Berkshire Medical College in 1839. He settled in Portland, N. Y., in 1841. Meeting Dr. John F. Gray, who was visiting his father at Portland, the subject of Homoeopathy was discussed, and, scarlatina being prevalent, he made a trial of Homoeopathic remedies with such success that he adopted the practice. In 1845 Dr. Wolcott removed to Westfield, where he formed a partnership with Dr. L. M. Kenyon, who had recently adopted Homœopathy. Dr. Wolcott's health suffered from the lake winds, and he was compelled to leave Westfield. He settled in Whitehall, Washington County, in 1847, where he continued in practice till his death, September 7, 1866. He joined the Institute in 1848.

REMARKS.

BUSHROD W. JAMES, M.D.: Life is a perpetual succession of changes, inevitable and unavoidable. We know it is the fact, and yet, as each mutation follows the other, we meet it with surprise. We have not been prepared for this event or that at such times as they have fallen into our lives, yet they were not altogether unexpected.

We are sure of death as we are of the life which now pulsates in our hearts, yet no one may be certain of the time at which the golden thread will be broken; and this uncertainty is both a blessing and a trial,—that is, some of us may regard it as a trial. If it were possible to know just when our work must stop, we imagine it would be well. To finish our self-set tasks, to round our lives into perfection, to leave behind an unbroken record of accomplished toil, is the longing ambition of nearly every one who thinks of the end of human life at all.

But where is there a chronicle of a perfectly finished human existence? The noblest and the most learned have passed away with a sword outside its scabbard, or a pen still moist with flowing ink! The statesman had just outlined a grand project for the nation's good, and he left the earth and took his splendid ideas with him! An author had just conceived the most beautiful poem of his life, and no one will read it ever! The physician had found a wonderful addition to his materia medica, but before he finished his provings and records, or puts it to the test, he passes beyond the need of a remedy! And the surgeon had planned a finer instrument, or thought out a more skilful and facile method of operative procedure,

which would have aided surgical science materially, when he turns to answer the last peremptory call, and no one will ever profit by his merciful creations!

And so it could be recorded in an increasing round as the daylight comes and goes, and we are forced to believe that there is no finish on this side of eternity, and we wonder why. Yet if all were completed here, would there be need for the endless hereafter of which we are told? Suppose a man's life here, so entirely completed that he is satisfied, what need is there for any future? and yet there are very few men who are willing to believe that they are less than immortal, and that when death comes it ends them once for all! Ah, no! The soul within cries for recognition and holds fast to its prospect of unending existence beyond the trivialities and sufferings of this evanescent sphere.

One by one we step out and leave a half-spun web for some one else to finish; or, far more likely, it will forever be an imperfect creation to human understanding. But it may be that unconsciously to the careless world it is still trending to its full beauty. It may be that the incompleteness is but the tangible part of it, the perfection even now weaving itself around and among the workers in the field which he has left.

With some lives, it is sad to say, it would seem well if they should be forever ended when the frail, sinful term of this life was closed; . but if one should thus terminate, so must those whose very memory is a sacred talisman pointing others on to higher and grander achievements! So it must be that the tares shall flourish with the wheat until such time as we know not now, and it becomes our better part: to forget the mistaken careers and to look with charity upon the evil effects which they have produced, while endeavoring in our own to counteract their direful influences; in fact, to think of them as only we must, that we may forget and keep clear of the past which their example has polluted, unless we can straighten out the sadly tangled threads.

But we may dwell in joyful knowledge that we have known, have touched hands and exchanged thoughts with such as we miss from our number. Year by year the number of the associates of our youthful days decreases on this side of the veil of mystery; but think of the meeting of classmates and friends beyond! They pass from our vision into the glorious, better life, and our grief must be only

the shower which will ripen the remembrance of them into beautiful recognition when we too have passed away!

We have seen them go-Dr. J. J. Drysdale, Dr. George E. Shipman, Dr. Charles Culliss and Dr. George A. Hall, our college classmate, our honored friend and brother in surgery and medicine. I can recall him now, in his youthful ambition, in his strong young manhood, in his riper years, always true, always brave and faithful to his trust as healer of the wounded, and helper to poor human sufferers. We were classmates and warm-hearted friends and I know whereof I speak; he was a companion to love, a man to honor, a surgeon to trust and a teacher in whom to repose faith and confidence. His span of life counted in years was all too short! But he lived so earnestly and devoted himself to his profession so indefatigably that in those years he spent as long a life of usefulness as thousands who have reached their three score years and ten.

