished the reading, Russell laid down the letter and said (turning toward the witness) : "Who told you that?" Pigott: "I have no idea." Russell (striking the paper energetically with his fingers) : "But that refers, among other things, to the incriminatory letters." Pigott: "I do not recollect that it did." Russell (with energy) : "Do you swear that it did not? " Pigott: "I will not swear that it did not." Russell: " Do you think it did? " Pigott: "No, I do not think it did." Russell: "Do you think that these letters, if genuine, would prove or would not prove Parnell's comphcity in crime?" Pigott: "I thought they would be very likely to prove it." Russell: "Now, reminding you of that opinion, I ask you whether you did not intend to refer — not solely, I suggest, but among other things — to the letters as being the matter which would prove complicity or purport to prove complicity?" Pigott: "Yes, I may have had that in my mind." Russell: "You could have had hardly any doubt that you had?" Pigott: "I suppose so." Russell: "You suppose you may have had?" 202 The Professions Pigott: "Yes." Russell: "There is the letter and the statement (read- ing), 'Your Grace may be assxired that I speak with full knowledge, and am in a position to prove, beyond all doubt and question, the truth of what I say.' Was that true? " Pigott: "It could hardly be true." Russell: "Then did you write that which was false?" Pigott: "I suppose it was in order to give strength to what I said. I do not think it was warranted by what I knew." Russell: "You added the untrue statement in order to add strength to what you said?" Pigott: "Yes." Russell: "You believe these letters to be genuine?" Pigott: "I do." Russell: "And did at this time?" Pigott: "Yes." Russell (reading): "'And I will further assure your Grace that I am also able to point out how these designs may be successfully combated and finally defeated.' How, if these documents were genuine documents, and you be- lieved them to be such, how were you able to assure his Grace that you were able to point out how the design might be successfully combated and finally defeated?" Pigott: "Well, as I say, I had not the letters actually in my mind at that time. So far as I can gather, I do not recollect the letter to Archbishop Walsh at all. My memory is really a blank on the circumstance." Russell: "You told me a moment ago, after great delib- eration and consideration, you had both the incrimina- tory letters and the letter to Archbishop Walsh in your mind." Pigott: "I said it was probable I did; but I say the thing has completely faded out of my mind." The Cross-Examination of Richard Pigott 203 Russell (resolutely): "I must press you. Assuming the letters to be genuine, what were the means by which you were able to assiu-e his Grace that you could point out how the design might be successfully combated and finally defeated?" Pigott (helplessly): "I can not conceive really." RiLssell: "Oh, try. You must really try." Pigott (in manifest confusion and distress) : " I can not." Russell (looking fixedly at the witness): "Try." Pigott: "I can not." Russell: "Try." Pigott: "It is no use." Russell (emphatically): "May I take it, then, your answer to my Lords is that you can not give any explana- tion?" Pigott: "I really can not, absolutely." Russell (reading): "'I assure your Grace that I have no other motive except to respectfully suggest that your Grace would communicate the substance to some one or other of the parties concerned, to whom I could furnish details, exhibit proofs, and suggest how the coming blow may be effectually met.' What do you say to that, Mr. Pigott?" Pigott: "I have nothing to say except that I do not recollect any thing about it absolutely." Russell: "What was the coming blow?" Pigott: "I suppose the coming publication." Russell: "How was it to be effectively met?" Pigott: "I have not the slightest idea." Russell: "v^suming the letters to be genuine, does it not even now occur to your mind how it could be effectively met?" Pigott: "No." Pigott now looked like a man, after the sixth round 204 The Professions in a prize fight, who had been Icnoclced down in every round. But Russell showed him no mercy. Russell: "Whatever the charges in 'Parnellism and Crime,' including the letters, were, did you believe them to be true or not?" Pigott: "How can I say that when I say I do not know what the charges were? I say I do not recollect that letter to the archbishop at all, or any of the circimistances it refers to. " i Russell: "First of all, you knew this: that you procured and paid for a number of letters?" Pigott: "Yes." Russell: "Which, if genuine, you have already told me, would gravely implicate the parties from whom these were supposed to come." Pigott: "Yes, gravely impUcate." Russell: "You would regard that, I suppose, as a serious charge?" Pigott: "Yes." Russell: "Did you believe that charge to be true or false?" Pigott: "I beheved that charge to be true." Russell: "You believed that to be true?" Pigott: "I did." Russell: "Now I will read this passage from Pigott's letter to the archbishop, 'I need hardly add that, did I consider the parties really guilty of the things charged against them, I should not dream of suggesting that your Grace should take part in an effort to shield them; I only wish to impress on your Grace that the evidence is appar- ently convincing, and would probably be sufficient to secure conviction if submitted to an English jury.' What do you say to that, Mr. Pigott? " Pigott (bewildered): "I say nothing, except that I am The Cross-Examinatlon of Richard Plgott 205 sure I could not have had the letters in my mind when I said that, because I do not think the letters conveyed a sufficiently serious charge to cause me to write in that way." Russell: "But you know that was the only part of the charge, so far as you have yet told us, that you had any- thing to do in getting up?" Pigott: " Yes, that is what I say; I must have had some- thing else in my mind which I can not at present recollect — that I must have had other charges." Russell: "What charges?" Pigott: "I do not know. That is what I can not tell you." Russell: "Well, let me remind you that that particular part of the charges — the incriminatory letters — were letters that you yourself knew all about." Pigott: "Yes, of course." Rv^sell (reading from another letter of Pigott's to the archbishop): "'I was somewhat disappointed in not hav- ing a Une from your Grace, as I ventured to expect I might have been so far honored. I can assure your Grace that I have no other motive in writing save to avert, if possible, a great danger to people with whom yom- Grace is known to be in strong sjrmpathy. At the same time, should your Grace not desire to interfere in the matter, or should you consider that they would refuse me a hearing, I am well content, having acquitted myself of what I conceived to be my duty in the circumstances. I will not further trouble yom* Grace save to again beg that you will not allow my name to transpire, seeing that to do so would interfere injuriously with my prospects, without any com- pensating advantage to any one. I make the request all the more confidently because I have had no part in what is being done to the prejudice of the Parnellite party, 206 The Professions though I was enabled to become acquainted with all the details.'" Pigott (with a look of confusion and alarm) : "Yes." Russell: "What do you say to that?" Pigott: "That it appears to me clearly that I had not the letters in my mind." Russell: "Then if it appears to you clearly that you had not the letters in your mind, what had you in your mind? " Pigott: "It must have been something far more serious." Russell: "What was it?" Pigott (helplessly, great beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead and trickling down his face): "I can not tell you. I have no idea." Russell: "It must have been something far more seri- ous than the letters?" Pigott (vacantly): "Far more serious." Russell (briskly) : "Can you give my Lords any clew of the most indirect kind to what it was?" Pigott (in despair): "I can not." Russell: "Have you ever mentioned this fearful matter — whatever it is -^ to anybody?" Pigott: "No." Russell: "Still locked up, hermetically sealed in your own bosom?" Pigott: "No, because it has gone away out of my bosom, whatever it was." On receiving this answer Russell smiled, looked at the bench, and sat down. A ripple of derisive laughter broke over the court, and a buzz of many voices followed. The people standing around me looked at each other and said, "Splendid." The judges rose, the great crowd melted away, and an Irishman who mingled in the throng ex- pressed, I think, the general sentiment in a single word, " Smashed." THE LAWYER AND HIS CLIENT By WALTER B. VINCENT JHE methods of conducting a legal business forty years ago were materially different from those of the present time. Except in the larger cities, co-partnerships were seldom en- tered into. A young man upon being admitted to the bar hired an office, purchased a few books, if he had the money, placed upon the outer wall of the building in which he was located a gilt and black sign, the size depend- ing somewhat upon his means, upon which was his name and the words "Attorney at Law." He also had the door of his particular apartment similarly decorated. Having accompUshed all this he quietly sat down to wait for clients. The sound of footsteps approaching his door would provoke him to an attitude of beautiful dignity and perhaps to an apparently studious examination of some law book which was conveniently open before him. Clients in those days came down town, or from more re- mote districts, in search of a lawyer. They did not look for anybody in particular but they strolled along the street imtil some name or sign commended itself to their imagi- nation, when they would enter the oflBce and, if suited with appearances there, would unfold their business. With the progress of time these and many other things relating to the practice of the law have undergone a change. In these days, especially in our cities, the young practi- tioner seldom starts out alone. He either becomes associ- ated with an older lawyer, forms a co-partnership with one, two, or three of his professional acquaintances of about his 207 208 The Professions own age, or works in some established office at a stated salary. Commercialism has entered somewhat into the profes- sion of law. Clients are no longer simply seeking a law- yer. They are choosing counsel in whom they have some personal interest; whose success at the bar has attracted favorable notice, or to whom they may have been recom- mended by business associates or friends. The wearisome waiting of former years has passed away. The lawyer of to-day prefers to be employed, even if some one else reaps the greater benefit from his labors, rather than to become rusty in a weary waiting for clients. The changes which have taken place in the country districts, so called, are no less marked. The successful country lawyer of to-day has an office in the city, if he is located near one, and the silk hat, the black frock coat and the green baize bag have passed on and been lost to view in the legal evolution of the last forty years. An important study for the lawyer is the study of human nature. The contact with the first client is productive of sensations which are unique. Their nearest parallel may perhaps be found in those of the young fisherman upon the occasion of his first bite. The ability quickly to compre- hend the disposition and peculiarities of a cUent, a witness or an opposing party, is of the utmost importance, and carries with it a decided advantage. As no two men are alike, it naturally follows that no two clients are alike, and if you are able fairly to estimate in advance the dis- position and temperament of your client, it will enable you to understand him better and to adapt yourself better to his wishes. While the ability to judge human nature may be to some extent a natural gift, it may be developed and sometimes wholly acquired by careful attention and study. The Lawyer and His Client 209 A client entering your office receives his first impression from the greeting which is extended to him. He should be greeted neitlier with coldness nor with effusion. You should not let him feel, by your manner, that he is intrud- ing or unwelcome or that you do not care for his business. On the other hand, you should not let your greeting be so effusive as to convey to him the impression that you are about to devour him afive. Clients are often very skittish creatures until they become better acquainted with you and give you their confidence. This naturally leads to the inquiry, How should a client be received? But that is a question which can not be answered with exactness. It is something which you must decide for yourselves upon the general suggestions which I have made. It is indeed a very narrow fine be- tween too much eagerness on the one side and too little interest on the other. Never let your client feel that his business does not interest you. He may have matters which seem to you of little importance, but it is well to remember that he probably regards them differently and that his interests and wishes are entitled to your careful consideration if you undertake to serve him. I do not mean to be understood that a client should be encouraged in the htigation of unimportant and trivial matters. He should at all times be treated honestly, and if you think his matter is not worth the trouble and expense of Htigating it, tell him so, at the same time assuring him that you will give it your best attention if he still desires to go on with it. A client has a right to litigate a matter which to you seems unimportant, if he sees fit to do so, and it is right for you to give him your professional assistance, first being sure that he fully appreciates the situation. His neighbor's fence may encroach upon him to the extent of two or three inches and it may seem to you that any se- 210 The Professions rious dispute about it would be a waste of time and money, but your client is entitled to his rights, however insignifi- cant they may appear to you. Now, I am not advocating that a lawyer should do any- thing and everything which his chant may demand. There are things which he should refuse to do regardless of con- sequences to himself or to his business. The law is not designed to harass or oppress those innocent of wrong doing, and when you find that a chent desires to make use of you simply as an instrument of torture, to deprive some one of a clear right, or to vent a vulgar spite, turn yom- back upon him and let him go. You may lose a cUent but you will be better off without him. If he leaves, he will go with an increased respect for you, and more than likely he will return when he has a meritorious case. I am not preaching morality, I am simply talking busi- ness. The moral side I must leave to your own con- sciences, but it is well to remember that the capital of a lawj'^er largely resides in his reputation, of which honesty is the first essential element. No lawyer can afford to let it be understood that he is ever ready to assist dishonest chents in corrupt and fraudulent transactions simply for the money that such assistance may produce. The busi- ness of a lawyer is to assist his chents in obtaining their rights and to aid them in the proper conduct of their busi- ness affairs. He should never permit himself to become a pest upon the corumunity at the bidding of unscrupulous clients. If you accept a matter of business, no matter how small or unimportant, attend to it promptly and thoroughly. You will thus acquire excellent business habits and your client will doubtless be sufficiently well pleased to intrust you with something more important in the near future. It is a trite saying that it is better to do a few things The Lawyer and His Client 211 well than it is to do many things indifferently, and this is especially applicable to young lawyers at the beginning of their business career. Do not attempt to secm-e a large volume of business at the start. There is nothing more unfortunate for a young practitioner than too much busi- ness at the outset. He is not prepared to handle matters rapidly. Everything is new and no two things are alike. By and by, with more experience, and when matters with which he is already familiar come to be repeated, he can increase his speed and the load at the same time. With too much at once and with a natural inclination and ambition to try to do it all, while you may not break down in health you will do your work indifferently and perhaps make some blunder that will do you serious harm. I have known instances where brilliant yoimg men have become lamentable failures from the very cause to which I have referred. It is desirable that you should keep busy ; but you will find that a few things will serve that end at the commencement of your career. Unless you should be more fortunate than most of those who have preceded you, you will now and then have pro- poimded to you questions which you will not be prepared to answer upon the spur of the moment. You will need time for reflection and for the consultation of authorities. If your client is a man of good sense you may safely give him your impression in the first instance, if you happen to have one, and then tell him that you desire more time to consider and examine the question. He will commend you for this course and will regard it as an evidence of your carefulness in looking after his business. But not all clients are endowed with good sense and judgment. Some are possessed with the idea that a lawyer should have at his tongue's end, complete information upon every and all matters relating to his profession, and 212 The Professions if they do not receive an immediate answer, no matter how difficult to solve the question may be, they will at once become suspicious of your ability and go elsewhere. This class of chents is by no means a small one and they must be dealt with in a method suited to their peculiari- ties and you will be obliged to give them the best advice you can on the spot. There are only two kinds of advice, right and wrong, so that you have in the beginning, to say the least, an even chance. Under these conditions, if you are in doubt as to the correctness of the opinion you have expressed, look up the question carefully as soon as the client has departed. If you find that your advice was correct there is nothing more to be done. But if you find that it was wrong, you can send for him and easily place him upon the right track. There is no accounting for the notions of chents. They are of infinite variety. I once heard a man, speaking in praise of his counsel, say that he had no law books in his office; that he did not need them; that he had all the law in his head. The lawyer referred to was a graduate of the class of 1866, but even with the exceptional advantages then obtained at the All^any Law School I very much fear that the prejudices of the chent led him into a gross exag- geration. When you have completed a matter of business for a client, immediately advise him as to the result. In fact, it is desirable to keep chents advised from time to time, in all important matters as to the progress that has been made. If the completion of a matter has brought to your hands a sum of money, remit the same at once with a detailed state- ment of the whole matter. There is nothing so bad and so unsatisfactory to clients as the careless and unnecessary retention of funds belonging to them. Nomatter howmany other things you may have in hand for the same client, as The Lawyer and His Client 213 soon as one is completed adjust it with him and pay over the money. Whether you will take out your fees and disbursements or accompany your statement with a check for the gross amount, leaving him to settle your charges later, must depend upon his methods of doing business, his reputation for paying his bills, and perhaps other things of which you must be the judge. In any event, make a settlement with him of some sort and render him an account of your doings before he has a reasonable opportunity to request it. Care should always be exercised to the end that no undue advantage be taken of those who may seek your services but whom, for some reason, you are not able to serve. It is unnecessary to say that you can not become interested on both sides of the matter, even at different times. If you have served a client and have been discharged before the matter is completed you should never touch the other side in its more advanced stages. It is desirable not only to avoid evil doing in this respect, but to avoid the ap- pearance of it. If you are in doubt as to the propriety of your employment, that is a sufficient reason for you to de- cline it, however desirable or convenient the compensation might be. If you have once served a client he is fairly entitled to your services again, and you should not take a case against him unless you are certain that he has secured the services of other counsel, and if you are in doubt as to whether he has or not it is very easy to ascertain from him the fact. In these days, especially in the more thickly populated districts, clients frequently employ different counsel for different things, and while you may regret their temporary diversion to others you should be slow to infer unfriendli- ness or an intention to desert you altogether. If you become satisfied that your client has permanently 214 The Professions left you, it would not then be proper to take a case against him, no matter how provoking the circumstances and con- ditions under which your relations have become severed, if your previous relations with him and his business have put you in possession of facts or information which you can either use against him or which would give you an advan- tage over him; because such facts or information were ac- quired by you while he was paying you for your services, and your knowledge belongs to him and not to your new client. If your client has left you, for reasons which you feel to have been unfounded and unjust, there will be a natural feeling of resentment and a desire to punish him, but such a desire should be resisted without any regard to what his deserts may be, remembering that you can not afford to tarnish your own professional standing however much your client may merit punishment. It may happen that after you have accepted a client's case the opposite party, being ignorant of your employ- ment, may desire to consult or perhaps employ you in his behalf. I have heard of lawyers who thought it smart to let the would-be client state his side of the case before informing him of their previous employment. Such a thing is nothing more nor less than contemptible, and it is so clearly so that I feel like apologizing for having men- tioned it at all. You will doubtless, from time to time, meet with what I would characterize as the cheap client. In my experience he is more often a man of comfortable means than other- wise, but he is unwilling to expend a sum sufficient to war- rant careful and thorough attention to his matters. He prefers to have his business conducted in some quick, haphazard way which he feels would lessen the expense. He will tell you, in the first instance, that he will take his chances without incurring the cost of proper preparation. The Lawyer and His Client 215 If you go on under these conditions, you are bound to fail oftener than you will win; the community will know of your failure, but not of the reasons for it, and more than likely yom- client, himself responsible for the unfortunate result, will finally blame you and make unfavorable com- ments to others regarding your ability, in order that he may cover his own mortification and chagrin. You will have no opportunity to make an explanation, and if you had, to say that you failed because your client was not wilUng to pay for a thorough preparation would be but a sorry excuse coming from a man of sufficient intelligence to pass an examination for the bar. The only thing you can do with a chent of this description is to tell him plainly that if he is not willing to bear the expense of a proper prep- aration he had better take his business somewhere else. While you should never, in the preparation of a case or in yom- attention to your client's business, omit anything that would reasonably tend to insure success, every unnec- essary thing should be avoided. There are lawyers now and then, some of them of considerable eminence in the profession, who are reputed to be in the habit of rendering services in the course of their client's business which they know to be unnecessary, simply for the sake of making charges. Next to embezzling a client's money this is, perhaps, the most dishonest thing a lawyer can do. But there are those who think it shrewd thus to prey upon their cUents, imagining that their operations in that direction are known only to themselves. You can not do such things without being found out sooner or later, if not by the fleeced cUents, by the courts before whom you appear and by other mem- bers of the profession. Assuming that you have conducted your client's matter to a result reasonably satisfactory to him, last but not 216 The Professions least comes the bill for services and disbursements. A discussion with your client, especially if he is not partic- ularly intelligent, as to the reasonableness of your bill is the most disagreeable thing connected with the practice of the law. To argue with and undertake to convince an ignorant man, after you have worked hard for him and rendered him a valuable service, that the value of such service is properly expressed in the bill, is about the most unsatisfactory and most undignified position that a lawyer can get into, but it is a situation that can not always be avoided. If the client is intelligent and honest, you can sometimes adopt the plan of explaining to him the several features of the bill which seem to him to be objectionable, and then tell him to take it and think it over and send you a check for what he thinks the services are worth. The result is usually a check for the amount of the bill. But if the client is not intelligent and honest such a plan is not a good one, and the only expedient is to force the payment of the bill or to abandon it altogether. I have always considered that the latter course was the more desirable. If your client honestly believes the charges excessive, and you can not convince him of their fairness, it is perhaps better to make some discount than to turn him away by insisting on the full amount. These things are to a great extent a matter of judgment. Some cUents will look upon the reduction of the bill as an admission that it was originally too much. It is useless to make a discount from a fair bill in favor of an ignorant or dishonest client, and continue to serve him, because he will only take advantage of you again. It has been very well said, " It is easy to be honest if you have got plenty of money"; and so I may say that it is easier for a lawyer in good practice to deal fairly with his The Lawyer and His Client 217 clients than it is for a poor fellow who is struggling for his daily subsistence. If you are hard pressed for money there is a strong tendency to measure the value of your services by your necessities, and this you may do unconsciously if you are not very careful. You are entitled to be well paid for your services and it is desirable to avoid acquiring a reputation as a cheap lawyer, but you can not expect in the earUer years of your professional life to obtain that degree of compensation which is commanded by those older and of more experience. In the earlier years of my practice, I was conducting the defense of an action for damages for breach of contract. The defendant had contracted to furnish the plaintiff with pasturage for his cows but later refused to perform his part of the contract. The plaintiff claimed, as one element of damage, the cost of a certain quantity of meal which he was forced to buy for his cows in lieu of the pas- turage for which he had contracted. A tall, lank individ- ual from the rural districts had testified as to the quantity of meal used, its cost, etc., after which he was turned over to me for cross-examination. There was really nothing for me to examine him about; but fearing that the jury might think that I was unequal to the occasion and that I must make some showing, I pro- ceeded to ask him a few questions which were really unim- portant. I drew out from him that some of the cows were old and some were young and that they gave three quarts of meal a day to some and five quarts to others. Then I asked him to which they gave the most, the old cows or the young cows, and he quickly repUed, "Just like lawyers, you have to give the most to the old ones." The court, jury, and audience burst into a roar of laugh- ter in which I had the presence of mind to join. The ver- dict was for the plaintiff, for the amount claimed. 218 The Professions If the older lawyer gets more for his services than you do, do not let that worry you. Just charge a fair amount for your services and never mind what others may get. Your turn will come later on. There are at least three elements to consider in fixing the amount of your compensation; namely, the time em- ployed, the importance of the matter, and the amount involved. The financial ability of the client is not prop- erly an element, but I fear it is one that is sometimes con- sidered. On the other hand, if the chent is poor you must, to some extent, favor him, sometimes reducing your bill below a fair compensation for your services. A poor client, with a meritorious case, would certainly be in hard luck if he could get no legal assistance except upon the payment of liberal fees. It is always the first duty of a lawyer to keep his client out of court if he can possibly do so and fairly protect his interests. Assuming, however, that you have failed, after reasonable effort to secure a fair adjustment of his matter, you will then approach the court. The law is a noble profession. It calls for honesty, patience, industry and ability. Upon its honest and efficient administration depends the safety of the person, the preservation of property rights and the general politi- cal and civil welfare of the community. It is fitting that those who enter upon the practice of such a profession should do so with an adequate comprehension of the duties and obligations which they thereby assume, realizing that it is something more, something higher, than a mere money-making business. THREE CLASSES OF ' LAWYERS ^ By JOHN BRISBEN WALKER JHERE are three classes of lawyers known to modern life. The first stand high. They are men of marked mental caliber, practic- ing their profession honorably, preventing Utigation whenever possible — conducting it, when neces- sary, in a straightforward way, and reflecting credit at all times on their profession. The second is composed of the unfortunates, who, because of slight mental equipment, or lack of opportu- nity, or naturally low moral standards, have simken to the point of using the law as a club with which to hold up the fortunate and the unfortunate of the men engaged in the business world. Unfortunately, but too many technicalities occur in connection with the law not to give opportunity to the conscienceless man to attack his neighbor, if so disposed either by hatred or by a desire for gain. The number of men who are desperate because of families dependent upon them, or because of extravagant habits, who are ready to use the law in ways entirely unscrupulous, is, in great cities like New York, the crying scandal of the profession. The time is, however, not far distant when bar associ- tions will distinctly define the ethics which must regulate the conduct of every lawyer in good standing at the bar. The third class of lawyers is so new as scarcely to be generally known. But the developments of the past ' By courteous permission of General Walker. 219 220 The Professions ten years have already produced many distinguished examples. This new division is that of the counselor who becomes connected with large business affairs. His first duty is to prevent litigation. In the second place, he familiarizes himself with every department, and keeps in touch with the officers and all of the company's affairs. Less technical in his training, and perhaps for that reason more capable of taking a bird's eye view of the company's affairs than those more immediately interested, he be- comes an efficient adviser in many directions. He familiar- izes himself with questions of science which enter into the evolution of the business. Instead of being a clog upon the industry of others, he is himself a leader in the direction of highest economic development. The young man must determine at the beginning of his college career to which branch of the legal profession he aspires: the high position of counselor, who becomes a part of the upbuilding of great business enterprises, or that of leech, which sucks the life-blood of the industrious. Already this latter part of the profession is overcrowded to such an extent that its members are the terror of legiti- mate workers. Every man engaged in active life knows to his sorrow the tax which their work makes upon his time and resources by suits trumped up under the provisions of laws enacted for very different purposes. The student, then, must decide to which branch of the profession he will attach himself. If to the constructive, and not the destructive, side of the social fabric, then the more of science he puts into his curriculum the better. There is not a branch of modern business life which does not require scientific knowledge, and the more science, of the most widely differing kinds, the better. Sooner or later it all comes into play. THE COUNTRY LAWYER IN NATIONAL AFFAIRS 1 By GROVER CLEVELAND jOD made the country and man made the town." These words, written more than a century ago, give voice to a sentiment which has been deep-rooted in the minds of men ever since the first city was built. And as an outgrowth of this sentiment, the belief has been very generally accepted that nearness to nature and the envi- ronments of rural existence exert a benign influence upon heart and character not found in the rush and noise of city life. This belief is too well justified to be regarded as fan- ciful or imaginary. Beyond all question the agencies which have been especially potent in the elevation and refinement of human nature have derived their Hfe and impulse from rural surroundings. The most sympathetic and tender charms of song and story have been born of the inspiration of field, wood, and stream; and in such associations as these the highest purposes and noblest ideals have grown strong. Nor is it alone the beautiful and more refined traits of humanity that have thus been developed and culti- vated. "God made the country"; and He so made it and set it in order that it has an affinity with every side of man's nature for its betterment. Thus it is that the incidents of country life not only stimulate the delicate ' By permission of "The Youth's Companion," and Ginn & Company. Copyright, 1906. 221 222 The Professions and lovable features of human character, but promote and foster mental vigor, wholesome self-reliance, sturdy- pertinacity, unflinching courage and faith in honest endeavor. The relationship of rural conditions which produce these qualities to success in the rugged and stern reahties of life is indicated by the fact that a large proportion of all those who in town and city have won profes- sional honors or wealth have been of country birth and breeding. This is a matter of common knowledge. It was brought home to me in a most impressive way a number of years ago, when, on an anniversary of the founding of a leading medical society in the city of New York, I addressed a large assemblage of distinguished physicians and surgeons representing the most advanced stages of medical and surgical science. In my desire to say something not entirely unrelated to the occasion, and intending at the same time to keep on ground somewhat familiar to me, I spoke of the country doctor — of his devotion, his methods, his services, and the place he earned in the affections of those he served. I confess I was unprepared for the immediate and un- mistakable assurance I received that I had no monopoly of fanaiharity with the phase of rural life which I had recalled; and it subsequently came to my knowledge that I had simply reminded a large number of my audi- ence of their own observations or experience in country homes. I have referred to an affinity between man's unper- verted nature and the country, regarded as distinctively the work of God. It has always seemed to me that very satisfactory evidence of such affinity is supplied by the fact that the impressions made on the mind and heart The Country Lawyer in National Affairs 223 by early rural associations are so deep and lasting that no lapse of time or change of circumstance can efface them. How often it is that one who has grown old in the wear- ing trade and speculation of the city, or in the pursuit of the honor and fame its larger opportunities promise, turns to the memory of his boyhood days in the country as his most satisfying and perhaps his only source of comfort and refreshment; and how often it happens that after wealth or honors have been won, and the con- templation of death succeeds the fitful fever of life's activities, the thought of final rest and peace associates itself with a mental picture of some well-remembered old country churchyard. Edmund Burke wrote, "I had rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard than in the tomb of all the Capulets. " I have thus far only intended to suggest that rural life and its influences should be regarded as creative forces, constantly acting on the character and conduct of individuals, without especial regard to their classi- fication. I believe these forces are more potent and beneficent as they more nearly retain their undiluted and distinctive separateness; and that besides their effect on the individual, they indirectly involve much larger results — especially as they are related to American national life and conditions. In a country like ours, where the people rule, a great number of individuals can not be subjected to a moral force without implicating, to a greater or less extent, our public interests. Therefore, if we rest alone upon a general conception of the collateral relationship between rural influences and the public weal, we can not fail to recognize these influences as largely affecting the suc- cess of our experiment of popular government. There is 224 The Professions however, a more direct and palpable relationship between at least one of the distinct products of rural life and our political conditions. This product is the country lawyer. It is not difficult to discover a sort of kinship between legal pursuits and political service. We therefore should not be surprised to find that the legal profession has al- ways been the most extensive reservoir from which our nation's constructive and guiding political leadership has been drawn. Of the fifty-six representatives of the revolting colo- nies who signed the Declaration of Independence, twenty- nine had studied law. There were fifty-five delegates who actually took part in the convention which framed our Constitution, and thirty-three of these were lawyers. Since our beginning as a nation there have been twenty- five incumbents of the presidential office. Of these, eighteen were members of the legal profession in their respective states. Nineteen lawyers are found among the twenty-six vice-presidents who have been elected. It may be safely said, without giving further details, that fully as great a proportion of the legal fraternity will be found among those who have filled Cabinet posi- tions and other important places in our government. While this presentation furnishes abundant evidence of a connection between legal training and active partici- pation in public affairs, it does not, standing alone, altogether fairly meet the needs of our especial topic. We have to do with the prominence in national affairs of country lawyers as distinguished from lawyers belong- ing in large towns and cities. It may well be said that as between these two divisions of the legal fraternity, a review of the early stages of our nation's history does not afford a basis for just com- parison, since at that time our towns and cities were few, The Country Lawyer in National Affairs 225 and our rural population in all walks of life was greatly predominant. This point is well taken; but it by no means follows that we are driven away from historical reference in dealing with our subject. No one can question, for instance, the valuable bearing of the statement that of the fourteen lawyer incumbents of the presidency since the inauguration of Andrew Jackson, in 1829, more than one-half came from the ranks of country practice. It seems to me, however, to be more profitable and in- teresting to submit, in aid of our discussion, certain con- ditions within present observation, and to recall a few notable and not too remote examples of "The Country Lawyer in National Affairs. " The Senate of the United States during the Congress of 1905, in its total membership of ninety, contained fifty-three lawyers, only sixteen of whom resided in large cities. Twenty-four of the remaining thirty-seven, or nearly one-half of the entire number of lawyers in the body, resided in conununities of less than ten thousand inhabitants. Two hundred and fifty-seven lawyers were elected to the House of Representatives in the same Congress. Of these, only sixty-two were residents of large cities. One hundred and forty-eight, or considerably more than one-half of the entire number, resided in towns and villages whose population numbered ten thousand or less. All of the six members who during the last twenty-five years have been selected by that body to the powerful and influential position of Speaker have been lawyers residing in places whose population at the time was less than forty thousand, and in three instances less than twelve thousand. 