I was born in Jamaica Plain Jan. 26, 1885. We later moved to Newton Center where my sister Dorothea was born. My first certain memory is of moving to the house on Murray Street, Newtonville. The name Murray Street was later changed to Appleton as more genteel. At that time there were no sewers in Newtonville and each house had a cesspool. Next door lived the Uphams and back of us our land ran to that of the John Carters'. A brook ran nearby and would sometimes flood after heavy rains. I remember the occasion when our cellar was filled to the depth of seven feet and our house seemed an island surrounded by water. After that a big brick conduit some four or five feet in diameter was built to connect with the Cheesecake Brook. Our yard contained a large apple tree which was usually infested with tent caterpillars. My mother was interested in Natural History. One time she collected a lot of their cocoons and placed them in my bedroom. After I had gone to sleep they all hatched out and such a commotion is hard to imagine! I have never cared for moths since that time.

When I was eight years old, during a game of follow the leader, I jumped from the roof of the Upham's tool shed and broke my leg just above the knee. Our doctor was a homoeopath--Dr. Sylvester of Newton Center. How we called him I do not know, as we had no telephone in those days. There were no automobiles and when he came hours later, it was in his "horse and buggy". Luckily the skin wasn't broken, so after pulling the leg straight, he strapped me from my armpits to my toes to a board they found in the cellar. To prevent sagging from a soft bed, I was laid on a table leaf covered by a sheet. There I remained for seven weeks with a couple of bricks tied to my ankle and dangling over the edge of the bed. In spite of a bed sore caused by this heroic treatment, but perhaps also because of it, I had a perfect result. Dr. Sylvester used to visit me every so often to measure my leg. I well remember his cheerful manner and looked forward to his visits. Mother did all the nursing and used to read out loud to my sister and me by the hour. The poor woman would often drop off to sleep from sheer fatigue, but we would wake her up and hound her until she went on.

My mother's cousin, Annie Williams Sweetser, had a kindergarten and primary school on Fountain Street, West Newton. I went there when I was five or six. I remember being dressed in kilts and wearing a red fez! By the time I was seven, a two-story school (called the Froebel School) had been built for her on Highland Avenue, West Newton. Her sister, Cousin Ellen Williams, assisted her in teaching the older children. I went there until I was twelve when I was taken out to enter the public school (Claflin Grammar School in Newtonville).

Meanwhile Newton was busy making improvements. Between Newtonville and Newton Centre they laid out east and west what was then known as the Boulevard and which later became Commonwealth Avenue. At right angles to it they widened Appleton Street, and renamed it Lowell Avenue. To do this they had to move our house a couple of hundred yards to a new location on Elmwood Park. This park furnished us with a playground for scrub baseball (or, if enough of us, played regular baseball with sides), football, prisoner's base, etc. Boys and girls both played. In those days there was plenty of vacant land--much of it wild with woods and brooks and cliffs. There were lots of children and it seems to me now as I look at my grandchildren that we had much more fun then than nowadays when the automobile and a great increase in population have changed everything. All ages played together, and as the seasons changed, so did our play. Fall was the time for spinning tops, and marbles for the young ones--football for the older ones. In the winter, coasting--some on small sleds, others on big double runners. We used Otis Street hill, and on cold winter evenings when good frozen ruts had been made, a heavily loaded "bob-sled" would go for nearly a mile for the most part at high speed. There were accidents but no fatal ones. In spring the little ones rolled hoops while others walked on home-made stilts, and all played base ball. At times King Arthur and his knights rode again, and the woods echoed with the calls of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, or the blood-curdling shouts of Indians. In the summer many families went to the beach or to the mountains. We combined them at Sunapee, New Hampshire.

