"Thus the physician is entangled in the meshes of a wide conspiracy, in which he and his patient and their friends, and Nature herself are involved. What wonder that the history of Medicine should be to so great an extent a record of self-delusion!

“If this seems a dangerous concession to the enemies of the true science and art of healing, I will remind you that it is all implied in the first aphorism of Hippocrates, the Father of Medicine. Do not draw a wrong inference from the frank statement of the difficulties which beset the medical practitioner. Think rather, if truth is so hard of attainment, how precious are the results which the consent of the wisest and most experienced among the healers of men agrees in accepting. Think what folly it is to cast them aside in favor of palpable impositions stolen from the records of for

gotten charlatanism, or of fantastic speculations spun from the squinting brains of theorists as wild as the Egyptian as

tronomer.

"Begin your medical studies, then, by reading the fortieth and the following four chapters of Rasselas. Your first lesson will teach you modesty and caution in the pursuit of the most deceptive of all practical branches of knowl edge. Faith will come later, when you learn how much medical science and art have actually achieved for the relief of mankind, and how great are the promises it holds out of still larger triumphs over the enemies of human health and happiness."

After the reading of this paper there was a lively discussion, which we have no room to report here, and the Society adjourned.

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

If any of my readers, familiar with the medical journals of 1845 or thereabouts, should recall any statements then published concerning this peculiar and interesting case, they may also remember something of the attention it attracted at the time, and the discussion it awakened not only in this country but also in France and Germany. Briefly summarized and stripped of its elaborate wrappings of scientific terms and medical phraseology, the fact stated was of a curious malformation in the case of a boy, then some ten or twelve years of age. There was no outward defect, no physical deformity, but only a peculiar transposition of the mental organs, "by which," to quote the felicitous language of a writer of the day, "that wonderful mirror in the brain, which we call memory, was simply reversed, so that instead

of reflecting the past it reflected the future, and the boy, instead of remembering backward like ordinary people, remembered forward."

However, the majority of people must have long since forgotten the circumstance, as would doubtless have happened with my later knowledge of it, acquired from old volumes on file in my father's office, had not more recent events revived it, and given me a week or two of strange experience. Our family consists of my aunt, my aunt's rheumatism, my sister Lizzie, and myself. The rheumatism is certainly entitled to mention as one of the family, since it not only sits at our table and lodges under our roof, but always forms a majority in our family councils. It was the rheumatism which decided that we should spend the summer of 1880 at

Hot Springs. My aunt asked our advice about it one morning at the breakfasttable, calmly prefacing her request with the information that she had decided to go. When an elderly lady with gold spectacles, a rather pronounced nose and chin, and a still more pronounced fortune in her own right asks advice in that way of the younger members of her family, the result can readily be surmised. On the whole, the movement was less objectionable than many decisions of our majority, since, as Lizzie pensively observed, "Even a hot watering-place is not without its attractions." It chanced, too, that I had business in the neighborhood of Little Rock which could be as well transacted at that time as another, and so would enable me to be near my aunt and sister without the enforced leisure which I detested. After securing and settling one's self in desirable quarters for such a sojourn, the next item of interest is, naturally, one's neigh bors; and here we congratulated ourselves upon being peculiarly fortunate.

"Guests enough to save us from anything like dullness or monotony, without the tiresomeness and discomfort of a crowd," murmured my aunt complacently, as she surveyed the cool, pleasant dining-hall at our first breakfast.

Near us was a quiet group, which presently attracted attention by its proximity a middle-aged gentleman with his wife and daughter, apparently. Dress and manner marked them as persons of refinement, a certain easy adaptation to their surroundings hinted of familiarity with travel, and they did not appear to be invalids, though there was an air of watchfulness about them, a scarcely defined repression, that marked them as differing somewhat from mere pleasureseekers.

"Perhaps they have an invalid son or daughter with them, who is not able to come down to meals," observed Aunt Dill, unconsciously answering this comment, which no one had expressed.

Now and then, in the pauses of our own conversation, sentences from our neighbors floated to us unavoidably. There was a beautiful child wandering up and down the hall, belonging to some one accustomed to the house evidently, and feeling himself on his native heath, for he strayed from one group to another at will, and was petted by all. Presently he stopped, and surveyed with grave baby eyes the party near us.

"What a lovely child!" exclaimed the young lady, coaxing him near with a bonbon.

"Yes, and he resembles Why I can't think where I have ever seen him," remarked the gentleman in a tone of perplexity.

"Nowhere, dear; of course you never did," interposed his wife, with what seemed like anxious haste. "None of us have ever seen him until now."

"But he reminds me of some one," persisted the gentleman musingly. “Ah, I remember! It is your little boy, Nellie. He is very like your little boy."