226 The Professions When we pass from general classification to the mention of fairly recent individual instances tending to establish the prominence and influence of the country lawyer in national politics, while many will be overlooked, we readily recall Henry Clay, of Lexington, Kentucky; Thomas H. Benton, of St. Louis, Missouri (which had a population of less than seven thousand when he was elected to the Senate) ; Silas Wright, of Canton, New York ; William H. Seward, of Auburn, New York; John Sherman, of Mansfield, Ohio; Thaddeus Stevens, of Lancaster, Pennsylvania; George F. Edmunds, of Burlington, Ver- mont; John A. .\ndrew, the country-bred war governor of Massachusetts; Andrew G. Curtin, of Belief onte, Pennsylvania, the war governor of that state, and Roscoe Conkhng, of Utica, New York — all of whose names fittingly embellish the catalogue in which they are here placed. I have reserved for final mention the names of two transcendently great Americans whose careers and pubhc service supply unaided the most convincing proof of the greatness in public life which is within reach of the country lawyer. Daniel Webster was a country lawyer. He had reached the age of thirty-four years when he left rural surround- ings in the state of New Hampshire to enter the broader field of legal practice in the city of Boston. Before that time he had laid broad and deep the foundations of pro- fessional fame, and had displayed on the floor of Congress the powers which afterward moved a nation to wonder and admiration. He was a devotee of country life, and he brought to the public service such inspiration as God gives to those who love His works in spirit and in truth. This inspi- ration made him the expounder of the Constitution, and The Country Lawyer in National Affairs 227 the most powerful and invincible defender of our national life and unity. And yet this leader on the highest plane of human endeavor has left in unpublished letters, written by him in the height of his fame and public labors, ample proof that in the midst of it all his thoughts constantly turned with joy and unabated enthusiasm to farm and field and stream. His genius for supreme national service won for him a solitary place in American statesmanship, and he lived in the atmosphere of his countrjonen's idolatry; but when it came his time to die, he sought with childlike yearning the quiet and peace of Marshfield. Lincoln, too, was a country lawyer; and he was called to save a nation. He never lost the impress of an early life closely surrounded by all the incidents of rural exist- ence, and encompassed by the stern providences of God. He, too, loved the country; and He Who made the country gave him, in compensation, an unstinted measm-e of inspiration for the most impressive and solemn public duty. The deeds of these two country lawyers need no especial recital. They are written in the annals of a grateful nation, and challenge the admiration of mankind. And who shall say that the majestic forms of Webster and Lincoln, standing forth in the bright hght of human achievement, do not teach the world how the nobility of American character is developed by American rural hfe? We seem now to have reached a branch of our subject requiring the suggestion of some reasons for the promi- nence of the country lawyer in pubhc hfe. In my opinion this is partly due to the form and texture of our scheme of government. I believe that God has been ever mindful of our nation, and that in the begin- ning He so overruled the efforts of the fathers of the 228 The Professions republic that they were led to set on foot a government so simple and so adjusted to the exigencies of our people that its safety and effective operation can be most suit- ably entrusted to the stout hearts, clear heads, and patri- otic impulses which grow strong in rural environment. I beheve legal study and practice in the country are calculated to sharpen all these qualities, and that this is their usual effect. I know that the struggle for a liveli- hood from the practice of law in the country, and the almost endless number of practical things which the country lawyer must learn in contests involving every social and business question, prepare him, as no other conditions can, to deal intelligently and usefully with the various and widely separated questions met with in the public service. He has an advantage in this regard over members of the profession in large cities, because legal work is there largely specialized; and because of less distracting sur- roundings he is apt to be not only more thoughtfully, but more patriotically interested and active in political matters. I believe that in the absence of too many labor-saving devices in his profession, and with more dependence upon hard work, the country practitioner, as distinguished from his city brother, develops greater self-reliance and home- spun industry, and greater tenacity of wholesome, clearly wrought out convictions — all of which are exceedingly important traits when carried into public life. I am also of the opinion that the study of individual ways and means, which the moderate income of the country lawyer makes necessary, and a familiarity with the simple, inexpensive manner of living prevalent in rural communities, tend to foster ideas of frugality and economy which, although too frequently left at home when The Country Lawyer in National Affairs 229 public instead of private expenditures are under consider- ation, ought to be inexorably insisted upon as indispen- sable to a satisfactory discharge of official duty. It may not be amiss to intimate also in this connection that the close personal intimacy and neighborliness of rural life and a consequent sensitiveness to the interests of those with whom they dwell, more easily persuade lawyers in the country that they should be willing on patriotic grounds to devote time and effort to oflBcial work. These suggestions, intended to account in some degree for the prominence of the country lawyer in public affairs, should be promptly supplemented by the mention of an- other requisite to an entrance upon a career of political service, so imperious and controlling that it subordinates all others. I refer to the factor of opportunity. Without this all other advantages are inefficient. Under our system of government, which gives the people the selection of their public agents, it is only through its bald perversion that any one, however well-fitted and wherever located, can in the absence of legitimate oppor- tunity break his way into political importance. Undoubtedly there has been a multitude of country lawyers endowed with latent power, "the applause of listening senate to command, " of whom because oppor- tunity failed them, it may be said: Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Nevertheless, opportunity has come to thousands of them, and I believe that, as a general proposition, it can safely be affirmed that country lawyers are more in the way of such opportunity than city members of the fraternity. 230 The Professions In the first place, a lawyer in a rural community occu- pies, by virtue of his profession, a position of mark. The intricacies of the law, with which he is supposed to be famihar, are mysteries to those about him; and differ- ences among neighbors take on a serious aspect when one side or the other invokes his interposition. Besides, he argues cases before the "high court" and makes speeches before juries in the courthouse, and sometimes before those assembled at poUtical meetings. It is curious to observe how lasting and favorable an impression is made in such circumstances by a lawyer of the neighborhood who can not only talk in public, but who can talk loud and long. I knew very well, years ago, an able country lawyer in Erie County, New York, who could do this, and do it well. He was so extensively and affectionately known that we all called him "Uncle Jim." When he was elected district attorney of the county, he removed to Buffalo, and thereafter served a city con- stituency with ability and efficiency as a member of the state Senate and as a representative in Congress. After his removal to the city he occasionally deUghted his old friends in the country by addressing them on pending political issues. I recall the forcible description of one of those meetings given by an enthusiastic partici- pant. He reached his climax when he said : "Uncle Jim was there. He talked more than two hours, and you could have heard him a quarter of a mile." , This ability to make what is called "a good speech" is not only something which in and of itself is impressive and attractive to those by whom the country lawyer is surrounded, but these good people are also apt to look upon it as a qualification intimately related to the successful discharge of any public duty. The Country Lawyer in National Affairs 231 If the conditions I have mentioned do not constitute opportunity they certainly lead directly to it. Whether a movement toward the country lawyer's entrance upon political life originates in his own laudable ambition or owes its initiative to the patriotic suggestion of others, in either case the prospect of his success will be greatly enhanced by his reputation among his neighbors, the close intimacies created by incidents of his legal practice, the devotion of those whom he has faithfully and generously served, and a prevalent assurance on the part of those whom he aims to represent that he will honor them and serve the country well in public place. Of course it can not be reasonably claimed that city members of the legal fraternity are altogether negligent of public and political duty; on the contrary, instances are nmnerous in which they have rendered the highest and best poUtical service. Nor can it be safely asserted that every country lawyer's advent in public affairs has been an undiluted blessing to the body politic; no one can deny that some of them have proved disgracefully recreant and shamefully dishonest. In conclusion, and after every fair concession and allowance has been made, it still remains established beyond controversy that in national affairs the country lawyer has had and still has an astonishing and significant amount of power and direction; that the practice of law in a rural community is calculated to strengthen mental traits which increase the promise of usefulness in public life; and that there are influences emanating from God through the works of His creation, which, if recognized and received with a pure and open heart, will point the way to the greatest and grandest statesmanship. TRUE SUCCESS IN THE LAW By THOMAS H. HUBBARD ^N the record of human achievement the work of the lawyers deserves grateful and signal commemoration. They have maintained the rights of the weak against the encroachments of the strong. They have molded the laws that protect person and property and prevent the relapse from social order to anarchy. They have ministered to the courts in the enforcement of those laws. They have advanced from the routine of professional employment to broader careers of statesman- ship and have guided the affairs of nations. If the same records were written full and true, they would tell of many who have failed to meet the high requirements of their vocation. They would tell of craft and cunning, of injustice toward adversaries, of pitiless assault upon character, of the advocacy of the wrong, of the disregard of conscientious convictions. In all times since lawyers have been known, they have been the object of censure and of sarcasm in the speech and the literature of contemporaries. Wits have ridiculed them. Serious writers have decried them. Some part of these attacks may be disregarded as groundless abuse. Some part is a natural incident to the lawyer's occupation. He is a combatant. The contests in which he engages are a substitute for the wager of battle between parties who once fought out their causes in the field with certain disturbance of temper. But the preponderance of censure over praise seems to 232 True Success in the Law 233 show that the censure has foundation in truth. And the utterances of critics not unfavorable compel attention to the strictures. What are its causes, and where is the remedy to be found? The popular answer to the first question would be that lawyers are distrusted because they accept the cases of bad men; because they advocate bad cases, or the wrong side of cases; because they urge, with equal fervor, that side of the case which they are hired and paid to urge, and can be as earnest and as eloquent on one side as on the other. Such an answer, at first glance, seems to prove a lack of sincerity on the part of the lawyer. To the superficial observer it seems incongruous that a virtuous lawyer should support the cause of a vicious client; that an honest lawyer should try to make a dishonest case prevail; that a lawyer who has principle and convictions of his own should urge, for pay, either side of any question. Yet the answer does not present the real difficulty, nor does it suggest a remedy. Bad and vicious men have rights of person and of prop- erty, no less than exemplary men. If their vice leads them to transgress the law they are subject to legal punishment for specific offenses. But there is no edict of confiscation applicable to bad men. Among the vagaries of legislation no law has yet been proposed that forbids bad men to go into court, or to employ lawyers to appear in court for them. As no man is wholly good, it follows that all men are more or less bad and the exclusion of bad men from the privilege of the courts would either exclude all citizens or would call for an impracticable classification based upon degrees of badness or of goodness. There is no reason why a lawyer should not accept a 234 The Professions retainer from the worst or most disreputable of men, unless the retainer puts the lawyer under control of the client, or compels him to personate the client, or to exe- cute the orders that the vice of the client invents. If the retainer has this effect, then it makes the lawyer, no mat- ter how virtuous in person, as bad as the client for the purposes of the client's suit. To the criticism that lawyers advocate bad cases, or the wi'ong side of cases, there is a similar reply. There is, in a correct sense, no bad side of a case that has two sides. A case, properly defined, is a dispute, or controversy, where each party honestly believes that he has some right, or fraction of right, that the opposing party refuses to regard. Where such a controversy has passed the hmits of negotia- tion, or adjustment, it may properly be submitted for the decision of the court. The court may decide that neither party shall have all he has claimed. It may decide that one of the parties shall have nothing that he has claimed. Yet it does not follow that the defeated party had a bad case, or that he was on the wrong side. The honest, though mistaken, assertion of a right, or any measure of right, denied by the opponent, is the proper basis of a case. It casts no reflection upon the morals of a lawyer, though it may upon his ability, that he has espoused and urged a case, or the side of a case, that turns out to be bad in the sense that the court at last decides against it. If it happens, as no doubt it does, that lawyer and client both see that the dispute, or controversy, involves no measm-e of legal right or of justice, then no basis for a case in court exists. It is merely a quarrel that should not be obtruded upon the court or made an item of expense to the public that maintains the courts. Nor can the fact that the lawyer argues that side of the case for which he is retained and paid, account for the True Success in the Law 235 distrust with which he is regarded. The only limitation in this respect is that he shall not argue both sides of the same case. He may regret that he has not been retained on the side that has the greater measure of right. But it is reason for commendation and not for censure that he can argue honestly and earnestly in support of the measure of right, however small, that he believes to be his client's. These considerations make it easier to state the real causes for such distrust, or discredit, as attaches to the profession and practice of the law. Prominent among these causes are two : First of these is the fact, recognized by the ethics of the profession, that clients and not lawyers decide what cases shall be brought into court and control the substantial methods of their conduct in court. The second is, that lawyers are permitted to personate their clients; to say what they think their clients would say and do what they think their cUents would do, in order to win their cases. Agreeably to the ethics of the profession as now under- stood, the lawyer may and, under penalty of losing his clients, must take into court such cases as the client directs. He may and, at the same risk, must conduct them in court with all the temper, prejudice, and personal rancor of the client. He must conduct them in substance according to the wishes of the client. He may personate the chent; speak as he thinks the cUent would speak, or would Hke to have him speak, and, discarding his own con- victions and the restraints of his own conscience, shape his conduct by what he assumes to be, yet which may not be, the conscience of his cUent. And, under estabhshed decisions, he may say with immunity of his adversary and of adverse witnesses false things and even maUcious things, if only they are pertinent to the cause in issue. 236 The Professions What wonder that, under these conditions, causeless and conscienceless litigations go on? What wonder that the profession has earned a reputation for disingenuous- ness? The lawyer, burdened with a cause that is urged by the client's caprice or anger, has found in neither the facts nor the law weapons to give him the victory the client expects him to gain. Where shall he look for other weapons? He may open his case or his defense by stating with warmth and exaggeration the things his client wishes to have proved. He may impugn the mo- tives of the adverse party. He may harass the opponent's witnesses. He may lay traps for them and lead them into apparent contradiction. He may lay stress on imma- terial matters and obscure the material. He may exclude evidence known only to himself and his client, that favors the other side. He may amuse the jury by bright or caustic personalities in respect to matters not relevant to the cause. He may use the weapon of eloquence in sum- ming up, and may give it keener edge by ingenious mis- application of facts, misconstruction of motive, sophistical criticism of testimony, undeserved denunciation of parties. Professional standards allow these things. There are not wanting among distinguished practitioners those who maintain that the rough-and-tumble way of conduct- ing a legal battle is the best way. They hold that the court and jury will best get at the truth by witnessing this intemperate and confusing contest. The court and jury do, in most instances, finally reach the truth, or its approximate; but they reach it at vast cost of time, waste of pubhc money, and expense of temper. And, beyond this, there is engendered and nourished that distrust of the lawyer's honesty and sincerity that wounds his sensibilities and impairs his service. Now, the object of every litigation should be to obtain True Success in the Law 237 for the litigant exactly what is of right his, without adding anything to what is his due and without subtracting any- thing from it. This object should be reached with the least possible expenditure of labor and time by the courts; the least practicable harm to reputation or feelings of parties and witnesses and with no sacrifice of the lawyer's self-respect. It would be the perfection of litigation to reach correct and just results without wasting the time of the court, increasing the pubUc burden of expense, wronging adversaries, or witnesses, or detracting from the honor of the bar. Lawyers who approach this standard in the conduct of their Utigations bring credit to themselves and to the bar. It is divergence from this standard that brings discredit. But how can the standard be maintained if lawyers must conduct such litigations as their clients ordain; may personate their clients, bad or good; may discard their own convictions and adopt the assumed convictions of their clients in the conduct of their causes, and may, with impunity, say malicious and false things about their adversaries. To disclose the causes that may bring reproach upon the bar suggests the remedy that should be adopted. The lawyer should be emancipated from servitude to his cUent in respect to the commencement and conduct of suits. The lawyer should control in determming what cases may be brought before the court; what suits may be begun; what defenses may be interposed. His appearance in any cause should be deemed a certificate, upon his honor as counsel, that it involves, in his opinion, the honest assertion of legal and equitable rights withheld by the opposing party. In all matters that involve conscience, whether matters of form or substance, the lawyer's deci- 238 The Professions sion should be supreme from the beginning to the end of litigation. The custom should be shattered that permits the lawyer to personate the client; to argue against his own convictions ; to substitute his client's morals and con- science for his own, in the conduct of his cause. It is probable that clients would dislike to have litiga- tion determined and conducted in the manner here sug- gested. No doubt many would claim that such a method would take something from their rights as citizens. No doubt they would consider their own consciences as enlightened as the consciences of their counsel and them- selves as competent as their counsel to decide what pro- ceedings and defenses should be considered just. But, conceding the conscience of the client is no less enlightened than the conscience of the lawyer, it still remains true that the client is swayed in respect to his own case by self-interest, by excitement, by temper or animosity, from which the lawyer should be free. Equal rights before the coiu-ts belong to all citizens; but it should be no part of the rights of any citizen to make his quarrels or disputes a pubUc charge, nor should it be the right of any citizen to decide what controversies are fit for htigation. These questions should be decided by the lawyer. It is for this that he has, or should have, the training of a specialist. For the just decision of these questions he should be held responsible by the courts. The change of methods here urged will not be effected by the lawyer unaided. Many prefer the existing methods. Those who do not are unable to adopt the better method without consigning their clients to those who do. The change will not be effected by pubhc opinion. The public, disinterested, might approve it; but the public, individuahzed as clients, would disapprove. The change can hardly be effected by adjudications of the courts upon True Success in the Law 239 the relative rights of lawyer and client. Adjudications come too slowly, and few lawyers, or none, will make the issues that call for them. The most effectual aid must come from the oath admin- istered to the lawyer on his admission to the bar and the enforcement of that oath by corresponding rules of the court. The State of Washington prescribes for its lawyers a form of oath that indicates their control of their clients in respect to litigation, and that points to their freedom from vassalage. This oath, though compact, is itself an essay on the sub- ject of legal ethics. If it shall be enforced by the courts and Uved up to by the bar, it will be one of the state's best possessions. It runs as follows : Obligation to be sworn to by attorney : " 1st. I do solemnly swear that I will support the Con- stitution and laws of the State of Washington. " 2d. That I will maintain the respect due to courts of justice and judicial officers. " 3d. That I will counsel and maintain such actions, pro- ceedings and defenses only as appear to me legal and just; except the defense of a person charged with a public offense. " 4th. To employ for the purpose of maintaining the causes confided to me such means only as are consistent with truth and never to seek to mislead the judge by any artifice or false statement of facts or law. " 5th. That Iwill maintain inviolate the confidence and, at every peril to myself, preserve the secrets of my client. " 6th. That I will abstain from all offensive personality and advance no fact prejudicial to the honor or reputa- tion of a party or witness unless required by the justice of the cause with which I am charged. 240 The Professions " 7th. That I will never reject, from any consideration personal to myself, the cause of the defenseless or oppressed. So help me God." The form of this obligation would be improved by in- serting after the word "Judge," in the fourth para- graph, the words "or jury," so that the paragraph would read: "To employ, for the purpose of maintaining the causes confided to me, such means only as are consistent with truth, and never to seek to mislead the Judge or jury by any artifice or false statement of facts or law." But, as it stands, it is a vast improvement upon the forms of the other states. It would be worth a crusade to have it adopted by every state and enforced appropri- ately by the rules of every court and kept constantly before every attorney. Its third paragraph, by the words "I will counsel and maintain such actions, proceedings and defenses only as appear to me legal and just," makes the Counsel the one who, as between himself and his client, shall determine what suits and defenses shall come before the court, and requires that such as come there shall appear to the Counsel to be not only legal but also just. The fourth and sixth paragraphs forbid the artifices, exaggerations, subterfuges, evasions, suppressions that help to make the practice of the law discreditable. The whole oath puts the responsibility of bringing suit, interposing defense and of conducting either, exactly where that responsibility should be put, upon the conscience and honor of the lawyer. All students of the law hope and wish to succeed. Every judge or lawyer who addresses them will say that, while the road of the law is steep and flinty, yet if the student toils courageously on he will find it leads to success. Lawyer Addressing the Jury True Success in the Law 241 But what is the success the speaker and the hearer have in mind? One kind of success is shown by the receipt of large fees. If they are the return for large services and are the fair equivalent for that which he who pays them has received in service, they are one measure of success. It is a success to gain verdicts from juries, if the verdicts are just, but not if the jury has been misled to the belief that the worse cause is the better cause. It is a success to convince courts by argument, if the argument is founded on facts and law correctly presented. It is a success to counsel clients so wisely that they can get their rights without needless expenditure of time and effort. But it is safe to say of any able lawyer who has passed the passionate period of life, that he does not deem the verdicts he has won to have been successes if they have been won by distortion of facts, by undeserved invective, by unjust aspersion of character or motive, or if their win- ning has taken from the opposing party something that should have been left with him. It is safe to say of such a lawyer that he does not deem his counsel to clients an evidence of success for the reason that it has helped his chents to get what they wished, unless he can also feel that it has not helped them to get what they ought not to have had. To have advanced the cause of truth and justice is a success, whether this has been done by winning verdicts, by getting favorable decisions, or by preventing needless litigation. The success here outlined is the only kind of success that, in the retrospect, satisfies the ambitious man whose ambi- tion is worthy. It is the kind of success that in the pros- pect should be alluring to the young. DANIEL WEBSTER'S EARLY LEGAL CAREER By CHARLES LANMAN ANIEL WEBSTER was admitted to the practice of the law, in Boston, in 1805, and was first introduced to the public as a law- yer by the distinguished person with whom he had chiefly studied his profession, Christopher Gore. After practicing in Boston about one year, his father died, and he returned to his paternal home. In 1807 he was admitted to practice in the courts of New Hampshire, and took up his residence at Portsmouth, where he re- mained about nine years. Just before entering upon his Boston practice, he was tendered the vacant clerkship of the Court of Common Pleas for the county of Hillsborough, New Hampshire, of which his father was one of the judges, and the appoint- ment had been bestowed upon his son by his colleagues as a token of personal regard. The office was worth some fifteen hundred dollars, which in those days, and that section of country, was equal to the salary of Secretary of State at the present time. Delighted with this reali- zation of his most sanguine hopes, the father hastened to communicate the joyful intelligence to his son. That son was then a student in the office of Christopher Gore, in Boston. He received the news with sensations of gladness that he had never before experienced. With a loud throbbing heart he announced the tidings to his legal counselor and friend, and, to his utter astonishment, that far-seeing and sagacious man expressed, in the most 242 Daniel Webster's Early Legal Career 243 pointed manner, his utter disapprobation of the proposed change in his pursuits. "But my father is poor, and I wish to make him comfortable in his old age," replied the student. "That may all be," continued Mr. Gore, "but you should think of the future more than of the present. Become once a clerk and you will always be a clerk, with no prospect of attaining a higher position. Go on and finish your legal studies; you are, indeed, poor, but there are greater evils than poverty; live on no man's favor; what bread you do eat, let it be the bread of inde- pendence; pursue your profession; make yourself useful to the world and formidable to your enemies, and you will have nothing to fear." The student listened attentively to these sound argu- ments and had the good sense to appreciate them. His determination was immediately made; and now came the dreaded business of advising his father as to his in- tended course. He felt that it would be a difficult task to satisfy him of its propriety, and he therefore determined to go home without delay and give him in full all the reasons of his conduct. In three days, in spite of the inclemency of the weather, for it was winter, he had reached the dwelling on Elms Farm. According to his own account, he arrived there in the evening and found his father sitting before the fire. He received him with manifest joy. He looked feebler than he had ever appeared, but his countenance lighted up on seeing his clerk stand before him in good health and spirits. He lost no time in alluding to the great appointment; said how spontaneously it had been made, how kindly the Chief Justice proposed it, and with what unanimity all assented. During this speech, it can be well imagined how em- 244 The Professions barrassed Daniel felt, compelled, as he thought, from a conviction of duty, to disappoint his father's sanguine expectations. Nevertheless, he commanded his counte- nance and voice so as to reply in a sufficiently assured manner. He spoke gayly about the office; expressed his great obligation to their Honors, and his intention to write them a most respectful letter; if he could have consented to record anybody's judgments he should have been proud to have recorded their Honors, etc., etc. He proceeded in this train till his father exhibited signs of amazement, it having occurred to him, finally, that his son might all the while be serious. "Do you intend to decline this office?" he said, at length. "Most certainly," replied his son. "I can not think of doing otherwise. I mean to use my tongue in the courts, not my pen; to be an actor, not a register of other men's actions." ■I For a moment Judge Webster seemed angry. He rocked his chair slightly ; a flash went over his eye, softened by age, but even then black as jet, but it soon disappeared, and his countenance regained its usual serenity. "Well, my son," said Judge Webster, finally, "your mother always said that you would come to something or noth- ing — become a somebody or a nobody; it is now settled that you are to be a nobody. " [ In a few days the student returned to Boston, and the subject was never afterward mentioned in the family. Within six months after Webster had declined the county court clerkship he was, even as a student in Gore's office, remarkably successful in accumulating money for his legal services, and being aware of the fact that his father was considerably embarrassed in his circumstances, he resolved to go home and liquidate all the pending claims. He arrived at home ostensibly for Daniel Webster's Early Legal Career 245 a friendly visit. It was Saturday night, and he sought an early opportunity to have a private interview with his father. "Father, I am going to pay your debts," said he. "Oh, my son, that can never be; you know not how numerous they are. " "But I can, and will, father; and that, too, before next Monday night." On the Tuesday morning following. Judge Webster was a free man, and his son Daniel was on his return to Boston. Webster practiced law in Portsmouth nearly nine years, and during that time one of his best friends, and also his most prominent competitor, was the distinguished Jeremiah Mason. On one occasion a gentleman called upon the former for the piu"pose of securing his services in a lawsuit; but Webster was compelled to decline the engagement, but recommended his client to Mason. "What do you think of the abiUties of Mr. Mason?" said the gentleman. "I think him second to no man in the country, " replied Webster. The gentleman called upon Mason, and having se- cured his promise of assistance, he thought he would gratify his curiosity, and therefore questioned him as to his opinion of Webster. "He 's the very devil, in any case whatsoever," replied Mason; "and if he's against you, I beg to be excused. " Webster, who subsequently met Pinkney and Wirt and Emmet at the bar, recently said that he never feared any of them so much as Jeremiah Mason. The first meeting of Daniel Webster with Jeremiah Ma- son was in a criminal trial. A noted person, belonging to the Democratic party, had been indicted for counterfeiting, 246 The Professions and it was deemed particularly important that he should be acquitted. Mason stood foremost among his pro- fessional brethren, and was of course employed to defend the accused. When the trial came on, the Attorney- General happened to be absent, whereupon Webster was delegated to conduct the prosecution for the state. Mason came into court, and conducted himself somewhat after the manner of Goliath; but when Webster, like another David (to use the language of a contemporary), "came down upon his distinguished opponent like a shower of hail," Mason was astonished, and began to tremble for the fate of his client. It so happened, how- ever, that a Democratic jury acquitted their friend; but Mason subsequently expressed himself as having been struck with the high, open, and manly ground taken by Webster, not resorting to technicalities, but sticking to the main points of the law and the facts, and at that early period prophesied that his future public career would be particularly brilliant and useful. In legal acquirements and logical skill, Jeremiah Ma- son and Jeremiah Smith, according to the Rev. John H. Morrison, were not the unworthy associates and antago- nists of Daniel Webster; while in the combination of gifts which make the commanding orator, he stood with them, as he had done everywhere else, like Mount Washington among the other mountains of New England. Smith often said that in single qualities he had known men superior to Webster; that Hamilton had more original genius; Ames greater quickness of imagination; that Marshall, Parsons, and Dexter were as remarkable for logical strength; but that in the union of high intel- lectual qualities he had known no man whom he thought his equal. Among the New Hampshire anecdotes which Webster Daniel Webster's Early Legal Career 247 was in the habit of occasionally narrating to his friends was the following, which we give the substance of in nearly his own words: "Soon after commencing the practice of my pro- fession at Portsmouth, I was waited on by an old ac- quaintance of my father's resident in an adjacent county, who wished to engage my professional services. Some years previous, he had rented a farm, with the clear under- standing that he could purchase it, after the expiration of his lease, for one thousand dollars. Finding the said farm productive, he soon determined to own it, and, as he laid aside money for the purchase, he was prompted to im- prove what he felt certain he would possess. But his landlord, finding the property greatly increased in value, coolly refused to receive the one thousand dollars, when in due time it was presented; and when his extortionate demand of double that sum was refused, he at once brought an action of ejectment. The man had but the one thousand dollars, and an unblemished reputation, yet I willingly undertook his case. "The opening argument of the plaintiff's attorney left me little ground for hope. He stated that he could prove that my client hired the farm, but there was not a word in the lease about the sale, nor was there a word spoken about the sale when the lease was signed, as he should prove by a witness. In short, his was a clear case, and I left the court-room at dinner-time with feeble hopes of success. By chance, I sat at table next a newly- commissioned militia officer, and a brother lawyer began to joke him about his lack of martial knowledge; 'Indeed,' he jocosely remarked, 'you should write down the orders, and get old W to beat them into your sconce, as I saw him this morning, with a paper in his hand, teaching something to young M in the courthouse entry.' 248 The Professions "Can it be, I thought, that old W , the plaintiff in the case, was instructing young M , who was his reUable witness? "After dinner the court was reopened, and M was put on the stand. He was examined by the plaintiff's counsel, and certainly told a clear, plain story, repudi- ating all knowledge of any agreement to seU. When he had concluded, the opposite counsel, with a triumphant glance, turned to me, and asked me if I was satisfied." " 'Not quite,' I replied. "I had noticed a piece of paper protruding from M 's pocket, and hastily approaching him, I seized it before he had the least idea of my intention. ' Now, ' I asked, ' tell me if this paper does not detail the story you have so clearly told, and is it not false?' The witness hung his head with shame; and when the paper was found to be what I had supposed, and in the very handwriting of old W , he lost his case at once. Nay, there was such a storm of indignation against him that he soon removed to the West. "Years afterward, visiting New Hampshire, I was the guest of my professional brethren at a public dinner, and toward the close of the festi^dties, I was asked if I would solve a great doubt by answering a question. 'Certainly.' 