Summer vacations are a subject in themselves. The first one I remember was at Kennebunk Beach in Maine, when I was seven. Sand and rocks--, wading, rather than bathing, real Indians selling baskets woven of sweet grass and toy birch-bark canoes--launching of a three-masted schooner at Kennebunk Port--a family tin-type picture taken of Mother and Father (though Mother characteristically scratched out her face because it looked terrible), the surf after a storm, a horse mackerel as long as my father was tall--these are some of the memories I have of that vacation. Another summer, but whether before or after I cannot be sure, was spent at Messer's farm in New London, New Hampshire. To get there we took the railroad to Potter Place and then rode ten miles in a genuine stagecoach. That summer we drove five miles to lake Sunapee and saw what a wonderful place it would be to have a cottage. Another year we did hire a Camp Alaria for the month of July. There my sister and I learned to swim, sail a boat and paddle a canoe. As a result of these visits, we built a cottage next door to Camp Alaria, on the eastern shore of the lake, and there I spent every summer until well into medical school. Ethel Jaynes and I spent our honeymoon there.

As I have said, when we first lived in Newtonville, no one had a telephone. Our house was heated by coal and lighted by kerosene lamps. I well remember how thrilled we were when gas was first piped to us. It is true that even then the light was pretty poor, and it wasn't until much later that we used wellsbach gas light and could really see. Refrigeration was with ice. In the summer, at Sunapee, it was my job to dig the ice cakes out of the sawdust in the icehouse, wheel them a quarter of a mile, wash them and hoist them into the refrigerator. Newtonville village was a regular country town, with stores and a small Depot. All the men went to business in Boston and took the trains. My first memory of these is of very primitive ones indeed. They were just introducing air brakes, and some of the cars still had to be operated by brakemen. In winter there was a stove at the end, and the lights were kerosene or later acetylene. The engines, particularly the freight engines, were very old-fashioned indeed, with bulbous excrescences on the smokestacks. In Boston there were only horse cars at first. These were drawn by two horses, with the driver on the front platform. In wintertime he wore a real buffalo-coat, since at that time, about 1890, the western plains still swarmed with great buffalo herds. Shortly after this, electric cars were introduced, and perhaps about 1895 the Boston subway was dug between Arlington and Park Streets.

My grandfather Williams was a well-known Boston dentist. He had a very active practise, but by the time I remember him he was already doing less. This was perhaps in 1890 or thereabouts. He had his office in the Hotel Pelham, corner of Boylston and Tremont Streets, opposite the Hotel Touraine. Dentistry was still in the days of the foot-treadle drill and hand tools. Gold fillings were made from gold leaf, hammered into the teeth. He retired when he was about 75 and came to live with us in Newtonville (1896+ or -). He used to tell wonderful stories about the early days in Royalton, Vermont, where he was born, of wolves and bears and life on a Vermont farm. I clearly remember his telling how his grandfather, Silas Williams was given a grant of land in Royalton as a reward for his services in the Revolution; how he built a log cabin there, and then came back to Pomfret, Connecticut, to get his wife and two children; then how he loaded all he possessed on a sled, drawn by a yoke of oxen, and trekked back, one hundred and fifty miles, in part through a virgin wilderness. This was in 1781, a year after Royalton had been burned by the Indians and many killed and made prisoners.

My grandfather's cousin, Silas Gustavus Williams, lived in Newton Lower Falls when I was a small boy. He kept bees and I can remember visiting him with my mother. Two of his children, Cousin Annie (Mrs. Sweetser) and Cousin Ellen taught me in the Froebel School as I have written. Later descendants of "Uncle" Silas were children and grandchildren of Cousin Eliza Porter. Channing Porter, her son, was in my class at Harvard, and he and his family lived near us in Squantum. To return to my grandfather, he was married to Rachel Child in 1844 in Bellows Falls. He soon went to Boston and became a dentist. Apparently this was done by being apprentised to another dentist. We know that he had a brother-in-law who was a very successful one, Dr. Asaph Bemis Child, living in Somerville, Massachusetts. We also know that my Aunt Clarie (in 1851) and my mother Uleyetta (in 1853) were born at his house. It is, therefore, rather likely that grandfather learned his dentistry from Dr. Child and that during the apprenticeship he lived with him. Sometime after my mother was born, she and her sisters were taken by grandfather and grandmother to Ironton, Ohio. They were accompanied by Enos Child (Rachel's younger brother) and his bride, Ellen Williams (grandfather's sister) who had just been married in 1853. Ironton is located on the Ohio River, at its southernmost part, across the river from central Kentucky. Why they went and why they returned is a mystery. We find them back in Boston in 1861 and that grandfather was then assistant to Dr. Hitchcock at 141 Court Street, as recorded by my mother.

