or another cause failed to come to hand. With such contributions, in addition to those furnished by the bureaus of the Institute, the Congress was in fact, as well as name, "International."

THE officers of the International Congress were: Honorary president, John H. Clarke, M.D., C.M., London, England, editor of the Homœopathic World, president of the British Homoeopathic Society; honorary vice-presidents, George Burford, M.B., C.M., London, England, senior surgeon to the London Homœopathic Hospital. secretary of the British Homœopathic Association,; Pratap Chandra Majumdar, M.D., Calcutta, India, editor Indian Homoeopathic Review, Francisco Garcia P. Leao, M.D., vice-consul of Brazil in New York; J. T. Wonters, M.D., Arnhem, Holland; W. K. Bouton, M.D., Melbourne, Australia, Surgeon to the Homoeopathic Hospital; W. E. Green, M.D., Littlerock, Ark., president of the American Institute of Homoeopathy; Hiram L. Chase, M.D., Cambridge, Mass., president of the Senate of Seniors A.I.H.; Edwin A. Neatby, M.D., L.R. C.P., M.R.C.S., London, England, gynecological surgeon to the London Homoopathic Hospital; C. T. Knox Shaw, M.B., C.M., London, England, surgeon to the London Homœopathic Hospital; James Searson, M.D., L.R.C.P., L.R.C.S.I., physician to the London Homeopathic Hospital; acting president, J. H. McClelland, M.D., Pittsburg, Pa., ex-president of the American Institute of Homœopathy; surgeon to the Pittsburg Homœopathic Hospital; acting vice-presidents, Eugene H. Porter, M.D., New York, editor of the North American Journal of Homœopathy; commissioner of Health, State of New York; Howard P. Bellows, M.D., Boston, Mass., professor of Otology, Boston University School of Medicine. ex-president of the O. O. and L. Society, general director of Provings, and editor of the Test Drug-proving of the O. O. and L. Society, etc.; permanent secretary, John H. Clarke, M.D., C.M., London, England; provisional secretary, J. Richey Homer, M.D., Cleveland, Ohio, secretary pro-tem. of the American Institute of Homœopathy.

GLEANINGS.

From "Dr. Grenfell's Parish." By Norman Duncan.

Dr. Wilfred T. Grenfell is the young Englishman who, for the love of God, practices medicine on the coasts of Newfoundland and Labrador. Other men have been moved to heroic deeds by the same high motive, but the professional round, I fancy, is quite out of the common; indeed, it may be that in all the world there is not another of the sort. It extends from Cape John of Newfoundland around Cape Norman and into the Strait of Belle Isle, and from Ungava Bay and Cape Chidley of the Labrador southward far into the Gulf of St. Lawrence-two thousand miles of bitterly inhospitable shore; which a man in haste must sail with his life in his hands. The folk are for the most part isolated and desperately wretched the shore fishermen of the remoter Newfoundland coasts, the Labrador "liveyeres," the Indians of the forbidding interior, the Esquimaux of the far north. It is to such as these that the man gives devoted and heroic servicenot for gain; there is no gain to be got in those impoverished places; merely for the love of God.

I once went ashore in a little harbor of the northeast coast of Newfoundland. It was a place most unimportant-and it was just beyond the doctor's round. The sea sullenly confronted it, hills overhung it, and a scrawny wilderness flanked the hills; the ten white cottages of the place gripped the dripping rocks as for dear life. And down the path there came an old fisherman to meet the stranger. "Good-even, zur," said he.

"Good-evening.'

He waited for a long time. Then, "Be you a doctor, zur?" he asked.
"No, sir."

"Noa?" isn't you? Now, I was thinkin' maybe you might be. But you isn't, you says?"

"Sorry but, no; really, I'm not."

"Well, zur," he persisted, "I was thinkin' you might be, when I seed you comin' ashore. They is a doctor on this coast," he added, "but he's sixty miles

along shore, 'Tis a wonderful expense t' have un up. This here harbour isn't able. An' you isn't a doctor, you says? Is you sure, zur?"

There was unhappily no doubt about it.

"I was thinkin' you might be," he went on, wistfully, "when I seed you comin' ashore. But perhaps you might know something about doctorin'? Noa?" "Nothing."

"I was thinkin', now, that you might. "Tis my little girl that's sick. Sure, none of us knows what's the matter with she. Woan't you come up an' see she. zur? Perhaps you might do something-though you isn't-a doctor."