'Well, then, Mr. Webster, we have often wondered how you knew what was in M 's pocket. ' " By way of showing the character of some of his fees while practicing law at Portsmouth, the following inci- dent is worth recording: One of his cHents, after gaining a certain suit, found himself unable to raise the necessary funds to pay his lawyer, and therefore insisted upon deeding to him a piece of land in a neighboring county. And so the matter rested for many years. Happening to be on a visit to this county at a subsequent period, Daniel Webster's Early Legal Career 249 he hunted out this land, and found an old woman living upon it alone, in an old house situated among rocks. He questioned the woman about the farm, and learned that it was the property of a lawyer named Webster, and that she was daily expecting him to come on and turn her out of doors. Whereupon he made himself known as the proprietor, gave her a word of consolation, with a present of fifty dollars, broke bread with her at her humble board, and took his departm-e. From that time to the present the place has been known as "Webster's Farm," and it is beUeved that up to the day of his death the idea of this possession had never entered his mind. At the time that Webster quitted Portsmouth for Boston, he was doing the heaviest law business of any man in New Hampshire; he was retained in nearly all the important causes, and but seldom appeared as the junior counsel. His practice was chiefly in the circuit courts; and diu-ing the last six weeks of his labors, previous to his departure for Boston, his earnings amounted to only five hundred dollars. This was the result of a journey into every county in the state, and was really the primal cause of his removal to a wider sphere of action. When Webster was practicing law in his native state, "riding the circuit" was a very different matter from what it now is, in this age of railroads. So extensive was his business, even at this period, that he was fre- quently compelled to journey from one place to another during the night. On one occasion, after a toilsome series of days and nights, he was journeying on horse- back, as usual, along a lonely road, when he fell into a profound study upon the merits of the case he was com- pelled to attend to on the following morning. Long 250 The Professions and tedious was the trial as it proceeded in the chamber of his brain, when, just as the jury was about to pro- nounce the verdict, a drop of water fell upon his hand, and lo ! as the moon came out of a cloud, he found himself comfortably seated on his horse, which had sought a convenient standing-place under an old oak, as if deter- mined that its master should enjoy the quiet nap which he so much needed. Thanks to the dewdrop, the journey was resumed, and the cause of the following day was satisfactorily settled. In the year 1817 Webster took up his permanent resi- dence in Boston. During his career as a member of Con- gress, to which he was first elected in 1812, his legal and private interests had materially suffered, and he felt the need of a broader field than Portsmouth for his future action. He had already become identified, says Knapp in his biography, with the interests of the New Eng- land metropolis, and the more opulent merchants doing business there were ready to employ him. Boston was then the residence of some of the first lawyers of the nation; such men, for example, as Dexter, Prescott, Otis, Sullivan, Shaw, Gorham, and Hubbard, and there seemed to be little room for another in the upper class of the legal fraternity ; but Daniel Webster seemed to walk into this distinguished company like one who had a right to be there, and though many opened wide their eyes, none dared to question his right to be tlaere. In a very few months his name appeared as senior counsel in many important causes, and he deported himself like one who was simply enjoying his birthright. His practice was not confined to the county of Suffolk, but extended to the neighboring counties and others in the interior of the state. His powers as an advocate and a lawyer were at once conceded, though some found fault Daniel Webster's Early Legal Career 251 with his manners at the bar as a little too severe and sharp; tliis, however, was soon forgotten in the admira- tion that everywhere followed him. The people were always with him, and few had the hardihood to declare themselves his rivals. As were his manners at the bar some thirty years ago, so were they through his life whenever he appeared in a deliberative assembly. He began to state his points in a low voice, and in a slow, cool, cautious, and philosophi- cal manner. If the case was of importance, he went on, hammering out, link by hnk, his chain of argument, with ponderous blows, leisurely inflicted; and, while thus at labor, you rather saw the sinews of the arm than the skill of the artist. In reply, however, he came out in the majesty of intellectual grandeur, and poured forth the opulence of his mind; when the arrows of the enemy had hit him he was all might and soul, and showered his words of weight and fire. His style of oratory was founded on no model, but was entirely his own. He dealt not with the fan- tastic and poetical, but with the matter-of-fact, everyday world, and the multifarious affairs of his fellow men, ex- tricating them from difficulties, and teaching them how to become happy. He never strove to dazzle, astonish, or confuse, but went on to convince and conquer by great but legitimate means. When he went out to battle, he went alone, trusting to no earthly arm but his own. He asked for no trophies but his own conquests; he looked not for the laurel of victory, but it was proffered to him by all, and bound his brow until he went out on some new exploit. THE SECOND DREYFUS TRIAL By VANCE THOMPSON HE first court-martial of Captain Dreyfus occu- pied three days ; the second lasted five weeks ; from August 7 to September 9, 1899. You are in Rennes, a somber little city of Brittany; it is a center of old-world traditions, of antique religious fervor; it is the capital, as it were, of that ancient France — devoted to army and church — which is wholly anti-Dreyfusard. You may see the native population in the streets; it is silent and cowed by the overwhelming display of troops and police. But there is another population in these burning summer days; it is cosmopolitan; it has come from the four corners of the world. The judges enter and take their places on the little school-platform. Without any exaggeration it may be said the eyes of the world are on these seven men who have been called to judge the cause of Alfred Dreyfus. The presiding officer is old Jouaust, a grim, rude, impatient soldier, with white mustache and hard eyes; Profilet and Merle, quiet, sad-faced men; Br^on, painstaking, scruple- ridden — he prays half the night that he may be inspired to give a just verdict; Beauvais, handsome and meaning- less ; Brongniart, pensive and silent ; and Parf ait, a young officer, cold, attentive, always erect. "Bring in the prisoner," Jouaust orders. There is silence, absolute, complete; every eye turns ' By permission of the author and " Success Magazine." Copyright, 1907. 252 The Second Dreyfus Trial 253 toward a little door; a minute passes; then, with a firm military step, — almost automatic in its precision, — Captain Dreyfus enters. He is in the uniform of a cap- tain of artillery and wears eyeglasses. For a moment he seems dazed by the sudden blaze of light from the many windows. Then, steady as a soldier in the ranks, he marches to his seat, by the little dais where his five law- yers sit, salutes and stands. Motionless, erect ; you would have said it was a statue, not a man. "You may be seated." Dreyfus takes off his ke'pi and sinks into the chair; and then, when for a moment his iron will relaxes, you see what a mere rag of hmnanity he is. A murmur of pity and of horror runs through the hall. His face is terribly haggard; but he seems younger than he is, — in spite of the thin white hair, — for he is small and weak. His new uniform is padded at the shoulders, but it hangs limp over his gaunt limbs. The eyes are of a pale blue — a blue so pale they seem almost white; they are unflinch- ing. The chin is prominent. The full hps are accen- tuated by a fine reddish mustache. Usually his face is pallid; now and then it flushes strangely, — a deep red of fever or emotion. Two of his lawyers lean over and whisper to him, — Demange, old and corpulent; Labori, corpulent and young; he answers in a monotone. The charge against him is read aloud; inunobile he listens — "bordereau," "Esterhazy, " "confession," "military attaches" ; all these phrases that have been bandied about the world for five years. The accusation is long, tortuous, crammed with hearsay and gossip. "He had been to Brussels" — "he had visited Germany" — "he had known an Austrian woman" — "he had been a gambler" — ^ all the scandal and tattle of the barracks and the detective bureaus. 254 The Professions Lawyers and civilians wonder. Is this all there is to the f anious] affaire? One wouldn't whip a cat on such evidence! There is absolutely no evidence against him except the oft-mentioned bordereau, — and Esterhazy long ago admitted that he himself had written that dirty document. Nothing but the bordereau! And at length we are to see it. "Stand up," says Jouaust. "Yes, Colonel." and Dreyfus rises, erect, steady, as if on parade. "Do you recognize this paper?" the president of the court-martial asks; he offers the prisoner a sheet of paper, worn and yellowed by time. With a gesture of repulsion Dreyfus refuses to take it. "It was shown me at the other trial," he says, calmly, "and I did not know it. I had never seen it before. " Then suddenly he raises his hand; a strangled cry comes from him, and broken phrases; in the audience you can not make out the words, so broken vrith sobs they are; but the official stenographer records them, thus: "I declare again I am innocent — as I have always done — for five years I have endured everything — but I am innocent — Oh, Colonel, for the honor of my name and that of my children — " and here the man, who had seemed strong as iron, breaks down. His brother IMathieu frightfully pale, starts toward him; a guard holds him back. "Then you plead not guilty?" Dreyfus throws up his head and squares his shoulders. "I am innocent, Colonel," he repeats, firmly. And so the great drama began that August day in the somber city of Rennes. That evening they asked Drey- fus what his impression had been. His answer, wonder- ful in its simplicity, was one to touch every heart with The Second Dreyfus Trial 255 pity. He said : " It was good to see human beings again ! " And tliose words seemed to summon up an actual picture of what he had suffered in that far-away hell of solitude and leprous silence. On the stand Dreyfus had shown himself calm, con- tained, self-mastered — save for that one outbreak of emotion. His memory never failed him; with marvelous accuracy of date and detail he answered every question put to him and refuted coldly the arguments of the rude and noisy old soldiers who presided. Coldly I have said; and that is the best word to describe his manner and tone of voice. Never once did he seem to vibrate with the wrath and suffering accumulated during those five terrible years. His self-control was heroic. And the anti-Semites and patriots found a cause of reproach in the soldierly repression. The public, too, and many of his warmest partisans seemed to wish that this Lazarus, risen from the grave, would strut and throb as in a melo- drama. Every Frenchman is tainted with romanticism; his view of life is theatrical; to win every heart Dreyfus had but to beat his breast, weep, shout "Ma mhe!" "La patrie!" "Honneur!" and all that; but this soldier made no appeal to pity; he was stern and cold as a man, unjustly accused of monstrous crime, has a right to be. So he stood there in stoic pride; he was simple; he was hard ; years of suffering had dried up all the tears in him ; and in a clear, colorless voice, a man and not an actor, he refuted all the juridic absurdities, all the lies and stupidity which had been a hundred times refuted by his partisans. Then for four days the public was excluded from the hall, while the "documents" in the case were gone over by Dreyfus and his lawyers and the officers of the prose- 256 The Professions cution. There were nearly four hundred of these papers; you know them as well as need be. Henry's forgeries were there and those of many a dead man, — the rubbish of the waste baskets of the German and Italian embassies, — all the dirty bits of forged and stolen paper on which the old generals, the patriots, the anti-Semites depended for the condemnation of their man. Since the first trial, in 1894, this mass of rubbish had increased eight- fold, so busy had the General Staff been in "making evidence." It was rubbish, I have said; what was not rubbish had no more to do with Dreyfus than with the cadets of West Point. Daily, Dreyfus was taken to the Lyc^e from the prison, between files of soldiers; a few journalists hissed him, but volleys of cheers greeted him from throngs of friends, women in white, Dreyfusards. He had become the hope of revolution. A greater cause was merged in his cause and it was the cause of all those who had suffered from military tyranny and the injustice of power. The France of those days was a sort of Hamlet, sick in soul, tortured by a matter of conscience, and powerless to act — so opposed was its plain duty to old instincts, old national prejudices; a hesitant Hamlet. Only the soldiers did not hesitate. The soldier- judges obeyed orders — the orders of their chiefs and the former Min- isters of War. There was one of the judges, however, who seemed to incarnate that Hamlet soul of France. This was De Br^on. By day he sat in judgment in the sweltering court-martial weighing, questioning, studying; his nights he spent in the churches, prostrate, praying for light. He was torn between the prejudices of his caste and the doubts that had come to him. His conscience tortured him. He believed it his duty to condemn, and he recognized the innocence of his victim. During the The Second Dreyfus Trial 257 summing-up of Demange iiis feverish eyes never for an instant quitted the pale, set face of Dreyfus. It was as though he was seeking there a sign, — a miracle. Let us be just. In each of the camps — Dreyfusard and anti-Dreyfusard — there were fanatics, self-seekers, men of evil; in each camp there were men honestly convinced they were fighting a just cause, but France, as a whole, was in the position of De Br^on — a melancholy Hamlet, tortured by doubt, seeking a miraculous sign. Read the final words by old Demange to the judges: "You are about to withdraw for your deliberations on this case; once alone, what are you going to ask your- selves? If Dreyfus is innocent? No! I assure you of his innocence, but what you have to ask yourselves is whether he is guilty. You will say: 'We do not know! Perhaps some one else is the traitor ! The writing of the bordereau is not his. Over in London there is a man (Esterhazy) who may have committed the crime.' At this moment, I swear it, in your soul and conscience doubt has been born. THAT DOUBT IS ENOUGH FOR ME! That doubt means an acquittal. And now go!" Oh, ye gods of legal eloquence! It had been shown again and again and again, — it had been proved to the hilt, — that Dreyfus was innocent, that Esterhazy on his own confession was the traitor; and all this old lawyer found to plead was " a doubt " ! A doubt! That stormy advocate Labori had found something else to say, be sure. But, although he had recovered from his wound, he had been forbidden — by Joseph Reinach and Clemen- ceau — to plead; they feared his passionate and bitter eloquence, deeming it might injure the cause. Anyway he would not have pleaded "DouW"! And Demange talks for seven hours to end on this important con- clusion. He had followed the instructions of Reinach; 258 The Professions perhaps the fault was not greatly his own. The prose- cution answered shortly. Then Jouaust ordered the prisoner to rise. Never once during that long file had he called him by name. Now, for the first time and with a manifest intention of showing kindness, the grizzled old soldier said: "Captain Dreyfus, have you anything to add in your defense?" Dreyfus was horribly pale; it was such a gray pallor as settles on the face of the dead; he tried to cry aloud his hope in the justice of his brother officers, — his comrades; but his physical weakness was too great; his voice died out in a broken murmur of words: "I am innocent, — the honor of my children, — your loyalty — " That was all that could be heard in the hushed room. The gendarmes led him away; and, in spite of his weak- ness, he tried to hold his poor, worn body erect as a soldier should. The judges retired. Five minutes passed - ten — fifteen — Let us enter the judgment chamber: The vote began with the youngest and lowest in rank; thence it advanced step by step to the highest. Jouaust put the question: "Is he guilty?" and stood, pencil in hand, to record the votes. The young Captain Parfait answered first: "Yes." Profilet voted: "Yes." Merle: "Yes." Beauvais: "Yes." De Br6on — not in vain had he prayed — voted "No. " It was the turn of the Lieutenant-Colonel Brongniart; — upon him all depended — for Jouaust had then the cast- ing vote, and it required a majority to convict; this rugged old soldier (in spite of his apparent roughness with the prisoner) was convinced that Dreyfus was a The Second Dreyfus Trial 259 wronged and innocent man. Jouaust waited, holding his pencil over the column of the "No's." Brongniart answered: "Yes." "Wliat! You believe there is any proof at all against him!" cried Jouaust; bitterly disappointed, he recorded his own vote: "No." And this was the verdict they brought in: "To-day, September 9, 1899, the Council of War of the Tenth Army Corps, deliberating in secret session; "The President put the following question: 'Is Captain Alfred Dreyfus of the Fourteenth Regiment of Artillery, detailed at the General Staff, guilty of having, in 1894, provoked the machinations of, and kept up communi- cation with, a foreign power, with the purpose of aid- ing it to commit hostilities or undertake war against France, or to procure money by selling it the notes and documents mentioned in the bordereau?' By a majority of five votes to two, he is declared guilty. Therefore, the Council of War condemns the said Dreyfus (Alfred) to ten years of imprisonment. " It was nearly five o'clock when they entered with this new ratification of the lie; they looked like seven specters, so haggard they were. In a death-like silence Jouaust read the sentence; and when he finished there was still silence, — the silence of mute horror and immense grief; only here and there a woman sobbed. Softly the crowd went out; men looked at one another, but did not speak; in tragic silence they went away. There were left only the judges, white-faced, gloomy; old Demange, who wept with his head on the table, and Labori. It was the younger of the two advocates of the truth, who entered the adjoining room to carry the news to the victim of a new military crime. The minute Dreyfus saw his lawyers enter, he seemed to know all. He took Labori 260 The Professions in his arms and kissed liim. Then, without apparent emotion he listened to the verdict. He spoke only three words ; very simply he said : "Console my wife. " That was all. Twenty-four hours had been given Dreyfus in which to enter an appeal. It was Saturday. Within a few hours the government had begun to act, — for the government, from the President down, was for Dreyfus. There was a swift consultation of the Prime Minister Waldeck-Rousseau, and the Ministers of Justice and of War. It was decided to grant an immediate pardon. Loubet hesitated; he said: ."It is too soon." Zola, Clemenceau, Jaures, and other leaders of the Dreyfus- ard army opposed the pardon — they demanded ^justice and not pity. Joseph Reinach, however, was of another mind. Dreyfus, he knew, was dying in the cell, — without hope, without strength, tortured by thoughts of his wife and his dishonored children; his life was at stake. And then the news of the second conviction had raised a storm of protest abroad. In twenty cities, — at Antwerp, at Pest, at Milan, at Vienna, at London, at New York, — there had been popular demonstrations, the French consulates had been stoned, the French flag spat upon by Christians and Jews alike. The very soul of the world was revolted by the outrage to justice. Nothing but immediate pardon — immediate release of the victim — could still the tumult. Mathieu Dreyfus had seen his brother, and he said: "He must be pardoned at once, — or he will die." He had seen the unhappy soldier in his cell, calm, "patient as a saint, " but almost at the end of his physical forces, too weak to stand erect. Since his return 'he had refused to have his children The Second Dreyfus Trial 261 brought to him; he did not wish they should ever see their father in prison and dishonored; now, believing death was near, he asked to have them brought to him, — for the last farewell. And so it was that Captain Dreyfus did not appeal, that he accepted the infamous verdict which had con- demned him for a crime he was guiltless of, — his very life was at stake. Jaures wrote the declaration which he gave out the moment he was free. It read: "The Government of the RepubUc gives me liberty. It is nothing for me unless I have, also, my honor. From this day I shall seek unceasingly the reparation of the frightful judicial error of which I am still the victim. All France by a final judgment must know that I am innocent. My soul will be at peace only when there is not one Frenchman who imputes to me the crime another has committed." On September 19, 1899, — ten days after the con- viction — Loubet signed the decree of pardon. That night, accompanied by Mathieu, Dreyfus took train for Carpentras; there in the house of his elder sister he found his wife and, at length, — after five years, — his son and his little daughter. The victim's life was saved; and the long fight for his honor continued. It was not until 1906, — until July 13 — , that the highest court in France, la Cour de Cassa- tion, destroyed once and forever the foul lie which had clung for twelve long years to the name of Dreyfus. By its supreme authority it gave him back, shining and intact, his pure honor of a soldier, of a citizen, of a man. It was in the great hall of the Cour de Cassation. At mid-day the doors opened. Dreyfus was there in civil dress. Mathieu Dreyfus was there. Madame Lucie Dreyfus had brought her two children; and beside her 262 The Professions sat her father and mother, the Hadamards. Near her was Madame Zola — for her husband had died, poisoned by gas on the floor of his bedroom. Not far away was Picquart. Jaures, Reinach, all the soldiers of the "War of Twelve Years," were present at this final scene. The president of the court. Monsieur Ballot-Beaupr^, read the formal decree — peremptory, definite, final — declaring that not a shadow of guilt rested upon Alfred Dreyfus, that the accusation was "entirely unjustified," and refusing to send him before another Council of War. So was the legal truth proclaimed; and the civil power of the State overthrew military injustice. We need not linger here. Justice at last came to its own. That night, in his home, Dreyfus was feasted by twenty-four friends — wife, brothers, sisters, and all those who had been truest to him. The long martyrdom was over. For one moment, however, let us wait and hear the epilogue. The date is July 21, 1906. The place is the great courtyard of the Ecole Mihtaire, yonder by Les Invahdes, where the greatest soldier of France lies buried. Troops are drawn up in a square; two detachments of foot, cuirassiers and a detachment of artillery. The men stand immobile in the ranks, their sabers drawn. Down by the barracks is a black hne — reporters, photographers, a few spectators. From the first-floor windows women in gay gowns look down — you distinguish among them Madame Lucie Dreyfus; her eyes are swollen with tears, her energetic, imperious face is very white. Outside the courtyard, a few lookers-on, not many, peer through the iron gates. A door of the great building opens; an officer, erect and steady, comes out. It is he. It is Dreyfus. He wears the uniform of chef d'escadron. The Second Dreyfus Trial 263 As he walked that winter day in 1895, — to disgrace and dishonor, — so he marches now, hand on sword-hilt, composed, master of himself. A roll of drums. Then a general approaches him: "In the name of the President of the Republic," Gen- eral Gillain cries, "and in virtue of the powers which are conferred upon me. Commandant Dreyfus, I make you Chevalier of the Legion of Honor." He touches him twice on the shoulder with his drawn saber, then he seizes both his hands in his and kisses him on the cheek. From soldiers and spectators come cries of "Vive la Justice!" as the troops defile past this man from Devil's Island — the officers saluting with their swords. Perhaps he thought of that day when, in the same place, a mob had hailed him with crucifying shouts of "Death!" and "Judas!" At all events others thought of it, and time was to bring in its revenges. The parade is over and Dreyfus is in the arms of his wife. She runs to him with a: "Come, let me kiss you!" Then came the summer of rewards. Raised in rank, Dreyfus was given a post of confidence; he was placed in command of the service of mobilization at Vincennes; a httle later he was given full conomand of the artillery at St. Denis, where he is his own chief. His cousin, Grumbach, was promoted and — it was a shrewd blow at the anti-Semites — given charge of the Bureau of In- formation, so that he has control of the entire system of espionage. Marie-Georges Picquart was advanced with extraordinary rapidity; he was made Colonel; within a few months he was made Brigadier-General; then General; and as I write, he is Minister of War — the real head of the army. Zola was dead; but, with great state and national honors, his body was laid away in the Pantheon, where Carnot and Hugo and the great citizens of France 264 The Professions sleep their last sleep. Joseph Reinach was given a seat in Parliament; Clemenceau was made Prime Minister — oh, rewards reigned upon those who had fought the good fight! Nor was vengeance less ample. The Paty de Clams were driven from the army; and the ax fell right and left, upon the heads of the old generals, the epauleted forgers, the vicious and prejudiced men of state and men of law. After the crime, the punishment; and that is well. A strange and tragic history. And now that it is told, what thought comes home to you? My thought is this: Surely this man's martyrdom was as somber and pitiless as that of the medieval saints who were tried by fire; but more marvelous still was the patient heroism — heroism silent and great — with which he bore the torture of the years. Is he a great soldier? I do not know; he has never fought. What one may be sure of is the innate heroism of the man — steady, unbreakable, quiet as a stone. Of him, some day, the world will make a legend. In the meantime, you have read the truth. THE LEGAL TRAINING OF RUFUS CHOATE By EDWARD G. PARKER |UFUS CHOATE was born in Ipswich, Mass. on the 1st of October, in the year 1799, and, died in July, 1859, in the sixtieth year, there- fore, of his age. He grew up in Essex County, in Massachusetts, with but ordinary opportunities of schoohng. When he was sixteen years old he entered Dartmouth College, but a brilhant boyhood had already made him sufficiently known to excite in many quarters of old Essex great ex- pectation of his future achievements. His college course increased these expectations. In Hanover, they said there never was any such boy in college as young Rufus Choate. In studies he was immeasurably and easily the head of his class ; and one of his tutors has since said that long before he left college he was qualified to be a professor in any university in America. He indulged very moderately in sports or play. When the boys were kicking football, he would stand or sit gaz- ing or soHloquizing under the big tree. He preferred lonely walks and his beloved books. Often, he has since told me, he used to sit with his books reading and rumi- nating till long after midnight and far into the morning. But, nevertheless, he was not pedantic or conceited toward his companions; on the contrary, they all loved him dearly. Nobody envied him; almost everybody idolized him. Of course, he graduated with the first honors. His delivery of the valedictory address is still remembered by 265 266 The Professions many as very beautiful, touching, and eloquent. His appearance on the stage, so singular for a youth — that face, even then, pensive and poetical with the pale cast of thought, the shadow of the midnight lamp even then staining the cheek; the mournful and pathetic tones of his naturally soft voice; and the original, elaborate, and attractive ideas he presented, all conspired to weave the spell upon his hearers, and, with all his comrades, to crown him in memory forever as the hero of their hearts. After graduating, he taught school, but soon adopted the law as his profession, and fell upon the study of it with the most eager application, as if with prophetic instinct of the destined identification of his renown with it. The legal arena was the true forum of Rufus Choate's life; and on his tombstone he would chiefly have desired that the chiseled epitaph should be, "The great Advocate." His plan of the proper preparation and accompUshment of a lawyer was a magnificent one. It was almost as com- prehensive as Cicero's scheme of education for an orator, which made all knqwledge and all art essential tributaries to the true speaker's brain and tongue. In the first place, of course, the principles of the common law of England, the basis of our own, were to be mastered. Its adaptation to repubhcan America was to be marked, and the modifications it underwent with us, according as the different elements in our constitutional system of govermnent grew or shrunk in relative importance. To this end, therefore, American history was to be studied carefully and critically. Often, in discussing law before the Court, he would himself not only enhven the discus- sion, but throw vivid fight on the construction of the mooted provision by caUing the attention of the judges to the particular phase of national or pofitical history out of which the provision grew. The Legal Training of Rufus Choate 267 The Statute law also was, in some measure, to be made familiar. The annual reports of law cases decided, he kept up with fully himself, and recommended the same course to others. The study of the elementary writers and the text writers, who collected all the law upon any one point from the numerous decisions, he did not disdain. And he recom- mended, in studying the textbooks, a plan which he said he had always pursued himself; that was, to "break up a book," as he styled it, pen in hand, into many subordinate little books; taking from every part of the book whatever referred to one single branch of the subject treated, or a leading view of the law, in one prominent aspect. Thus, the literary consecutiveness of the book did not go into the mind, as the legal consecutiveness of the topics exam- ined. And the subjects were better digested and grasped into more complete possession. He was no friend to lumbering up the mind with undi- gested crude matter. He wanted everything done, to make what was on one's brain available and ready for delivery in the mass or in detail. Another practice for a student, which he earnestly recommended, was to take any old reported case, read its marginal statement of the facts, then shut the book and study out for yourself what ought to be the law on that state of facts. Having come to the conclusion, and written it down (for again and again he would insist on the pen as the great instrument of accurate thinking), then reopen the book and compare your own opinion with the judges' reported decision; compare the conclusion, and the course of argument by which they arrive at it. "Thus the judges of the Supreme Court," he would say, "become, without knowing it, your own critical legal school-teachers." But besides the EngUsh law, he had himself pursued, 268 The Professions and was wont to advise, a diligent study of other systems of jurisprudence. The Roman law he particularly insisted on. He thought its reasonings on points of contested rights between man and man most instructive and liberal- izing, even to the student of common law. These foundation studies of the lawyer he was in favor of pursuing, in the first instance, in some law school, un- disturbed and unconfused by the details of office practice. Thus, from this retired study of a year or two, he said, a man would get a general but commanding view of the whole body of the law; and afterwards, in an office, he could apply his principles and grapple with the daily details of business. But far beyond the immediate studies of the law, his professional idea ranged outward and upward into the region of general studies and the politer letters. From his intimate acquaintance with literature, some have ranked him with that weakest class of all the servants of the Court — a literary lawyer. He was no literary lawyer — a lawyer who, aiming to practice in the Courts, thinks more of his literature than of his law — less of his musket than of his uniform. No! he was a hard-headed, strong- brained lawyer; a great lawyer, who knew letters; but to whom literature was the slave and not the mistress. I have no doubt, from the opinion of others, as well as my own humble judgment, that he knewthe lawbetter thanErskine, better than Wirt, better than Emmet; although he had not the Titanic grasp of first principles in the law which Webster held when roused; nor the prodigious stores of law learning and black-letter of which Pinkney justly boasted. But Hterature to Mr. Choate was of direct service; and in a double way. It quickened his fancy and ingenuity, it enlarged his mind, without taking away from him the The Legal Training of Rufus Choate 269 power to narrow down its proportions again to legal dimen- sions; the giant of the Arabian story could get out of his small cell, but could not shrink his colossal bulk back again at will — but this giant of the law seemed to have the expansion and contraction of his intellect at equal com- mand. This general literary culture, moreover, was of essential service to Mr. Choate as a mental relaxation and a pastime. I think, at periods of his life, he was conscious of brook- ing apprehensions as to the permanent integrity of his faculties. They were so fine and delicate, yet burned with such lightning velocity in their action, that he could not help remembering with a melancholy interest the poetic aphorism, "Great wits are sure to madness near allied." It was often predicted that, like James Otis, he would find his mind unhinged at last. But he looked into his beloved library, he summoned up his studious recollections of fifty years of enthusiasm, he went the rounds of his track of daily labor; and the great intellect kept on its balanced course on even poise, strong and steady, no oscillation on its level plane — moving more serenely and surely and calmly, till in the full exercise of all its enginery, at last it abruptly stopped. In every way, he made literature servient to his law not dominant over it; if he summoned the Muses around him as he stood before the Jury panel, he summoned them in chains. From literature he got illustrations, ideas, arguments, phrases, words; and last, though not least, intellectual enthusiasm. On all these accounts, therefore, he vehemently recom- mended the study of letters subordinated to law. The English lawyer, he would say, graduates at the British universities a scholar, with his head full of polite learn- ing, and his heart full of enthusiasm and the memories of 270 The Professions Leonidas and Marathon. But he finds the law is a jealous mistress ; he applies himself to her studies, therefore, with severely exclusive zeal; a few years roll on, and he is all law; his face is dry and his heart drier. Now is just the time when he should renew and revive those liberal studies of his youth, and refresh and sweeten his mind; now it will not hurt him to take his head out of his wig and put it into his library. But he does no such thing; — and there has been but one Lord Erskine. In another point of view, Mr. Choate was an earnest advocate of letters for the law student. Our northern and English life, he rightly considered was undemonstrative and formal; that it tended to check all impulsive enthusi- asm in mind and feeling. Our utilitarian practical philos- ophy of existence, also, with the eternal race and scramble for the dollar in the distance, lowers the tone of the mind ; and, while it cultivates energy, chills enthusiasm, the child of nobler aspirations and sunnier climes. But good litera- ture is full of enthusiasm, and studying it you kindle your own fires. Thus, while you expand, you lift up and heat your mind with a generous glow. The study of Rhetoric of course he would advise. He himself was a thorough master of all the rhetoric there was on earth. He had studied it, not only in the detail and immediate application of style and arrangement, but in its essence and origin ; he traced its precepts back to see their source in traits of human nature. Aristotle, he said, laid out a chart of Rhetoric, but with his vast mind he went further, and tracked out the principles of the human soul from which it sprung and to which it was applicable. Cicero and Quintilian, in their practical discussions of the art, Mr. Choate knew intimately. And many a creation or an arrangement of thought, many a home thrust of argu- ment in his own actual practice in Court, I am quite sure, The Legal Training of Rufus Choate 271 owed its origin to their preceipt, or to his own reflection upon their thinking. For in all times, human nature, and the rules applicable to it, are essentially the same; form varies, but the essence of things is unchanged. Juhus Caesar had the same thoughts in his head when he marched over Gaul, as Napoleon III when he marched over Italy. Isocrates might set up the scepter of his school of eloquence here in the American Republic instead of in the Greek RepubUc; and with only trifling changes establish now a second rhetorical empire. Mr. Choate called Aristotle's an ethical rhetoric ; and I remember that he highly praised John Quincy Adams's Lectures on Rhetoric, which were read originally at Harvard, and which treated fully of Aristotle and all the ancient rhetorical authors. He'' was in the habit of saying, "In literature you find ideas. There one should daily replenish his stock." He laid great stress on the fertility of this source of thoughts. But it was for language, for phrases and words, that, more than all, he valued books. He found words in books, and he got them into his command by translations from Greek and Latin into English. Two thousand years ago Cicero stocked his vocabulary by the same plan, translat- ing from Greek into Latin ; and in the last age in England, William Pitt was trained for ten years to translate Latin and Greek both into English. Mr. Choate followed this plan. But chiefly in his translation, he attended to the multiplication of synonyms. For every foreign word he translated, he would rack his brain till he got five or six corresponding English words. This exercise he persevered in daily, even in the midst of the most arduous business. Five minutes a day, if no more, he would seize in the morn- ing for this task. Tacitus was a favorite author for this purpose, and Plautus. Cicero, he said, though noble, could be too easily rendered into a cheap and common 272 The Professions English; "and it is a rich and rare English that one ought to command who is aiming to control a jury's ear." His idea of diction was to get hold of striking and strange expressions which should help him to hold on to the jury's fatigued attention. Thus he would always say, "four and twenty hundred," instead of twenty-four hun- dred, and vary even the most obvious expression to give it a fresh look. But in every part of study, preparatory and final, he always relied vastly on the Pen. That instru- ment is the corrector of vagueness of thought and of im- pression ; therefore, in translating, in mastering a difficult book, in preparing his arguments, in collecting his evidence he was always armed with that, to him, potent weapon. Finally, after all the circle of studies and means of prep- aration thus outlined, there was still another essential in his mind for the court lawyer; that was fervor and elocu- tion. Like Henry Clay, like Grattan, like Chatham, like Curran, he trusted to no native gifts of eloquence. He practiced eloquence every day, for forty years, as a critical study. He would take some approved author and utter a page aloud, but not noisily, in his room; struggling to ac- complish two things — to get the whole feeling of every sentence, and to express it by his tones even more passion- ately than the author by his words; and also he labored to "get his throat open," as he expressed it; by which, I presume, he meant an effort to get out a pure round tone without vociferation or clamor. Edmund Burke's works he chiefly recommended for this exercise, as being a cross between Bolingbroke and Pitt. His example thus is a good lesson to all aspiring youth, who — in a country like ours, more fond of eloquence than any nation since the Athenians — feel ambitious to com- mand the pubHc by earnest discourse. Choate trusted to no inspiration of the moment in his speaking. Every- The Legal Training of Rufus Choate 273 thing that could be prepared was prepared; every nerve, every muscle that could be trained, was trained; every energy that daily practice could strengthen was invigor- ated. Then and thus, full armed and glorious, he swept like a conqueror across the stage in the scenes of his foren- sic dramas. So all truly noble orators, in every age, have trusted not to inspiration but to preparation. The great master, Cicero, when he was President Consul of a republic whose banner was unchallenged beneath the stars, resorted daily to an oratoric school. It is apparent, therefore, in this great modern Advocate's teaching and example, how grand his scheme of education for the advocate was: and with what lofty pride he con- templated the profession of which he was so illustrious a member. He had often on his Ups the magnificent meta- phor of Archbishop Hooker: "Of Law, no less can be said than that her seat is the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of the spheres ; all things in heaven and earth do her reverence ; the greatest as needing her protection, the meanest as not afraid of her power." And he spoke with singular enthusiasm of Bolingbroke's tribute to the Law: "There have been lawyers that were orators, philosophers, historians; there have been Bacons and Clarendons, my lord ; there shall be none such any more, till in some better age men learn to prefer fame to pelf, and climb to the vantage ground of general science." I once remarked to him that the study of law became less dry as it became more intelligible, and that a man might absolutely learn to like it; "Like it," said he, "there 's nothing else to like in all this world." Having such exalted ideas of the proper preparation and education of a lawyer, and of the profession itself, it would not have been surprising if he had looked down upon his brethren at the bar — if he had even looked super- 274 The Professions ciliously upon the young, and contemptuously upon the old members of the bar. Pinkney treated his compeers of his own standing at the bar, with short and curt defi- ance; and his juniors, he would use and employ rather than honor. In professional consultations, he would drain them of all their knowledge and learning in the case, use it all himself, and pass it off as his own. But Choate seemed to take the greatest pleasure in recognizing and favoring and complimenting the young men of the bar. His own juniors in a cause, he was careful to show to the jury that he respected. If any associate gave him a hint or a suggestion, or called his attention to a point of evi- dence, he would instantly avail himself of it, even if he did not deem it important, saying, "My brother reminds me," etc. He thought it no derogation from himself to acknowl- edge obligation to others. In all his intercourse with young lawyers, in his office and in court, he always elevated their own idea of themselves by his treatment of them. Many a youth who went in to consult with him, with trembling step and doubting heart, came out feeling confident and strong, not only in his case, but in himself; he was so reassured by the great lawyer's seeming respect for him. No senior counsel at the bar, within my recol- lection, ever treated young men as he did. Could there have been a meeting at his death of the young gen- eration of the Massachusetts Bar, I think his memory would have received a tribute more tearful and true hearted than was ever given to the name or the fame of any other American lawyer. Many a young heart that had never met him except professionally was shrouded in gloom at the news of his death; and many a young man will hang up his portrait in his office or his chamber, and gaze daily upon it, for the sake no less of his inspiring than his affectionate memories of the great forensic soldier. The Legal Training of Rufus Choate 275 But to his peers in years at the bar, Mr. Choate was uniformly decorous and appreciative. He never made them feel small in their own eyes, although they must often have looked so in his. He persuaded them all that he thought them good lawyers; and some of them, I know, he did think great lawyers. He could see real merit in others, as quickly even as they could in themselves. And he was prompt and ready to admit it. The only lawyer at the Suffolk Bar to whom he did not do full justice was — Rufus Choate. He regarded the profession of the law as not only noble in itself but as ennobling all who were counted in its ranks. Every one who wore the Advocate's robe and carried the green bag, was respectable in his eyes. They all were of the number of those, as he was wont to say, "who administer the laws"; or to use another phrase of his, "those who are concerned in the administration of this vast and complicated system of our law." The office of Judge, whether superior or inferior, was, in his mind, a high magistracy. He contributed to make many judges. But he treated young judges, whose ermine his word of request had laid upon their shoulders, as respectfully as he treated the national ermine of the United States Judiciary, or the venerable and awful head of the chief Judicial Magistrate of Massachusetts. THE IDEAL LAWYER By DAVID J. BREWER HO is the ideal lawyer, what are his char- acteristics, what his essential elements and quahfications? And first let me say that he is h onest, — h onest with his nlientg^with the court and jury, with the public and himself. And this hT)nesty is not, like good clothes, put on for prayer meetings and social occasions, and put off in times of business or pohtics. It is that thorough, ingrained hon- esty which knows but one time, and that is life; but one duty, and that is action. Every lawyer aims to be honest with his client, and with the court and jury: self-interest compels this. He knows th at fidelity is essen tial to success. The most dissolute and depraved man, in the hour of sickness, seeks a doctor on whose advice he can rely, and who will be faithful to his patient. Never does he call in one whom he can not trust. So the worst of men, needing legal advice, go to a lawyer who will not betray them. And this is the general rule of all employment. I care not how corrupt a community may be, let it be understood that a lawyer is faithless to his client and betrays his interests, and he is shunned by all. He loses not only caste but business. Seldom do we hear of a lawyer who proves false to his client. Indeed, the complaint is that he is too loyal, and that, in order to serve his client, he acts dishonestly to others and wrongs the public. ^ By courteous permission of Mrs. Brewer and " Tiie Atlantic Monthly." Copyriglit, 1906. 