I entered Newton High School in the fall of 1898 and graduated third in my class in 1902. My sister Katharine was born when I was almost fourteen. Around 1900 we moved to the John Worcester House, part way up the hill to West Newton. Perhaps this is as good a time as any to speak about church and religion. My grandfather Williams was an ardent churchman, a Calvinistic Congregationalist. He had a library of sermons and theological writings. Mother, as so often happens, had so much strict Calvinism in her early life that she had become very liberal. My grandfather Macomber was a Baptist and the son of a Baptist Deacon. Father was liberal without any church affiliations. When we came to Newtonville, we settled in a Swedenborgian neighborhood, and the Swedenborgian Church was close by. At that time the clergyman was Rev. John Worcester. He was a fine man and fairly worshipped by his congregation. The result was that we children grew up Swedenborgians. After Mr. Worcester died, his Daughter Miss Margaret Worcester rented his house to us through her lawyer, Mr. Royal Pulsifer. About a year after we rented the house (ca. 1901) it caught fire one winter evening from a defective chimney. Mr. Pulsifer did not think the firemen were doing enough to save his clients' furniture, so he took a grandfather's clock in his arms and staggered out the front door onto an icy hill, with the inevitable result! While the house was being renovated from the fire, we lived still further up Hyland Avenue toward West Newton in the Dewson house. About the time I graduated from High School (1902) we were back in the Worcester house. There we remained until about 1907, when father bought the house at 23 Prince Street, West Newton. At that time I was in the Harvard Medical School. Grandfather Williams died in 1912 after I had graduated. He was a very striking man--well over six feet, tall with long, somewhat curly white hair. He was clean shaven except for a heavy white moustache. He was a very kindly old gentleman, with perfect manners. During his last years he used a cane.

I have as yet said nothing about the other members of the family. My grandmother I never knew, and even Grandfather's second wife had died. David, Grandfather's only son, died when he was 17 or 18. My Mother's five sisters I remember very well. The oldest was Aunt Eusebia. She married Dwight Tuxbury, a distant cousin and the owner of a large general store in Windsor, Vermont, when she was twenty-one. He was about twenty years older and had four grown children, Will, Ned, Charles and Fanny, by another wife. They lived in a fine old Vermont house, built in the southern style, fronted by four or five large pillars running up two or more storeys. When we were small we visited them two or three winters. The trip up was a rough one. We left Boston at the Fitchburg Depot and ran across country through Fitchburg, and Keene, New Hampshire, to Bellows Falls, Vermont. There we changed cars and took the Vermont Central R.R. to Windsor along the Connecticut River. Winter was winter in those days, sleigh rides, snowshoeing or skating with the temperature well below zero. It was and is a most beautiful region with Mount Ascutney towering in the background, the river terraces on which Windsor stands, and the Cornish Hills in front across the river. The last time I was there, the old covered bridge over the Connecticut was still in use. It was from Cornish that our Chase ancestors had come. The Sugar River empties into the Connecticut at Claremont some ten miles below Windsor. It is the outlet of Lake Sunapee about thirty miles to the eastward. After Uncle Dwight had died and after we had built our cottage at Sunapee, "Uncles" Will and Charlie, with all the others, at Windsor, used to come to an island on the west shore near Burkhaven.

