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College; and it was not till the fatal Act of 1815 brought the certain Nemesis of overweening pride in the general lowering of the status of the profession, that any one seemed to think that there might be a nobler future in store for its Fellows. It had become little better than a gossiping club for Oxford and Cambridge graduates in medicine, with the select few whom they admitted into the Fellowship.
The origin of all this is not far to seek. The first failure lies at the door of the older universities of this kingdom. I will not venture to inquire how all the trusts placed in their hands have been discharged, but there can be no doubt that one of the most sacred—the encouragement of the study of medicine—has not had in times past the fostering care of either Alma Mater. Harvey himself left Cambridge to study in Italy, and from that day forward so little has that branch of science been regarded, that foundations set apart for its advancement have been awarded wholly on account of other distinctions, even to men who never opened a book on medicine and the allied sciences. It is true, indeed, that the English character has developed in her public schools and universities in a way that seemed to defy all antecedent probability—that the majority of those who have passed through the curriculum bear in after life the hall-stamp of gentlemen, and that a few have