276 The Ideal Lawyer 277 In like manner self-interest compels him to be honest with the court and jury. He knows that success depends largely on the confidence which they have in his truth- fulness. I have been on the bench, trial and appellate, for forty-one and a half years, have held court in a dozen states, have had before me thousands of lawyers, and only in a single instance did I ever detect one in a deliberate, intentional Ue, and I soon made his practice in my court so inconvenient that he left the state. I do not mean that I have not often found lawyers exaggerating or omitting facts. Generally these exagger- ations and omissions were thoughtlessly made, and were due to the eagerness of counsel to impress the court with the merits of his client's case; but sometimes I fear they were intentional. I doubt not other judges would make a similar statement of their own experiences. Indeed, the judge must largely rely on the statements of counsel, for, in the vast volume of business which comes before most of them, there is no opportunity for a personal examination of the truthfulness of every such statement. Honesty with the public presents a more difficult and uncertain question. What does it require? In criminal law, for instance, many contend that duty to the client surpasses all obligations to the pubhc and justifies counsel in resorting to every means or device, substantial or technical, to clear that client, even though he knows him to be guilty; while others insist that a lawyer should never forget that he is a citizen, and owes a primary duty to the public; that while he may make every substantial defense and present his client's conduct as fully as is consistent with fairness and truth, yet he is not justified in resorting to any technicality. The question is asked. Should he abandon his client's 278 The Professions case if, having undertaken it in belief of his innocence, he finds from the developments of the trial that he is in fact guilty? The conduct of the two gentlemen, leaders of the bar in Buffalo, who were appointed by the court to defend the assassin of McKinley, is referred to as illustrating the measure of a counsel's duty to his client. They produced every witness whom he desired, drew out all the facts of the homicide, and then fairly stated the case to the jury. It has been said that Reverdy Johnson, who was a leader of the American bar, employed to defend parties in South Carolina charged with cruelty to negroes, was so shocked by the revelations of the conduct of his clients that in the midst of the trial he abandoned the case and left it to the care of junior counsel. It must be confessed that there is on the part of many engaged in criminal practice a desire to succeed even at the expense of justice, — delaying the trial by all the strategy known to the profession until feeling may be supposed to have died out, some of the witnesses have disappeared or their memories become uncertain, striving to get a friendly juror on the panel, seeking in all possible ways to cast some technical error into the trial in order that, if the verdict and judgment be against their client, a reversal may be secured in an appellate court; in short, so conducting the whole trial that justice becomes weary and the guilty escapes. Anything for the sake of ac- quittal is their motto, and a victory however gained is heralded as proof of their ability. Much has been said and many articles written in the effort to formulate some rule by which the lawyer shall be limited and guided in his actions in behalf of his client. Can any better rule be given than to be ever thoroughly loyal to honor and honesty? He who is honest with himself is honest with others. The Ideal Lawyer 279 This above all; to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. No lawyer is called upon to do any dishonest or dis- honorable thing for his client. If the client demands it, declination is imperative, and if the demand is persisted in, termination of employment is equally imperative. Of course lawyers are subject to all the limitations and weaknesses of human nature, and profitable employ- ment often clouds the vision. And here is where shines one characteristic of the ideal lawyer. His vision is not bUnded. He looks above the golden calf and the shout- ing crowd, and ever sees on the lofty summits of Sinai the tables of stone chiseled with imperishable truth by the finger of God. Were I called upon to name the one element most important in the make-up of the ideal lawyer, I should vmhesitatingly say, Character. And wisely in the econ- omy of life that is also the one element most essential to success. Brains without character may display a bril- liancy of achievement. But pyrotechnics are short-lived. That which endures, upon which all rely, is Character. The lawyer who has it has the confidence of the judge and jury; he who has it not is suspected from the moment of his appearance. A story of Abraham Lincoln is an illustration: he was appointed to defend one charged with murder. The crime was a brutal one; the evidence entirely circum- stantial; the accused a stranger. Feeling was high and against the friendless defendant. On the trial Lincoln drew from the witnesses full statements of what they saw and knew. There was no effort to confuse, no attempt to place before the jury the facts other than they were. In the argument, after calling attention to the fact that 280 The Professions there was no direct testimony, Lincoln reviewed the cir- cumstances, and after conceding that this and that seemed to point to defendant's guilt, closed by saying that he had reflected much on the case, and while it seemed probable that defendant was guilty, he was not sure; and looking the jury straight in the face said, "Are you?" The defendant was acquitted and afterwards the real criminal was detected and punished. How different would have been the conduct of many lawyers. Some would have striven to lead the judge into technical errors with a view to an appeal to a higher court. Others would have become hoarse in denunciation of witnesses, decrying the lack of positive testimony and the mar- velous virtue of a reasonable doubt. The simple, straight- forward way of Lincoln, backed by the confidence of the jury, won. Let me give another illustration coming within my own observation: A lawyer, not brilliant but reasonably well informed, was prosecuting attorney. He had the con- fidence of the community. A brilliant and eloquent lawyer was counsel for nearly all the accused in important criminal cases. At the close of a (to him) very disastrous term he said in disgust, "What is the use of my trjang to defend? I make an absolutely clear and convincing argument, and after I am through, the prosecuting attor- ney gets up, and stating a few facts says these show that the defendant is guilty, and the jury go out, and in a few minutes bring in a verdict of guilty, and all because they believe the prosecuting attorney knows and would not ask them to convict unless the defendant was in fact guilty." But let me pass on. While the ideal lawyer must be an honest man, the converse is not true. An honest man The Ideal Lawyer 281 will not always make an ideal lawyer. He must be a constant student. The law reaches in every direction, touching every branch of knowledge and life. The doctor may be sued for negUgence or malpractice, the editor be called upon to answer the charge of libel; the inventor may sue or be sued for infringement, the writer charge or be charged with a violation of the law of copjTight. One claiming to be an artist may be brought into coiu-t to show whether he is an artist or a mere copjast. Every transaction of the merchant or manufactiu-er may be the subject of htigation. Even the preacher may be called upon to answer a charge of heresy. The alleged criminal's sole defense may be insanity. In this and similar cases expert witnesses may be pro- duced for or against the defendant, and the lawj-er must be so famihar with the details and reach of the scientific facts and theories in respect to which these witnesses are examined as to make clear to the jury the accm-acy of his own witnesses and the mistakes of his adversary's. Every increase in ci%'ilization, making as it does the social and business hfe more complex, increases the demands for a larger storehouse of knowledge on the part of the lawyer. Two men hving alone on an island, with no dealings save between themseh'es, require little but the simple rules of barter and sale ; but one hving and dealing in the whirl of New York business hfe has a right to expect from his counsel famiharity with varied branches of knowledge. A boy maj' use a jackknife skillfully, but put him into a large manufacturing, transportation, or telegraphic office, and he is lost. So a lawyer may draft a good deed, but fail when consulted concerning the rights and obhgations growing out of the complex bank or other business transactions of to-day. 282 The Professions Specialization in the law as elsewhere has become necessary. There are patent lawyers, admiralty lawyers, real estate lawyers, corporation lawyers, criminal lawyers, and the like; and yet even with this speciaUzation and the restriction of one's work to a particular branch of the law, constant study is necessary to keep pace with the ever-increasing and diversified questions which are arising in practice. Inspiration is a lost art in the court room. No true lawyer advises, prepares documents, or tries a case without careful preparation. Forensic oratory has passed away. No longer does the crowd gather in the country courthouse to listen to and be moved by the wit, pathos, and eloquence of the advocate, as for hours or days he addresses the jury. But knowledge of the law is not alone sufficient. Mak- ing the brain a mere storehouse of information duly arranged and labeled, as a Hbrary is full of books properly marked and shelved,, is not all. There must be that mental power which enables the possessor to apply his knowledge to the facts of the case and determine the controlling principles. Benjamin R. Curtis was in his day the leading lawyer of the nation and one of the greatest this country ever produced. I have heard one who was a Justice of the Supreme Court during the years of his practice before that tribunal say that Mr. Curtis never took over twenty or thirty minutes in the argu- ment of a case, never had but one or, at the outside, two books from which he quoted; and while he did not win all his cases, every one was decided upon the principles which he discussed and presented as controUing. The court room is the place where the lawyer is seen, and the common opinion of him is based on what he there displays. The ideal lawyer is there often made mani- fest. In a trial his learning, his skill, his knowledge of The Ideal Lawyer 283 human nature, are disclosed. His work is open. He can not conceal his mistakes. There is a great fascina- tion in seeing how he conducts himself and manages his case. It is not to be wondered at that the court room used to be so crowded and is now so frequently full. Not alone in the selection of a jury but in the exami- nation of witnesses is the skill of counsel manifested. There is no better test of a lawyer's ability than a cross- examination. Too often in his eagerness he overdoes the matter and only makes stronger the testimony given by the witness-in-chief. The question is often asked, Is not commercialism destroying the character of the profession? Doubtless it has its hurtful influence. The golden calf has many worshipers both in and out of the profession. Indeed, it could hardly be expected that the community generally would be affected and lawyers escape untouched. It is said that it affects the legal profession more than others. It may be that its effect is more obvious, but there are sufficient reasons therefor, — and this without referring to the slurs sometimes cast upon the doctor and the minister. First, the lawyer isj)l aced in more intimate toud uith the^ intense business^life^of the^ay. He sees the great pecuniary rewards and howJJiey are gained, and naturally is moved by an impulse to obtain the same for himself. Again, the legal profession is overcrowded. Multitudes of law schools scattered all over the land are annually turning out thousands of disciples of Blackstone. By reason of this multitude the struggle for subsistence becomes more intense, and in such a struggle the char- acter of the means employed is not' infrequently ignored. On the other hand, the pulpit is not crowded. Indeed, the supply scarcely equals the demand. The doctors 284 The Professions multiply almost as fast as lawyers, yet the sick room does not afford the same publicity as the court room, and while the doctor not infrequently graduates his charges by the wealth of his patient, he has not yet acquired the boldness of the lawyer in so dealing with his client. This rush into the profession is not to be wholly con- demned, nor need we unduly lament the fact that a good farmer is sometimes spoiled to make a poor lawyer or doctor. Indeed, the eagerness to seek a professional life is evi- dence of a growing desire on the part of the young for the better things of life. They do not wish to give their time and strength to mere manual labor or even that which requires a preponderance of such labor. It is akin to the feeling which sends so many from the country into the city, and which makes it so difficult to induce those in the city, even the destitute, to go back. They realize that country life means not only constant and severe work, but large social isolation, while with all the priva- tions they endure in the city they see the wondrous things of our high civilization. They are themselves part of its often thrillingly interesting life; and they prefer to enjoy even a vision of that, with all their privations, rather than to return to the solitude and toil of country Ufe. Let us remember that every aspiration and struggle to secure a higher and better life is worthy of commenda- tion rather than condemnation, whatever, may be the result of the aspiration and struggle. The eager, enthu- siastic American youth is not content to be always a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. He looks forward to becoming a potent factor in the marvelous life of the republic. It must also be borne in mind that the thoughtful The Ideal Lawyer 285 men of the profession are striving to put additional safe- guards around their ranlcs, which will prevent the en- trance of, and also remove after entrance, the unworthy and incompetent, and at the same time lift up its char- acter. The time was, and that at no distant day, when a very brief study was sufficient to secure a hcense to practice law or medicine. Finally, _it may be said that the true lawyer never forgets the obligations which he as a lawyer owes to the republic, that he always remembers that he is a citizen. In a general way it may be said that the duties of citizen- ship rest upon all, and that no one in this republic can ever ignore those duties and yet claim to five an ideal Ufe. This may be conceded. But there are special obligations resting uppn^the profession, and~tSis because of its prominence in public affairs. That prominence demands not alone the ordinary duties of citizenship, but also higher and special duties. While acting for the people, certainly no less fidelity, courage, and wisdom are required than may be called for by an individual chent. Indeed, when the possible outcome of his actions rises before him, the true lawyer will respond with a devotion, than which nothing can be more supreme and controlling. He is not simply vin- dicating one individual. He is prescribing the rules by which the rights of multitudes for years may be deter- mined. On his actions may hang the weal or woe of com- munities, nay more, even of the nation itself. He who truly loves his country, rejoices in its past, and looks forward hopefully to all that it may yet be and do, must assume the burdens of legislation with a solemn sense of respon- sibihty, or be numbered among the unworthy. That this repubUc has prospered so wondrously is evidence that the lawyer has not been found faithless in the past. 286 The Professions But aside from this responsibility is that which attends the administration of justice. Bench and bar are all of the profession. There are some lawyers, it is true, who regard the judge as the only representative and agent of justice, and themselves as free to act in any manner, worthy or unworthy, which they think will be of profit. But the ideal lawyer never forgets that he is an officer of the court, and that he as well as the judge is responsible for the just outcome of every trial. It has been well said that we are all workers on the loom of time, fashioning the fabric of civilization. The hum- blest as well as the highest has his shuttle and runs his thread into and through the fabric. And as we look upon the fabric of our American civilization in this morning of the twentieth century, we may well be proud of its splendor. To the thoughtful mind, nothing in the mate- rial world can compare with it in richness of beauty. But with that beauty it will crumble and fade like the civilizations of ancient times unless through all its warp and woof there run the golden threads of universal, equal, and exact justice. Beneath the fabric the weakest must rest in perfect security, and the strongest must never dare to break a thread. These golden threads it is the special work of the profession to run, and the ideal law- yer's threads will be as pure and clean as the sunlight, and stronger than the wildest passions of the most gigantic enemy of social justice. So I sum the matter up with the statement that the ideal lawyer will be thoroughly honest in all his relations to individuals and the pubfic; that he will be a constant student; that he must possess brain power and common sense; and that he will never forget that he is a citizen, and that the weal or woe of the public depends largely on his loyalty to high ideals. The Ideal Lawyer 287 Does any profession appeal more strongly than that of the lawyer? The minister speaks for the life beyond. The doctor cares for our bodies. But the lawyer takes social and business men a;? they are and strives to adjust their actions to the present well-being of all. Truly, without disparagement, I may claim for the profession to which I have given fifty years of constant devotion, that it makes high appeal to every brainy, honest young Amer- ican; and add that to the great roll call in the last assize the response of the ideal lawyer will be, Ever present and on dut}'. WHAT SORT OF MAN MAY BE A MINISTER 1 By PHILLIPS BROOKS >HAT sort of man may be a minister? It would be good for the Church if this were a more common question. Partly because the motives which lead a young man to the ministry are so personal and spiritual; partly because of our sense of the magnitude and privilege of the work, which makes us fear to be the means of excluding any worthy man from it; partly because, at present, while the harvest is so plenteous the laborers are so very few, — for these and other reasons, there is far too little discrimina- tion in the selection of men who are to preach, and many men find their way into the preacher's office who discover only too late that it is not their place. There has certainly grown up in the Church a strong misgiving as to the whole policy of charitable people and benevolent societies who, with their lavish offers of help, gather into the ministry, along with many noble, faithful men, a multitude who, amiable and pious as they may be, are of the kind who make no place in life for themselves but wait till some one kindly makes one for them and drops them into it. I am convinced that the ministry can never have its true dignity or power till it is cut aloof from mendicancy, — till young men whose hearts are set on preaching make their way to the pulpit by the same energy and through the same difficulties ' From " Yale Lectures on Preaching." Copyright, 1877, by E. P. Dutton & Company. 288 > z > z a) m > o I What Sort of Man May Be a Minister 289 which meet countless young men on their way to busi- ness and the bar. We believe the influence which brings men to the pulpit to be a far hoUer one. It ought, then, to be a far stronger one; and yet we trust less to its power than we do to the power of ambition and self-interest. There is nothing more striking about the ministry than the way in which very opposite men do equally effective work. You look at some great preacher, and you say: "There is the type. He who is like that can preach;" and just as your smug conclusion is all made, some other voice rings out from a neighboring pulpit, and the same power of God reaches the hearts of men in a totally new way, and your neat conclusion cracks and breaks. Spurgeon preaches at his Surrey Tabernacle, and Liddon preaches at St. Paul's, and both are great preachers, and yet no two men could be more entirely unlike. It must be so. If the preacher is after all only the representative man, the representative Christian doing in special ways and with a special ordination that which all men ought to be doing for Christ and fellow man, then there ought to be as many kinds of preachers as there are kinds of Christians; and there are as many kinds of Christians as there are kinds of men. It is evident, then, that only in the largest way can the necessary qualities of the preacher be enumerated. With this provision such an enumeration may be attempted. I must not dwell upon the first of all the necessary qualities, and yet there is not a moment's doubt that it does stand first of all. It is personal piety, a deep possession in one's own soul of the faith and hope and resolution which he is to offer to his fellow men for their new life. Nothing but fire kindles fire. To know in one's whole nature what it is to live by Christ; to be His, not our own; to be so occupied with gratitude for what 290 The Professions He did for us and for what He continually is to us that His will and His glory shall be the sole desires of our life. I wish that I could put in some words of new and over- whelming force the old accepted certainty that that is the first necessity of the preacher, that to preach without that is weary and unsatisfying and unprofitable work, that to preach with that is a perpetual privilege and joy. And next to this I mention what we may call mental and spiritual unselfishness. I do not speak so much of a moral as of an intellectual quality. I mean that kind of mind which always conceives of truth with reference to its conmiunication and recei^'es any spiritual blessing as a trust for others. Both of these are capable of being cultivated, but I hold that there is a natural difference between men in this respect. Some men by nature receive truth abstractly. They follow it into its develop- ments. They fathom its depths. But they never think of sending it abroad. They are also so enwrapt in seeing what it is that they never care to test what it can do. Other men necessarily think in relation to other men, and their first impulse with every new truth is to give it its full range of power. Their love for truth is always complemented by a love for man. They are two clearly different temperaments. One of them does not and the other does make the preacher. Again, hopefulness is a necessary quality of the true preacher's nature. You know how out of every compli- cated condition of affairs one man naturally appro- priates all the elements of hope, while another invariably gathers up all that tends to despair. The latter kind of man may have his uses. There are tasks and times for which no prophet but Cassandra is appropriate. There were duties laid on some of the old Hebrew prophets which perhaps they might have done with hearts wholly What Sort of Man May Be a Minister 291 destitute of any ray of light. But such a temper is entirely out of keeping with the Christian gospel. The preacher may sometimes denounce, rebuke, and terrify. When he does that, he is not distinctively the preacher of Christianity. If his nature is such that he must dread and fear continually, he was not made to preach the gospel. If I go on and mention a certain physical condition as essential to the preacher, I do so on very serious grounds. I am impressed with what seems to me the frivolous and insufficient way in which the health of the preacher is often treated. It is not simply that the sick minister is always hampered and restrained. It is not merely that the truth he has within him finds imperfect utterance. It is that the preacher's work is the most largely human of all occupations. It brings a man into more multi- plied relations with his fellow man than any other work. It is not the doing of certain specified duties. You will be sadly mistaken if you think it is, and try to set down in your contract with your parish just what you are to do and where your duties are to stop. It is the man offered as a medium through whom God's influence may reach his fellow men. Such an offering involves the whole man, and the whole man is body and soul together. Therefore the ideal preacher brings the perfectly healthy body with the perfectly sound soul. Remember that the care for your health, the avoidance of nervous waste, the training of your voice, and everything else that you do for your body, is not merely an economy of your organs that they may be fit for certain works ; it is a part of that total self-consecration which can not be divided, and which all together makes you the medium through which God may reach His children's lives. I can not but think that so high a view of the consecration of the body would 292 The Professions convict many of the reputable sins against health in which ministers are apt to live, and do the fundamental good which the tinkering of the body by specifics for special occasions so completely fails to do. I speak of only one thing more. I do not know how to give it a name, but I do think that in every man who preaches there should be something of that quality which we recognize in a high degree in some man of whom we say, when we see him in the pulpit, that he is a "born preacher." Call it enthusiasm; call it eloquence; call it magnetism; call it the gift for preaching. It is the quality that kindles at the sight of men, that feels a keen joy at the meeting of truth and the human mind, and recognizes how God made them for each other. It is the power by which a man loses himself and becomes but the sympathetic atmosphere between the truth on one side of him and the man on the other side of him. It is the inspiration, the possession, — what I have heard called the "demon" of preaching. Something of this quality there must be in every man who really preaches. He who wholly lacks it can not be a preacher. All of these qualities which I have thus enumerated exist in degrees. All of them are capable of culture if they exist at all. All of them are difficult to test except by the actual work of preaching. I grant, therefore, fully, that it is difficult to draw out of them a set of tests which the secretary of an education society can apply to candidates — as a recruiting sergeant measures volun- teers around the chest — and mark them as fit or unfit for the ministry. But from their enumeration I think still that there does rise up before us a clear picture of the man who ought to be a preacher. Full of the love of Christ, taking all truth and blessing as a trust, in the best sense didactic, hopeful, healthy, and counting What Sort of Man may Be a Minister 293 health, as far as it is in his power, a part of his self-con- secration; willing, not simply as so many men are, to bear sickness for God's work, but willing to preserve health for God's work. I have but a few words to add upon the spirit in which the preacher does his best work. Forgive me if I venture to put them in the simplest and strongest imperatives I can command. First, count and rejoice to count yourself the servant of the people to whom you minister. Not in any worn- out figure, but in very truth, call yourself and be their servant. Second, never allow yourself to feel equal to your work. If you ever find that spirit growing on you, be afraid, and instantly attack your hardest piece of work, try to convert your toughest infidel, try to preach on your most exacting theme, to show yourself how unequal to it all you are. Third, be profoimdly honest. Never dare to say in the pulpit or in private, through ardent excitement or conformity to what you know you are expected to say, one word which at the moment when you say it you do not believe. It would cut down the range of what you say, perhaps, but it would endow every word that was left with the force of ten. And last of all, be vital, be alive, not dead. Do every- thing that can keep your vitality at its fullest. Even the physical vitality do not dare to disregard. Pray for and work for fullness of life above everything; full red blood in the body; full honesty and truth in the mind; and the fullness of a grateful love for the Savior in your heart. Then, however men set their mark of failure or success upon your ministry, you can not fail, you must succeed. HENRY WARD BEECHER'S EARLY MINISTRY 1 By LYMAN ABBOTT BOUT twenty miles south of Cincinnati was ]^ the Uttle village of Lawrenceburg, Indiana, on the Ohio River. It had at one time hoped to be the metropolis of the West; it is hardly larger to-day than when Henry Ward Beecher settled there, while Cincinnati has become one of America's great cities. Here was a feeble Presbyterian church, consisting of twenty persons. In one of his sermons Beecher thus graphically describes his early experiences there : "I remember that the flock which I found gathered m the wilderness consisted of twenty persons. Nineteen of them were women, and the other was nothing. I remem- ber the days of our poverty, our straitness. I was sexton of my own church at that time. There were no lamps there, so I bought some; and I filled them and lit them. I swept the church, and lighted my own fire. I did not ring the bell, because there was none to ring. I opened the church before prayer meetings and preaching, and locked it when they were over. I took care of everything connected with the building." His journal contains some definite resolves, on some of which I think he instinctively acted all his life long: "Remember, you can gain men easily if you get round their prejudices and put truth in their minds ; but never if you at- tack prejudices." "My people must be alert to make the ' From " Life of Henry Ward Beecher," by permission of the Author and Houghton MifHin Company. Copyright, 1903. 294 Henry Ward Beecher's Early Ministry 295 church agreeable, to give seats, and to wait on strangers." "Secure a large congregation; let this be the first thing." Three hundred dollars was a small salary, even in those days, on which to marry and to begin housekeeping, but Beecher's courage always overtopped his caution. With characteristic impetuosity, as soon as he had been for- mally called and before he had been formally ordained, he wrote to Miss Eunice BuUard, to whom he was engaged, suggesting that their marriage be celebrated shortly after his ordination, and then followed and almost overtook his letter with a proposal to have the wedding first and the ordination afterwards. This sort of impetuosity gener- ally succeeds in such cases, and it did in this case. They were married August 3, 1837, left New York a httle later, and, traveling day and night, reached Cincinnati the last of August. The two years of his ministry in Lawrenceburg were years of poverty but of joyful self-denial. The bride and groom lived in two rooms over a stable at a rental of forty dollars per annum. They furnished the rooms with secondhand furniture — a little of it bought, more of it given. The preacher welcomed gifts of cast-off clothing and thought himself "sumptuously clothed." His little church was crowded, but his people were better satisfied with his preaching than he was himself. He has not recorded any notable spiritual results from it. The sermon was yet to him an end, not a means to an end. He knew how to make a Sermon that would interest, but not how to use a sermon so as to affect character. After two years of ministry in this discouraging field, where he worked hard for little pay and with no considerable results, he accepted a call, thrice repeated, and removed to Indianapohs. The growth of this country has been so rapid, and the 296 The Professions changes in its conditions so kaleidoscopic, that it is impos- sible for us now to realize the material, social, and moral conditions which existed less than three-quarters of a cen- tury ago. In 1839, when Beecher moved to Indianapolis, it was an unkempt village, growing up in the midst of a wilderness. Henry Ward Beecher's promised salary in Indianapolis was twice his nominal salary in Lawrenceburg. But six hundred dollars a year was not munificent even then; it may be reasonably estimated as about equivalent to twelve hundred dollars in our own times. The first of the Indiana railroads had been built from Madison as far as Vernon, twenty miles on its way to the capital, and it is said that Beecher and his wife took the first train over this uncompleted railroad, riding this twenty miles in a box car; the rest of the joiu-ney, it is to be presumed, they took over the miry roads, through the untraveled wilder- ness, in a springless wagon. The earlier settlers of Indiana were French Catholics, coming up from Louisiana and down from Canada. They possessed both the virtues and the vices characteristic of the French pioneer. They were kindly, humane, easy- going. They brought slavery with them, but it was a form of slavery quite different from that which later prevailed in the Anglo-Saxon portions of the continent. From the beginning the new preacher was what men call a success. His vivid imagination, redundant rhetoric, and dramatic personification of every character he wished to portray, his musical voice, capable of every intonation, from thunder of indignation to gentlest and softest note of invitation, and, behind all, his absolute freedom from cant and every suspicion of professionalism, gave him un- exampled power in the pulpit. His animal spirits, hopeful temper, humaneness of disposition, which made him un- Henry Ward Beecher's Early Ministry 297 feignedly interested in everything that interested any of his fellows, attracted to him socially all sorts and con- ditions of men. His lack of conventionaUty, illustrated by the fact that he was the first minister to be seen with a felt hat, and that he did not hesitate to take an active part in painting his house or carrying home a load of gro- ceries in a wheelbarrow, would have subjected him to criticism in an older community, but in this heterogeneous population it won for him additional commendation. The hall which constituted the temporary meeting place of his church was crowded from the first, and at the close of the first year the church had constructed and moved into a permanent and more conunodious edifice, which in turn was thronged. From the first his church was a church of strangers. The members of the legisla- ture attended it almost in a body. The rule that he had laid down for himself in Lawrenceburg — "My people must be alert to make the church agreeable, to give seats, and to wait on strangers" — was carried out in Indianap- olis, as it was subsequently in Brooklyn. He was always more interested in preaching to sinners than to saints, to skeptics than to believers, to the world than to the Church. In this respect he was essentially an evangelist, and would not have remained long in any church whose doors were not hospitably open to all the people. That he had crowded and attentive congrega- tions never satisfied him. Years afterwards, in Brooklyn, when, as the result of some sermon, an unexpected con- version followed, and some one in prayer meeting spoke of the arrow shot at a venture accomplishing its mission, Beecher repHed: "I never shoot an arrow at a venture; I always aim at a mark, though I may not hit the mark I aim at." In Indianapolis, if we may trust Mr. Beecher's recol- 298 The Professions lection, he first began to recognize this fundamental principle underlying all successful preaching. This is what distinguishes the sermon from an essay or a Uterary address. If it be a true sermon, it has a definite object in the preacher's mind. It is not an end, but a means to an end. The subject is to be chosen, the text selected, the line of argument or exposition pursued, the illustra- tions employed, the rhetoric adapted — all to this one definite end which, from first to last, the preacher has in view. In expounding this truth Beecher disavows any claim for originaUty. "Others have learned this," he says. "It was the secret of success in every man who ever was eminent for usefulness in preaching. But no man can inherit experience; it must be born in each man for himself." In Indianapolis this experience was born in him; and without this experience he never would have been the great preacher he became. He labored continuously and zealously for revivals. At one time he preached seventy nights in succession ; at another he rode two days through the forests, to Terre Haute, to join with Dr. Jewett, the Congregational preacher there, in revival services. His interest in public questions, his knowledge of actual conditions, his audacity in describing them as they existed, his courage in confronting them, and in challenging to battle those who lived by the weaknesses, the follies, and the vices of mankind, fascinated the strong men of the community, and drew them to hear him; many went away to criticize, but returned again, attracted in spite of themselves. His unfeigned love of his fellow men, his indomitable faith in them and hope for them, inspired similar faith and hope and love in others; for these are qualities which are always contagious. His presentation of God as a Father of infinite compassion, whose char- Henry Ward Beecher's Early Ministry 299 acter is revealed in the earthly life of Jesus Christ, was, in that time and place, extraordinarily novel; men knew not what to make of it; and curiosity commingled with higher motives to attract audiences eager to hear this strange gospel. The sincerity and simplicity of the preacher's faith, and his unmistakable access to God in public prayer, with whom he talked as with a friend in familiar intercourse, appealed to the truly devout souls, and brought to him that kind of gratitude and affection which the soul always feels toward one who has brought him into a new fellowship with God. His message was interpreted with a freshness of thought, a vividness of imagination, a power of impas- sioned feeling, and an oratorical skill which had become to him a second nature ; but these outward qualities would never have given him his influence had they not been instruments for the expression of a gospel of Hfe and love. His reputation extended throughout the state, ^^'hcn men came up to the capital they went as a matter of course to hear Henry Ward Beecher, if they remained in the city over Sunday. Saints and sinners alike crowded to hear him. The echoes of his fame extended beyond the boundaries of the state. He began to be heard of on the Altantic seaboard. Simultaneously he received two invi- tations, — one to become assistant pastor in the old estab- Ushed and famous Park Street Congregational Church, of Boston, then next, to the Old South Church in Boston, the most influential one of the denomination in the United States; the other to the just organized Plymouth Church of Brooklyn, which call he accepted. He had expected to spend his life in the West; but his life in the West proved to be only a preparation for a larger life of national influence and importance. THE MINISTRY FROM A PRACTICAL POINT OF VIEWi By the RT. rev. WILLIAM LAWRENCE ^N "The Outlook" some time ago there was an article upon one of our large manufactur- ing cities written by a Harvard man, entitled "The City of the Dinner Pail." "One day, as I was busy at my desk over a particularly elusive trial balance, a man older than myself by about four years entered the office. He was an athletic young fellow, whose face indicated a cheerful, energetic dispo- sition, and his dress marked him as an Episcopal clergy- man. His errand was quickly explained. He had remembered me as a member of his college society. His parish was composed of English operatives, and, as the winter had been unusually severe, many of his parish- ioners were in need. One case particularly interested him, and he asked me to help him find employment for the man. There was a peculiar charm of manner, a mingling of sincerity and good humor, of common sense and en- thusiasm, about the rector of St. John's which at once attracted me to him, and led me the next Sunday to accept his cordial invitation to attend service at his church. . . . "As I sat in St. John's Church that Sunday morning, listening to responses in which were mingled the dialects of Lancashire and New England, I was alive, as never before, to the grandeur of this heritage. And what hearty responses these were! Listening, I understood that the people of St. John's worshiped God with whole hearts. ^ By permission of the Author. 