Aunt Grace was my favorite aunt. For many years she was chief bookkeeper at DeWolfe Fiske and Co., booksellers in Boston. She never married, I believe, because the man she loved had died many years before. Aunt Clarie developed emotional trouble when she was adolescent and had to be confined to a mental institution all her life. I suppose it was a mild case of Dementia Praecox, which would be cured nowadays by shock treatment. Aunt Alice was bookkeeper at a brush factory owned by a Mr. Whiting. She married when she was over fifty a widower named Arthur Abbott, whose first wife had been her girlhood chum. Aunt Blanche was twelve years younger than my mother. She married Richard Buntin when I was ten. They lived in West Newton on Temple Street, a couple of houses away from ours on 23 Prince Street. My cousins Roger and Priscilla were close to the age of my sister Katharine. They are both married now but neither have any children; so the only one of my grandfather Williams' children to leave descendants for the future, was my mother through myself and my sister Katharine. My sister Dorothea is still living as I write this and so are Roger and Priscilla Buntin. Dorothea never married. She lives in New York. She is very artistic and has done portraits, but her chief work now is weaving. Priscilla and Roger married but have no children. Priscilla married Emile Gauguin, the son of the famous painter, and now lives in Florida.

Grandfather Macomber was 64 years old when I was born. When I first remember visiting him I was about five, so he must have been nearly seventy. He was then living at 69 Pelham Street in Newton Centre. My grandmother Macomber had died in 1872, and he had remarried four years later. Bessie, Leonard and Agnes (only three years older than I) were children by his second wife. As far as I know, Uncle Walter, Aunt Alice and Aunt Sally were living there too. Soon after they married; Walter in 1897, Sarah in 1898, and Alice in 1900. Grandfather Macomber was rather heavy and rather below the middle height. His hair was thin, very gray. and he too was clean shaven except for a moustache. He was very jolly. His father, Ichabod, was born in Bridgewater where he married and was in business until around 1820. His first wife had died previously and he remarried in Boston in 1820. He was a very successful business man. He had a store in Bridgewater at the junction of Foundry Street and the old Bay Road in what was called Furnace Village. He had interests in a grist mill and the Iron Foundry. In Boston he was an importer with offices on Foster Wharf. (1842) He dealt in West India goods, which meant sugar, rum and molasses. I have two chairs and a banjo clock from his office still in regular use. They are over 125 years old. In 1860, when my father was 8 years old, Grandfather lived in Shawmut Avenue. He had succeeded to his father's business but had subsequently gone into pickles and preserves with an office on Broad Street. Later he failed, and when I remember him, Uncle Walter had taken him in as a partner in W. L. Macomber and Co. After Uncle Walter died in 1898 my father came in to run the business, while still keeping his own paper business, and he and Grandfather had the same office, also on Broad Street. They had the clocks and chairs there. When Father retired, he took them with him and gave them to me in Lincoln.

William Jr., my father's oldest brother, went to New Orleans after the war and was very successful. He died in 1867 of Yellow Fever. Fannie married George Emerson who died shortly after the birth of his son, my cousin Howard. He is still living at the age of eighty-one (b. 1875). James was a businessman. He had one son, Philip who led a life of adventure from the Spanish War, as a sailor, in China, and ending up in the Navy as a warrant officer. He was the same age as Howard, but died a good many years ago. His brother Alexander is my age and a very successful electrical consulting engineer. He has no children. Aunt Ella taught in the Boston schools until she was seventy. She lived with Aunt Alice and later with Aunt Mary, Uncle Walter's wife, on Mt. Vernon Street. She lost her fiance and never married. Uncle George was in the clothing business with the Talbots. He became a partner and left a large estate. Only one of his three sons is still alive, George Arthur, Jr., who is president of the Cambridge Trust Co. Uncle George also went summers to Lake Sunapee where he had a house at Hastings. I have mentioned Uncle Walter. He was also a successful man and though he died at the age of 37, he left a substantial estate to his widow, Mary Burpee, of New London, New Hampshire. Aunt Sally married a Civil War veteran, George Adams, much older than she and had children. Aunt Alice married her girlhood sweetheart Robert Greenwood. He also came from New London, N.H. Aunt Alice taught biology at the Newton High School until she was married. She had a friend who was born in New London or went there summers, and it was through her that Aunt Alice first went there. It was of course through her that Uncle Walter--who had Tuberculosis ("consumption")-also went to New London for his health and married there, with the result that eventually my father built a cottage on the shores of Lake Sunapee. So much for relatives.