A flush swept over the young lady's face, the dark red flush of annoyance or pain. Her answer was inaudible, but she sent the little one away.

"A young widow, who has lost her child?" suggested Aunt Dill in a low voice to Lizzie, under cover of passing the rolls.

"Too young, and not in mourning," answered Lizzie, in the same tone.

She looked very young, not over eighteen, and very pretty and graceful also, as she left the room a little later, passing directly by us. They were our neighbors again at dinner, and in the afternoon I met the gentleman on one of the smooth wide walks-"the beach," some of our friends had christened it of the grounds. A small velocipedist had just succeeded in upsetting himself, and the gentleman paused to rescue the wailing urchin, when a malicious gust of wind whisked away the rescuer's hat. I captured the

flying property and returned it, to meet not only thanks but a pleasant smile of recognition.

"Dr. Wilkinson, I believe?"

He must have noticed us in the dining-hall, then, though he had not seemed to do so; but how had he learned my my name ? I wondered. The M. D. on my office sign was still so uncomfortably fresh that I could scarcely imagine my reputation had preceded me. He read my glance and answered it.

"I met you on the morning train for Little Rock-going up to attend the Cashville trial; I am interested in that too co's."

and we lunched together at Meli

That was exactly my plan for the morrow, but it assuredly was what I had not done on this first day of my arrival, nor on any preceding day. There was some mistake, but I had neither time to explain nor ask for explanation. His daughter, who had been detained a moment by a friend, called to him:

"I am ready, papa!"

It was a sweet, quick voice, holding in it the slightest possible hint of one who did not care to wait, and he yielded to it at once, replying to my somewhat confused statement that he had "the advantage of me," by handing me his card as he turned away. It was only after he had gone that I reflected that the Cashville trial would not begin until the next day, and so I grew more puzzled still. The card was inscribed "Jeshurun Barker," and the name had a familiar look and sound; but I could not link it with any one I had ever known, and so was forced to drop the matter. However, if I had not met him before, I met him frequently afterward. We journeyed to Little Rock together the next morning, lunched at the same place, and found ourselves on the same return train in the evening. Fate had determined, it appeared, that our two parties should be thrown together. We encountered them in the

halls, on the piazzas, and on the grounds; and between the ladies there soon sprang up one of the sudden friendships that belong to such places. Lizzie found a strong attraction in Miss Bar

ker.

"And she is Miss Barker, - I 've learned that much," announced Aunt Dill complacently, after the first morning together. "Of course I hesitated a little between Mrs. and Miss after what I had heard her father say, but she laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world that I should accord her any such matronly dignity,' as she said. When I told her what I had overheard, though, for I did tell her, she flushed in just that odd way again, and answered quickly:

"Oh, no, that was not what papa meant. Hemisspeaks sometimes. He was thinking of - of an daughter of his.'

older

"That is exactly the way in which she put it not my sister,' you notice, nor my little nephew,' as any one would naturally say, but only an older daughter of papa's. They are very pleasant people, but I'll warrant there is a twist in their family history somewhere, a daughter who has married disreputably, perhaps."

I longed to remind my aunt of certain maxims concerning the vulgarity of undue interest in other people's affairs which had been lavishly bestowed upon me in the days of my youth. But it is not always safe to return these kindnesses of one's childhood. Our elders, I have observed, are prone to regard their choicest admonitions in the light in which the celebrated Miss McFlimsey viewed her betrothal :

"A sort of engagement, you see,

Which is binding on you, but not binding on

me."

Lizzie and I consoled ourselves by ascribing these lapses on Aunt Dill's part to the rheumatism. Aunt Dill was so closely allied to us in family and blood

that we could not shirk responsibility where she was concerned, but the rheumatism was only a relation-in-law, as it were, and could be disapproved of when

necessary.

"Mrs. Barker remarked incidentally, to-day, that Nellie was her only child," said Aunt Dill, an evening or two later. "Now, how do you reconcile that with a runaway daughter?"

"Dear me, auntie! That runaway daughter is purely your own invention, and nobody else needs to be reconciled to her," laughed Lizzie. "It is possible that Miss Nellie may have lost a half dozen brothers and sisters, older and younger, and now be an only child, is n't it? Besides, she only spoke of an older daughter of papa's,'—which may have meant a half sister or a step sister."

"H'm," responded Aunt Dill disdainfully, but she caught at the last suggestion, unfortunately, and proceeded to test it. To do her justice, she managed the matter with admirable finesse, and it was only during an easy after-dinner chat, which had somehow fallen upon the subject of odd marriages and second marriages, that she adroitly seized upon a remark of Mr. Barker's with the playful question:

"You speak feelingly! Surely you have had no experience in second marriages?"

