between the platform and the engine. I felt my hip-bones crush in. I dropped down in a dead faint. I know that something is wrong here, Doctor; I can hear the grating myself when I move." Upon examination it was found that he had sustained a fracture of the pelvis, with laceration and rupture of the urethra, and urinary infiltration had already taken place. He was told. that his recovery was doubtful and asked if he had not some friend or near relative whom he desired to see. He said: "Doctor, I came from a good and respectable family. I am what you call the black sheep of that family, but I have a sister who lives in Maine. She is as good and pure as an angel, and as sensible as Solomon-send for her." She was accordingly sent for, and when she came we found a real pleasant, common-sense, good woman. The patient was now approaching his end; andshe was so in formed, when she earnestly begged us to ask him whether or not he desired religious consolation. We asked him in her presence. He turned his head and looked up at her and said: "Sis, whatever Doc orders, by God, I will take."-Railway Surgeon. EXPERIENCE ON FOLLOWING MIDWIVES. I was recently called to a newly born babe and on arriving found it seemingly in a state of great restlessness and misery. As I proceeded with my examination of child and questioning of parents, I learned it had been born three days and had voided no urine. This fact prompted me to an examination of the child's genital organs, and on my examination I found only a pin-hole opening in prepuce with great distension of bladder with urine. I at one enlarged the preputial opening, and the urine was projected in a good-sized stream and babe did nicely. I was called to another case in which a lady had given birth to twins after long and tedious labor, with considerable hemorrhage at beginning of labor, but very little on the expulsion of placenta. Shortly after delivery of placenta woman had a convulsion and others followed in rapid succession. On my arrival I found her under the eighth convulsion and unconcious. On my examination I found neck and oss of womb firmly contracted but body thoroughly distended with blood. The lady had one convulsion after another and died under the fourteenth, no medication, of course, doing any good. Diagnosis: death from convulsions brought on by long, tedious labor and intrauterine hemorrhage from failure of proper contraction of muscular fibers of body of womb. Was I correct in my diagnosis? A. E. DALTON, M. D. You are [We are pleased to see that our former students are in the ranks, fully armed and equipped for service. We hope to receive more such material from them. right, Dr. Dalton; success to you.- ED.] A MONTHLY JOURNAL OF CLINICAL MEDICINE AND SURGERY. EDITOR: THOMAS OSMOND SUMMERS, M.A., M.D., F.S.Sc. London. Subscription, $1.00 per year; single copies, 10 cents; postage free. Advertising Rates made known on application. Remittances should be made by money order, draft or registered letter. Reprints.-Until further notice, authors will be presented free of charge with reprints of accepted articles. (consisting of three pages or more) provided the CLINIQUE secures the sole right to publish them. The request for reprints should accompany MSS. Contributors of original articles will receive five copies of the issue containing their article. Photo-Engravings to illustrate accepted articles will be made free of charge, if proper drawings or negatives accompany the manuscript. Electrotypes of such cuts furnished at cost. Physicians' Wants, etc.-A department will be devoted to the free publication of physicians' wants, practices for sale, good locations, etc. Secretaries of Medical Societies will do us a favor by keeping us informed of dates of meeting of same, etc. On a lovely cliff overshadowing be cordially greeted by that prince the broad, sweeping Hudson, there is a villa, every appearance of which suggests comfort, ease, enjoyment, culture and all that goes to make up the true happiness of home life. Near the great city, but apart from its bustle and turmoil and cares, sequestered amid forests of pine and willow and elm, it was our pleasure to meet and to of American journalism and typical representative of American surgery, Dr. Geo. F. Shrady. As he came to meet us on the shady drive that leads from the river to his villa, holding by the hand his little grandson, Edwin Gould, in his playful innocence of all knowledge of the forty millions that by right of inheritance were his, it was a picture of contentment and happiness we shall not soon forget. Delivering over little Edwin to our little daughter to play about the grove, where a home picnic party was just in preparation, with the genial greeting that carried us back to days of yore in our far-off Southern home, he invited us to a seat upon the velvet leaves of the pines which filled the air with wholesome balsamic odor, and a pleasanter hour we have never spent. In all the abandon of domestic happiness, shut out from the rush and whirl of his all too intense professional life, Dr. Shrady spoke of those things that concerned the historic record of American medicine, and the delight of the hour carried us far back to our old Virgil days with their Arcadian environment. "O Tityrae tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi," etc. If there is any one man who more completely represents the individualized American doctor than Dr. Geo. F. Shrady we do not know him. A man of firm convictions, strong sense of right, ever ready to proclaim it and sustain it by authority and demonstrate it in practical life, an hour of quiet retreat with him refreshed us like a "giant with new wine." How sadly we thought of the great mistake made by most of our professional men, who wear out their lives in a tread-mill process without rest, without relief from care, and, as the great Richard Owen once remarked to us in the British Museum, like all Americans, "burn out the candle at both ends." DEATH IN THE HIGH PLACES OF THE PROFESSION. It is with a feeling of intense gloom and