After graduating from High School I went to Harvard in the fall of 1902 (class of 1906). Harvard at that time was in a state of transition, still retaining many of the old customs which have since disappeared. There was a good deal of hazing, especially by the sophomores with whom we had a sort of free-for-all on "Bloody Monday." That evening the sophomores gathered at one end of the yard and the freshmen at the other. Then there was a mass rush to get through to the other side. Shirts were torn off and noses bloodied and occasionally more serious injuries were inflicted. It was frowned on by the authorities and finally abolished, I believe, in our sophomore year. The old football stands still stood, tho' the stadium was built and dedicated during my college life. Freshmen seldom got rooms in the yard. I roomed first year with Miles Libbey in Foxcroft, which used to stand near the new Lecture Hall on Oxford Street. Most of the students ate at commons in Memorial Hall, or "Mem" as it was called. There was a balcony from which visitors might see how the animals were fed. If ladies came, there was apt to be a rhythmic stamping of feet. The waiters were all darkies, and on the whole, board was unbelievably cheap and good. Charges were by the week. If you had to economize, you ate at Randall where you paid for what you ordered. As I remember it--bread and butter cost a cent and other items in proportion. The waiters there were students. My next two years I roomed alone in 13 Grays Hall, top floor, northeast corner. The rooms were unheated, except for a grate fireplace, in which each student tended his own coal fire. It got pretty cold at night if the fire went out, and it usually did, so cold that I have often had to break the ice in my pitcher to wash. Our beds were made by a "Goody" (an elderly female) and the room was dusted and swept, slops emptied and pitchers filled. The yearly rental for my room was $85!

Socially I wasn't much of a success. I didn't make any teams (I was substitute on the 1906 Basket Ball Team and got my numerals) but I didn't make any clubs or fraternities except Phi Beta Kappa. When I entered college at seventeen, I had no plans as to what I would do after graduating. I was particularly attracted to chemistry and planned my second year with a view to becoming a chemist. Toward the end of my second year I got my father's consent to going into medical school. My courses to that point had satisfied all the requirements, except for biology. By electing courses in Zoology and Botany, and by working exceptionally hard, I was able to complete the courses necessary for my A. B. in three years. I took my degree next year with my class. Magna cum laude, with special honors in chemistry. At the end of my second year, in which I got four A's and two B's, I was given a "Detur." I roomed in Stoughton during my first year in medical school with Sumner Smith and Leslie Maitland. My best friends in college were Otto Langmann and Sherry Cate, a Newton High School classmate and a very distant cousin through the Chase family.

The class in Harvard Medical School was a small one (less than 60) since the A. B. requirement had been in force only about four or five years. Ours was the last class admitted to the old building on the corner of Boylston and Exeter Sts. The adjustment from college to professional school was a little difficult to make, and as a result, I didn't do too well in the first half year (Anatomy and Histology). After that I caught on, and did sufficiently well to be appointed a student assistant in Physiology. Eventually I graduated third in my class of 1909 with a cum laude. After my first year, I did extra work summers in the hospitals, as externe in the Lying-In Hospital District, at the contagious department of the Boston City Hospital, and at the Mass. General Hospital. After graduating I was house officer on the South Surgical Service of the Mass. General for sixteen months and later at the Boston Lying-In.

It is a strange thing in how many ways my lifetime seems to have been one of transition--from the relatively simple life before the time of the Spanish War and the exceedingly complex one since the two world wars. One important factor has been the impact of the modern inventions and increase in scientific knowledge upon the individual through the mass production of wealth. As an example let me mention a few changes in medicine. In my second year in the school, we changed from a dingy single brick building to a set of five marble palaces. Within a few years this rebuilding program had spread to Harvard College and to the hospitals. In my boyhood no one I knew had telephones or electric light. A few bold spirits rode on bicycles with an enormous front wheel and a small rear one. Then came safety bicycles, rubber tires, automobiles. Think of the effect of the automobile and the telephone on the practise of medicine. Many changes have taken place as a result of medical discoveries. Diphtheria and Typhoid have all but disappeared. Syphilis and Gonorrhea are now entirely curable. Pneumonia is no longer feared and even the name of Scarlet Fever is no longer being used. The surgeon, having conquered the dangers of infection and shock, now opens the chest in addition to the abdomen and head, and operates freely on the heart and blood vessels. There is nothing he is unable to operate on even the personality. One must admit, however, that there have been certain disadvantages which have come along with the blessings of progress, There may have been cases of virus Pneumonia, Coronary Thrombosis and acute Pancreatitis, but we were blissfully ignorant of them.

