And every vestige gone from sight, and on
The viewless air, the elemental gas,
Bears all that once was tangible to us,
Still is the spot as ever unprofaned.

But now with ready pick and spade we delve
Earth's bosom through, lo! from the deep
Silurian, whose fossil-laden rocks
Bespeak our wonder; to the living present,
No place we touch, we do not find the mark
Of universal death. As mighty leaves
To a giant book, we turn each ponderous rock,
And find the dead are there. I pray you then,
Where is not holy ground?

Why all the earth
Is but a mausoleum, and no spot

Is left unhallowed by the hand of death.

Until we turn some corpse aside, nay more,

'Till millions from the charnel house are torn

And thrust behind, can we find sepulcher

That's fitting for our dead. What then? Why this:
There is no ground unsanctified. The isles

Of the sea, and the sea itself, are all alike

But grand repositories, and no land

Is distant, and no land is near. Alike

For all, our Mother Earth awaits, alway

To enwrap the forms that she has nourished, with
Maternal care.

Both time and space do vanish from our thoughts

When nature's great Arcana are revealed.

Our dead are here to-day. Not farthest Ind,

Not the wide ocean's deepest, darkest bed,

New England nor the sunny South, nor the broad
And boundless prairies, nor the necropolis
Of the moiling cities, nor the placid slopes
Of the fair Pacific hold them from our arms.
As in the olden times, we greet them once
Again. In outward form or ghostly shape
They are not here. But in love and gratitude,
In memory that knows no end, they live
With us to-day, a life that time ne'er dims.
The earth is full of the glory of their deeds.

Vast multitudes rise up to call them blessed.
And the little child and the aged man proclaim
Their praise. Armed with the subtile power to heal
Have they gone forth to face the pestilence,
O'er humble cots and in the mansions of
The lordly, they have shed their light of hope;
They have touched the victim of disease, and lo!
He has risen from his couch of pain, restored
To health. The winter's cold and summer's heat
Have not availed to turn them from their paths
Aside. Worn, tired, hungry and o'ercome
By ceaseless labors, they've risen at
The cry of sorrow, and have borne the cup
Of healing to the needy sons of men.
For them, no more life's duties call to work;
For them no more the patient sufferer waits.
Their work is done, well done in sight of God
And man. And so to-day we crown them all
As best befitting lives of nameless worth,
We crown them with unfading immortelles.

The President, Dr. J. H. McClelland, then made a few closing remarks as follows:

We count it a fitting thing to memorialize our departed ones in this beautiful temple dedicated to the living God. To gather up memories of those who have joined the great host on the other side during the past year, the mind must travel around the world; for the report of the Necrologist to which you have just listened indicates that our roll of dead is made up of names of those from the far away Orient as well as those more familiar to us who dwelt in our own beloved land, all of whom, however were co-workers with us in the broad field of medical science and bound to us as fellow-members of the American Institute. Some of them had borne the heat and burden of the day, while others had but taken up the ministry of healing.

The gentle poet, Gray, has painted in beautiful colors the pictures delineating that trait of human nature which cherishes and keeps green the memory of those who have gone to sleep, and depicts as well that phase of our being which shrinks from oblivion. Few of us are free from the feeling that looks forward to a cherished memory and a name that shall live after us.

From highest civilization to lowest barbarism, from most ancient Orient to most modern Occident, evidence appears on every hand of loving effort to keep green the memory of beloved and honored dead; and it is in response to this sentiment that we have assembled this evening and paid tribute to the worth and memory of our departed members.

I cannot but relate in conclusion a most interesting experience I have recently had, consisting of a pilgrimage to the homes of the four surviving members of the first meeting of the American Institute fifty years ago.

Two of these, Drs. Kitchen and Neidhard, live in Philadelphia, and two, Drs. Boardman and Ward, in New Jersey. I was greatly impressed with my interviews with these venerable disciples of Hahnemann, and felt that the testimony which they gave of their unfaltering faith in the principles which they had for over half a century espoused, came almost with the force of a dying declaration. One could not but think of the ancient gladiators who about to engage in mortal combat declared: We, oh, Cæsar, about to die, salute

you!

These venerable men about to meet the last great enemy, with trembling yet fearless accent, seemed to say: We, oh, Hahnemann, about to die, salute you!

REPORTS OF THE SECTIONS,

INCLUDING THE

SECTIONAL ADDRESSES,

PAPERS AND DISCUSSIONS.