deep personal sorrow that we are called upon to record the death. of two of the most prominent and active members of the American medical profession. It is not only that they were professionally great that their loss appears so forcibly to us, but that for over a quarter of a century we have been associated with them personally, professionally and officially, and the startling question of England's greatest ecclesiastic poet comes home to us with tremendous significance: "Who next shall the summons obey? My merciful God is it I?" Dr. John H. Callender, Professor of Neurology and Mental Diseases in the University of Nashville, was one of the most polished, most gifted, and, withal, most valuable men to the community in which he lived that it has ever been our good fortune personally to know. For thirty years we have known. him, first in the relation of student to teacher, afterwards for several years as colleague, and still later on associated with him in the offi cial duties delegated to us as officers of the American Medical Association. His mind was of that peculiar character that reminded you of a polished marble shaft without fleck or flaw, shining in the sunlight of knowledge, inviting scrutiny and reflecting truth. Nothing that Dr. Callender ever uttered was common-place. His every sentence was a gem of thought, not always entirely original, for he was such a great reader, such a voracious devourer of all scientific literature that it would have been impossible for him to differentiate distinctly his own ideas from those with which he was in daily communion. He was most versatile in his attainments. It was not generally known to the public, for Dr. Callender was a man who kept his own counsel, that he was the author of some of the most powerful political editorials ever published by the American press. His manners were those of a Chesterfield, his culture without a blemish, his grasp of scientific principles most powerful, and his conclusions always accurate, even amid the most conflicting controversies of science. That he is That he is dead is hard to realize. It seems strange to feel that his silvery tongue is silent, and his years of usefulness and power are ended. And then comes Dr. Jerome Cochran, another colleague in the days of yore—a man who has done more, perhaps, to elevate the standard of the medical profession than any other since the time of Rush and Drake. Just before our eyes fell upon the notice of his death we had just read the following extract from the proceedings of the last meeting of the American Medical Association at Atlanta: "Dr. Summers, of St. Louis: I think, sir, it is time for this Association to demand of the United States of America that it should be represented in its Cabinet at Washington. We can learn a great deal from the old Christian mythology, where Gabriel was the Secretary of State, Michael the Archangel or Secretary of War, and Raphael the Secretary of Health, who flew with his wings close to the earth and shed healing in his path. Now, I say, the time has come when this Association, in its power and dignity, should rise and demand of the government of the United States that it create a Department of Public Health, as has been done in all governments of the world. This is the solution of the question. Twenty-five years ago I joined Dr. Cochran in his efforts in public health matters in Alabama, and it brought out the possible for the of medicine and ingly." fact that it was State to take hold govern it accord The report was then adopted. Dr. Cochran was an uncompromising advocate of higher medical teaching and of stronger restrictions upon its practice. As a worker he was indefatigable. After the great yellow fever epidemic, the yellow fever Commission, of which he was the leading spirit, were with us at our home. Socially, and in every intercourse of life, he was the same genial, imperturbable, positive character. We cannot but feel his loss with an intensity that knows no expression. 'Tis a sad thing to write these death records so rapidly month after month. Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be THE OPENING OF THE BALL. "The melancholy days have come, We do not believe it! So far from being melancholy days, from a long experience of teaching "we say it without hesitation, and we say it boldly" that there is no season of the year, despite its chromic and rubescent leaves, which foretell the forest's annual death, despite the yellowing of the corn and the southern flight of the winter-fleeing birds, the opening of the schools, the bright clear faces of the school children merrily tripping to their daily tasks, and, I shall add, the children of a larger growth flocking to the Colleges and the Universities, with eyes bright and hearts elate with the glorious prospect of an illustrious future with which the autumnal season glads the heart of the coming generation-all this makes September aught but "melancholy," or its days "the saddest of the year." No, no; this month is most glorious in all of its appointments. We feel intensely wrought up when we consider what is a most lamentable fact that there is a tendency abroad in the land. towards pessimism or Cassandra prophecy of evil concerning the teaching of medicine. It is true, there is, through recent discoveries, a vaster field open to the practitioner than ever before, and a grander outlook for the results of his observations, and this should stimulate the energies of every individual devotee at the shrine of medicine. All is not known, nor will be until the trumpet sounds above the grave. Our prospects are brighter than they ever have been. Students are coming in rapidly, and there is an atmosphere of enthusiasm around all the Colleges, which betokens a prosperous season. Let Gold and Silver fight out their own battles. They do not concern the physician. People must have us or die, and there's an end of it. Despite all the gloomy prospects of panic and the like the doctor has come to stay, and stay he will until certain very warmly reported regions. freeze over. |