300 The Ministry frorti a Practical Point of View 301 "It was hard to realize that these people, devout, single- hearted, enthusiastic in their quest for truth, were the same men and women who, working at the spinning frame and loom, had so often seemed to me merely the vital part of the machinery. That moment I determined to know them better, and I here record with love and gratitude that many of the happiest hours of my life have been spent in their companionship. When I left St. John's that Sunday morning, I realized that the Ufe about me was not the dismal, sordid thing that fancy had painted it, but instead possessed an interest passing the imagination, and with an unwonted enthusiasm I sought to find my own place in it." That Harvard man was in business, and without that inspiration he might have been nothing but a business man. Since that day he has continued to gain a broader vision of life in St. John's and has kindled higher ambitions in many boys of the parish. Now who was the rector? He was the orator of his class at Harvard. After deciding to enter the ministry, he studied in Germany and in Cambridge. Thence he went West as a missionary in a mining camp, and two or three years later was called back to this Massachusetts manu- facturing city. He threw himself into the work, reaching hundreds of English mill operatives, interesting the people of the city in social questions, and was finally discovered by Chicago, where he is now the rector of a large church. I mention him simply as a typical Harvard man of an excellent sort. Let me recall another, whom I knew well, the chief mar- shal of his class some forty years ago, always popular, a man of wealth. After a taste of business he entered the ministry, went West, and for a year or two was a frontier missionary. He then took a country parish in Massachu- 302 The Professions setts, and has been in that village for some thirty-five years. A man of the finest qualities, a perfect gentleman, "buried in the village." He will not leave it, however. He is the man of the village. He has influenced the life of every man, woman, and child there. He is a good angler, and knows all the brooks and pools. Through his influ- ence, statesmen and lawyers who have lived in the village have become better men, and through them he has touched a wide circle. A country parson, — that is all. Now, if these two had been business men or brokers they might each have made a comfortable fortune. To be sure, they might have failed, as many do. However, they might have been able to give for charities and education thousands of dollars, and in that way have done much towards the elevation of the community. The powerful instrumentality in uplifting men is not money, however; it is life. You may build model tene- ment houses, but unless you put finer motives into the people who move into them the houses themselves accom- plish nothing. The great gifts of to-day are not money, but gifts of large, fine, spiritual vitahty; and it is to the great loss of people who give in large sums that they have to depend upon experts for advice. They lose the satis- faction of personal touch of life with life. At a dinner of the trustees of the Carnegie Fund two or three years ago, after a member of the trustees had spoken to Mr. Carnegie in complimentary terms of the great gift which he had made, Major Henry Higginson's turn came, and he spoke somewhat as follows: "Mr. Carnegie, you, and I in a much smaller way, are under great disadvan- tage. It is almost impossible for us to give away money in such a way as to gain the real satisfaction wtich comes through sacrifice. You have given large sums, but you claim no credit, you want no praise. You are rather re- The Ministry from a Practical Point of View 303 lieved to get rid of that amount. It is a great privation that men who have more than enough for their comfort lose the ability to so give as to make it hurt." The money that Major Higginson gives does not com- pare in its influence with the spiritual vitality which he puts into the lives of all those with whom he comes in con- tact. Therefore, he who enters the ministry, whether it be to go to Chicago or into a village, is doing far more for the upbuilding of the lives and character of the people than he who gives in large sums of money. What we need is the touch of heart with heart and the inspiration of the people. He, therefore, who becomes a stockbroker in order to make money to give away misses the finest chance. Another thought is suggested. There are many great evils in these days, — impurity, intemperance, misery of all sorts. People complain that Harvard University is not doing very much in that line, that it is simply educating a lot of young men who are playing baseball and football and doing a certain amount of study. Harvard University goes on the policy that the best thing she can do is to put into the country a certain number of hundreds of young men with high ideals, fine character, and with a desire to do for others. A university is not going to meet the evils of the times by knocking them on the head, but by sending out pure, spiritual life in the form of young men's characters. Complaint is made that the Church does not tackle the problems of the day, that she ought to rise up and hit somebody, and show that she is alive. "Why does not the Church get out and join the newspapers in stopping crime? ' ' some one asks. ' ' What are the ministers doing? ' ' They are moving in and out of the houses of all classes like a shuttle in a loom; they are reaching the deeper motives 304 The Professions of the people; and, best of all, they, and those who work with them, are touching young life, and are bringing up in the cities and villages a new generation, inspired with finer motives and purer ambitions than their fathers had. The ministers are doing their work along positive lines. They are also in the rescue work. You will find them among the tenements and lodging houses of the worst; but the most efficient work is in the upbuilding of the characters of the young through personal contact, teach- ing, inspiration, example. It is contact of life with life. He who came as the great reformer of the world, again and again forgot the crowd that pressed upon Him, and gave his whole thought to the individual, — "Son, thy sins be forgiven thee." It is thus that the ministry is reaching the evils of the time. And you will often discover that those business men who are building model tenement houses and erecting hospitals are doing their work through the inspiration that they have received, either in their youth or in their manhood, from some Christian minister. The minister may not be on the board of directors, but he is indirectly in the life of the institution. The questions of faith and belief in these days are pretty puzzling. What are we going to do about them? Those two men whom I first mentioned, in fact most university men, could easily have held themselves back from the ministry by the distrust of their own orthodoxy or faith. Had they waited until their intellectual difficulties were solved, not one of them would have entered the ministry. But they each and all had faith in a few fundamental truths of the gospel. They beheved in God; they believed in Christ, their Master. They desired to help their breth- ren. So they made their first step towards the ministry, and left a great many questions unanswered. They are The Ministry from a Practical Point of View 305 still in the roinistry, and a good many of those questions are still unanswered. But, as they have gone on, it has been one of the interesting features of their experience, and invigorating, too, that, as they have grown mentally, they have grown into a fuller and richer conception of the Christian truth ; they have been getting faith into a better perspective and into truer proportions. They have a creed. There is no such thing as a creed- less church or a creedless person. Men are going to be- lieve in something, even if it is wrong, — there is a creed somewhere. We, most of us, do not believe in long creeds which are a contract with the Almighty, and which, hter- ally interpreted, can not last more than a day, for, if our thoughts move in the next twenty-four hours, they have moved out of the literal interpretation of that long creed. There are some of us, however, who believe that simple historic creeds state certain deep and fundamental prin- ciples of the gospel, that those creeds are so deep that the structure of interpretation built upon them may be of varied forms and architecture as the generations pass on. The creed is not a contract, nor is it exactly a hymn; but it is the expression of faith in simple form, and, as I say, subject to the development, and to fresh interpreta- tion with the development of Christian truth and of the revelation of God. I believe in God. Why, my concep- tion of God is very different to-day from what it was thirty years ago. It has been made different by the reve- lations that have come through the advance of my knowl- edge and experience. It is interesting to see how theoretical questions answer themselves along the line of experience and common sense. Hundreds of honest, intelligent men enter the ministry. Those same hundreds of honest, intelligent men remain honest, and they remain inteUigent, and they remain 306 The Professions honorably in the ministry, and the answer to the theo- retical question, "How can I remain in the ministry with the movement of thought?" is in the fact that men do so remain, and remain honorably and gladly. We talk of the development of science. It is, of course, great, but theology, and all the subjects associated with theology, have all developed. A minister compelled to be in prac- tical touch with hfe, compelled also to think along spiritual lines, grows in mind and character. There are three points that I have wished to bring out as features of the ministry in modern times. The minister is at work purifying society from beneath. He is putting his own spiritual personality into each individual, and is thus touching life at its closest point, and he is continually growing. I will close by suggesting how the work of the ministry affects a man along three lines. The stock in trade of the minister is his character, and that very fact makes his work extremely interesting. A lawyer may be a small character, but a very astute and successful lawyer. A surgeon may be most skillful with the knife, but at the same time an exceedingly selfish man. The minister has got to be a man of fully developed and fine character, and everything that he reads, thinks, or does, — every experience through which he passes, — is "grist to his mill," and enriches his character. Whether, therefore, we are on a holiday or at work, whether we are reading fiction or theology, we are all the time making ourselves more efficient ministers, because we are making ourselves larger characters. Therefore, the minister who is true to his best work is continually broadening in his interests. Of course — we all know it — there are lots of narrow ministers, and there are lots of narrow doctors and narrow lawyers. It is not The Ministry from a Practical Point of View 307 a question so much of profession as it is of temperament. But a man who goes into the ministry and remains narrow remains so in spite of his calling, and not on account of his calling; for every child that you touch, every home that you enter, every book that you read, every experience that you have, radiates out into all sorts of interests, and any man who is a true minister finds himself overwhelmed with the number of his interests, and his sympathetic touch reaches out in all directions. The minister, if he be a true man, is therefore the broadest, the largest man in the community. Finally, I name the deep satisfaction that the minister has in his work. In the first place, he touches the deepest motives. The work of a surgeon is most beneficent. He cuts off a man's leg, and saves his life. The surgeon moves on to the next patient. It is not the surgeon's business to try to change the man's character: that may remain as mean and selfish after his operation as before. The minister's business is to reach the man, and, if he does anything that is worth doing, he touches that man at his deepest motives, at the spring of his character. There is where, as I said before, the reform of the indi- vidual, of society, and of the world begins, and indeed ends, — in the moving of the deep springs of character in the people. Since we are called to them in trouble and in joy, we have an opportunity that no other man in the community has, of taking life under its most sensitive con- ditions, and comforting, strengthening, and inspiring it. We strike at the deepest motives, and therefore do the most efficient work in the shortest time. We have the big- gest leverage on society of any class of men, through reach- ing the deepest parts of man's life. We have satisfaction, also, in the gratitude of others. How the memories of chivalrous men press on me as I 308 The Professions talk! I think of one who worked for twenty years in the ministry. That man's memory is treasured in the lives and hearts of thousands of people in three different com- munities in this state. I mention another, of the class of '90. After three or four years elsewhere, he came to Boston, and went right down into the slums of the city. He had one of the prettiest little houses that you can imagine. It was an oasis of beauty, there in the midst of the poor. That man gave himself completely to the people, and the influence of his life not only went out among them, but it is in my life and that of many others who knew him. He had only a few years of it ; but he could not have put his life into any- thing that would compare for influence, helpfulness, and cheer to the people and satisfaction to himself. On Christmas Day I received a present, — a piece of parchment, beautifully illuminated. It was a French carol that had been translated into English by an inmate of the state prison, and had been illuminated by another prisoner. It came to me with a beautiful letter of gratitude, because I had called upon them once in a while. I only mention this as one of the little, slight rewards of the ministry, — the recognition of simple, not great, but personal work on the part of the people whom we serve. So that in satis- faction to one's self, in satisfaction and efficiency to the community, and, we trust, in the richest sort of reward, the minis-try stands supreme. DR. GRENFELL'S MISSION^ By NORMAN DUNCAN ^HILE the poor Newfoundland fishermen de- pended upon the mail-boat doctor and their own strange inventions for relief, Wilfred Grenfell, a well-born, Oxford-bred young Englishman, was walking the London hospitals. He was athletic, adventurous, dogged, unsentimental, merry, kind ; moreover — and most happily — he was used to the sea, and he loved it. It chanced one night that he strayed into the Tabernacle in East London, where Dwight L. Moody, the American evangelist, was preach- ing. When he came out he had resolved to make his religion "practical." There was nothing violent in this — no fevered, ill- judged determination to martyr himself at all costs. It was a quiet resolve to make the best of his life — which he would have done at any rate, I think, for he was a young Englishman of good breeding and the finest im- pulses. At once he cast about for "some way in which he could satisfy the aspirations of a young medical man, and combine with this a desire for adventure and definite Christian work." I had never before met a missionary of that frank type. "Why," I exclaimed to him, off the coast of Labrador, not long ago, "you seem to like this sort of life!" We were aboard the mission steamer, bound north under full steam and all sail. He had been in feverish haste to 1 From " Dr. GrenfeU's Parish." Copyright, 1905, by Fleming H. Revell Company. 309 310 The Professions reach the northern harbors, where, as he knew, the sick were watching for his coming. The fair wind, the rush of the little steamer on her way, pleased him. "Oh," said he, somewhat impatiently, "I'm not a martyr." So he found what he sought. After applying certain revolutionary ideas to Sunday-school work in the London slums, in which a horizontal bar and a set of boxing gloves for a time held equal place with the Bible and the hymn book, he joined the staff of the Royal National Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen, and established the Medical Mis- sion to the Fishermen of the North Sea. When that work was organized — when the fight was gone out of it — he sought a harder task; he is of that type, then extraor- dinary but now familiar, which finds no delight where there is no difficulty. In the spring of 1892 he set sail from Great Yarmouth Harbor for Labrador in a ninety-ton schooner. Since then, in the face of hardship, peril, and prejudice, he has, with a light heart and strong purpose, healed the sick, preached the Word, clothed the naked, fed the starving, given shelter to them that had no roof, championed the wronged — in all, devotedly fought evil, poverty, oppres- sion, and disease; for he is bitterly intolerant of those things. And — "It 's been jolly good fun!" says he. The immediate inspiration of this work was the sermon preached in East London by Dwight L. Moody. Later in Ufe — indeed, soon before the great evangelist's death — Dr. Grenfell thanked him for that sermon. "And what have you been doing since?" was Moody's prompt and searching question. Dr. Grenfell has not been idle. There is now a mission hospital at St. Anthony, near the extrems northeast point Dr. Grenfell's Mission 311 of the Newfoundland coast. There is another, well- equipped and commodious, at Battle Harbor — a rocky island Ijdng out from the Labrador coast near the Strait of Belle Isle — which is open the year round; when the writer was last on the coast, it was in charge of Dr. Cluny McPherson, a courageous young physician, Newfoimd- land-born, who went six hundred miles up the coast by dog team in the dead of winter, finding shelter where he might, curing whom he could — everywhere seeking out those who needed him, caring not a whit, it appears, for the peril and hardship of the long white road. There is a third at Indian Harbor, halfway up the coast, which is open through the fishing season. It is conducted with the care and precision of a London hospital — admir- ably kept, well-ordered, efficient. The physician in charge is Dr. George H. Simpson — a wiry, keen, brave little EngUshman, who goes about in an open boat, whatever the distance, whatever the weather. He is a man of splen- did com^age and sjrmpathy; the fishing folk love him for his kind heart and for the courage with which he responds to their every call. There is also the little hospital steamer "Strathcona," in which Dr. Grenfell makes the round of all the coast, from the time of the break-up until the fall gales have driven the fishing schooners home to harbor. When Dr. Grenfell first appeared on the coast, I am told, the folk thought him a madman of some benign description. He knew nothing of the reefs, the tides, the currents, cared nothing, apparently, for the winds; he sailed with the confidence and reckless courage of a Labra- dor skipper. Fearing at times to trust his schooner in unknown waters, he went about in a whaleboat, and so hard did he drive her that he wore her out in a single season. She was capsized with all hands, once driven out to sea, many times nearly swamped, once blown on the 312 The Professions rocks; never before was a boat put to such tasks on that coast, and at the end of it she was wrecked beyond repair. Next season he appeared with a little steam launch, the "Princess May" — her beam was eight feet! — in which he not only journeyed from St. John's to Labrador, to the astonishment of the whole colony, but sailed the length of that bitter coast, passing into the gulf and safely out again, and pushing to the very farthest settlements in the north. Later in the fall, upon the return journey to St. John's in stormy weather, she was reported lost, and many a skipper, I suppose, wondered that she had lived so long; but she weathered a gale that bothered the mail boat, and triumphantly made St. John's, after as adven- turous a voyage, no doubt, as ever a boat of her measure survived. "Sure," said a skipper, "I don't know how she done it. The Lord," he added, piously, "must kape an eye on that man." There is a new proverb on the coast. The folk say, when a great wind blows, "This '11 bring Grenfell!" Often it does. He is impatient of delay, fretted by inaction; a gale is the wind for him — a wind to take him swiftly towards the place ahead. Had he been a weakling, he would long ago have died on the coast; had he been a coward, a multitude of terrors would long ago have driven him to a life ashore ; had he been anything but a true man and tender, indeed, he would long ago have retreated under the suspicion and laughter of the folk. But he has outsailed the Labrador skippers, — outdared them, — done deeds of courage under their very eyes that they would shiver to contemplate, — never in a foolhardy spirit; always with the object of kindly service. So he has the heart and willing hand of every honest man on the Labrador — and of none more than of the men of his Dr. Grenfell's Mission 313 crew, who take the chances with him; they are wholly devoted. In the course of time the "Princess May" was wrecked or worn out. Then came the "Juha Sheridan," thirty- five feet long, which the mission doctor bought while she still lay under water from her last wreck; he raised her, refitted her with what money he had, and pursued his venturesome and beneficent career, until she, too, got be- yond so hard a service. Many a gale she weathered, off "the worst coast in the world" — often, indeed, in thick, wild weather, the doctor himself thought the fittle craft would go down; but she is now happily superannuated, carrying the mail in the quieter waters of Hamilton Inlet. Next came the "Sir Donald" — a stout ship, which in turn disappeared, crushed in the ice. The "Strathcona," with a hospital amidships, is now doing duty ; and she will continue to go up and down the coast, in and out of the inlets, until she in her turn finds the ice and the wind and the rocks too much for her. " 'T is bound t' come, soon or late," said a cautious friend of the mission. "He drives her too hard. He 've a right t' do what he likes with his own life, I s'pose, but he 've a call t' remember that the crew has folks t' home." But the mission doctor is not inconsiderate; he is in a hurry — the coast is long, the season short, the need such as to wring a man's heart. Every new day holds an opportunity for doing a good deed — not if he dawdles in the harbors when a gale is abroad, but only if he passes swiftly from place to place, with a brave heart meeting the dangers as they come. He is the only doctor to visit the Labrador shore of the Gulf, the Strait shore of New- foundland, the populous east coast of the northern pen- insula of Newfoundland, the only doctor known to the Eskimo and poor "liveyeres" of the northern coast of 314 The Professions Labrador, the only doctor most of the Hveyeres and green-fish catchers of the middle coast can reach, save the hospital physician at Indian Harbor. He has a round of three thousand miles to make. It is no wonder that he "drives" the httle steamer, even at full steam, with all sail spread (as I have known him to do), when the fog is thick and the sea is spread with great bergs. "I'm in a hurry," he said, with an impatient sigh. "The season 's late. We must get along." We fell in with him at Red Ray in the Strait, in the thick of a heavy gale from the northeast. The wind had blown for two days; the sea was running high, and still fast rising; the schooners were huddled in the harbors, with all anchors out, many of them hanging on for dear hfe, though they lay in shelter. The sturdy little coastal boat, with four times the strength of the "Strathcona," had made hard work of it that day — - there was a time when she but held her own off a lee shore in the teeth of the big wind. It was drawing on towards night when the doctor came aboard for a surgeon from Boston, a speciahst, for whom he had been waiting. " I see you 've steam up," said the captain of the coastal boat. "I hope you 're not going out in this, doctor!" "I have some patients at the Battle Harbor Hospital, waiting for our good friend from Boston," said the doctor, briskly. "I 'm in a hurry. Oh, j^es, I 'm going out!" "For God's sake, don't!" said the captain, earnestly. The doctor's eye chanced to fall on the gentleman from Boston, who was bending over his bag — a fine, fearless fellow, whom the prospect of putting out in that chip of a steamer would not have perturbed, though the doctor may then not have known it. At any rate, as if bethinking himself of something half forgotten, he changed his mind of a sudden. Dr. Grenfell's Mission 315 "Oh, very well," he said. "I'll wait until the gale blows out." He managed to wait a day — no longer ; and the wind was still wild, the sea higher than ever; there was ice in the road, and the fog was dense. Then out he went into the thick of it. He bumped an iceberg, scraped a rock, fairly smothered the steamer with broken water; and at midnight — the most marvelous feat of all — he crept into Battle Harbor through a narrow, difficult passage, and dropped anchor off the mission wharf. Doubtless he enjoyed the experience while it lasted — and promptly forgot it, as being commonplace. I have heard of him, caught in the night in a winter's gale of wind and snow, threading a tumultuous, reef-strewn sea, his skipper at the wheel, himself on the bowsprit, guiding the ship by the flash and roar of breakers, while the sea tumbled over him. If the chance passenger who told me the story is to be beUeved, upon that trying occa- sion the doctor had the "time of his fife." "All that man wanted," I told the doctor, subsequently, "was, as he says, 'to bore a hole in the bottom of the ship and crawl out.'" "Why!" exclaimed the doctor, with a laugh of surprise. "He was n't frightened, was he?" Fear of the sea is quite incomprehensible to this man. The passenger was very much frightened ; he vowed never to sail with "that devil" again. But the doctor is very far from being a dare-devil; though he is, to be sure, a man altogether unafraid; it seems to me that his heart can never have known the throb of fear. Perhaps that is in part because he has a blessed lack of imagination, in part, perhaps, because he has a body as sound as ever God gave to a man, and has used it as a man should ; but it is chiefly because of his simple and splendid faith that he is an 316 The Professions instrument in God's hands — God's to do with as He will, as he would say. His faith is exceptional, I am sure — childlike, steady, overmastering, and withal, if I may so characterize it, healthy. It takes something such as the faith he has to move a man to run a little steamer at full speed in the fog when there is ice on every hand. It is hardly credible, but quite true, and short of the truth; neither wind nor ice nor fog, nor all combined, can keep the "Strathcona" in harbor when there comes a call for help from beyond. The doctor clambers cheerfully out on the bowsprit and keeps both eyes open. "As the Lord wills," says he, "whether for wreck or service. I am about His business." It is a sublime expression of the old faith. THE CLAIMS OF THE MINISTRY UPON STRONG MEN ^ By GEORGE A. GORDON MEAN by strong men persons of intellect- ual power, who are at the same time per- sons of high moral ideals and intense moral enthusiasms. By the ministry I mean the service of a Christian preacher in some one of the various churches of our time. If our men of intellectual power are not at the same time men of high moral ideals and intense moral enthusiasms, the ministry has no claims upon them. It does not want them; they are not fitted to teach religion because they are not experts in it. They are not experts in it because they are without first-hand, abundant, and joyous knowledge of it. Such persons become by their intellectual power a damaging influence upon religion; they lead the pubUc to think that the intellect has little or nothing to do with religion; they stimulate a revolt against reason and a return to fanaticism. It must be repeated, therefore, that our strong man is one whose chief interest in life is moral and spiritual. He is one whose governing aspi- ration is for excellence of being, high bearing in his relations with men and with God. A young man of intellectual power may be sure of his fitness for the min- istry if his whole heart kindles into flame as he reads and ponders these words: "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled." The first reason why young men of this character should 1 By permission of the Author. 317 318 The Professions enter the ministry is found in the fact that rehgion is a fundamental human interest, and should not be allowed to rest in incompetent hands. We know what happens when other great human interests are left in incompetent hands. What would become of the community if the practice of medicine should fall into the hands of quacks? Here we are swift, and yet none too swift, to see the calamity that would follow if this vast interest should be committed to ignorant and perverse men. The same issue of woe is inevitable when economics, art, science, sanitation, government, and philosophy are intrusted to the incompetent. Respecting all human interests, we may use the words of the Hebrew seer: "Woe to thee, O land, when thy king is a child. " That is always a calamity, and the greater the interest thus outraged, the greater the woe. Religion is the sovereign interest of man. It is the strongest force in human history, it is the deepest fact in human nature. Modern scholars have brought us face to face with the universality and the momentous- ness of religion. There are to-day many great living rehgions; they attest the religious nature of the race to which we belong. Modern scholars have not only shown us with convincing power the universality and vitality of religion; they have shown us also the tendency of great religions to degenerate. This degeneration has run riot in all the greater religions of the East; it has run riot in Christianity. The most tragic chapter in the history of Europe is that which records the confusion of Christianity with alien and inferior cults, the resolution of the sublime religion of Jesus Christ into a vast com- pound of the true and the false, of the credible and the incredible. This degeneration has been brought upon the gospel of Christ because the teachers and preachers of Christ's religion have been, in many cases, unequal The Claims of the Ministry 319 to the trust committed to them. This degeneration has been brought upon the gospel of Christ chiefly because in some communions some of the time, and in other communions all of the time, teachers and preachers of the gospel have been conspicuously incompetent. Who can stand in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, and witness the service there, without inex- pressible sorrow, without confessing his inability to find in the degraded religion even the marred features of the religion of Jesus? The ministers who conduct that ceremonial are sincere but ignorant, devout but fanati- cal, loyal to the supreme human interest but infinitely incompetent. If it were music that men thus shamefully treated, or painting, or sculpture, or building, or poetry, or history, or science, the world would break forth in ridicule and scorn. When it is religion, the world suffers in silence over this degeneration and woe. Preachers are needed who are qualified to teach the ideas of Jesus. His idea of man personal and social, his idea of God in his relation to men and races of men, his vision of eternal life in this temporal world and his con- ception of the kingdom of Infinite Love, are of supreme concern to our modern world. Is it not worth while to perpetuate this high teaching? And do we not need men of power for this service? The work of the preacher is not exhausted in the office of teacher. His great aim in the presentation of ideas is to affect the heart. His chief purpose is to make character after the type of Jesus Christ. The success of this endeavor is essential to the Ufe of civilized man. It is essential to the perpetuity of the American Re- public. And only men great in character can render this supremely desirable and supremely difficult service; only they can create character of their own type; only 320 The Professions they can fashion the hearts of men after the pattern of Jesus Christ. The preacher sets himself to continue in the earth the Master's work of mercy. There is the army of the unsuccessful, the host caught and overwhelmed in the tragedy of the world, the multitude left behind and abandoned to their fate by those who ride in the tri- umphant chariots of progress; and, besides, there is the multitude of those that mourn, whose love is lost and whose hope is dead. Here is a region of life known to few as it is to the Christian minister. Here the sjtu- pathies and the wise services of a great nature act like the strong sunshine upon the earth in the grip of winter. Here the wilderness and the solitary place rejoice, and the desert blossoms as the rose. Here the tradition of Christ's compassion repeats itself, and in so doing renews the immemorial miracle of the upright and loving soul. To bring in a great fellowship among men and between men and God is the comprehensive aim of the preacher. To use in the interests of this high fellowship the gift of the teacher, the function of the maker of character, the office of the priestly soul, calls for strong men. The best word that I recall from my seminary days is the word of a Methodist preacher: "God and a fool might do as much good in the world as God and a wise man, but they have never done it." They never will do it. If our religion is to be great and to do great things, it must be in the care of great souls, — souls great in illu- mination and in intense and pure desire. A second reason why young men of power should enter the ministry is found in the fact that strong men have been in this service from the beginning, and that strong men are in it to-day. The degeneration that I have referred to in history has been often resisted by The Claims of the Ministry 321 these strong men, and, when that was impossible, it has been mitigated by them. The degeneration that we all fear is now in a large and hopeful way held back by men of strength. This apostolic succession in the past pleads for renewal in the finest youths of to-day. This company of brave, contemporary servants of the supreme interest of society sends forth its appeal for reinforcements. Strong men have served in this vocation, — that propo- sition is not open to doubt. A Christian preacher first introduced to Europe, to the Gentile world, the dis- tinctive element in our civilization. The greatest man that ever sailed the Mediterranean Sea was not Pericles, or Alexander, or Hannibal, or Ceesar, but Paul. His shadow hes upon Europe as does that of no other man in its history. When Europe began to renew her life in the sixteenth century, it was a Christian preacher who led the way. Our freedom began, not with any scientist, philosopher, man of letters, or man of affairs; it began with Martin Luther. We recall Origen, Athanasius, Augustine, Wycliffe, Calvin, Knox, Edwards, Channing, Parker, Bushnell, Beecher, Brooks, and through them we recall a host that no man can number who in the vocation of the preacher have wrought righteousness in the earth, and in the hearts of men have been as the flood tide of Divine regard. That strong men are in this service to-day is frequently called in question. To-day, it is said, the Church has golden chalices and wooden priests. There is doubtless some ground for this complaint. It originated, I believe, with Savonarola, and we know that it was the truth and no slander upon his lips. It was the habitual complaint of Emerson, although when in the Harvard Divinity School Emerson uttered this complaint for the last time, 322 The Professions Henry Ward Beecher was preaching in Brooklyn and Phillips Brooks was preaching in Boston. The Church has not always had golden chalices, but from the days of the apostles she has never been without wooden priests. If I am to judge from my own observation, extending now over many years, I must conclude that on the average there is more sense and reason, more genuine piety and wholesome human feeling, more effective administration and intense devotion among American preachers than at any other period of my existence. The shining names may be absent, the great national personalities. The preacher is subject to the limitation that always overtakes the speciahsts. The increased division of labor has further reduced his im- portance. The passing of all regard for mere official- ism has taken with it a vast rubbish heap that in other days glittered like gold. These things do not count in a fair estimate. The ministry has men in it to-day of whom any calling might well be proud. In college they proved themselves, in many cases, the equals of their fellows. Their subsequent career has been that of the lover and servant of truth; and to stand among these men in this service is a dishonor to no thinker, to no scholar, to no personality, however great. I sometimes think that a profession is in the healthiest condition, not when general attention is fixed upon its great names, but when the public is disposed to deny the existence in it of great names. Men do their best work, as a rule, before they become famous. The fame of great men, great universities, and great nations, is not without serious peril. All over this broad land to-day preachers of the gospel are studying and thinking and living as ministers in great bodies have done in no age since the apostolic age. They have inherited only dis- The Claims of the Ministry 323 credited systems of opinion and vast masses of un- winnowed learning. They have had to provide, under these conditions, for their people the vision of God and life's supreme consolation. They have become, by scores and hundreds, under this discipline, men of origi- naUty and depth, of great character and precious influ- ence. It is never just or safe to argue from the absence of fame. The still small voice is the mightiest force in human history. At fitting seasons, and under the provocation of excessive contempt, it may become, as in a Luther or a Knox, a voice like the sound of many waters. Famous Russia was defeated by Japan, a nation largely without fame. Power in the end wins recognition; but, if it be power aside from the kinds usually admired, it may have long to wait. Because it is not recognized, it would be unjust and unsafe to con- clude that it does not exist. While men sleep, the tide rolls to the flood; while men prate about the absence of power in the ministry to-day, that power is rising in a mighty silent service. Meanwhile we poor, brainless preachers are strong enough to do our work as in our great Taskmaster's eye, and quick enough to find food for mirth in the haughty manner of our cities. We know them well, we love them well, and the fear of them in nowise disturbs us. It may be further said that the satisfactions of the ministry are such as appeal to strong men. Upon this point there is again some doubt. It is beHeved in cer- tain quarters that preachers live sheltered lives, that they feed upon nothing but