Memoir.
Gentlemen—Fellows of the College
of Physicians of Philadelphia:[1]
Some years have now elapsed since we were deprived of one of the ornaments of our profession—the late venerable President of this College, Dr. Thomas Chalkley James. His death, though at last sudden, had been long expected by himself and friends from the evident decline of his health, and from the premature approach of those infirmities which too surely indicate the decline of life.
We all knew him. We all loved and respected him. It could not be otherwise. The senior members of this college viewed him as a friend and brother, who had always been their chosen companion and their fellow labourer in all the duties of this society, and of the profession to which they were alike devoted. The younger members looked on him with love and veneration, for he had been their medical teacher—their friend, their counsellor, and, as far as practicable, their benefactor. His example had always been presented, as most worthy of imitation. And, when he departed, they felt, and still feel, as if one important link in that golden chain which binds this generation to the past, was, unfortunately for them, severed.
The college lost one whose devotion to its interests had been sincere and long continued; and whose virtues, age, and experience had deservedly placed him in the most prominent station in its power to bestow.
To his immediate survivors, it would therefore be useless to depict the character of our lamented president; but for our successors, and for posterity, the record should be made, not only that justice should be shown
- ↑ Read before the College of Physicians, at the stated meeting in June 1841.