Before going on to my life after starting practise, I must record a few anecdotes of the hospital years. At the Mass. General, the internes lived in a little old-fashioned building of two stories, just off the "brick corridor". There was a large living room and bathroom and just enough bedroom space for fifteen house officers, or house pupils, as we were still called. As a result the five beginners (one for each of the three surgical and two medical services) had to sleep outside the hospital where they could. Even when on duty they were not allowed up in the "flat", as our dormitory was called, unless especially invited by one of the seniors. On the visit they marched behind the visiting man with the senior on his left and the junior (Rt) and Pup (Left) who followed in the second rank. As we approached any doors into wards or corridors it was their duty to run forward and hold the door open for the cavalcade. At that time the surgical services had a convalescent home on the grounds of the McLean Hospital in Waverly. The beginning house officer on the surgical side was called an etherizer, and three etherizers divided up that 4-months part of their internship to go out there in the afternoon to dress the patients' wounds and stay until next morning. The superintendent was a very dignified nurse named Miss Scott. She and the one pupil nurse and the house officer had meals together. If carving had to be done, it was the duty of the latter. I well remember my first meal. I had never done any carving, so you can imagine my feelings when a roast duck was set down in front of me. I had watched my father carve on many occasions, so I took fork and carving knife in hand and bravely set to work. Either the duck wasn't thoroughly cooked or it was a peculiarly elastic one; at any rate, no matter how hard I tried I couldn't transfix it with my fork. As I more and more desperately tried, and grew redder and redder in the face, all of a sudden the duck slipped from the platter, coasted across the table and landed in Miss Scott's lap! I will say that she behaved like a lady and that we became great friends later, but I shall never forget the horror of the moment as long as I live.

When the house officers were first allowed to live in the flat, we were still under strict discipline. If we failed to rise when a senior entered or were fresh or slack in our work, a dire punishment awaited us called rotating. Our beds were simple metal cots. If we needed disciplining, the senior would wait until we were sound asleep. Then he would quietly enter the room, grasp a leg of the bed and give the bed a quick flip. If done expertly you hit the floor with a bang, mattress, blankets and bed in a pile on top of you. I only remember being "rotated" once. The sensation was enough to make me walk straight from then on. The "Pup" period of service, like that of Etherizer, also lasted four months and was followed by four as Juniors and four as seniors. Between them the five Pups kept the flat with eatables and drinkables in addition to what the hospital provided in the form of meals. The cost of this was considerable, about $200 for each pup. They divided the four months into five parts, one for each Pup who was then called the "Purveyor." Woe be to him if the box wasn't fully provided when any hungry Senior or Junior wanted a snack.

The last eight months of the internship were months of increasing responsibility. There were no residents in those days and it was the duty of the Senior to run the service smoothly under the supervision of the visiting surgeon. If his work was satisfactory, the Senior was given a good deal of operating to do himself. At the end of the sixteen-month service, a man was qualified to do the surgery of a general practise and to take out an appendix or do a simple hernia repair, but if he intended to go into surgery as a specialist, he served an apprenticeship as assistant to one of the older men. Before going on to describe my internship at the Boston Lying-In Hospital, I must try to describe the peculiar bathroom in the House Officer's Flat at the M.G.H. It was a large room, perhaps twenty by fifteen with a water-tight copper floor connecting with the plumbing drain. This was covered with a wooden slat floor on which we walked. Against the walls were some six or seven washbowls and mirrors and in the middle a line of three tubs placed lengthwise. The drain connections had been plugged up so that they could be filled to the brim, though if the water became soapy, the plug could be removed and the tub drained in the regular way. The middle tub was filled with cold water but the two end ones with hot. It was the height of luxury to relax in the hot water with only nose and eyes showing above and then with a swing of the hands and the arms vault into the cold water. Even after a sleepless night of work with some emergency, such treatment would restore pep and energy.