She

The little girl was lying on the floor on a ragged quilt, in a corner. was a fair child-a little maid of seven. Her eyes were deep blue, wide, and fringed with long, heavy lashes. Her hair was flaxen, abundant, all tangled and curly. Indeed, she was a winsome little thing!

"I'm thinkin' she'll be dyin' soon," said the mother. "Sure, she's wonderful swelled in the legs. We been waitin' for a doctor t' come, an' we kind o' thought you was one."

"How long have you waited?"

"Twas in April she was took. She've been lyin' there ever since.

August, now, I'm thinkin'.'

"They was a doctor here two year ago," said the man.

chance," he added, "like you."

"Think they'll be one comin' soon?" the woman asked.

'Tis near

"He come by

I took the little girl's hand. It was dry and hot. She did not smile-nor was she afraid. Her fingers closed upon the hand she held. She was a blueeyed, winsome little maid; but pain had driven all the sweet roguery out of her face.

"Does you think she'll die, zur?" asked the woman anxiously.

I did not know.

"Sure, zur," said the man, trying to smile, "tis wonderful queer, but I sure thought you was a doctor, when I seed you comin' ashore."

"But you isn't?" the woman pursued, still hopefully. "Is you sure you couldn't do nothin'? Is you noa kind of a doctor, at all? We doan't-we doan't-want she t' die!"

In the silence-so long and deep a silence-melancholy shadows crept in from the desolation without.

"I wisht you was a doctor," said the man.

He was crying.

“I—wisht—you—was!”

"They need," thought I, "a mission-doctor in these parts"

And the next day-in the harbor beyond-I first heard of Grenfell. In that place they said they would send him to the little maid who lay dying; they assured me, indeed, that he would make haste, when he came that way: which would be, perhaps, they thought, in "long about a month." Whether or not the doctor succoured the child I do not know; but I have never forgotten this first impression of his work-the conviction that it was a good work for a man to be about.

A doctor of the Newfoundland outports was once called to a little white cottage where three children lay sick of diphtheria. He was the family physician; that is to say, the fisherman paid him so much by the year for medical attendance. But the injection of antitoxin is a "surgical operation" and therefore not provided for by the annual fee.

"This," said the doctor, "will cost you two dollars an injection, John." "Oh, ay, zur," was the ready reply. "I'll pay you, zur. Go on, zur!" "But you know my rule, John-no pay, no work. I can't break it for you, you know, or I'd have to break it for half the coast."

"Eh, ay! 'Tis all right. I wants un cured. I'll pay you when I sells me fish."

"But you know my rule, John-cash down.”

The fisherman had but four dollars-no more; nor could he obtain any more, though the doctor gave him ample time. I am sure that he loved his children dearly, but, unfortunately, he had no more than four dollars; and there was no other doctor for fifty miles up and down the coast.

"Four dollars," said the doctor, "two children. Which ones shall it be, John?"

Which ones? Why, of course, after all, the doctor had himself to make the

choice. John couldn't. So the doctor chose the "handiest" ones. The other one died.

"Well," said John, unresentfully, the day after the funeral, "I s'pose a doctor haves a right t' be paid for what he does. But," much puzzled, "'tis kind of queer!"

This is not a work of fiction. These incidents are true. I set them down here for the purpose of adequately showing the need of such a practitioner as Wilfred T. Grenfell in the sphere in which he now labors."

IN the Journal A. M. A. for July, Willson answers the following question: What can be accomplished in the control of the social evil and venereal disease?

Everything, if every physician will but lend a hand; a great deal, with the few who are already openly able and willing to help. The effort is repaid if one boy or girl is thereby saved from venereal and moral infection. Would that there were no one in the medical profession who felt it necessary to see this movement become popular before offering his active approval! There are, indeed practical methods, and following are a few that have been tried and have stood the test.

First and foremost: The physician is responsible for a sane understanding of the normal sexual functions among his own clientele. He can impart this knowledge to the individual, male and female, either in his office by word of mouth or through literature; but if necessary he has the lecture room at his elbow. One or the other method should be employed. The fantastic notions and the ignorance of otherwise intelligent adults regarding the normal sexual phenomena and the proper care and respect for their genital apparatus is not a high tribute to our supposedly unremitting thought for their welfare.

