reverence for the mighty minds of old, and a keen appreciation of the importance to our profession of a study of history, may be put in the scales against defects as to the appreciation of which I have still remaining sufficient self-detachment. The lesson of the day is the lesson of their lives. But because of the ever-increasing mental strain in this age of hurry, few of us have the leisure, fewer still, I fear, the inclination, to read it thoroughly. Only with a knowledge of the persistency with which they waged the battle for Truth, and the greatness of their victory, does the memory of the illustrious dead become duly precious to us.
History is simply the biography of the mind of man; and our interest in history, and its educational value to us, is directly proportionate to the completeness of our study of the individuals through whom this mind has been manifested. To understand clearly our position in any science to-day, we must go back to its beginnings, and trace its gradual development, following certain laws, difficult to interpret and often obscured in the brilliancy of achievements—laws which everywhere illustrate this biography, this human endeavour, working through the long ages; and particularly is this the case with that history of the organized experience of the race which we call science.
In the first place, like a living organism, Truth grows, and its gradual evolution may be traced from the tiny germ to the mature product. Never springing, Minerva- like, to full stature at once, Truth may suffer all the hazards incident to generation and gestation. Much of history is a record of the mishaps of truths which have struggled to the birth, only to die or else to wither in premature decay. Or the germ may be dormant for centuries, awaiting the fullness of time.