indiscriminate and fooUsh praise. A year or two in this vocation would, I am sure, be sufficient to dissipate this illusion. When in 1875 I went as a Home Missionary to Temple, Maine, the first compliment I received at the close of my first 324 The Professions sermon was from a veteran of the War of 1812, and ran thus: "Elder, I like to hear you preach. I have had the best sleep to-day that I have had in a month. Your voice reminds me of my mother's lullaby." Those who think ministers never hear the truth about their work are greatly mistaken. They have yet to discover that piety carries in it now and then an immense aptitude for imparting information with a sting in it. Manly men in the ministry get their full share of honest and rough treatment from their fellow men. I discover no immunity for the preacher here, and therefore offer no bribe. Indeed, the memory of any minister of con- siderable experience is rich in examples to the contrary, and they are part of the fun of living. Nor is there any chance for a minister to become rich. In comparison with many other vocations, preachers are poorly paid, and when the preacher's salary is large, as it sometimes is, the human suffering and the great causes of human enlightenment and rehef appeal to him with irresistible power, and thus absorb much of his income. Neither dignity in the general regard nor wealth is among the inducements to enter the ministry. There are, however, other inducements that sing in the whole- some human heart. There is the satisfaction of a noble service, one into which an honest man may put his entire nature. When the day's work is done, the worthy preacher may enjoy the reflection of having done much for which he has received no pay, — much for which there will never be the least material reward. He may know that he has served his Father in secret because of his love for the service. The chance to do that is the exclusive privi- lege of no profession; but in the ministry it is, I believe, larger than in any other. This habit of doing good, The Claims of the Ministry 325 with no prospect or thought of material reward, sets free in a man's heart singing voices; and the music they make is not of this world. Another immense satisfaction of the preacher is the love that he may awaken in others for the highest things. Here we meet the teacher's satisfaction. One can not think of Socrates walking the streets of Athens with a band of elect youth about him, careless of dress and money and the poor prizes of the world, turning the thought of his generation to the dignity of the intellec- tual life, without seeing in that great rough face the light of a mighty satisfaction. And in the sphere of the spirit, in the same vocation, we meet Jesus. We see his soul in his eyes as he looks upon those whose love for the Eternal he has kindled. We hear him say over one poor, wretched life that he had brought back to honor, "I have meat to eat that ye know not of." Such satisfac- tions aU genuine servants of the mind and spirit will always have. There is still another satisfaction in the minister's life. I mean his unique relation to his kind. He is with his people in the great crisis of life. His sympathies enfold the families committed to his care when children are born, when they are dedicated by their parents in baptism to the Highest, when these children grow up and enter the glorious but perilous world of youth, when they in turn build homes of their own; and again in anxiety, in misfortune, in bitter grief, and in death the heart of a worthy minister of Christ is with his people. All this issues in a relation to human beings absolutely unique in this world. The last satisfaction to which I call attention is that of overcoming difficulties. Economically, the ministry is classed among the non-productive professions. The 326 The Professions preacher's salary is provided from the savings of others who serve in the productive professions. That salary is not usually large, it is somewhat imcertain. The minister's tenure of office is also uncertain. Altogether, these facts are apt to chill young men as they look for- ward to this service. This should not be. These are difficulties to be met and overcome. They may be over- come by the creative spirit of love. Some men have the power to open new industries, to get others to believe in them, and thus to add to the productive power of society. These men are leaders in creative industry. Similar to these men are those preachers who by the power of a great nature create new interest in divine things. Men of this stamp make themselves and their cause essential to the hearts and the happiness of their parishes. They become part of the life of their people, and in consequence their income, while not large, is sufficient and sure. Men of power have made the world : they will continue to make it; and, if the ministry is an imsatisfactory profession to-day, men of power should enter it, and shape its character by their creative spirit. THE PREPARATION FOR THE MINISTRY 1 By the RT. rev. DAVID H. GREER jOU remember, perhaps, the story told of that eminent preacher, Lsonan Beecher, that when, upon one occasion he was asked how long it had taken him to prepare a sermon which he had just dehvered, he replied, "Forty years." I do not know whether the story is true; but it might be. It is substantially true of every sermon preached. The time involved in the preparation is more than the few days which have been devoted to the task, and includes within its compass all the days on earth which the preacher himself has lived. It began, that prepar- ation, when the preacher began; not when he began to be a preacher, but when he began to be, or rather before he began. It began with his ancestors; and he is what he is because they were what they were. And the temper- ament or the talent which is possessed by him he has received from them, or received through them from God. He enters upon his task, and he performs his task, with a preparation for it which has been bestowed upon or given to him by God. First of all, then, the person who is expecting to preach should try to be reasonably sure that he has been thus prepared by nature or by God. He should try to be reasonably sure that God has bestowed upon him a fitness for the work. Not every good young man is called upon to be a preacher. Goodness, of course, is essential; ' From Lectures at Yale, 1895, by permission of the Author. 327 328 The Professions and it goes without saying that that is a quahfication which he should possess. But that is a qualification which everybody ought to possess for his work in life, the layman as well as the clergyman, and the layman as much as the clergyman. For there are not two kinds of goodness, there are not two moral codes, one for those who preach, and another for those who hear, but the same moral code for both, emanating from the same God. If it is the duty of the minister to be good after the highest type of goodness, — or rather after the only type, for there is but one, — so is it the duty of the mechanic, the lawyer, the man of affairs, the president of the railroad, the president of the bank. But just as in the case of the mechanic something more than goodness is required, so in the case of the preacher is something more required. Each of them must have, in order to do his work, or to do it fairly well, some aptitude for his work, some gift or fitness for it which has been bestowed by nature, and that means, when rightly interpreted, which has been bestowed by God. Without that prepa- ration he will not be successful, and the work to which he devotes himself will not only be ill done, but un- comfortably done. He will not rejoice in his work; he will not be happy in it. But how can a person know whether or not he possesses that kind of preparation? How can a person who is contemplating the work of the ministry know? He can know after he has tried. But how can he know before? He can not know fully and infaUibly, "for the fire in the flint shows not till it be struck." And yet I think he can tell with a reasonable degree of assurance even before it be struck whether the fire is there. Emerson somewhere says, not in these words, but in substance, that what a person most of all desires to do in H I m D z > -\ z The Preparation for the Ministry 329 the world is, as a rule, the thing which best of all he can do, and ought to try to do, and was perhaps intended to do. Like so many of Emerson's aphoristic sayings, this one has to be taken, not as unqualifiedly and as in all cases true, but only as measurably true. But it is measur- ably true. And of one who is considering whether or not he is called to preach the Gospel of Christ, whether or not he is fitted for that particular work, and has been prepared and sent of God to do it, I should simply ask these questions, or should ask him rather to ask them of himself: Is the preaching of the Gospel of Christ the thing which most of all I desire to do in the world? Does it like nothing else appeal to and arouse and seem to set me on fire with an enthusiasm for it? Does it possess for me an attraction which nothing else possesses, not because of what in the way of personal reward it may be able to give me in this world or another, but just because of what it seems to be in itself as its own sufficient reward? Does it make me feel as I think of it, or see it, and hear it done by one who is fitted to do it, that I, too, am a preacher, — not perhaps as he is, I can not hope for that, but still that I am a preacher, that I ought to be, that I must be, and that I can not rest contented until I try to be? I do not say that that is an infallible test, but it is a test. If a person feels with reference to the work of preaching in some such way as that, then I think he may be reasonably sure that God has given him that general preparation or fitness for the work which first of all he must have, and which will enter as a factor, secretly, perhaps, and unconsciously to himself, yet vitally and helpfully, into the preparation of every sermon which he prepares. 330 The Professions That is the first requisite in the general preparation for preaching; but it is not all. The treasures which God has put in the human mind and soul are like the treasures which He has put in the ground. They are there; but they are there to be brought out. If they are not there, they can not of course be brought out: but they are there as though they were not until they are brought out. You can not make a preacher of one who is not born to be a preacher, who does not have it in him; and yet he has it in him as if he had it not until it has been brought out. And what will bring it out? The same thing that brings the treasure out of the ground. Work will bring it out, — hard work, and only hard work. In other re- spects also does the parallel sometimes hold, not always, but sometimes, that the better and finer the treasure, the harder is the work required. Herein is the saying of Carlyle true, that genius means, or is, the capacity for infinite exertion. And the preacher who trusts chiefly to his native gifts and endowments, his quickness of thought, his fluency of speech, his readiness with his pen, or his facihty with his tongue, his poetical temper- ament or his oratorical temperament, or whatever his gifts may be, without trying to train and discipline and enrich them by patient and persistent study, by the hardest kind of hard work, will find sooner or later, and sooner rather than later, and his congregation will also find, that he is preached out. and that he has exhausted both himself and them. Every man who succeeds to-day is a hard worker. He may not work with worry, and he will not work well if he does so work; but he works with energy. This is true of every calling. It is, I think, particularly true of the minister's calling to-day. Some people have the The Preparation for the Ministry 331 notion that the only day in the week on which the minis- ter is very busy is Sunday. I have not found it so. Sunday to me has always been the easiest day in the week; and when people ask me, as they sometimes do, When are you most at leisure? or, When can we hope to find you the most disengaged? I usually say "On Sun- day." I have less to do then than on any other day in the week. It is true that I preach on Sunday; and it often happens that I preach — though it ought not to happen — two or three times on Sunday ; but then I don't mind preaching when I am ready to preach, any more than I mind eating my dinner when I am hungry. But where the labor comes in is in the cooking of the dinner, and in the going to market, and the many differ- ent markets to get the things to cook. That is what takes time for the subsequent prandial exercise, as for the subsequent pulpit exercise. Let your preaching be expository and scriptural, the preaching of the Gospel of Christ. And in order that it may be that, study the Bible. And in order that you may know better what the Bible is, do not confine your- selves in your study of the Bible to the study of the Bible itself, or to the study of books and commentaries written upon the Bible. Begin there, but do not stop there. Study the Bible through books which are not themselves bibUcal — through history and philosophy and poetry and science and fiction — and you will understand better what the Bible is, and also what is in it, and will be able better to bring it out, and better to enforce and apply it. What particular course or method you should adopt in traversing that field of literature which lies outside of the Bible, it is for you to determine; only do not neg- lect it, or think that in studying it you are neglecting the 332 The Professions Bible. You are, on the contrary, studying the Bible, and getting ready to preach it, not only more attractively, but more effectively as well. But there is still another direction which your studies must take. You must be students of human life: not simply as it was yesterday, but as it is to-day. The story is told of a theological instructor in one of our seminaries, whether true or not I know not, and it matters not, that he was in the habit of saying to his pupils in his closing lecture to them, "Three things are necessary, young gentlemen, to success in the ministry, — grace, learning, and common sense. If you have not grace, God can give it to you. If you have not learning, man can give it to you. But if you have not common sense, neither God nor man can give it to you." His purpose, I presume, was to impress upon them, not so much the hopelessness in certain cases of acquiring common sense, but the desirableness of acquiring it in all cases. And surely it is desirable, not only in a layman, but also in a clergyman. He can not get on without it, or can not get on well; and the only way in which he can succeed in acquiring it is by coming into touch with Hfe, — the life of the people about him, their real and actual Hfe, seeing it, feehng it, studying it, and learning thus what it is by personal contact with it, and how to guide and direct it. That is a quahty which the preacher, which the minister of Jesus Christ, like every one else, must have, and without which his preaching, however learned and eloquent, will not be effective preaching. The minister, it is said, is often prevented from doing what other people do, innocent though it be, because it is his duty to set an example to them. In one sense that is true. The minister of Jesus Christ should set an example to men ; but it should be a real example, and The Preparation for the Ministry 333 not to any extent a feigned and simulated example. It should not be an example simply for the sake of example ; for the person, whether minister or layman, who aims to be an example, simply for the sake of example, will sooner or later, and inevitably and in spite of himself, become more or less of a hypocrite. The example which he sets will not be the example of one who is doing what is right for its own sake, regard- less of consequences, but the example of one who is doing what is right chiefly or in part for the sake of others, and solicitous of consequences; and the example which he sets will not be a good example. It will have more or less of the element of dissimula- tion in it, which people will be quick to perceive. It will not be a genuine example; it will not be a wholesome^ example; and the influence which it exerts will not be a wholesome influence. Let the minister, I say, be a man among men; not careless, not lax, not indifferent, but at the same time not afraid of what they say or think, and not anxious about it. Let him go and be among them, not thinking much or at all of the impression he makes upon them, but only of what is right, and careful only for that, — honest, fearless, straightforward, and scorn- ing consequence. Whitcomb Riley has described him: The kind of man for you and me, He faces the world unflinchingly; And smites as long as the wrong resists With a knuckled faith, and force-like fists. He lives the life he is preaching of, And loves where most there is need of love. And feeling still with a faith half glad That the bad are as good as the good are bad, He strikes straight out for the right; and he Is the kind of man for you and me. 334 The Professions That is the kind of man who will know men. That is the kind of minister who will know men and how to direct, and lead, and be an example to them, because he is of and among them, in sympathy with all that is natural, with all that is human in them. He will not be worldly, but he will understand the world. He will not be a participant in wrongdoing, but he will know what wrongdoing is; and to the wrongdoer he will know how to speak a strong and searching word. Separate from evil as his Master was, but not separate from man, as his Master was not, like his Master he will know what is in man, and something of his Master's power he will be able to exert. CHARLES HADDON SPURGEON^ By WILLIAM M. THAYER JHE most romantic things are often found in real life. Men are disposed to look for them in fiction, but fact is often "stranger than fiction." What some men are is often more wonderful than what fiction would represent them to be. The life of many an achiever, put into a story, would be declared fiction by the average reader. The foregoing is true of the life of Charles Haddon Spurgeon, who was born at Kelvedon, County of Essex, England, June 19, 1834. His parents were rich in children ; there were seventeen sons and daughters, — enough to constitute a colony of Spurgeons in any part of the world. Happy and content, the parents reared their large family in the fear of the Lord, with no other aim than to make good men and women of them. They did not expect great things of them, but good things. When Charles was fifteen years of age he was sent to a school in Newmarket under the charge of a Mr. Sumdell, a noted teacher, who prepared young men for college. The son knew at what sacrifice his father sent him to that school, and he resolved that his application and progress should prove that the money it cost was a good investment. He made the best use of his time and opportunities pos- sible. Here, too, he was converted, the published accoxmt of which he once gave to the public. He began his new life at once. He said to his teacher, ' From " Famous Leaders Among Men." Copyright, 1894, by T. Y. Crowell & Company. 335 336 The Professions "The matter is settled; I must preach the gospel." He commenced work for the Lord among his schoolmates, and called upon neglected families, to carry the tidings of salvation. His father and grandfather were Congregation- aUsts, — should he be the same, he asked himself, after a time? He knew somewhat of the Baptists' belief, and he studied his Bible, with what helps he could find, and fin- ally concluded that baptism by immersion was the proper mode, and he must be a Baptist. He conferred with his father and grandfather, both of whom advised him to obey his conscience in the matter; and so he cast in his lot with the Baptist denomination, — an example of his conscien- tiousness and independence of thought and action. His mother said to him, ' ' I have prayed much that you might become a Christian, but I never prayed that you might be a Baptist." He began to attend prayer meetings here and there, wherever he could find one. Rising early in the morn- ing, he would pursue his studies with all his might during the day, and, in the evening, look for a meeting. Every evening in the week found him engaged in Christian work. He prayed and exhorted with the earnestness and ability of a veteran, and people were surprised that a "boy" could acquit himself so well. Sometimes he walked eight and ten miles to conduct a prayer meeting in a neglected neighborhood. Doubtless here he laid the foundation of his great work in London, for he was ever looking after the poor and forsaken, and thousands of them were raised to honorable and useful citizens through his ministrations. The same earnestness, singleness of aim, self-denial, and unwearied labors as characterized the first year of his Christian hfe continued to the end of his ministry. The torch that he lighted at sixteen he bore aloft until he died. He began to preach before he planned for it. It was Charles Haddon Spurgeon 337 in this wise, as told by himself: "I had been asked to walk out to the village of Faversham, about four miles from Cambridge, where I then lived, to accompany a young man whom I supposed to be the preacher for the evening, and on the way I said to him that I trusted God would bless him in his labors. '"Oh dear!' said he, 'I never preached in my hfe. I never thought of doing such a thing. I was asked to walk with you, and I sincerely hope God will bless you and your preaching. ' "'Nay,' said I, 'but I never preached, and I don't know that I could do anything of the sort.' "We walked together until we came almost to the place, my inmost soul being all of a tremble as to what would happen. When we found the congregation assembled, and no one else there to speak of Jesus, although I was only sixteen years of age, I found that I was expected to preach, so I did preach." Evidently it was a contrived plan to test the "boy." He was modest, and did not know that there was preaching ability in him, and friends wanted him to discover himself. The plan was successful. He had not spoken more than ten minutes before he was in full possession of his facul- ties, all his fear and lack of confidence gone, and instead, a degree of fervor, point, and power attended his words that filled his hearers with wonder. The young preacher, too, was fully as much surprised as his hearers. The effort had disclosed two things to him: first, God will help the speaker who looks to him for his message; and, second, for this reason, preaching is less difficult than he supposed. In other words, the effort made him ac- quainted with himself. He had no trouble about preach- ing now, and his labors were in demand. A somewhat new course of reading was opened to him by this expe- 338 The Professions rience. He read all the printed sermons he could find, and such books as he thought would assist him in his future chosen profession. He planned, also, to take a collegiate course of instruction. His father strongly recommended this plan. He continued to attend prayer and conference meetings evenings, visit the sick, seek personal interviews with the impenitent, and soon he preached somewhere every Sabbath. He was called "the boy preacher." He was but eighteen years old, and not at all prepos- sessing in his general appearance. But whenever and wherever he spoke, the people listened with surprise and delight. He was invited to deliver an address at Water- beach, a short distance from Cambridge, where a Baptist church, so small and poor that the pastor received but one hundred dollars salary, was located. The congrega- tion were greatly pleased, and they called him "the dear, good boy," but did not think of calling him to their pas- torate. They were without a pastor at the time, and pastoral work was sorely needed in the families. He went to work among them whenever he could command any time, and new life soon appeared in the place. He was so industrious, between study and Christian work, that some of the old ladies asked him if he ever slept. The good angel had taken possession of him, so that he knew nothing but service for Christ. The result was that he was called by the church at Waterbeach to become their pastor just as he was entering upon his nineteenth year. The call was unsought, and at first he was not at all inclined to accept it. He was going to pursue a collegiate course of study, so that it was not possible for him to become pastor of the church. Such was his view of the call, and the people were made ac- quainted with his decision. But they were importunate, and could not be denied. They pressed their suit with so Charles Haddon Spurgeon 339 much earnestness that he made his answer a subject of prayer. He asked the Lord to direct him to the right conclusion. It seemed to him that nothing ought to stand in the way of a college course. But the more and longer he prayed, the more he came to feel that a collegiate education might not be indispen- sable. It was certain that he must give up Waterbeach, or Regent's Park College, one or the other. Could it be possible that the divine will would lead him into the min- istry without more preparation? He was disposed to answer the question in the negative. But he continued reflecting and praying. It was a question between him and God to settle. His father would have advised him to go to Regent's Park College; but he wanted to know what God would advise. While thus perplexed, he was brought to a decision in the following manner, as related by himself : "That afternoon, having to preach at a village station, I walked in a meditating frame of mind over Mid-summer Common to the little wooden bridge which leads to Chester- ton, and in the midst of the common I was startled by what seemed to be a loud voice, but which may have been a singular illusion. Whatever it was, the impression it made on my mind was most vivid. I seemed very dis- tinctly to hear the words, 'Seekest thou great things for thyself? Seek them not.' This led me to look at my posi- tion from a different point of view, and to challenge my motives and intentions. ... I did there and then re- nounce the offer of collegiate instructions, determining to abide, for a season at least, with my people, and to remain preaching the Word so long as I had strength to do it. Had it not been for these words, I had not been where I am now." Mr. Spurgeon never regretted his decision. He always felt confident that, had he decided for college, he never 340 The Professions would have become pastor of the Tabernacle Church in London, and his great work there never would have been done. He wrote afterwards, "I am more and more glad that I never went to college. God sends such sunshine on my path, such smiles of grace, that I can not regret if I have forfeited all my prospects for it. I am conscious I held back from the love of God and His cause, and I had rather be poor in His service than rich in my own." He never undervalued culture. He secured to himself the equivalent of a college curriculum by a course of study and reading which he mapped out for himself. Probably no man ever lived for whom reading did more than for him. It was his education; for he became a scholar of distinc- tion, and was particularly advanced in Greek and Hebrew. Edward Leeding, who was once his tutor, declared that Spurgeon could have taken the university degree on exami- nation at any time after reaching his manhood, of which there can be no doubt. Reading did it chiefly, a fact that is worthy of the serious attention of j'oung people, and all adults who desire to advance in knowledge. There was a Sunday-school convention in Cambridge a few months after Spurgeon entered upon his pastorate, and he was invited to give a short address. So many duties engrossed his time that he gave little or no thought to the address until the convention assembled. '\'\lien his turn came, he made a very brief address and sat down. It was a very feeble effort compared with his Sunday preaching in his own pulpit. But there was a person in the audience who was deeply impressed by his spiritual power, and soon after he met one of the deacons of the Park Street Chapel, London, whose attention he called to the "boy preacher." He represented him as being very precocious; that his preaching was as thoughtful and able as that of an experienced minister. The outcome of that Charles Haddon Spurgeon 341 casual meeting was that, a few months thereafter, Mr. Spurgeon was called to become the pastor of the London church where the aforesaid deacon officiated. Mr. Spurgeon went to London, and the whole Chris- tian world knows what he accomplished. From the time he commenced his labors with the Park Street Chapel, the place of worship was crowded. Within a few months all the people who came to the Sabbath service could not be accommodated. Spurgeon had en- tered into the niche which God ordained he should fill. No doubt many came to hear him because of his youth; but they were surprised by the breadth and depth of his thinking. He was not really an orator; certainly he was not graceful. He was sometimes awkward, and ne\'er elegant. Nor was he a sensational preacher, nor time- serving in the least. He was plain, sincere, direct, faith- ful to rebuke Christians for their shortcomings, and warn sinners "of the wrath to come." He had something for sinners in every sermon, believing that no other preaching wins souls. Scores of young men were drawn to the Tabernacle to hear him preach. Spurgeon's sharp eye saw every young man who came. He desired to win this class;. his church needed them, and the world needed them. He under- stood how to reach them. He was young himself; and here was a bond of sympathy between them. The result was that many young men of his congregation were con- verted every year. Among them were some of abiUty and decided force of character, who aspired to something higher and better than what they were. Spurgeon saw a great opportunity here for good. These young men could be fitted to preach the gospel and do other Christian work; but there was no chance for them. There was no institution for just this class, for they had httle culture. 342 The Professions A "Pastor's College" would meet the want exactly. So the "Pastor's College" was founded. It began with one pupil, for whom Spurgeon employed a tutor. Soon there were forty, some of them paying all their bills, but more unable to pay anything. But pay or not, the right kind of a young man was admitted to the college. The college must have a building : how secure it? Spur- geon thought that here, as in other matters, if he devised a way, the Lord would direct his steps. So he, and those in sympathy with him, besought the Lord. A friend sent five thousand dollars to him for the structure. The build- ing was begun. Five thousand dollars more was added to the fund, and fifteen hundred dollars raised by the students. Then a gentleman who died left a bequest of twenty-five thousand dollars; and the students became solicitors among the men of London, and raised twelve thousand five hundred dollars more. When the col- lege building was completed, its cost had mounted to seventy-five thousand dollars, and there was a debt of twenty-five thousand on it. But Spurgeon was not dis- tressed over it long, for "fifteen thousand dollars toward the payment was given by a lady as a memorial to her husband, and ten thousand dollars was left to the college by the will of a stranger who had regularly read Spurgeon's sermons." Hundreds of young men have been educated in the col- lege, and are at work as pastors, preachers, and mission- aries, in all parts of the world. An average of about one hundred annually were graduated here before Spurgeon's death. Three hundred and fifty-five of them were preach- ing in Great Britain, and nearly as many more in the United States, not a few of them settled over the largest Baptist churches in both countries. A large number became home and foreign naissionaries, and are found in Charles Haddon Spurgeon 343 every part of the world where missionary labors are needed. Spurgeon lived to see his church number five thousand three hundred and thirty-four members. "There were at that time connected with the church eighteen missions where the gospel was preached, and there were a great number of societies in the church organized to extend the gospel to the heathen, support teachers among the poor of London, maintain gospel wagons for the distribution of tracts and the preaching of the Word, flower missions, and several aid societies." Single-handed and alone, without college or theological school, Spurgeon accomplished what the most scholarly minister never achieved, and left behind him a record that challenges all history for its counterpart. WILLIAM DUNCAN'S WORK AMONG NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS ^ By ARTHUR T. PIERSON ^HEN, half a century ago, Mr. Duncan went to Fort Simpson, he found it the center of a settlement, where nine Tsimshean tribes were gathered, notorious for treachery, cruelty, barbarism, and cannibalism. Amid such savages a fort was necessary, with heavy palisades and bastions, with mounted cannon and sentinels on the watch, night and day. Shortly after his arrival, Mr. Duncan saw them from the fort, howling like a pack of wolves, tearing limb from limb the body of a woman whom they had just murdered ; and initiation into the mysteries of Shamanism they kept with dog eating, devil dancing, and the wildest revelries. To begin work among such fiends incarnate was possible only to one whose simple faith made him fearless toward men because courageous in God. The first step was to get a hold upon their language, and for this he got Clah, a native, to aid him. Patient study enabled him after some months to write out in phonetic characters a simple address, explaining his peaceful mission. He first con- veyed to them, through Clah, a preparatory message of love, informing them that there was one white man within the fort whose sole aim was not barter but blessing — to bring them a message from the white man's God. He was seeking not theirs, but them. As soon as ' From "The Missionary Review of the World," by courtesy of Funk & Wagnalls. 344 William Duncan's Work Among Indians 345 he felt he could make himself understood, he ventured outside the fort, unarmed, trusting himself to their kind- ness and to God's protection, and was received cordially. It was not feasible to gather Indians of the various hostile tribes together, so he gave his prepared address nine times on the same day to their representatives, in the houses of their respective chiefs, repeating his words till he saw that he was understood. He thus got before them the story of Jesus, and showed how the life of a true Christian contrasted with their ways of living. Having opened a school at the house of a chief, it was soon thronged, both by children and adults. With the aid of a few Indians he built a log schoolhouse, which was filled with some two hundred pupils, several chiefs being among them. They saw that he was sincere and unselfish and had a real message from the great Spirit; and his frank dealing and kindly visits to their sick rapidly unlocked the doors of their hearts. The shamans, or medicine men, seeing their craft in danger, sought to thwart his efforts, moving Legiac, the head chief, to order him to stop his school during the month of the Medicine Feast. He firmly refused to close it so long as pupils came to be taught, and per- sisted in his refusal, notwithstanding threats upon his life. Legiac, with his fellow shamans, rushed into the school, drove out the pupils, and sought to intimidate the brave teacher; but Mr. Duncan calmly reasoned with the intruders and held his ground. Legiac then drew his knife and was about to kill Mr. Duncan, when suddenly his arm fell, as if paralyzed, and he slunk away. Clah, himself a murderer before conversion, learning of the conspiracy against the missionary, had crept in armed, and, as Legiac lifted his knife, Clah raised his revolver, and this act had repulsed the assassin. 346 The Professions On several occasions Mr. Duncan narrowly escaped assassination, but gradually won a hearing and a follow- ing. He soon saw that it would aid his higher mission to show these savages that godliness is also profitable for the life that now is; and he set at once about promot- ing their temporal, as well as eternal, well-being. To cleanse their filthy persons and abodes, he secured for them soap at a reduced price, and then taught them how to make it for a tenth of the current cost; and, from this simple beginning he went on to develop other forms of industry. The Hudson's Bay Company opposed him because his industries interfered with their monopoly of traffic. Moreover, the neighborhood of a trading post was a constant temptation to drunkenness; to debauchery, also, for parents were selling their daughters and hus- bands hiring out their own wives for immoral ends; and so a second great thought came into Mr. Duncan's mind: to lead such Indians as would follow away from these pernicious surroundings and model a village upon Chris- tian principles. It was a thought from God, and on no project for the uplifting of pagan tribes has the Divine blessing more signally rested. About seventeen miles from Fort Simpson was the site of an abandoned Tsimshean village, called Metlakahtla, beautiful for situation, with fertile soil and good fishing and hunting grounds. The basis of this "model state" was laid in fifteen rules, to which all must subscribe who would join the new community. These rules required the abandonment of Indian deviltry, medicine men, gambling, and drink; forbade painting their faces and giving away property for display; and enjoined on them to be cleanly, peaceful, industrious, honest, and hberal; to build neat dwellings. William Duncan's Work Among Indians 347 pay taxes, attend religious instruction, send their children to school, and observe the Sabbath rest. The first company joining Mr. Duncan numbered but fifty, including men, women, and children; and this little band, in six canoes, set sail for their new home. They put up huts, a schoolhouse, to be used also as a house of prayer; and a start was thus made. Before a week passed thirty more canoes brought three hundred recruits, including two chiefs. Care was taken that none should be admitted to the community who did not publicly subscribe to the rules, and were not acceptable to all the others. A village council of twelve and a native constabulary force were formed, the council being meant for a sort of court; but Mr. Duncan had to decide many matters himself, until they learned to make decisions and administer justice on equitable principles. With sagacious unselfishness Mr. Duncan trained his little community to combine wholesome work and innocent play with reverent wor- ship, slowly weaning them from pagan customs and vicious practices. With patient love he taught them the inhumanity of slavery, the value of human life, the sacredness of womanly virtue, and the beauty of truth and piety. At the same time he took wise sanitary measures, vaccinating the whole community, so that the smallpox plague, which swept five hundred Tsimshean Indians away, scarcely touched Metlakahtla. To promote commercial pm-suits, he bought a schooner, so conducting coast trade as to make the investment a source of revenue, surprising the Indians, who, for the first time, got an idea of the profits of a well-organized industry. Then came a cooperative village store; then a savings bank, which again surprised, by payments of interest, these simple-minded people who felt that they 348 The Professions ought rather to pay the bank for guarding their Uttle savings. Mr. Duncan was anything and everything by turns to the Metlakahtlan infant state — missionary and magistrate, secretary and treasurer, teacher and doctor, carpenter and trader, friend and counsellor. As the community grew, it was divided into smaller companies, with monitors or supervisors. Love had at times to resort to severity, and offenses of grave character were punished by public whipping; incorrigible evil-doers were banished, and minor offenses subjected the offender to jail, with a black flag hoisted to announce the wrong- doing and cause inquiry as to the wrong-doer. Soon new and better dwellings were built, with a church for twelve hundred people, a town hall, dispensary, shops, market, and all the helps to prosperous village life, including even a great sea-wall for protection, and a sawmill, where these simple villagers beheld a miracle — water made to saw wood! In 1870, Mr. Duncan made a short visit to England, securing machinery, and preparing himself to teach his Indians weaving, ropemaking, and other trades. He later introduced musical instruments and organized a brass band. He had so won his followers that he who was their servant was also, by their own consent, their sov- ereign, and was welcomed back as with royal honors. But, best of all, he found his Indians had learned to pray. Thirteen years before, he had found the Tsimshean Indians afraid of him, suspicious of every act, and irre- sponsive to his appeals and prayers. Now hundreds were intelligently and devoutly praying with him and for him. Metlakahtla, of course, could not be hid; it began to be a power, impressing the tribes far in the interior by William Duncan's Work Among Indians 349 its marvelous prosperity. Converts were multiplying, including five chiefs, one of whom had been the leader in the cannibal orgies which had shocked Mr. Duncan on his first arrival. Every Christian community becomes also a missionary community. The converted Indians felt that they must send and carry the light God had kindled, to others still in darkness, and, at their own cost, they sent forth native evangelists; more than this, as Christian traders, they themselves told outsiders of their new light and life, and bore that best witness — a changed Ufe. Visitors were drawn to Metlakahtla as Gentiles shall come to the Light that shall yet shine on Zion's hill. The fierce Chilcats sent their chief and head men from the Alaskan coast, five hundred miles away to the north, as Sheba's queen came to Solomon, to see for themselves. They came in barbaric state and were struck dumb with amaze- ment. The half had not been told them; Metlakahtla exceeded the fame that they heard. And, when they saw the Solomon of this new state, a modest, plainly clad little white man, they could no longer restrain their astonishment, but broke out in exclamations of surprise, declaring that they could hardly beheve that he could tame such wild warriors and subdue them into a quiet community. They asked to see the "God's Book" to which he attributed such wonders, and touched it rever- ently with their fingertips as if it were some charm, saying " Ahm ! ahm ! " (it is good ! it is good) . Then these Chilcats went back to recommend to their tribe the white man's Book and the white man's ways. As was subsequently said by another head chief, who visited Metlakahtla and asked for a teacher, "a rope had been thrown out from Metlakahtla which was encircling and drawing together all the Indian tribes into one conunon brotherhood." 