A GERANIUM LEAF IN WINTER. But kept its freshness till it cam to me Ah! mony a day upon its stem it danced, Ah! little dreamed that leafie 'twould ha' been WHAT IS THE TRUE ESTIMATE OF THE MEDICAL PROFESSION? There is an old saying, "If a boy is good for nothing else, make him a doctor." There is another, "Physic for fools, "For doctors are dunces." These are merely vulgar by-words; but they embody an opinion which is common, not only among the lower classes; but unfortunately even in the ranks of intelligence and refinement. There is a prejudice against medicine, as compared with the ministry and the law, and in the judgment of perhaps the majority of people it occupies a lower plane than its sister professions. Now I would ask the questions: Upon what grounds is this judgment based; and, are those grounds sufficient? Looking at medicine as a science, surely no one can degrade it from equality with any other. Its scope is most comprehensive. It reaches out its investigations to whatever concerns the body or mind of man. Every investigation into the principles of chemistry, every discovery in natural history, every new development of the laws which control selection and reproduction, every advance in our knowledge of the human mind, is but another contribution to that science, whose theme and aim is the mental and physical normalcy of man. Toignore this is to sap the usefulness of other sciences. The minister devotes his attention to man's moral nature; but wise and heautiful as may be the deductions of Theology, that minister will blunder who attempts their application without a knowledge of the principles underlying the connection between man's moral and physi cal being. The lawyer deals, supposedly at least, with justice; but the advo cate, who knows not both body and mind, and their reciprocal influence, is a poor friend to his client, and scarcely a better to himself. No, it cannot be in the science of medicine—a science vast, beautiful, useful. It cannot be that here are found the foundations for those opinions, which would expel Esculapius from the council of Olympus. It is rather against the art, or more accurately still, against the men who practice it, that these objectors declaim. What, then, is the crime of the doctors? wherein have they of fended? Well, they have a multitude of diverse opinions. No two schools, hardly any two practitioners agree. Of course they can not all be right, therefore all are good for nothing. This is sorry logic indeed; but it is the kind of logic that many men use. True,, physicians and schools of medicine differ widely. It is well they do. Diversity is the pioneer of progress; without it the science could not advance. There cannot be growth without opposition; but the growth that progresses during the strife of elements, as well as during their complaisance, is firm aud healthy, and the seeming discords among the great host searching for truth shall finally culminate in noble harmony of belief, a harmony which will be permanent, because the belief shall be faith in truth. Take another objection. Doctors make innumerable mistakes, and hundreds of patients die of clumsy treatment. Granted; for medical science is yet in its infancy, and will require long time to come to perfecțion; while even were the science perfect, mistakes would sometimes occur, despite all precautions. Yes there are blunders; but the occasional death of a patient through the error of the physician cannot be fairly charged against either his learning or his honesty. All make mistakes, and the difference between men in this respect is chiefly, that the mistakes of some are found out, those of others are not discovered. The doser with calomel loses his patient and catches the blame, the doser with homilies loses his; but the patient has passed beyond the power of complaint before he finds out his doctor's mistake. The next world will doubtless show us many things as blunders which now we highly commend. Only one more of the accusations. Physicians are ignorant and have contributed little to literature. Admttied that in those branches of learning which attract most public notice, the medical profession has had a comparatively small part; there are in it perhaps not many great linguists or profound mathematicians, and the reason is obvious. The physician's studies do not lead him in this direction, while the peculiarly harassing nature of his avocation still further renders this field difficult. But as we would not expect from a lawyer a disquisition on Cerebro-spinalmeningitis, we should not ordinarily look to a physician for a treatise on the Greek accents, or an exhaustive work on Calculus. The medical profession has produced a literature, however, which has merited high praise. Dr. Addison Alexander once said that when he wanted to read a piece of strong excellent English, he resorted to the professional works of the great English physicians, since in them he found much of the best prose of the language. Let us look at this subject without prejudice, let us remember the Haveys, the Jeners, the Rushes, who have shed the light of their genius far beyond the precincts of their avocation; let us consider the good being done every day, by the thousand and one laborions, though obsure, physicians, the alleviation of pain, the preservation of health, the prolongation of life; and then let us fairly decide whether medicine is an inferior profession. a KOSCIUZKO'S TROTH AND DOLE. A BALLAD. [A few years ago there appeared in Harper's Magazine an interest ing biography of the Polish and American hero and patriot, Kos ciusko,―him of whom Campbell eloquently wrote, "Hope for a season bade the world farewell, and Freedom shrieked when Kosciuszko fell," and whose portrait in lockets the ladies of Poland are said, almost universally to have worn. In the closing part of that biography is the following passage. "Solemn and deeply affecting was the moment when Kosciuszko took leave of Zeltner and his family. All knelt down at the bedside of the beloved sufferer; he gave his blessing and addressed a word of love and consolation to each of them. Then, in accordance with the old custom, he caused his sword to be handed to him, gazed at it mournfully for a few moments, and laid it down by his side as if to intrust to it the custody of his ashes. On the 15th of October, toward nightfall, his strength was rapidly decreasing, and all felt that his end was close at hand. All at once he raised himself up with a last spasmodic effort, held out his hands to Mr. and Madame Zeltner, greeted his Emily* with a sweet smile, and, heaving a gentle sigh, sank back. He was dead. A post-mortem examination took place next day, and the remains were then enbalmed. The body was covered all over with the traces of old wounds; several deep scars adorned his breast, and his skull was crossed with sabre strokes. When the corpse was undressed the undertaker found on his breast a white handkerchief which he had worn there ever since his youth, and of the meaning of which few persons were aware. It was the last love pledge which Louisa Sosnowska, daughter of the Marshal of Lithuania, had given to him, and which he had worn on his heart for forty years past as a precious relic of his pure and only love. Forty years before, when the illustrious deceased had been but an obscure captain, he had wooed the young lady. But her haughty parents had scornfully rejected the poor young nobleman. An elopement was the consequence of this reply and already the two lovers had escaped under cover of night and were close to the goal of their wishes when armed pursuers overtook them. Kosciuszko defended himself with lionhearted courage, but he was overpowered and sank, severely wounded, to the ground. When he *The young daughter of Mr. Zeltner. She was devotedly friendly to Kosciuszko. awoke to consciousness all that he found of his beloved, was a hand. kerchief which was stained with his blood. He picked it up; it was the same handkerchief which was found after his death. It was on account of this unhappy love affair that the young officer quitted the Polish service and devoted his sword to the deliverance of the American colonies. He never forgot Louisa Sosnowska, and always re jected the advice of his friends to marry another lady." Upon this episode in the history of Kosciuszko, I have endeavored to construct the following Ballad. It may be that the ladies of Poland wore his portrait in remembrance of his faithfulness and misfortune in love as well as his bravery and sacrifices for Poland and Liberty. When I called the attention of an American damsel to the above passage in the life of Kosciuszko she declared it was the very story to write verses about. Hence the invocation I have used in my rude ballad. M. N. APPLEGETT.] BALLAD. Florence, maid of gentle soul, Kind as fair thou art, Tale of young loves troth and dole Kosciuszko's tender suit, "Rank is good, and gold is fair, But his own sweet will." Night with gentle shadows threw Rest nor peace o'er all, Far the lovers rode apace, Lula, mistress of his soul, From his arms they tore, |