In his career we see how much of good can be done in a comparatively short space of time; how the years may be rounded into beautiful fulness with no waste places to mar their symmetry. For a little while we must say farewell to him, and the others who pass from our midst. They go and others step forward to fill their places, to take up the work which they have laid down; but none can ever make whole the riven chain, and not one can fully occupy the spots in our affections which they claimed by traits peculiarly their own! Time and again we will think of them-in business hours, in hours of well-earned leisure they will come back to our remembrance; the glances of the friendly eyes, the tones of the genial voices will return with vivid distinctness until we almost feel the warm hand-clasps, and then we will remember they are gone! Gone to another life, and we fully trust to higher and grander! A life whose beauty we cannot fully realize until we too have crossed to the other side.

Following them in earnest toil, in purity of purpose, we will aim that one day we will meet them in the beautiful land where all things lead on to perfection. Here we can see them never, though our hearts should ache with loneliness-but there we are told we will find no sorrowful partings, no regrets, no doubts nor fears! there the world will seem to have been only a stopping place in which to receive the initiative into rest and peace and happiness! into the fulness of the existence for which we were created-the completeness of holy ambition, the exquisite perfection of love and

happiness unbounded! of friendship unalloyed, of the companionship of the good and true of all ages, and under the never-failing glory of the presence of Him to whom we owe all that we may attain here and hereafter and to whom also is praise and love forever and ever!

Not here ends all within the life beyond

Earth's sorrows seem but wandering summer clouds,
Within whose folds the silvery drops are hid

Which loose bright wings from sombre funeral shrouds.

Not here ends all! for sorrow bows the head,

And makes the heart sick with its quivering weight,
And dims the eyes, so they might never see

The angel standing at the opening gate.

Not here ends all! else must the spirit die;
And fair beginnings have no end complete;
And love and friendship pass, as if a storm
Had torn and cast them at our faltering feet.

Not here ends all! ah no, so fair a land

Awaits us when the years have laid us down,
That but to reach its beauteous, restful shores

Is worth earth's cares and death's pale, withering crown.

ALFRED E. HAWKES, M.D., of Liverpool, England, was asked for some remarks touching his late distinguished colleague, John J. Drysdale, M.D. He responded as follows:

Dr. Drysdale, whose father received the honor of knighthood at the hands of the King, was born near Edinburgh.

He was a landed proprietor and a magistrate, and in many respects a typical Scotchman.

He studied at Edinburgh University where he was distinguished and there obtained his degree. He further studied in Vienna and France; he was a proficient German and French scholar and was personally acquainted with Hahnemann.

He was well versed in pathology, and he and Dr. Rutherford Russell were associated in editing Fletcher's Pathology more than fifty years ago. As a microscopist he was well-known, and his work in conjunction with Dr. Dallinger is highly appreciated and very frequently referred to by other workers. He settled in Liverpool more than fifty years since and speedily began to exert his almost

unique influence. He originated the dispensary for the benefit of the poor which forty-five years afterwards became incorporated with the Hahnemann Hospital, built and furnished by Mr. Henry Tate.

He was the author of many works bearing on the problems of life, but his provings and arrangement of Kali bichrom., so well done that the drug seems to cover as much ground as many of our polychrests, will suffice to perpetuate his name in our ranks.

He unveiled the Cypher Repertory, which is, to the Greeks even, foolishness, but in the hands of those who have spent a little time in mastering its arrangement, it is a sine qua non. Apart from the Cypher, it is, in the speaker's opinion, the most reliable Repertory we have.

But the chief monument which our deceased friend, like Wren, has raised to his own memory, is the British Journal of Homœopathy, without which no medical library is complete. In England it commands a large price, and it may be said to be worth about £35 in its complete state.

Of his diagnostic acumen, his judicial mind, and his kindness to his juniors, whose papers at the Homœopathic Society he never failed to listen to and speak of in encouraging terms, it is hardly necessary to speak.

As a consultant he was widely known, and in this capacity he attended Mr. John Bright, who, like Beaconsfield, Whateley, and Dean McNeal, was a homoeopath.

As president of the Liverpool Biological Society, and of the Liverpool Literary and Philosophical Society, he did good work.

And finally, he was a firm believer in a beneficent and merciful Creator, whose works he had studied with such patience and to such advantage to his fellow-creatures. His hopes rested on something more firmly established than his own scientific views, and his faith did not waver.

He died at his suburban residence, Waterloo, near Liverpool, on August 20, 1892, at the age of 75 years. He was followed to the grave by many of his medical brethren of both schools, and

others.

DR. H. C. ALLEN: His example in life is certainly worthy of our emulation. Probably, we have not had in our school, since Hahnemann's immediate pupils and followers, a man adhering so closely to the teachings of the Master as did Drysdale. We always