apparently with results as satisfactory as those which follow the administration of any of the usual remedies. We have, indeed, no remedy for acute rheumatism—a malady which not unfrequently proves fatal, which is always accompanied by great pain, and is a fruitful source of heart disease.

Under these circumstances, I need make no apology for bringing under the notice of the profession a remedy which, so far as my observations have gone, has given better results than any which I have hitherto tried, and I have tried all the usual remedies over and over again.

In the course of an investigation into the causation and pathology of acute febrile ailments, which has for some time engaged my attention, I was led to give some consideration to intermittent and to rheumatic fever. The more I studied these ailments the more was I struck with the points of analogy which existed between them. On a detailed consideration of these I shall not now enter. Suffice it to say that they were sufficiently marked to lead me to regard rheumatic fever as being, in its pathology, more closely allied to intermittent fever than to any other disease, an opinion which further reflection and extended experience have served only to strengthen.

Rheumatic fever is nowadays generally regarded as being produced by some cause or agency which is generated within the body. My own investigations into its pathology have led me to reject this view, and to adopt the old 'miasmatic" view of its mode of origin, according to which the cause which gives rise to the disease is introduced into the system from without.

Holding this view as to the pathology of rheumatic fever, impressed with the points of resemblance between it and intermittent fever, and bearing in mind that we have in quinine a potent remedy against the latter, there seemed to me good reason for indulging the hope that some remedy would yet be discovered capable of exercising a similar if not equally beneficial action on rheumatic fever.

In reference to the action of quinine on the various forms of intermittent and remittent fever, and, indeed, with reference to the action of the Chinchonacea generally on the diseases of tropical climates (ipecacuanha in dysentery, for instance), there is one fact which has always strongly impressed me-the fact, namely, that the maladies on whose course they exercise the most beneficial action are most prevalent in those countries in which the Chinchonacea grow most readily; nature seeming to produce the remedy under climatic conditions similar to those which give rise to the disease.

Impressed with this fact, and believing in the miasmatic origin of rheumatic fever, it seemed to me that a remedy for that disease would most hopefully be looked for among those plants and trees whose favourite habitat presented conditions analogous to those under which the rheumatic miasm seemed most to prevail. A low-lying, damp locality, with a cold, rather than warm, climate, give the conditions under which rheumatic fever is most readily produced. On reflection, it seemed to me that the plants whose haunts best corresponded to such a description were those belonging to the natural order Salicaces, the various forms of willow. Among the Salicaces, therefore, I determined to search for a remedy for acute rheumatism. The bark of many species of willow contains a bitter principle called salicin. This principle was exactly what I wanted to it, therefore, I determined to have recourse. It will thus be seen that the employment of salicin in the treatment of acute rheumatism was no haphazard experiment, but had a fair foundation in reason and analogy.

Salicin has long enjoyed a reputation for tonic and febrifuge properties, and was at one time a good deal used as a substitute for quinine. It has of late years, however, gone very much out of use, and now it does not even find a place in the British Pharmacopœia.

* Dr. Garrod in Reynolds's System of Medicine, vol. i. p. 906.

.

The idea of treating acute rheumatism by salicin occurred to me in November 1874. I had at the time under my care a well-marked case of the disease which was being treated by alkalies, but was not improving. I determined to give salicin; but before doing so, took myself first five, then ten, and then thirty grains without experiencing the least inconvenience or discomfort. Satisfied as to the safety of its administration, I gave to the patient referred to twelve grains every three hours. The result exceeded my most sanguine expectations. For some days prior to its administration the temperature had ranged from 101.8° to 103°; the pulse was 120, and the joints were swollen and very painful. On the 26th of November the alkaline treatment was stopped, and that by salicin commenced. On the following day, after eighty-four grains of salicin had been taken, the pulse had gone down to 100, the temperature to 99.6° (from 102-8° the previous day), a fall of over 3o, the pain and swelling of joints, but especially the pain, had much abated, the joints could be moved a little, and the patient expressed himself as being much better. On the next day (the 28th of November) the temperature was natural and the pain all but gone, the joints still remaining stiff. From this time he convalesced steadily and quickly.

The case was a very striking one; but, by itself, could not be regarded as proof of the beneficial action of salicin. I was quite aware that cases of acute rheumatism do sometimes unexpectedly improve without any treatment, and had no surety that this was not a case in point. It afforded me, however, strong encouragement to persevere with the salicin. This I did; and all the cases of acute and subacute, and several of the cases of chronic, rheumatism which have come under my care since then have been treated by this remedy, and with results much more satisfactory than I ever got from any other remedy-the results being most marked and most satisfactory in distinctly acute cases, and least so in chronic cases.'

THE STATE AND SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

To many, scientific knowledge, natural knowledge as the founders of the Royal Society chose to call it, seems to be advancing by leaps and bounds;' every day brings its fresh discovery, opening up strange views, turning old ideas upside down. Yet every thoughtful man of science who has looked round on what others beside himself are doing will tell you that nothing weighs more heavily on his mind than this: the multitude of questions crying loudly to be answered, the fewness of those who have at once the ability, the means, and the opportunity of attempting to find the answers. Among the many wants of a needy age, few, if any, seem to him more pressing than that of the adequate encouragement and support of scientific research.