350 The Professions Mr. Duncan's influence so increased that none would be married witiiout his consent. The whole community attended worship, and the empty houses were left un- locked, for there was no one to enter them. The Bible was studied, and the pupils learned intelligently to use it and to answer questions upon it. Progress was rapid in every department. As early as 1866, every time their schooner sailed the Metlakahtlans posted two hundred letters. Before the first six years of this little community had passed they had a lumber- mill, a soap factory, and were dressing skins, black- smithing, weaving, ropemaking, and shoemaking, and the like. The settlement bore every mark and trace of that cleanliness which is so akin to godliness. Instead of huts, in which men, women, and children were huddled together, making impossible either physical or moral decency, each dwelling was divided into separate rooms, and neatness and order prevailed. At Fort Simpson all was still ignorance, superstition, barbarism, with filth, degradation, and depravity; but here was an en- lightened Christian community, with every mark of a well-ordered state. Several facts should never be forgotten, for they are the keys to the whole situation. First of all, Mr. Duncan laid the basis of Metlakahtla in the spiritual, the material, being secondary and subordinate, never allowed to dis- place or supplant it. Industry and external prosperity were means to a higher end, and civilization the hand- maid and helper to Christianization. The power of the Gospel was never better tested than in Metlakahtla. When the Bishop of Columbia, in his first visit, in 1863, baptized fifty-six converts, what was his surprise to find, seated by Mr. Duncan's side, a William Duncan's Work Among Indians 351 murderer, who had slain an Englishman, and then with his tribe defied an English man-of-war, but who sur- rendered himself to Mr. Duncan, and at his decision gave himself up to be handed over to the English and tried for his life! So a missionary had by love prevailed where threats and guns had failed. All the changes which the bishop then witnessed were the fruit of the first four and a half years, and he said, in his report, "Beyond the expectation of all persons acquainted with the Indians, success and blessing have attended Mr. Duncan's labors. " He was especially impressed by the sacredness with which the Lord's Day was kept, even in the midst of the fishing season ! The whole report of the bishop is a marvelous document. Archdeacon Woods, in 1871, testified that the Metla- kahtlans Uved their religion, and that all observers wit- nessed to their honesty, self-denial, and resolute resistance to temptation. "They will not work on Sunday, drink, or lend themselves in any way to any kind of immorality." Of the Sunday he spent among them he said that in the course of a ministry of over twenty years he had "never felt anything Hke the solemnity of that day," another band of fifty-nine being baptized. In 1876, when the visit of Lord Dufferin, Governor- General of Canada, took place, he and Lady Dufferin were struck with astonishment at what they saw and heard. He said that only those who had seen could form any adequate idea of the results of the labors of those eighteen years. To the citizens of Victoria he bore witness that he had found scenes of primitive peace, innocence, idylUc beauty, and material comfort, and he eloquently said: " What you want are not resources, but human beings to develop them and consume them. Raise your Indians to the level Mr. Duncan has taught us they can be brought 352 The Professions to, and consider what an enormous amount of vital power you will have added to your present strength." He had seen at Metlakahtla a substantial creation of a civilized, Christian community, from a people rescued in less than a score of years from the lowest level of savagery! And master as Lord Dufferin was of many tongues, he declared that he could hardly find any words to express his astonishment at what he had witnessed. Perhaps the most significant witness is that of Admiral Prevost, whose graphic picture of the terrible condition of these savage Tsimsheans first moved Mr. Duncan to give his hfe to their uplifting. The admiral visited Fort Simpson in 1878, and, on the very spot where, twenty- five years before, he had been so impressed and op- pressed by the shadow of death, was met by Mr. Duncan and sixteen Indians, nearly all elders. Of the crew be- fore him, nine out of the sixteen had to his knowledge been shamans, or cannibals, and wild, ungovernable rev- elers in bloodshed and deviltry were sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in their right mind. He spent a month among the Metlakahtlans. Peter Simpson, who as church warden opened the church door for him, had been chief of a cannibal tribe. Canoes were all drawn up on the beach on the Lord's day, and not a sound was heard save the hurrying of the whole population to the house of prayer. The admiral watched the incoming throngs — here a notorious gambler, there a reclaimed drunkard, a lecherous leper, a defiant chief, a widow snatched from the jaws of infamy, a murderer who had first slain and then burned his own wife — all converts to Christ and children of God. All this was not wrought without the use of God's own weapons, the Word of the Gospel and the impor- tunate appeal of prayer. When this simple-minded lay William Duncan's Work Among Indians 353 missionary undertook to grapple with paganism with its terrors, and shamanism with its errors, he rehed first of all upon the Gospel message, and then upon the power of the Spirit of God, and whole nights were spent in the secret place with God, as he was travailing in birth with souls. Nothing is too hard for God when nothing is too hard for faith. To those who would not come to him, Mr. Duncan went, to declare God's counsel whether they would hear or forbear, and he went, calmly consider- ing that it was at the risk of his own life. The Indians, owing to Sunday disturbances which arose in connection with their former position in British Colmnbia, partly connected with Church and partly with State, in 1887 petitioned the United States govern- ment for a home in Alaska, and have removed to a new site on vVnnette Island, and are now under the protec- tion of the great republic. Their present site seems better in every way than the old one, and the new Met- lakahtla bids fair to prove ultimately more prosperous than the original state. The village is situated on a beautiful plateau, of nearly level land, extending to one thousand acres, with shady beaches on three sides, affording fine facilities for shipping and fishing. The soil is excellent, and the food supply so abundant that the Indians have no desire to return to their former haunts. The United States government grants annual aid to the schools. The sawmills, and canneries, and furniture shops form the dominant industries. Mr. Duncan, on January 6, 1887, addressed the Board of Indian Conmiissioners and the Conference of Mission- ary Boards and Indian Rights Associations, at Washing- ton, D. C. His whole address is worthy of being quoted. But part of it we reproduce as especially a fit close to this brief story of Metlakahtla. He says: 354 The Professions " One of the most embarrassing questions ever put to me by an Indian was put to me wlien I first went among the Indians at Fort Simpson. " ' What do you mean by 1858?' " ' It represents the number of years that we have had the Gospel of God in the world.' " ' Why did not you tell us of this before? Why were not our forefathers told this?' I looked upon that as a poser. " 'Have you got the Word of God?' — equivalent to saying, ' Have you got a letter from God ? ' " ' Yes, I have God's letter.' " ' I want to see it.' " I then got my Bible. Remember, this was my first in- troduction. I wanted them to understand that I had not brought a message from the white man in England or anywhere else, but from the King of Kings; the God of Heaven. They wanted to see that. It was rumored aU over the camp that I had a message from God. "The man came into the house, and I showed him the Bible. He put his finger very cautiously upon it and said, ' Is that the word? ' ' Yes, it is.' ' The word of God ? ' ' Yes, it is.' ' Has He sent it to us? ' ' He has, just as much as He has to me.' ' Are you going to tell the Indians that? ' 1 am. He said, " ' Good; that is very good.' " Soon after, he was summoned to the chief's house, and found himself a guest at a dance. Out dashed the chief in full costume, rifle in hand. But to Mr. Dun- can's astonishment, instead of a pagan dance, he found William Duncan's Work Among Indians 355 himself witnessing a chiefs prayer. He looked up through the hole in the roof and began to pray: " Great Father of Heaven! Thou hast sent Thy Word. Thy letter has reached this place. We Thy children here are wanting it. Thy servant has come here with it. Help him to teach us and we will listen. Thanks to Thee, Great Father, for sending Thy Word to us! " This is the outUne of that prayer, reverent, pathetic, eloquent, childlike. A chant followed, and it was to the same effect as the prayer, and it was sung with joy and clapping of hands. And these are the savages that we are told must be pauperized with presents if they are to be won, or terror- ized by rifles if they are to be kept quiet; and that the only good Indian is a dead one! Would it not be well to try Mr. Duncan's method, and trust the Indian, and with an unselfish spirit seek to raise him up out of savagery by that all-powerful lever of the Gospel of Love? THE MAKING OF A MINISTERS By JAMES M. BARRIE \N the east coast of Scotland, hidden, as if in a quarry, at the foot of cliffs that may one day fall forward, is a village called Harvie. So has it shrunk since the days when I skulked from it that I hear of a traveler's asking lately at one of its doors how far he was from a village ; yet Harvie throve once and was celebrated even in distant Thrums for its fish. Gavin was born in Harvie, but left it at such an early age that he could only recall thatched houses with nets drying on the roofs, and a sandy shore in which coarse grass grew. In the picture he could not pick out the house of his birth, though he might have been able to go to it had he ever returned to the village. Soon he learned that his mother did not care to speak of Harvie, and per- haps he thought that she had forgotten it, too, all save one 'scene to which his memory still guided him. When his mind wandered to Harvie, Gavin saw the door of his home open and a fisherman enter, who scratched his head, and then said, "Your man's drowned, missis." Gavin seemed to see many women crying, and his mother staring at them with a face suddenly painted white, and next, to hear a voice that was his own saying, "Never mind, mother; I '11 be a man to you now, and I '11 need breeks for the burial." But Adam required no funeral, for his body lay deep in the sea. Adam was drowned on Gavin's fourth birthday, a year ' From " The Little Minister." 356 The Making of a Minister 357 after I had to leave Harvie. He was blown off his smack in a storm, and could not reach the rope his partner flung him. "It 's no go, lad," he shouted; "so long, Jim," and sank. A month afterwards Margaret sold her share in the smack, which was all Adam left her, and the furniture of the house was rouped. She took Gavin to Glasgow, where her only brother needed a housekeeper, and there mother and son remained until Gavin got his call to Thrums. According to Margaret, Gavin's genius showed itself while he was still a child. He was born with a brow whose nobility impressed her from the first. It was a minister's brow, and though Margaret herself was no scholar, being as slow to read as she was quick at turning bannocks on the griddle, she decided, when his age was still counted by months, that the ministry had need of him. In those days the first question asked of a child was not," Tell me your name," but "What are you to be?" and one child in every family rephed, "A minister." He was set apart for the Church as doggedly as the shilUng a week for the rent, and the rule held good though the family consisted of only one boy. From his earliest days Gavin thought he had been fashioned for the ministry as certainly as a spade for digging, and Margaret rejoiced and marveled thereat, though she had made her own puzzle. An enthu- siastic mother may bend her son's mind as she chooses if she begins at once. Margaret's brother died, but she remained in his single room, and, ever with a picture of her son in a pulpit to repay her, contrived to keep Gavin at school. Everything a woman's fingers can do Margaret's did better than most, and among the wealthy people who employed her, her gentle manner was spoken of. For though Margaret had no schooUng, she was a lady at heart, moving and almost 358 The Professions speaking as one, even in Harvie, where they did not, per- haps, like her the better for it. At six Gavin hit another boy hard for belonging to the Established Church, and at seven he could not lose him- self in the Shorter Catechism. His mother expounded the Scriptures to him till he was eight, when he began to expound them to her. By this time he was studying the practical work of the pulpit as enthusiastically as ever medical student cut off a leg. From a front pew in the gallery Gavin watched the minister's every movement, noting that the first thing to do on ascending the pulpit is to cover your face with your hands, as if the exalted posi- tion affected you like a strong light, and the second to move the big Bible slightly, to show that the kirk officer, not having a university education, could not be expected to know the very spot on which it ought to lie. Gavin saw that the minister joined in the singing more like one coun- tenacing a seemly thing than because he needed it himself, and that he only sang a mouthful now and again after the congregation was in full pursuit of the precentor. It was noteworthy that the first prayer lasted longer than all the others, and that to read the intimations about the Bible-class and the collection elsewhere than immedi- ately before the last Psalm would have been as sacrilegious as to insert the dedication to King James at the end of Revelation. Sitting under a minister justly honored in his day, the boy was often some words in advance of him, not vainglorious of his memory, but fervent, eager, and regarding the preacher as hardly less sacred than the Book. Gavin was encouraged by his frightened yet admiring mother to saw the air from their pew as the minister sawed it in the pulpit, and two benedictions were pronounced twice a Sabbath in that church, in the same words, the same manner, and simultaneously. The Making of a Minister 359 There was a black year when the things of this world, especially its pastimes, took such a grip of Gavin that he said to Margaret he would rather be good at the high jump than the author of "The Pilgrim's Progress." That year passed, and Gavin came to his right mind. One after- noon Margaret was at home making a glengarry for him out of a piece of carpet, and giving it a tartan edging, when the boy bounded in from school, crying, "Come quick, mother, and you '11 see him." Margaret reached the door in time to see a street musician flying from Gavin and his friends. "Did you take stock of him, mother?" the boy asked when he reappeared with the mark of a muddy stick on his back. "He 's a Papist! A sore sight, mother, a sore sight! We stoned him for persecut- ing the noble Martyrs." When Gavin was twelve he went to the university, and also got a place in the shop as errand boy. He used to run through the streets between his work and his classes. Potatoes and salt fish, which could then be got at two pence the pound if bought by the half-hundredweight, were his food. There was not always a good meal for two, yet when Gavin reached home at night there was generally something ready for him, and Margaret had supped "hours ago." Gavin's hunger urged him to fall to, but his love for his mother made him watchful. "What did you have yourself, mother?" he would de- mand, suspiciously. "Oh, I had a fine supper, I assure you." "What had you?" "I had potatoes, for one thing." "And dripping?" "You may be sure." "Mother, you're cheating me. The dripping hasn't been touched since yesterday." 360 The Professions "I dinna — don 't — care for dripping — no much." Then would Gavin stride the room fiercely, a queer little figure. "Do you think I '11 stand this, mother? Will I let my- self be pampered with dripping and every delicacy while you starve?" "Gavin, I really dinna care for dripping." "Then I '11 give up my classes, and we can have butter." "I assure you I'm no hungry. It's different wi' a growing laddie." "I 'm not a growing laddie," Gavin would say bitterly; ' ' but, mother, I warn you that not another bite passes my throat till I see you eating, too." So Margaret had to take her seat at the table, and when she said "I can eat no more", Gavin retorted sternly, "Nor will I, for fine I see through you." These two were as one far more than most married people, and, just as Gavin in his childhood reflected his mother, she now reflected him. The people for whom she sewed thought it was contact with them that had rubbed the broad Scotch from her tongue, but she was only keep- ing pace with Gavin. When she was excited the Harvie words came back to her, as they come back to me. I have taught the English language all my life, and I try to write it, but everything I say in this book I first think to myself in the Doric. This, too, I notice, that in talking to myself I am broader than when gossiping with the farmers of the glen, -n^ho send their children to me to learn English, and then jeer at them if they say "old lights" instead of "auld hchts." To Margaret it was happiness to sit through the long evenings sewing, and look over her work at Gavin as he read or wrote or recited to himself the learning of the The Making of a Minister 361 schools. But she coughed every time the weather changed, and then Gavin would start : "You must go to your bed, mother," he would say, tearing himself from his books; or he would sit beside her and talk of the dream that was common to both, — a dream of a manse where Margaret was mistress and Gavin was called the minister. Every night Gavin was at his mother's bedside to wind her shawl round her feet, and while he did it Margaret smiled. "Mother, this is the chaff pillow you 've taken out of my bed, and given me your feather one." "Gavin, you needna change them. I winna have the feather pillow." "Do you dare to think I '11 let you sleep on chaff? Put up your head. Now, is that soft?" "It's fine. I dinna deny but what I sleep better on feathers. Do you mind, Gavin, you bought this pillow for me the moment you got your bursary money?" The reserve that is a wall between many of the Scottish poor had been broken down by these two. When he saw his mother sleeping happily, Gavin went back to work. To save the expense of a lamp, he would put his book almost beneath the dying fire, and, taking the place of the fender, read till he was shivering with cold. "Gavin, it is near morning, and you not in your bed yet! What are you thinking about so hard?" "Oh, mother, I was wondering if the time would ever come when I would be a minister, and you would have an egg for your breakfast every morning." So the years passed, and soon Gavin would be a minister. He had now sermons to prepare, and every one of them was first preached to Margaret. How solemn was his voice, how his eyes flashed, how stern were his admoni- tions. 362 The Professions "Gavin, such a sermon I never heard. The spirit of God is on you. I 'm ashamed you should have me for a mother." "God grant, mother," Gavin said, httle thinking what was soon to happen, or he would have made this prayer on his knees, "that you may never be ashamed to have me for a son." "Ah, mother," he would say, wistfully, "it is not a great sermon, but do you think I 'm preaching Christ? That is what I try, but I 'm carried away and forget to watch myself." "The Lord has you by the hand, Gavin; and; mind, I dinna say that because you 're my laddie." "Yes, you do, mother, and well I know it, and yet it does me good to hear you." Not long before Gavin preached for our kirk and got his call, a great event took place in the little room at Glasgow. The student appeared for the first time before his mother in his ministerial clothes. He wore the black silk hat, that was destined to become a terror to evil-doers in Thrums, and I dare say he was rather puffed up about himself that day. You would probably have smiled at him. "It 's a pity I 'm so little, mother," he said, with a sigh. "You 're no what I would call a particularly long man," Margaret said, "but you 're just the height I like." Then Gavin went out in his grandeur, and Margaret cried for an hour. Busy days followed the coil to Thrums, and Gavin had difficulty in forcing himself to his sermons when there was always something more to tell his mother about the weaving town they were going to, or about the manse or the furniture that had been transferred to him by the retiring minister. The httle room which had become so The Making of a Minister 363 familiar that it seemed one of a family party of three had to be stripped, and many of its contents were sold. Among what were brought to Thrums was a little exercise book, in which Margaret had tried, unknown to Gavin, to teach herself writing and grammar, that she might be less unfit for a manse. He found it accidentally one day. It was full of "I am, thou art, he is," and the like, written many times in a shaking hand. Gavin put his arms around his mother when he saw what che had been doing. "Gavin, Gavin," Margaret said many times in those last days of Glasgow, " to think it has all come true!" "Let the last word you say in the house be a prayer of thankfulness," she whispered to him when they were tak- ing a final glance at the old home. In the bare room they called the house, the little min- ister and his mother went on their knees. RUSSELL H. CONWELLi By AGNES RUSH BURR ^N 1879, a young woman visited Colonel Russell H. Conwell, the lawyer, and asked his advice respecting the disposition of a Baptist meetinghouse in Lexington. He went to Lexington and called a meeting of the members of the old church, for the purpose of securing legal action on the part of that body preparatory to selling the prop- erty. He got some three or 'four old Baptists together, and, as they talked the business over, says Burdette, in "Temple and Templars," "they became reluctant to vote, either to sell, destroy, keep, or give away the old meetinghouse." He goes on: "While discussing the situation with these sorrowful old ^saints — and one good old deacon wept to think that ' Zion had gone into captivity ' — the preacher came to the front and displaced the lawyer. It was the crisis in his life; the parting of the ways. In a flash of light the decision was made. 'It flashed upon me, sitting there as a lawyer, that there was a mission for me there, ' Dr. Conwell has often said, in speaking of his decision to go into the ministry. He advised promptly and strongly against selling the property. 'Keep it; hold service in it; repair the altar of the Lord that is broken down; go to work; get God to work for you, and work with Him; "God will turn again your captivity, your mouths shall be filled with laughter and your tongues with singing." ' ' By permission of the John C. Winston Company. Copyright, 1908. 364 Russell H. Con well 365 " They listened to this enthusiastic lawyer whom they had retained as a legal adviser, in dumb amazement — 'Is Saul, also, among the prophets?' But having given his advice, he was prompt to act upon it himself. 'Where will we get a preacher? Here is one who will serve you until you can get one whom you will like better, and who can do you more good. Announce preaching in the old meetinghouse next Sunday ! ' "It was nothing new for Colonel Conwell to preach, for he was engaged in mission work somewhere every Sunday; so when the day came, he was there. Less than a score of hearers sat in the moldy old pews. The windows were broken and but ill-repaired by the cur- taining cobwebs. The hand of time and decay had torn off the ceiling plaster in irregular and angular patches. The old stove had rusted out at the back, and the crumbling stovepipe was a menace to those who sat within range of its fall. The pulpit was what Mr. Conwell called a 'crow's perch,' and one can imagine the platform creaking under the military tread of the tall lawyer who stepped into its lofty height to preach. "But, old though it was, they say, a cold, gloomy, damp, dingy old box, it was a meetinghouse and the Colonel preached in it. That a lawyer should practice was a commonplace, everyday truth; but that a lawyer should preach — that was indeed a novelty. The congregation of sixteen or seventeen at the first service grew the follow- ing Sabbath to forty worshipers. Another week, and when the new preacher climbed into that high pulpit, he looked down upon a crowded house; the little old chapel was dangerously full. Indeed, before the hour for service, under the thronging feet of the gathering congregation, one side of the front steps — astonished, 366 The Professions no doubt, and overwhelmed by the unwonted demand upon its services — did fall down. " They were encouraged to build a fire in the ancient stove that morning, but it was past regeneration; it smoked so viciously that all the invalids who had come to the meeting were smoked out. The old stove had lived its day and was needed no longer. There was a fire burning in the old meetinghouse that the hand of man had not lighted and could not kindle; that all the storms of the winter could not quench. The pulpit and the preacher had a misty look in the eyes of the old deacons at that service. And the preacher? He looked into the earnest faces before him, into the tearful, hope- ful eyes, and said, in his own strong heart, 'These people are hungry for the word of God, for the teachings of Christ. They need a church here; we will build a new one.' "It was one thing to say it, another to achieve it. The church was poor. Not a dollar was in the treasury, not a rich man in the membership, the congregation, what there was of it, without influence in the community. But lack of money never yet daunted Dr. Conwell. The situation had a familiar look to him. He had succeeded many a time without money when money was the su- preme need, and he attacked this problem with the same grim perseverance that had carried him so successfully through many a similar ordeal. "After service he spoke about building a new church to two or three of the members. 'A new church!' They could n't raise enough money to put windows in the old one, they told him. We don't want new windows, we want a new church,' was the reply. "They shook their heads and went home, thinking Russell H. Conwell 367 what a pity it was that such an able lawyer should be so visionary in practical church affairs. Part of that night Colonel Conwell spent in prayer; early next morn- ing he appeared with a pickax and a woodsman's ax and marched upon that devoted old meetinghouse, as he had marched against Hood's intrenchments before Atlanta. "Strange, unwonted sounds saluted the ears of the early risers and awakened the sluggards in Lexington that Monday morning. Bang, bang, bang ! Crash — bang! Travelers over the Revolutionary battlefield at Lexington listened and wondered. "By and by a man turned out of his way to ascertain the cause of the racket. There was a black coat and vest hanging on the fence, and a professional-looking man in his shirt sleeves was smashing the meetinghouse. The rickety old steps were gone by the time this man, with open eyes and wide-open mouth, came to stare in speechless amazement. Gideon could not have de- molished 'the altar of Baal and the grove that was by it' with more enthusiastic energy than did this preacher tumble into ruin his own meetinghouse, wherein he had preached not twelve hours before. Other men came, looked, laughed, and passed by. But the builder had no time to waste on idle gossips. Clouds of dust hovered about him, planks, boards, and timbers came tumbling down in heaps of ruin. "Presently there came along an eminently respectable citizen, who seldom went to church. He stared a mo- ment, and said, 'What in the name of goodness are you doing here? ' "'We are going to have a new meetinghouse here,' was the reply, as the pickax tore away the side of a window frame for emphasis. 368 The Professions "The neighbor laughed, 'I guess you won't build it with that ax, ' he said. '"I confess I don't know just exactly how it is going to be done, ' said the preacher, as he hewed away at a piece of studding, 'but in some way it is going to be done. ' "The doubter burst into an explosion of derisive laughter and walked away. A few paces, and he came back; walking up to Colonel Conwell he seized the ax and said, 'See here. Preacher, this is not the kind of work for a parson or a lawyer. If you are determined to tear this old building down, hire some one to do it. It does n't look right for you to be lifting and pulling here in this manner. ' "'We have no money to hire any one, ' was the reply, 'and the front of this structure must give way to-day, if I have to tear it down all alone. ' '"I'll tell you what I'll do,' persisted the wavering doubter; 'if you will let this alone, I '11 give you one hundred dollars to hire some one. ' "Colonel Conwell tranquilly poked the ax through the few remaining panes still unbroken in the nearest window and replied, 'We would like the money, and I will take it to hire some one to help, but I shall keep right on with the work myself. ' "'All right,' said the doubter; 'go ahead, if you have set your heart upon it. You may come up to the house for the hundred dollars any time to-day. ' "And with many a backward look the generous doubter passed on, half beginning to doubt his doubts. Evi- dently, the Baptists of Lexington were beginning to do something. It had been many a year since they had made such a noise as that in the village. And it was a noise destined to be heard a long, long way; much farther Russell H. Conwell 369 than the doubter and a great many able scientists have supposed that sound would ' carry. ' " After the doubter came a good-natured man who disliked churches in general, and therefore enjoyed the fun of seeing a preacher tug and puff in the heavy work of demolition, for the many-tongued rumor by this time had noised it all around Lexington that the new preacher was tearing down the Baptist meetinghouse. He looked on until he could no longer keep his enjoy- ment to himself. '"Going to pull the whole thing down, are you?' he asked. '"Yes, sir,' replied the working preacher, ripping off a strip of siding, ' and begin all new. ' '"Who is going to pay the bills?' he asked, chuck- Ung. "The preacher tucked up his sleeves and stepped back to get a good swing at an obstinate brace; 'I don't know, ' he said, ' but the Lord has money somewhere to buy and pay for all we need. ' " The man laughed in intense enjoyment of the ab- surdity of the whole crazy business. "'I '11 bet five dollars to one,' he said, with easy con- fidence of a man who knows his bet will not be taken up, ' that you won't get the money in this town. ' "Mr. Conwell brought the ax down with a crashing sweep, and the splinters flew out into the air like a cloud of witnesses to the efficacy of the blow. "'You would lose your money, then,' quietly said the preacher, 'for Mr. just now came along and has given me a hundred dollars without solicitation. ' "The man's eyes opened a trifle wider, and his next remark faded into a long-drawn whistle of astonishment. Presently — 'Did you get the cash?' he asked feebly. 370 The Professions '"No, but he told me to call for it to-day.' "The man considered. He wasn't enjoying the situ- ation with quite so much humor as he had been, but he was growing more interested. '"Well! Is that so! I don't believe he meant it,' he added, hopefully. Then, a man after all not disposed to go back on his own assertion, he said, 'Now I '11 tell you what I '11 do. If you really get that hundred dollars out of that man, I '11 give you another hundred and pay it to-night.' "And he was as good as his word. "All that day the preacher worked alone. Now came in the training of those early days on the farm, when he learned to swing an ax; when he builded up rugged strength in a stalwart frame, when his muscles were hard- ened and knotted with toil. "Passers-by called, one after another, to ask what was going on. To each one Colonel Conwell mentioned his hope and mentioned his gifts. Nearly every one had added something without being asked, and at six o'clock, when Colonel Conwell laid down the pick and ax at the end of his day's work, he was promised more than half the money necessary to tear down the old meetinghouse and build a new one. "But Colonel Conwell did not leave the work. With shovel, or hammer, or saw, or paintbrush, he worked day by day all that summer alongside the workmen. He was architect, mason, carpenter, painter, and up- holsterer, and he directed every detail, from the cellar to the gilded vane, and worked early and late. The money came without asking as fast as needed. The young people who began to flock about the faith-worker undertook to purchase a large bell, and quietly had Colonel Conwell's name cast on the exterior, but when Russell H. Conwell 371 it came to the difficult task of hanging it in the tower, they were obliged to call Colonel Conwell to come and superintend the management of ropes and pulleys. Then the deep, rich tones of the bell rang out over the surprised old town the triumph of faith. "An unordained preacher, he had entered upon his first pastorate, and signalized his entrance upon his ministry by building a new meetinghouse, awakening a sleeping church, inspiring his congregation with his own enthusi- asm and zeal." At last he had found his work. With peace and deep abiding joy he entered it. Doubts no longer troubled him. His heart was at rest. "Blessed is he who has found his work," writes Carlyle; "let him ask no other blessedness." His salary at the start was six hundred dollars a year, little more than ten dollars a week. But it was enough to live on in a little New England village, and what more did he need? The contrast between it and the ten thou- sand dollars a year he had made from his law practice alone never troubled him. The church was crowded from the first, .and the mem- bership grew rapidly. His influence quickly spread to other than church circles. The town itself soon felt the effect of his progressive, energetic spirit. It awoke to new life. Other suburban villages were striding for- ward into cities and leaving this old battlefield of the Revolution sleeping under its majestic elms. Mr. Con- well sounded the trumpet. Progress, enterprise, life followed his eloquent encouragement. Strangers were welcomed to the town. Its unusual beauty became a topic of conversation. The railroad managers heard of its attractiveness and opened its gates with better accommodations for travelers. 372 The Professions The governor of the state (the Hon. John D. Long) visited the place on Mr. Conwell's invitation, and large business enterprises were started and strongly sup- ported by the townspeople. From the date of Mr. Conwell's settlement as pastor the town took on a new lease of life. He showed them what could be done and encouraged them to do it. One of the town officers writing of that time, says: "Lexington can never forget the benefit Mr. Con well conferred during his stay in the community." Then, all unknown to Mr. Conwell, a man came up to Lexington one Sunday in 1882, from Philadelphia, and heard him preach in the Httle stone church under the stately New England elms. It was Deacon Alex- ander Reed of the Grace Baptist Church of Philadel- phia, and as a result of his visit, Mr. Conwell received a call from this church to be its pastor. It was like the call from Macedonia to "come over and help us." For the church was heavily in debt, and one of the argu- ments Deacon Reed used in urging Mr. Conwell to accept was that he "could save the church." He could have used no better argument. It was the call to touch Mr. Conwell's heart. A small church, and struggling against poverty; a people eager to work, but needing a leader. No message could have more surely touched that heart eager to help others, to bring brightness, joy, and higher aspirations into troubled lives. It was a wrench to leave Lexington, the church and the people who had grown so dear to him. But the harvest called. There was need of reapers and he must go. THE BISHOP AND THE CANDLE- STICKS ^ By victor HUGO jHERE was a rather loud rap at the front door. "Come in," said the bishop. The door was thrown wide open, as if some one were pushing it energetically and reso- lutely. A man entered and stopped, leaving the door open behind him. He had his knapsack on his shoulder, his stick in his hand, and a rough, bold, wearied, and violent expression in his eyes. The fireUght fell on him; he was hideous ; it was a sinister apparition. The bishop fixed a quiet eye on the man, as he opened his mouth, doubtless to ask the newcomer what he wanted. The man leaned both his hands on his stick, looked in turn at the two aged women and the old man, and, not waiting for the bishop to speak, said in loud voice: "My name is Jean Valjean. I am a galley slave, and have spent nineteen years under confinement. I was lib- erated four days ago, and started for Pontarlier, which is my destination. I have been walking four days since I left Toulon, and to-day I have walked twelve leagues. This evening on coming into the town I went to the inn, but was sent away in consequence of my yellow passport, which I had shown at the police ofiice. I went to another inn, and the landlord said to me, 'Be off.' It was the same everyTvhere, and no one would have any dealings with me. I went to the prison, but the jailer would not take me in. I got into a dog's kennel, but the dog bit me 1 From " Les MisSrablee." 373 374 The Professions and drove me off, as if it had been a man; it seemed to know who I was. I went into the fields to sleep in the starlight, but there were no stars. I thought it would rain, and as there was no God to prevent it from raining, I came back to the town to sleep in a doorway. I was lying down on a stone in the square, when a good woman pointed to your house, and said, 'Go and knock there.' What sort of a house is this? do you keep an inn? I have money, one hundred and nine francs fifteen sous, which I earned by my nineteen years' toil. I will pay, for what do I care for that, as I have money ! I am very tired and frightfully hungry; will you let me stay here?" "Madame Magloire," said the bishop, "you will lay another knife and fork.'' The man advanced three paces, and approached the lamp which was on the table. "Wait a minute," he con- tinued, as if he had not comprehended, "that will not do. Did you not hear me say that I was a galley slave, a con- vict, and have just come from the bagne?" He took from his pocket a large yellow paper, which he unfolded. "Here is my passport, yellow as you see, which turns me out wherever I go. Will you read it? I can read it, for I learned to do so at the bagne, where there is a school for those who like to attend it. This is what is written in my passport: 'Jean Valjean, a liberated convict, native of, — but that does not concern you, — has been nineteen years at the galleys. Five years for robbery with house-break- ing, fourteen years for having tried to escape four times. The man is very dangerous.' All the world has turned me out, and are you willing to receive me? Is this an inn? Will you give me some food and a bed? Have you a stable?" "Madame Magloire," said the bishop, "you will put clean sheets on the bed in the alcove. The Bishop and the Candlesticks 375 "Sit down and warm yourself, sir. We shall sup di- rectly, and your bed will be got ready while we are supping." The man understood this at once. The expression of his face, which had hitherto been gloomy and harsh, was marked with astonishment, joy and doubt. He began stammering like a lunatic. "Is it true? You will let me stay, you will not turn me out, a convict? You call me 'Sir,' you do not humiliate me. 