"I?" It really seemed for a moment as if the gentleman did not know whether he had or not. He drew his hand across his brow and looked toward his wife, who was standing by an opposite window; then his dark eyes softened. Indeed, no!" he said, with his peculiar smile that always held a tinge of melancholy. "I doubt whether there are two women in the world who are brave enough for that."

His wife caught his glance and joined our group directly. They were a very affectionate family, the Barkers. Their devotion to each other was so intense as

to be even a trifle annoying occasionally, for whenever I had engaged the gentleman in a conversation that bade fair to be more than ordinarily interesting, his wife or daughter appeared upon the scene and appropriated him at once. Under ordinary circumstances it must be confessed that Miss Nellie might have proved a very agreeable intrusion, with her pretty, flushing face and winning, graceful ways. But any such attractions were dispelled, for me, by a hand at home, which wore a ring in the same state of untarnished newness as my office sign. Moreover, young Sayles had followed the Barkers to the springs, had been welcomed as an old acquaintance, and seemed successfully bent upon proving himself a very intimate one. His fine physique, to say nothing of his enraptured glances, made it evident that he had not come for any benefit from the springs; and he would not have needed them in any case, as Miss Nellie must have kept him continually in hot water by her inopportune flyingsoff after "dear papa."

It was only upon rare occasions that Mr. Barker could be drawn into anything like conversation. Usually, he contented himself with courteous but very brief replies when directly addressed, and for the rest listened smilingly but silently while others talked. It was only reticence, however, not dullness, as one could readily see by watching the expression of his mobile features, and the interest in his deep, peculiar eyes. There were times, too, when his interest overleaped the barriers of restraint, and the views he expressed were striking and original.

Two or three times, when we were together, I had chanced to awaken him upon some medical topic, and was sur prised and delighted to hear of discoveries which were new to me, though I considered myself particularly well read. But, as I have said, such conversations were always interrupted by

either his wife or daughter. It was an absurd fancy, of course, but it really seemed at times as if they were jealous of any attention he bestowed upon others. The man puzzled and fascinated me with his quiet, gentle, almost melancholy air, and his strange reserve, which was only a veil for opinions so unique, so startling, and so positive that, when once expressed, they carried with them the force of knowledge. Then, too, his name still perplexed me with its odd familiarity. I was haunted by some flitting ghost of association which I could not materialize.

It was young Sayles who solved the problem for me at last. The number of guests increased as the season advanced, augmented not only by those who were needing to be built up physically, but by some who were seeking to build up financially. The attraction for these was not the mineral water, but a mineral more solid, as represented by Judge Leach, president of the Great Synket Silver Mine,—" the richest mine in Mexico, sir," as the pompous judge was fond of informing the knot of listeners who always hung about him. He had come North on business connected with the mine, it was stated, and the local papers devoted considerable space to the object of his visit, his success and movements generally, calling him “ of our great silver kings." His presence had created no small stir in certain circles at Little Rock and at the Springs, where, for some reason, he preferred to spend a part of his time. There were eager groups constantly about the magnate, discoursing with feverish excitement of stocks, shares, and dividends.

one

by a picnic excursion to a neighboring grove. The Barkers and ourselves, feeling that we were a sort of aborigines among these new-comers, were drawn more closely together, and Mr. Sayles had kindly included us in his picnic project.

"Now, if it's only a pleasant day tomorrow," he said, as we discussed final arrangements. "Miss Nellie, suppose we ask your father what he thinks of the weather? He always seems to prophesy correctly."

Miss Nellie hesitated, colored, and looked appealingly at her mother, as if, for some reason, the simple suggestion were a very embarrassing one. But Mr. Barker was sitting by a window, newspaper in hand, and Mr. Sayles had turned toward him as he spoke.

"Shall we have a fine day for our excursion, do you think, sir? What is the prospect for to-morrow?"

"Excursion?" Mr. Barker repeated the words as if he had not heard of the project before. "Oh, yes, the weather is fine enough to-morrow, and — why, no, we did n't go on any excursion, with Nellie sick in her room with a headache, and the whole plan spoiled because of one inadvertent remark. I really cannot see any sense in it."

Neither could any one else. We all stared at him blankly except Mrs. Barker. There was meaning enough in her quick glance, and her laugh was forced and uneasy.

"My dear, what a mixture of tenses! Your mind must be all on your newspaper. Nobody but yourself has made any inadvertent remark."

Warning, reminder, appeal, were in her eyes and voice, but it is probable that Mr. Barker's mind was still a little abstracted by his reading, for he only looked bewildered and answered hastily :

66

:

Yes, yes, it was my own, of course; though I can't think just now what it was, nor why Nellie need feel so about