THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.

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that most difficult of all foes to overcome. Said one of the prominent professors in the medical world, now holding a chair in one of the eastern colleges: “History, physiology, and the general judgment of society, unite in a negative of woman’s fitness for the medical office.” In the “Buffalo Medical Journal,” 1869, is found among its edi­torial, the following: “If I were to plan with malicious hate the greatest curse I could conceive for woman; if I would estrange them from the protection of women and make them so far as possible loathsome and disgusting to men, I would favor this so-called reform, which proposes to make doctors of them.” This was in 1869, less than twenty-five years ago. We trust this editor has taken the position of the wise man, who always changes his mind when he finds that his conclusions have been based upon false conceptions. We hope that he is alive today to see that his prophecy has failed utterly of its fulfillment. The curse which he feared has proved a blessing both to men and women. Why should the office of physician make women “loath­some and disgusting to men?”

The modesty and sense of propriety, which, in their opinion, should forever keep us from the halls of medical colleges where we may study with all grave and reverend feeling the mysteries of these bodies of ours, which are truly “fearfully and wonder­fully made,” and which can only inspire us with awe, and a more firm belief in the wisdom and love of our Creator. While this type of person is filled with consterna­tion at the thought of woman as student and physician, there seems never to have entered his masculine brain the possibility of woman’s objection to lay bare all her secrets and sufferings, and to receive the administrations necessary at his hands. Custom has so long given him these privileges that he cannot easily adapt himself to any change. It was said, too, that the result of woman’s medical education would be a lowering of her moral nature. This also has proved untrue.

It is said, also, that woman has not sufficient physical strength to endure the demands of the life of the physician. This also is fallacy. In reply to questions sent out to large numbers of women in the profession, the universal answer has been “ health better than before entering the profession.” Many of them add: “ I attribute it to the constant tonic of fresh air.” To be sure it is a laborious life, so is that of the society woman, with far less mental compensation. Work seldom kills; to each of its victims can be counted ten killed by discontent, born of too much time, and too little definite aim and purpose in life. It is well known that the Blackwell sisters, Eliza­beth and Emily, were the pioneers in medical education. This was in 1845. There was no college willing to admit a woman, and not until 1849 did the elder sister grad­uate. A Boston journal at that time published an article in which we find this sen­tence: “The ceremonies of graduating Miss Blackwell at Geneva may well be called a farce. The profession was quite too full before.” Even this criticism did not put a stop to the whole business, as evidently this cynic expected it would. Think of the crowded condition of the profession having added to its numbers one lone woman. It was the beginning of a new era. What had been done could be done again. It is interest­ing to note the courage and perseverance of these women. Dr. Susan B. Edson was the entering wedge to open the doors of the Cleveland Homoeopathic College. She grad­uated in 1854. Says the “ Woman’s Tribune: “ This college would not sell its scholar­ships to women.” It was owing on the construction of its new building which it could not pay, and the creditor insisted on having a scholarship before he turned over the keys of the building. This scholarship he sold to Miss Edson, who became thereby entitled to enter. They had a faculty meeting over her, and decided that she could not enter the following year, but she informed them that she should be there. “Well,” said the president, “ it will not be very pleasant for you.” “That is your lookout,” said Miss Edson; “ If the men who come here to study medicine cannot treat a woman decently here, they are not fit to treat them elsewhere. If I live I shall be here.” When the authorities found that she could not be frightened away, they admitted a few others who applied later. Dr. Edson was for years the physician of President Garfield and his family, and “ was in constant attendance upon him during his last