Medicine: Contradicta

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The general practitioner — that twinkling beaver, who would cure typhoid, cardiac lesions, Bright's, Brown's and his Old Widow Smith's diseases with a pat on the cheek and a few friendly words, who would write prescriptions for warts, chilblains, the horrors, and baggy pants—is doomed to give way to the specialist, people have declared.

Said Dr. George E. Vincent, President of the Rockefeller Foundation, in a prolog to the annual report of the Foundation, shortly to be issued: "The general practitioner of ability, character and personality is a fundamentally valuable person . . . He cheers, encourages, warns, commands . . . not only a physician, but a friend . . . disappearance would be a serious loss."

Country mice, people have declared, are fatter than city mice—the old oaken bucket is a better vessel than the iron water pipe—the rugged farmer's lad, how he bulges beside the spindling sallowling from the city.

Said Dr. Vincent: "It is a fact . . . that the natural advantages which the rural districts possess are more than offset by the better health protection afforded by the city."