Such a one, brought up in the midst of ideas dominant in this country, turns for help to private endowment, to rich men, desirous for one motive or another to be known as benefactors, or to universities and like bodies, to whom, in times past, money has been given for the advancement of knowledge. He turns to these at first. But sooner or later, finding, as he does find and always will find, that private endowments cannot supply all the aid for which he seeks, he is brought face to face with the question, Ought not the State to provide the help which is still lacking?

No one can deny that the progress of science is a matter of national concern; the welfare of the State no less than the well-being of the single citizen is bound up with the advance of natural knowledge; the material prosperity of the country and, what is as important, the intellectual strength of the people are at stake in the right and speedy answering of the many questions clamouring to be answered. Is it not the duty of the State to help directly that which is so essential to its well-being?

Such a question, however, need not be asked; for, as a matter of fact, the State does spend money, and large sums of money, on inquiries which, whatever be their immediate aim, cannot be spoken of otherwise than as purely scientific inquiries; some of them indeed are of a markedly abstract nature. It is difficult to say exactly how much it thus spent; but if any one took the trouble to examine

the Government yearly estimates for the period of a few years, and took note of the expenses incurred in scientific inquiries carried out on the one hand by the authority of one or other of the departments of Government either as part of their ordinary work or for special purposes, and on the other hand by the authority of Royal Commissions, Departmental Committees, and the like, with the view to obtaining a sound basis for legislation, he would find that these amount in the aggregate to a very considerable sum. In addition to this, the State, using the Royal Society as its agent, makes a yearly grant in aid of researches initiated and carried out by private individuals, working independently, and wholly free from Government control. And sometimes the State makes, as in the case of the Antarctic expedition, a special large grant for a special investigation.

Leaving aside for the present these latter grants and having in view the former Government expenditure only, I wish to consider briefly whether the money so spent is spent in the most economical way, and to the best advantage, either for the purposes of the Government or in the interests of science.

At the outset it is desirable to realise that there seems to be, or rather there is, and always must be, a fundamental antagonism between the spirit ruled, by which the State pays for scientific work, and the spirit led, by which the man of science succeeds in piercing the secrets of Nature, and accomplishes fruitful scientific work.

The spirit which rules the State in its ordinary payment of scientific work is, put baldly, that it should have its money's worth in return for the money spent. Let us suppose that in preparing for administrative action or for legislative measures a scientific question presents itself, and that an answer to this question must be found before the action is begun or the measure framed. The money value of the answer will depend on the importance of the action or measure itself, and on the prominence of the answer in shaping the action or framing the measure. The State can, by the help of these two factors, determine in a business way, within certain limits, how much it is justified in paying for the scientific work which provides the answer. It has itself no interest at all, or a very indirect one only, in the scientific features of the answer; it accepts and must accept the answer, whatever it be, as the judgment of science at the present day, and shapes its action or frames its measures accordingly. If the answer be clear and sharp, so much the better; if, as frequently happens, the question put being a difficult and complex one from a scientific point of view, the answer is vague and uncertain, it still answers its purpose, and can be paid for without offence to the business conscience; the only difference is that the action has to be shaped or the measure framed in a way to suit the vagueness and uncertainty.

In accordance with this spirit the paid scientific servant of the State, who for hire is working out the answer, must keep his eyes steadily

fixed on the answer, and on that alone; he must not wander away from the prescribed end; he must not be tempted to follow up questions which incidentally arise in the inquiry, but the answers to which might and probably would have no bearing on the main issue; a narrow path is laid out for him, he must not stray from it.

Very different is the spirit which guides the independent man of science, the private worker in any inquiry which he takes up; for that spirit is the spirit of perfect freedom. In the first place he is free to choose his inquiry; he selects a problem, not because that particular problem is allotted to him by some one else, but because the problem attracts him. Something within him pushes him on to solve it; or rather-and this is the happier case-the problem is such as to give him no rest until he has at least done his best to solve it. He starts on the inquiry with an impulse denied to him who undertakes a task not chosen by himself but offered to him by others.

In the second place-and this is the really important point-having taken the first steps towards the solution of the problem, having put the first questions, he is free to follow wherever the initial answers seem to beckon him. And experience has shown that absolute freedom to follow wherever Nature leads is the one thing needful to make an inquiry a truly fruitful one. Whatever be the nature of the inquiry on which a man sets out, whatever be the initial problem which starts him on his quest, sooner or later, as his work unfolds before him, there comes a time when there stares him in the face some new question arising out of the results which he is gathering in, but leading him right away from the goal immediately before him. The new question may be a small thing; if so, he merely notes it and passes on. But it may hold within itself the promise of things far greater than any possible result of the inquiry in hand. What is he in this case to do? Shall he, abandoning the old inquiry, throw himself heart and soul into the new inquiry thus suddenly opened up? Occasions such as these test the possession of the real gift of inquiry, the genius of research. The man who has not this gift either loses his way in fruitless wanderings into barren side issues, or misses golden opportunities by refusing to pay heed to any side issue. He who has the gift seizes on the right side issue, giving up everything to follow that; and the story of science shows us how again and again a new truth, standing out as a great landmark, has been won by the man of genius who dared to leave his main inquiry and follow out the trail which crossed his path.

In the third place, the private independent inquirer is free to be what we may call reckless in his research; and this is no slight advantage. Charles Darwin in the course of his work was again and again led to make what he used to speak of as a fool's experiment,' an arrow shot without definite aim into the unknown in the hope that it might bring something down. And we know from his Life that, not once only, a fool's experiment became in his hands the starting-point of a new