Second: Almost equally important is the instruction of fathers and mothers regarding the prevalence of the abuse of these functions, the reasons therefor and the consequences, including the statistics of the insane and blind asylums and of venereal disease, and the communicability of the latter. These data furnish the only argument needed to do away with the double standard of morals for the man and the woman. The woman suffers more and should, if either, have the greater moral license. The prevailing cry is, "Spare our children the need of learning these facts." You have been sparing them, my friends, for many a year, and your children are now grown. In spite of your consideration, or because of it, all they have learned is a smattering of the truth, usually in an inaccurate, unhealthy, unclean way, in jest or in song, from the stableman or the nursery-maid. The guttersnipe is far more apt in gaining the ear of your boy than his pastor; his lesson sinks deeper and is more lasting! The consequences, you must admit, deserve attention. Have you another remedy to suggest, or will you test the one offered? Will you tell him clearly that which he has a right to know about himself, or shall he hear the distorted story, as he surely will, from the hostler or the schoolboy degenerate? Shall the mother advise her girls of their high privilege in life, or shall they learn first of these things in gossip, in life, or, as sometimes occurs, from an infected and infectious husband? I heard a noted gynecologist exclaim only a few nights ago, after operating on a beautiful girl, "My God! I'd rather my daughters should never marry than see them on the table like that!" When I heard this cry I said again to myself, "The women, at least, must be given the opportunity of knowledge, and the right to intelligently choose between the diseased and the clean."--Robert W. Wellson, M. D.

THE American Physician reports the following as an example of the possibilities that may occur in our attempts to use labor saving devices, and obtain pure milk;

From the Newcastle (Ind.) Courier we learn that an Iowa man has invented and patented a cow-milker, which consists of the following device:

From

"An eccentric three inches in diameter is attached to the cow's jaw. this leads a wire connection with elastic nipples on the udder, each of which is fitted with a valve, making it an air pump when in motion. When the cow chews her cud the eccentric revolves and the wire is worked back and forth like a piston, creating suction in the nipples. The milk as it is drawn runs into a bucket sus

pended below. The invention will relieve dairyman of much tiresome and unpleasant labor.

We have just succeeded in getting a patent on the improvement of the machine to greatly help its usefulness. It is an electric motor to fasten on the cow, the electricity being generated by a small dynamo attached to her tail. She switches her tail, dynamo starts, motor is charged. It unhooks the pail and strainer. A small phonograph accompanies the outfit which yells "So" every time she moves. If she lifts her foot to kick, a little dingus slips over a device and the phonograph shouts "darnit,” and if she continues to kick, a hinged arm catches the milk stool and lams her on the back until it loosens a patch of hair as big as a dustpan.

A patent churn goes with the outfit that works the butter over and puts the pure butter in one jar and the hairs in another.

There is another source of the spread of typhoid fever which has been by no means sufficiently recognized, namely, that of a direct contact either with the ⚫ patient or with fomites. Typhoid bacilli are frequently present, not only in the stools and urine of the patient, but also in his sputa, and those who attend him must be constantly exposed to the danger of soiling their hands with infected material. I met last summer with a most interesting case, in which the patient. a child, infected two nurses and the attending physician. All other sources of contamination could be easily ruled out. The experience of Koch and his pupils in several recent epidemics in the country districts in Germany go far to show that the spread of the disease by flies and by contact plays a more important part than has been previously realized.

It should be remembered that convalescents from typhoid may carry the vacilli in their system and spread about in their excreta for considerable periods of time. Experiments have shown that when a pure culture of typhoid bacilli is poured upon clothes the organisms retain their vitality for from two to three months, and it is highly probable that in the rolls of blankets such as are carried by the soldier they may live for a longer period of time.

In cities which are properly drained many of these dangers are much diminished, and in general the condition of the inhabitants is much better, with the one exception that in most American towns there is the ever-present danger of a general poisoning of the water supply.-W. S. Thayer, M.D., Maryland Medical Journal, Sept., 1906.

CALCAREA CHARACTERISTICS.-1.

cold, and easily catching cold.

Great sensitiveness to cold, to damp

2. Too early, profuse, and protracted menses.

3. Leucophlegmatic, plethoric, catarrhal.

4. Dentition complaints otorrhoea, diarrhea; too slow or too rapid den tition; chewing motion during sleep.

Glandular swellings (especially about the neck.)

Diarrheic tendency; afternoon diarrhea.

5.

6.

7.

Limp, sweaty hands and cold, damp feet.

8.

meat.)

Longing for eggs; aversion to meat (Ferrum: aversion to eggs and to

9. Local frigidities (abdomen, vertex, feet.)

10.