'Get out, dog,' that is what is always said to me; I really believed you would turn me out, and hence told you at once who I am! Oh, what a worthy woman she was who sent me here! I shall have supper, a bed with mattresses and sheets, like every one else. For nineteen years I have not slept in a bed ! You really mean that I am to stay. You are worthy people ; besides, I have money and will pay handsomely. By the way, what is your name, Mr. Landlord? I will pay anything you please, for you are a worthy man. You keep an inn, do you not?" "I am," said the bishop, "a priest, living in this house." "A priest?" the man continued. "Oh! what a worthy priest! I suppose you will not ask me for money. The cur6, I suppose, the cur6 of that big church? Oh, yes, what an ass I am, I did not notice your cassock." While speaking, he deposited his knapsack and stick in a corner, returned his passport to his pocket, and sat down. While Mile. Baptistine regarded him gently, he went on : "You are hiunane, sir, and do not feel contempt. A good priest is very good. Then you do not want me to pay?" "No," said the bishop, "keep your money. How long did you take in earning your one hundred francs?" "Nineteen years." "Nineteen years! " The bishop gave a deep sigh. 376 The Professions The man went on: "I have all my money still; in four days I have spent only twenty-five sous, which I earned helping to 'unload carts at Grasse. As you are an abbe I will tell you : We had a chaplain at the galleys, and one day I saw a bishop, monseigneur, as they call him. He is the cure over the cur4s; but pardon me, you know that, placed as you are, we convicts know and explain such things badly, and for me in particular it is so far away in the past. He said mass in the middle of the bagne at an altar, and had a pointed gold thing on his head, which glistened in the bright sunshine ; we were drawn up on three sides of a square, with guns, and lighted matches facing us. He spoke, but was too far off, and we did not hear him. That is what a bishop is." While he was speaking the bishop had gone to close the door, which had been left open. Madame Magloire came in, bringing a silver spoon and fork, which she placed on the table. "Madame Magloire," said the bishop, "lay them as near as you can to the fire"; and turning to his guest, he said, "The night breeze is sharp on the Alps, and you must be cold, sir." Each time he said the word "Sir," with his gentle, grave voice, the man's face was illumined. Sir to a convict is the glass of water to the shipwrecked sailor of the Meduse. Ignominy thirsts for respect. "This lamp gives a very bad light," the bishop contin- ued. Madame Magloire understood, and fetched from the chimney of monseigneur's bedroom the two silver candle- sticks, which she placed on the table ready lighted. "Monsieur le Cur4," said the man, "you are good and do not despise me. You receive me as a friend and light your wax candles for me, and yet I have not hidden from you whence I come, and that I am an unfortunate fellow." jU'ttj- Lhc paLtUiug bu F. c. MAYER NuREMBURS Cathedral The Bishop and the Candlesticks 377 The bishop, who was seated by his side, gently touched his hand. "You need not have told me who you were; this is not my house, but the house of Christ. This door does not ask a man who enters whether he has a name, but if he has sorrow; you are suffering, you are hungry and thirsty, and so be welcome. And do not thank me, or say that I am receiving you in my house, for no one is at home here excepting the man who has need of an asylum. I tell you, who are a passer-by, that you are more at home here than I am myself, and all there is here is yours. Why do I want to know your name? Besides, before you told it to me you had one which I knew." The man opened his eyes in amazement. "Is that true? you know my name?" "Yes," the bishop answered, "you are my brother." "Monsieur le Cur6," the man exclaimed, "I was very hungry when I came in, but you are so kind that I do not know at present what I feel; it has passed." The bishop looked at him and said: "You have suffered greatly?" "Oh! the red jacket, the cannon ball on your foot, a plank to sleep on, heat, cold, labor, the gang of men, the blows, the double chain for a mere nothing, a dungeon for a word, even when you are ill in bed, and the chain gang. The very dogs are happier. Nineteen years, and now I am forty-six; and at present, the yellow passport!" "Yes, " said the bishop, "you have come from a place of sorrow. Listeil to me; there will be more joy in heaven over the tearful repentance of a repentant sinner than over the white robes of one hundred just men. If you leave that mournful place with thoughts of hatred and anger against your fellow men you are worthy of pity ; if you leave it with thoughts of kindness, gentleness, and peace, you are worth more than any of us." 378 The Professions In the meanwhile Madame Magloire had served the soup; it was made of water, oil, bread, and salt, and a little bacon, and the rest of the supper consisted of a piece of mutton, figs, a fresh cheese, and a loaf of rye bread. She had herself added a bottle of old Mauves wine. The bishop's face suddenly assumed the expression of gayety peculiar to hospitable natures. "To table," he said eagerly as he was wont to do when any stranger supped with him; and he bade the man sit down on his right hand, while Mile. Baptistine, perfectly peaceful and natural, took her seat on his left. The bishop said grace and then served the soup himself, according to his wont. The man began eating greedily. All at once the bishop said: "It strikes me that there is something wanting on the table." Madame Magloire, truth to tell, had only laid the abso- lutely necessary silver. Now, it was the custom in this house, when the bishop had any one to supper, to arrange the whole stock of plate on the table, as an innocent dis- play. This graceful semblance of luxury was a species of childishness full of charm in this strict and gentle house which elevated poverty to dignity. Madame Magloire took the hint, went out without a word, and a moment after the remaining spoons and forks glittered on the cloth, symmetrically arranged before each of the guests. The man paid no attention to any one; he ate with frightful voracity, but after supper he said : "Monsieur le Cur^, all this is much too good for me, but I am bound to say that the carriers who would not let me sup with them have better cheer than you." "They are harder worked than I am." "No," the man continued, "they have more money. You are poor, as I can plainly see; perhaps you are not even cure. Ah, if heaven were just you ought to be a cure." The Bishop and the Candlesticks 379 "Heaven is more than just," said the bishop. After bidding his sister good-night he took up one of the. silver candlesticks, handed the other to his guest, and said : "I will lead you to your room, sir." The man followed him. In order to reach the oratory where the alcove was it was necessary to pass through the bishop's bedroom. At the moment when he went through this room Madame Magloire was putting away the plate in the cupboard over the bed head; it was the last thing she did every night before retiring. The bishop led his guest to the alcove, where a clean bed was prepared for him: the man placed the branched candlestick on a small table. "I trust you will pass a good night," said the bishop. As two o'clock pealed from the cathedral bell Jean Valjean awoke. What aroused him was that the bed was too comfortable, for close on twenty years he had not slept in a bed, and though he had not undressed, the sensation was too novel not to disturb his sleep. He had been asleep for more than four hours and his weariness had worn off; and he was accustomed not to grant many hours to repose. He opened his eyes and looked into the surrounding darkness and then he closed them again to go to sleep once more. When three o'clock struck he opened his eyes, suddenly sat up, stretched out his arms and felt for his knapsack, which he had thrown into a corner of the alcove, then let his legs hang, and felt himself seated on the bedside almost without knowing how. He remained for a while thought- ful in this attitude, which would have had something sinister about it for anyone who had seen him, the only wakeful person in the house. All at once he stooped, took off his shoes, then resumed his thoughtful posture and remained motionless. To work! He rose, hesitated for a 380 The Professions moment and listened ; all was silent in the house, and he went on tiptoe to the window, through which he peered. The night was not very dark; there was a full moon, across which heavy clouds were chased by the wind. This produced alternations of light and shade and a species of twilight in the room : this twilight, sufficient to guide him, but intermittent in consequence of the clouds, resembled that hvid hue produced by the grating of a cellar over which people are continually passing. On reaching the window Jean Valjean examined it; it was without bars, looked on the garden, and was only closed, according to the fashion of the country, by a small peg. He opened it, but as a cold, sharp breeze suddenly entered the room he closed it again directly. He gazed into the garden with that attentive glance which studies rather than looks and found that it was enclosed by a whitewashed wall, easy to cUmb over. Beyond it he noticed the tops of trees standing at regular distances, which proved that this wall separated the garden from a public walk. After taking this glance he walked boldly to the alcove, opened his knapsack, took out something which he laid on the bed, put his shoes in one of the pouches, placed the knapsack on his shoulders, put on his cap, the peak of which he pulled over his eyes, groped for his stick, which he placed in the window nook, and then returned to the bed and took up the object he had laid on it. It resembled a short iron bar, sharpened at one of its ends. It would have been difficult to distinguish in the darkness for what purpose this piece of iron had been fashioned; perhaps it was a lever, perhaps it was a club. By daylight it could have been seen that it was nothing but a miner's candle- stick. The convicts at that day were sometimes employed in extracting rock from the lofty hills that surround Toulon and it was not infrequent for them to have mining tools The Bishop and the Candlesticks 381 at their disposal. The miners' candlesticks are made of massive steel and have a point at the lower end, by which they are dug into the rock. He took the bar in his right hand, and, holding his breath and deadening his foot- steps, he walked toward the door of the adjoining room, the bishop's, as we know. On reaching this door he found it ajar -^ the bishop had not shut it. Jean Valjean listened, but there was not a sound; he pushed the door with the tip of his finger lightly and with the furtive, restless gentleness of a cat that wants to get in. The door yielded to the pressure and made an almost im- perceptible and silent movement, which slightly widened the opening. He waited for a moment and then pushed the door again more boldly. The first danger had passed, but still there was fearful tumult within him. But he did not recoil ; he had not done so even when he thought himself lost ; he only thought of finishing the job as speedily as possible and entered the bedroom. The room was in a state of perfect calmness; here and there might be distinguished confused and vague forms, which by day were papers scattered over the table, open folios, books piled on a sofa, an easy-chair covered with clothes, and a priedieu, all of which were at this moment only dark nooks and patches of white. Jean Valjean advanced cautiously and carefully and avoided coming into collision with the furniture. He heard from the end of the room the calm and regular breathing of the sleeping bishop. Suddenly he stopped, for he was close to the bed; he had reached it sooner than he anticipated. Nature at times blends her effects and spectacles with our actions with a species of gloomy and intelligent design, as if wishing to make us reflect. For nearly half an hour 382 The Professions a heavy cloud had covered the sky, but at the moment when Jean Valjean stopped at the foot of the bed this cloud was rent asunder as if expressly, and a moonbeam passing through the tall window suddenly illumined the bishop's pale face. He was sleeping peacefully and was wrapped up in along garment of brown wool, which covered his arms down to the wrists. His head was thrown back on the pillow in the easy attitude of repose, and his hand, adorned with the pastoral ring, and which had done so many good deeds, hung out of bed. His entire face was lit up by a vague expression of satisfaction, hope, and be- atitude — it was more than a smile and almost radiance. He had on his forehead the inexpressible reflection of an invisible light, for the soul of a just man contemplates a mysterious heaven during sleep. A reflection of this heaven was cast over the bishop, but it was at the same time a luminous transparency, for the heaven was within him and was conscience. At the moment when the moonbeam was cast over this internal light the sleeping bishop seemed to be surrounded by a glory, which was veiled, however, by an ineffable semi-light. The moon in the heavens, the slumbering landscape, the quiet house, the hour, the silence, the mo- ment, added something solemn and indescribable to this man's venerable repose and cast a majestic and serene halo round his white hair and closed eyes, his face, in which all was hope and confidence, his aged head, and his childlike slumber. There was almost a divinity in this unconsciously august man. Jean Valjean was standing in the shadow with his crow- bar in his hand, motionless and terrified by this luminous old man. He had never seen anything like this before, and such confidence horrified him. The moral world has The Bishop and the Candlesticks 383 no greater spectacle than this, a troubled, restless con- science, which is on the point of committing a bad action, contemplating the sleep of a just man. This sleep in such isolation, and with a neighbor like himself, possessed a species of sublimity which he felt vaguely but imperiously. No one could have said what was going on within him, not even himself. In order to form any idea of it we must imagine what is the most violent in the presence of what is gentlest. Even in his face nothing could have been dis- tinguished with certainty, for it displayed a sort of haggard astonishment. He looked at the bishop, that was all, but what his thoughts were it would be impossible to divine; what was evident was that he was moved and shaken, but of what nature was this emotion? His eye was not once removed from the old man, and the only thing clearly revealed by his attitude and counte- nance was a strange indecision. It seemed as if he were hesitating between two abysses, the one that saves and the one that destroys; he was ready to dash out the bishop's brains or kiss his hand. At the expiration of a few minutes his left arm slowly rose to his cap, which he took off; then his arm fell again with the same slowness and Jean Valjean recommenced his contemplation, with his cap in his left hand, his crowbar in his right, and his hair standing erect on his savage head. The bishop continued to sleep peacefully beneath this terrific glance. A moonbeam rendered the crucifix over the mantelpiece dimly visible, which seemed to open its arms for both, with a blessing for one and a pardon for the other. All at once Jean Valjean put on his cap again, then walked rapidly along the bed, without looking at the bishop, and went straight to the cupboard. He raised his 384 The Professions crowbar to force the lock, but as the key was in it he opened it and the first thing he saw was the plate basket, which he seized. He hurried across the room, not caring for the noise he made, reentered the oratory, opened the window, seized the stick, put the silver into his pocket, threw away the basket, leaped into the garden, bounded over the wall like a tiger, and fled. The next morning at sunrise the bishop was walking about the garden, when Madame Magloire came running toward him in a state of great alarm. "Monseigneur! Monseigneur ! " she screamed, "does your grandeur know where the plate basket is?" "Yes," said the bishop. "The Lord be praised," she continued; "I did not know what had become of it." The bishop had just picked up the basket in a flowerbed and now handed it to Madame Magloire. "Here it is," he said. "Well!" she said, "there is nothing in it; where is the plate?" "Ah!" the bishop repHed, "it is the plate that troubles your mind. Well, I do not know where that is." "Good Lord! it is stolen, and that man who came last night is the robber." In a twinkling Madame Magloire had run to the oratory, entered the alcove, and returned to the bishop. He was stooping down and looking sorrowfully at a cochlearia, whose stem the basket had broken. He raised himself on hearing Madame Magloire scream. "Monseigneur, the man has gone! the plate is stolen!" While uttering this exclamation her eyes fell on a corner of the garden, where there were signs of climbing ; the cop- ing of the wall had been torn away. "That is the way he went! he leaped into Cochefilet The Bishop and the Candlesticks 385 lane. Ah, what an abomination; he has stolen our plate!" The bishop remained silent for a moment, then raised his earnest eyes and said gently to Madame Magloire : "By the way, was that plate oins?" Madame Magloire was speechless; there was another interval of silence, after which the bishop continued: "Madame Magloire, I had wrongfully held back this silver, which belonged to the poor. Who was this person? evidently a poor man." "Good gracious!" Madame Magloire continued; "I do not care for it, nor does mademoiselle, but we feel for monseigneur. With what will monseigneur eat now?" The bishop looked at her in amazement. "Why, are there no pewter forks to be had?" Madame Magloire shrugged her shoulders. "Pewter smells!" "Then iron?" Madame Magloire made an expressive ^imace. "Iron tastes." "Well, then," said the bishop, "wood!" A few minutes later he was breakfasting at the same table at which Jean Valjean sat on the previous evening. While breakfasting the bishop gayly remarked to his sister, who said nothing, and to Madame Magloire, who growled in a low voice, that spoon and fork, even of wood, are not required to dip a piece of bread in a cup of milk. "What an idea!" Madame Magloire said, as she went back and forth, "to receive a man like that and lodge him by one's side. And what a blessing it is that he only stole! Oh, Lord! the mere thought makes a body shudder." As the brother and sister were leaving the table there was a knock at the door. y "Come in," said the bishop. 386 The Professions The door opened and a strange and violent group ap- peared on the threshold. Three men were holding a fourth by the collar. The three men were gendarmes; the fourth was Jean Valjean. A corporal, who apparently com- manded the party, came in and walked up to the bishop with a military salute. "Monseigneur," he said. At this word Jean Valjean, who was gloomy and crushed, raised his head with a stupefied air. "Monsiegneur," he muttered; "then he is not the cur6." "Silence!" said a gendarme. "This gentleman is mon- seigneur the bishop." In the meanwhile the bishop had advanced as rapidly as his great age permitted. "Ah! there you are," he said, looking at Jean Valjean. "I am glad to see you. Why, I gave you the candle- sticks, too, which are also of silver, and will fetch you two hundred francs. Why did you not take them away with the rest of the plate?" Jean Valjean opened his eyes and looked at the bishop with an expression which no human language could render. "Monseigneur," the corporal said, "what this man told us was true then? We met him, and as he looked as if he were running away we arrested him. He had this plate — " "And he told you," the bishop interrupted with a smile, "that it was given to him by an old priest at whose house he passed the night? I see it all. And you brought him back here? That is a mistake." "In that case," the corporal continued, "we can let him go?" "Of course," the bishop answered. .The gendarmes loosened their hold of Jean Valjean, who tottered backward. The Bishop and the Candlesticks 387 "Is it true that I am at liberty?" he said, in an almost inarticulate voice and as if speaking in his sleep. "Yes, you are let go; don't you understand?" said a gendarme. "My friend," the bishop continued, "before you go take your candlesticks." He went to the mantelpiece, fetched the two candle- sticks, and handed them to Jean Valjean. The two females watched him do so without a word, without a sign, without a look that could disturb the bishop. Jean Valjean was trembUng in all his limbs; he took the candle- sticks mechanically and with wandering looks. "Now," said the bishop, "go in peace. By the bye, when you return, my friend, it is unnecessary to pass through the front garden, for you can always enter, day and night, by the front door, which is only latched." Then turning to the gendarmes, he said: "Gentlemen, you can retire." They did so. Jean Valjean looked as if he were on the point of fainting; the bishop walked up to him, and said in a loud voice : "Never forget that you have promised me to employ this money in becoming an honest man." Jean Valjean, who had no recollection of having prom- ised anything, stood silent. The bishop, who had laid a stress on these words, continued solemnly: "Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. I have bought your soul of you. I withdraw it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdi- tion, and give it to God." A CALL TO PREACH 1 By ROBERT COLLYER JHERE was a band of Methodists, my old neighbors and friends, who met in a small chapel. There I went and told them in not many words how it was with me. They won- dered first and then gave me a warm welcome. I had found out that one stick is not good for a fire. I knew how they would have loved to have a share in my con- version, open and above-board, with Hallelujahs and Amens; but there I was, take me or lea,ve me. They were not overparticular about the sticks if they would burn well, while in the burning a certain gift of speech came I must have inherited from my mother, in the prayer and class meetings, of which this was the upshot. In about a year the preacher in charge of the churches came to see me and told me how the brethren in the quarterly meeting on the previous Monday had risen one by one and said it had been borne in upon their hearts that I had a call to preach the gospel. They were local preachers, with a gift for this work, and with one excep- tion, rustical men, who made their own hving as arti- sans and small farmers, and preached on Sundays for the love of God and of human souls, while some of them answered well to the canon of the great Swiss reformer, "A man who is truly called to preach the gospel may know many things, but must know two, — God and how to speak to the people." 1 From " Some Memories," by permission American Unitarian Asso- ciation. 388 A Call to Preach 389 Shall I say that there have been moments in my life when what "Friends" call "the inward hght" has shone or flashed for me on turning points always as I see now? WeU this was one, and the first. I told good old Michael that I should be glad to try, and he said I must be ready when he called. So I went home to think out a sermon from the text, "As I hve, saith the Lord, I have no pleas- ure in the death of a sinner." The word came duly that I must preach at the chapel in Addington, three miles up the river. It was Sunday afternoon. Luther loved to preach on Sunday afternoons because the menservants and maidservants could come to hear him then in great numbers, but I found only a handful. And here I must make confession. The ser- mon was divided into three parts: the firstly and lastly were my own, the secondly I stole from a sound Scotch divine. I must have no paper, so I had none, but managed somehow to get through. There was no greeting from the hearers as I came out of the chapel to go home; but half way there I halted, for I found I had quite forgotten the secondly I had stolen. And then came the painful conclusion that it served me right, and my text should have been by good rights, "Thou shalt not steal," while from that time to this I may say, in all honesty, I have stood true to Paul's words, "Let him that stole steal no more." There was no inward light for me then. I had meant to do a mean thing and had failed, but by heaven's grace the failure opened the way to my ordination as a Metho- dist local preacher. I felt no great eagerness to try again ; my sin had found me out. They did not know my secret, and old Michael sent me on a Sunday soon after to preach in a farmer's kitchen, on the lift of the moor, where they 390 The Professions only had preaching now and then, and where I may sup- pose he thought poor provision might pass where the feasts came few and far between. It was in June. I see the place still, and am aware of the fragrance of the wild uplands stealing through the open lattice on bars of sunshine, to mingle with the pungent snap of the peat fire on the hearth which gives forth the essence of the moorlands for a thousand years. And I still mind how heavy my heart was that afternoon. I had been trying all the week to find a sermon in a par- able; but there was no pulse to answer, no vision, and Bishop Home says, "If you distill dry bones, all you will have for yoiu* pains is water." Still there I was, the preacher, and they were simple- hearted folk up there, of the old Methodist election unto grace, eager and hungry for the word of hfe, and ready to come in with the grand Amens. The big farm Idtchen was full, and they were just the hearers to help a poor soul over the sand bars on the lift of their full hearts. So they sang with a will; and where in all the world will you hear such singing with a will as in Yorkshire and Lancashire! Then I must pray. Father Taylor said, "I cannot make a prayer," nor can I. But, with those hearts filled from the springs of hfe, I felt that day the prayer was making me. Then the time came for the sermon. Some stammering words came to my lips, and then some more, while gleams of light began to play about my parable. And their eyes began to shine, while now and then the grand Amens came in as a chorus from the chests of men who had talked to one another in the teeth of the winds up there from the times of the Saxons and the Danes. And now after all these years I feel sure it was given me that day what I should say. A Call to Preach 391 So the service ended, and the good man of the house came, laid his hands on me, and said very tenderly: "My lad, the Lord has called thee to preach the gospel. The Lord bless thee and make thee faithful in the truth." And all the people said Amen, while I have always said that this was my true ordination. The service on the moor side and ordination from the hands and heart of the good old farmer helped me greatly to feel that I had a call to preach, and, if I was true to my calling, need not filch from any Scot or lot for such sermons as I could compass. But I feel sure also that I was exalted above measure and needed to have my thorn in the flesh to buffet me. Well, this was what befell me. The minister in charge sent word that I must preach on the next Sunday evening at our own chapel in Ilkley, and I was proud of the appointment. They should see what I could do. I do not remember the text or the sermon now, only that I was rather proud of the effort. But on the Monday morning, as I was going down to the forge, I met one of the members of the small society, a shoemaker, and a thoughtful man, who said: "I went to hear thee preach last neet. Would thou let me tell thee what I think of thy sermon?" "Yes,," I answered, feeling almost sure I should hear a word of commendation; but there was no such word. "I think thou will never mak a preacher like what we want," he said. "Thou wants to reason ower much, and that will never do. We want our preachers to preach from the heart, not from the head: to say, 'Thus saith the Lord,' and be sure about that. Thy preaching may do for some folks, but it win nat do for us." Then good old Tom went his way, and I went mine. I was not glad for the thorn, yet I have thought many a time since then he was not a messenger of Satan sent to 392 The Professions buffet me, but a very honest man who said what he most surely believed. And here again I must anticipate this incident in my memories. Seventeen years after, when I was a min- ister in oiu" own denomination, of about six years' standing, I crossed the ocean on my first visit to the motherland and my mother, and of course must go to Ilkley : was there over a Sunday and met my messenger on his way to the chapel. I greeted him gladly, but he said, "I don't know ye, sir." So I told him my name, and after chatting some mo- ments he said, "I am ever so pleased to see ye, sir. I am going t' chapel, and the preacher has sent word he can not come, he is badly. Ye were a local when ye left us: do ye preach a bit still?" "Yes," I answered, "I am still a preacher." "Then ye will come and take oiu man's place. We shall be ever so glad to hear you again after all these years." Then I told him I was no longer a local, but was settled over a church in Chicago of quite another brand. The old man's face fell as he said, "What made ye leave us?" I asked him if he remembered telling me I should reason myself out of the Methodist body if I did not change my methods, and I thought his words had come true. We clasped hands, said good-by, and I saw the old man no more on the earth. The old miller in the town also gave me a piece of his mind after my first effort. He said I should make a preacher in time, and be right useful; for they would use me for a spare rail to fill the gaps, and we needed such a rail to keep things straight. There was scant time for the preparation of the sermons so called. I went to see Dr. Dewey for love's sake when he was near the end of his long hfe, and saying something as we sat in his study A Call to Preach 393 about the high worth to us of his sermons, he looked up and said, "I do not call them sermons: I call them things — only things." So I may well call mine "things"; and, scant of time for close study, I must find some other way to my pur- pose then and through the ten years of my time as a local preacher here and in England, while I was still at work in the forge, and the problem in some sort was solved in this way. When I would be hard at work for all I was worth, some thought I had harbored would sud- denly grow luminous, touching earth or heaven, would be as the seed which groweth secretly, and there would be no great trouble when the time came for the reaping. Or the idea would still elude me, coming and going as the winds come and go, giving me sometimes sore distress, yet for the things worth the pain there would be a day of redemption, when the thought I could not capture cap- tm-ed me, and turned the croak I had feared I must make into a new song. One of these songs of deliverance still haunts my mem- ory. I had walked to Burnsall twelve miles up the river to take the services in the chapel, and then walk home ready for my work in the morning. The new song carried me away captive, so that I took no note of time, and as nearly as I can remember sang my way through a good ninety minutes. It was a sore imposition. When an eminent judge was asked how long he thought a sermon should be, he answered, "Twenty minutes, with a leaning to the side of mercy." And when a yoimg fledgling in OUT dale told the minister he believed he had "a call," and took for his text "I am the light of the world," an aged sister, all out of patience with him, after some time cried out, "John, if thou's the light of the world, I think thou needs snuffin'." 394 The Professions So did I, no doubt, that Sunday evening, and I have never done the hke again in all these years. And yet it is hard to draw the line, for a sermon of an hour shall seem shorter from one man than a sermon of twenty minutes from another. On my Ufe in the forge as boy and man I must not dwell, because these memories are of my ministry in their main purpose. And to tell the clean truth, I think I was never a very good blacksmith, not nearly so good as my father; for to do anything supremely well you must give your whole mind to it, yes, and your heart, and these for me were given to the books. Still, as manager of the forge after the old master died, I could command the highest wages and believe I gave worth for worth, while one bit of work that I can lay my hands on is still to be seen. I must make a pair of iron gates. This sort of work is done by the whitesmith; but I took the job with no proper tools or skill for that work, and the result was a pair of gates as homely as a barn door, — so homely that I would dream of them after I came to this new world, and say to myself, If I can ever afford the money, I will ask to have a new pair made by some skillful man over there, and the old things sold for scrap iron. But just a touch of satisfaction came to me on my last visit to the homeland a few years ago, when the humor took me to go and have another look at the gates I had made just fifty years before. The touch of satisfaction lay in the fact that not a rivet had sprung in the clanging back and forth through all the years. And when I came home, being in Chicago on a visit, President Harper asked me to come and speak to some of the students; and I wove in the story of my gates, of which the moral was, "No matter how homely your work may be in this world, look well, my boys, to the rivets." MAKE THE MOST AND BEST OF YOURSELF 1 By THEODORE T. HUNGER CN may be divided in many ways, but there is no clearer cut division than between those ■S^ 1 d/S*\ ^^^ have a purpose and those who are with- -*==="^=*3 out one. It is the character of the purpose that determines the character of the man, — for a purpose may be good or bad, high or low. It is the strength and definiteness of the purpose that determine the measure of success. The first main thing a man has to do in this world is to turn his possibilities into powers, or to get the use of him- self. Here we are packed full of faculties, — physical, mental, moral, social, — with almost no instincts, and therefore no natural use of them ; a veritable box of tools, ready for use. How to use these tools — how to get the faculties at work — is the main question. The answer is, steady use under a main purpose. The most fundamental mistake men make is in not recognizing the breadth of their nature, and a consequent working of some single part of it. One must give play to his whole nature and fill out all his relations, or he will have a poor ending. He must heed the social, domestic, and religious elements of his being, as well as the single one that yields him a fortune. These should be embraced under a purpose as clear and strong as that which leads to wealth, and be cherished, not out of a bare sense of duty, but for manly completeness. The most pitiable sight one 1 From "On the Threshold," by permission, Mrs. T. T. Munger. 395 396 The Professions ever sees is a young man doing nothing; the furies early drag him to his doom. Hardly less pitiable is a young man doing but one thing, — his whole being centered on money or fame, — forgetful of the broad world of intel- lectual capacity within him, of the broader and sweeter world of social and domestic life, and of the infinite world of the spirit that inspires him on every side, and holds his destinies, whether he knows it or not. It is not quite possible, but an easy and natural thing, for a young man fronting life to say, I will make the most of myself; I will recognize my whole nature; I will neglect no duty that belongs to all men; I will carry along with an even and just hand those relations that make up a full manhood. The choice of a profession or occupation is a hard one to handle practically or speculatively. So many are forced into work, and take that nearest at hand, so many drift into an occupation because the time has come; so many are set to work too early for choice, that few seem left who can make a careful selection. It is a sad thing that any should be defrauded of this natural prerogative. It may be quite right to train a boy to a calling, but never to the exclusion of his personal choice ; if for the ministry, and he dehberately prefers to become a machinist, or a farmer, or an editor, it must be suffered. A call, or call- ing, is a divine thing, and must be obeyed. Pitt was trained from his earliest years for the great place he filled, but for the most part great men have chosen for them- selves. But one should settle the matter only after very thorough consideration. Dr. Bushnell once said to a young man who was consulting him on this point, "Grasp the handle of your being," — a most significant and pro- found piece of advice. There is in every one a taste or fitness that is as a handle to the faculties ; if one gets hold of it, he can work the entire machinery of his being to the Make the Most and Best of Yourself 397 best advantage. Before committing oneself to a pursuit, one should make a very thorough exploration of him- self, and get down to the core of his being. The fabric of one's life should rest upon the central and abiding qual- ities of one's nature, — else it will not stand. Hence a choice should be based on what is within rather than be drawn from without. Choose your employment be- cause you hke it, and not because it has some external promise. The "good opening" is in the man — not in circumstances. Determine that not a power shall go to waste; that every faculty shall do its utmost and reach its highest. I say to you with all carefulness, the noblest sight this world offers is a young man bent upon making the most of himself. Alas that so many seem not to care what they become; men in stature, but not yet born into a world of purpose and attainment — babes in their comprehension of life! A cigar, a horse, a flirtation, a suit of clothes, a night of drinking, a low theatrical or dance, and just enough work to attain such things, or got without work, — how the spirits of the wise, sitting in the clouds, laugh at them! What an introduction to manhood and manly duties! One cannot start thus in hfe, and make himself master of it, or get any real good out of it. A part of his folly may ooze out as the burdens of life press on him, and necessity may drive him to sober labor, but he will halt and stimible to the end. It is a sad thing to begin hfe with low conceptions of it. There is no misfortune comparable to a youth without a sense of nobility. Better be born blind than not see the glory of life. It is not, indeed, possible for a young man to measure life, but it is. possible to cherish that lofty and sacred enthusiasm which the dawn of life awakens. It is possible to say, — I am resolved to put life to its noblest and best use. 398 The Professions If I could get the ear of every young man for but one word, it would be this : Make the most and the best of your- self. There is no tragedy like wasted life, ■ — life failing of its end, — life turned to a false end. The true way to begin life is not to look off upon it to see what it offers, but to take a good look at self. Find out what you are, how you are made up, your capacities and lacks, and then determine to get the most out of yourself possible. Your faculties are avenues between the good of the world and yourself; the larger and more open they are, the more of it you will get. Your object should be to get all the riches and sweetness of life into yoiuself; the method is through trained faculties. You find yourself a mind: teach it to think, to work broadly and steadily, to serve your needs pliantly and faithfully. You find in yourself social capacities: make yourself the best citizen, the best friend and neighbor, the kindest son and brother, the truest husband and father. Whatever you are capable of in these directions, that be and do. Let nothing within you go to waste. You also find in yourself moral and religious faculties. Beware lest you suffer them to lie dormant, or but summon them to brief periodic activity. No man can make the most of himself who fails to train this side of his nature. Deepen and clarify your sense of God. Gratify by perpetual use the inborn desire for communion with Him. Listen evermore to conscience. Keep the heart soft and responsive to all sorrow. Love with all love's divine capacity and quahty. And above all let your nature stretch itself towards that sense of infinity that comes with the thought of God. There is nothing that so deepens and amplifies the nature as the use of it in moral and spiritual ways. One can not make the most of oneself who leaves it out. If these general purposes are resolutely followed, they Make the Most and Best of Yourself 399 are sure to yield as much of success as is possible in each given case. A pursuit followed in its main drift; a home to contain the life; good citizenship as the sum of public duties; culture, or making the most of oneself, as the sum of personal and religious duties, — these are the four winds of inspiration that should blow through the heart of a young man; these are the foundations of that city of character and destiny which, when built, hes four-square, — Work, Home, Humanity, and Self, as made in the image of God and for God. THE PROFESSIONS SUPPLEMENTARY READINGS Doctor and Patient S. Weie Mitchell The History of Medicine in the United States Francis Randolph Packard Aequanimitas : With Other Ad- dresses to Medical Students, Nurses, and Practitioners of Medicine William Osleb Surgical Memoirs and Other Essays Jambs Gregory Mumford Collected Essays on Physiology and Medicine (Vol. II.) Austin Flint, Jr. Makers of Modern Medicine James J. Walsh What Can a Young Man Do ? Frank W. Rollins Medicine, Surgery, and Hygiene in the Century Ezra Hurlburt Stafford How Successful Lawyers were Educated George A. Macdonald Learned in the Law William Davenport Adams Lincoln the Lawyer Frederick Trevor Hill Half a Century w^ith Judges and Lawyers Joseph A. Willard Life, Law, and Literature William G. T. Barker Day in Court Francis L. Wellman Great American Lawyers (8 vols.) William Lewis Draper, Ed- itor Centralization and the Law Melville M. Bigelow Educational Ideal in the Chris- tian Ministry William H. P. Fauncb Lectures on Preaching Phillips Brooks The Christian Ministry Lyman Abbott The Making and Unmaking of the Preacher W. J. Tucker God's Education of Man William DbWitt Hyde Yale Lectures (first series) Henry Ward Bbechee The Church and the Changing Order Shailer Mathews The Future Leadership of the Church John R. Mott What Career ? Edward Everett Hale The Clergy in American Life and Letters Daniel Dulanby Addison