The Lying-In Hospital was located at 24 McLean Street in three old houses which had formerly been part of a block of residences. Passages had been cut through and rather primitive features added, such as a small operating amphitheatre, plumbing and an elevator. For instance, the operating room had a wooden floor, the house officer's bathroom a square tin tub and the elevator was operated by pulling on a rope. There were no orderlies, and the house officers had to do all the shifting of patients. Externes were called through speaking tubes; there was nothing that could rightly be called a laboratory. In spite of all these defects of equipment, the work done was extraordinarily good. The service was six months, half of which was given up to supervizing the externes, six weeks at the main hospital and six at the "Branch" on Harrison Avenue at the South End. This latter was run by a character named Maggie and her assistant Lilly. In her way she was a tyrant, but if you got on her good side, a benevolent one. As I think back on my medical training, a large part of it was by "characters" who didn't have medical degrees and often occupied very humble posts but who served for years in the "medical army" and knew more from experience than could be got out of books.

After graduating from the hospitals, my father was good enough to give me nine months abroad. I spent some seven months of this in Germany, chiefly at Munich where I studied German and attended lectures in Obstetrics by Prof. Doederlein. I met other students and through them saw something of their life, particularly the duels and drinking bouts. Later I took a course in operative Obstetrics at Berlin under a young Docent or Instructor. Finally I travelled through France, Holland, Switzerland, Austria, Hungary, and Italy.

On my return I became assistant to Dr. Edward Reynolds. I also taught as the first alumni assistant in Obstetrics at the Harvard Medical School. During this time I roomed with Gorham Brigham and Bill Parker at 416 Marlboro Street, where we had our offices. This was in 1912-13. In 1913 we moved our offices to a building further up Marlboro Street, owned by Dr. DeNormandie. That year Gorham Brigham was married to Helen McKissock. Not having much to do evenings, I often went out home. Father had moved to 23 Prince Street, in West Newton, while I was first or second year in medical school, so that my sister Katharine would be nearer to the Carroll School where she went. In West Newton there was a very active dramatic club, the "Players." Having time on my hands, I decided to try for a part in an amusing play by Jerome K. Jerome which they were putting on in the fall of 1913. I had bought a Ford car a year before and could be on telephone call. My practise consisted chiefly in assisting older doctors and in etherizing, so nothing interfered. The leading lady was Ethel Jaynes who lived at 76 Prince Street. It wasn't long before I became definitely "interested." Before New Year's we were engaged, and married June 17, 1914.

For various reasons which I need not specify, I had failed to get a staff appointment to the Lying-In Hospital, so I had determined to set up an office in West Newton and go in for general practise while still continuing to assist Dr. Reynolds and other surgeons and give anaesthesias. In making the transition, I had an opportunity to act as physician to the Harvard Engineering Camp at Squam Lake in New Hampshire. I had spent some four or five weeks the previous summer as doctor with Mr. Harold Coolidge whose son was a patient of Dr. Dan Jones. They made it possible for me to have a cottage on the Sandwich end of the lake from which I could carry on a general practise as well as see patients at the Engineering Camp. I hired a motor boat so that I could get to patients by "land or by sea", and thus I had a set-up for a wonderful honeymoon which would pay for itself. All I had to do was to pass the New Hampshire state board examination. This I did before we were married.

We had a wonderful summer (including a week or ten days at Sunapee) and all went well. Even the beginning of World War I had very little effect on our lives here in America in those early months. Ethel and I lived at 76 Prince Street with her mother and father, but I had an office at 41 Highland Street in a house owned by the Romkey's.

I find these reminiscences running to an inordinate length; I have decided, therefore, to bring them to an end with a few dates and facts [omitted, ed.]. Perhaps some later date I will add some more details, but for the present enough is enough.