11.

Skin heals poorly; urticarial tendency.

Sourness: Sourness exudes from the emunctories, is vomited, sweated,

urinated and defecated--a chronic rheum.

12. Chiefly right-sided-like belladonna, its acute congener
13. Sprains, dislocations and their results-when rhus fails.
14. Loose-jointed; easy dislocations.

P. W. Shedd, M.D., in The Hahnemannian.

"WHAT IS HOMEOPATHY." In a paper entitled "What is Homoeopathy," by Dr. Sisca of Australia, an allopathic physician, are found the following ex

tracts:

"We are bound to acknowledge that homoeopathy is a method of therapeuties based on three fundamental principles; which, though appearing to our uninitiated minds like absurdities and paradoxes, have yet stood the test of a

century of criticism and opposition, and for those who practice in accordance with them they are as true and reliable to-day as they were one hundred years ago when first proclaimed by the man who rediscovered them. Those principles are: (1) Similar similibus curantur-let likes be treated by likes; (2) small doses; (3) single remedy.

1. Similia similibus. In order practically to understand the meaning of this principle, which is the very kernel of homœopathy, we will do well, I think. if we make a brief excursion into our own allopathic field, and in so doing we could hardly choose a more reliable guide than Ringer's "Handbook of Therapeutics.'

Beginning, for choice, with mercury, at p. 256 (eleventh edition), we read of mercury as purgative, while on the following three or four pages the perchloride in doses of one-eighth grain, and grey powder in doses of one-sixth and one-third grain, are recommended as powerful anti-diarrheics.

At p. 293 we find arsenic responsible for the production of eczema, urticaria, lichen, etc., while on p. 297 we read the statement that it cures psoriasis, eczema, lichen and pemphigus. At p. 417, the author speaks of ipecac as "a mild, tardy, but certain emetic," and on p. 418 he tells us that "few remedies are so efficacious as ipecac in checking certain kinds of vomiting."

Finally, to quote only one more instance from Ringer, at p. 493 we are told that jaborandi and pilocarpine are powerful diaphoretics and sialagogues, and on p. 495 we find the seemingly contradictory statement that pilocarpine is doses of one-twentieth of a grain checks profuse perspiration.

Now, have we, or do we know of any theory that could explain to us this kind of double dealing on the part of drugs, this, to all appearances, contradictory action? How can the same remedy produce and check perspiration, induce and check vomiting, purge and stop diarrhea? Ringer simply states that it is so, but does not say why. Shall we, then, accept the statement as we read it, and act upon it without inquiry, which, alas, we very often do, or shall we for once become inquisitive, and demand an explanation from those in authority? We should, of course, choose the latter as the more reasonable alternative; but if we do then we must try and find out things for ourselves, as those in authority may either, like ourselves, be unable to give a clew to the riddle, or else they may be unwilling. And, so far as I am aware, the only clew, the only plausible explanation of why a drug should act in two differently and seemingly diametrically opposite directions is the homoeopathic principle similia similibus.". The Medical Brief.

So,

DREAMS an allegory.-"At the door of Sleep a sentinel stands, an angel in grey garments. The crimson poppies crown her head. To enter that door, you must pass Our Lady of Dreams.

Sometimes she smiles as you enter, and sometimes there is only a careless nod. Often her clear, serene eyes make no sign of recognition, and at other times she frowns. But, whatever be the temper of the Lady at the door, your dream waits for you inside.

The parcels are all alike, so it is useless to stop and choose, but you must take one. Frequently, when you open it, there is nothing there but peaceful slumber, cunningly arranged to look like a dream.

Once in a thousand times it happens that you get the dream that is meant for you, because it all depends upon chance, and so many strangers nightly enter that door that it is impossible to arrange the parcels any differently.

When the night has passed, and you come back, it is always through the same door, where the patient sentinel still stands. You are supposed to give back your dream, so that some one else may have it the next night, but if she is tired, or very busy, you may sometimes slip through, and so have a dream to remember."-Hospital Topics, May, 1906.

DIGITALIS IN CARDIAC DISEASES.-Digitalis is indicated in many forms of heart diseases associated with failing compensation and dilatation. Its most beneficial effects are seen in cases of cardiac dilatation associated with mitral disease, with small, irregular pulse, dyspnea, and dropsy. Its effects are also useful in aortic disease but the drug must be given cautiously in aortic regurgitation. In many forms of myocardial weakness and mild forms of degenration,