native country. What they saw at Dr. Finsen's institution fully convinced them of the importance and efficacy of the cure.

No sooner had the first lamp with its four lights been put into operation at the London Hospital, than an overwhelming rush of applicants for the cure followed; and the most piteous letters came from all parts of the country, written by sufferers, who begged that they might be received as patients. On April 20, 1901, a crowd of afflicted persons from the country took advantage of a cheap excursion to London for a great football match, to come up to town and urge their needs in person. Sad to say they had to return disappointed, for the number of patients already on the books was so great that they could not be reached for two years, during which time the loathsome disease would have continued its terrible ravages.

A second lamp, capable of treating four patients, was installed soon after the first; but even this only touched the fringe of the need, for, as the wonderful results of the treatment became more generally known, the crowd of urgent applicants increased every day. The cost of working one of these four-light lamps amounted to about £600 a year, and the expenses of the department added a very serious burden to the already overtaxed resources of the London Hospital.

About this time the marvelous cures effected by the treatment came under my own notice, and, after carefully investigating and convincing myself that a permanent remedy had been discovered for one of life's most awful curses, Mrs. Harmsworth and I resolved to endow one of the lamps in perpetuity. Shortly afterwards Mr. Percy Tarbutt very kindly raised the necessary sum to endow the second lamp, contributing generously towards the necessary amount, £10,000 ($50,000), himself.

Several other lamps have been recently added to the department at the London Hospital, and an improved and smaller lamp has now been devised which does as much work in fifteen minutes as the earlier type of lamp took an hour to do, though it is not yet quite certain whether the new lamps are equally effective in the long run.

Since the installation, in the spring of 1900, 398 patients have been treated at the London Hospital, of whom 149 have returned to their homes completely cured, and 232 are at the present time under treatment. Of these, however, seventy-two are practically

cured and do not attend regularly, but are still kept under medical observation. Fifteen nurses are wholly occupied in applying the treatment, and a large department is now being built for it at the hospital. How urgent the need continues to be, will be apparent from the fact that no less than 227 patients are at the present moment waiting to be treated. In the case of many of these, the disease will have made terrible progress before their turn arrives.

The Queen's gracious act in establishing the cure has had widespread effect, and has aroused keen interest, not only in the medical profession, but among the general public. Lamps for the treatment have been installed at the Charing Cross and Westminster Hospitals, and at many provincial ones, such as those at Liverpool and Manchester, and at the Royal Hospital in Dublin; and there is every reason to hope that lupus will be completely stamped out of our country in the course of a few years, if the public will come to the help of the hospitals by supplying the necessary funds for establishing the treatment.

It is not too much to say that the Finsen light treatment for lupus ranks among the most striking and beneficent discoveries which modern medical science has made for the benefit of afflicted humanity.

I cannot think it possible that men of means can know that so terrible a scourge can be absolutely and certainly cured, and yet allow the hospitals of your generous and enlightened land, from lack of funds, to continue without the necessary appliances for the Finsen treatment.

I append a letter, one of many hundreds received, giving thanks for a splendid cure: Twelve months since you were so kind as to take a child (Dorothy Fardon, Coventry) for treatment for lupus.

I have now seen her in her house, and found her perfectly free from any appearance of the disease. The place has healed without any mark more than a slight thickening of the skin about the eighth of an inch long, which is the same pink color as the cheek. No one would The child is in perfect health; she has grown much notice it without any previous knowledge of the spot. and developed according to her age, six years.

I cannot thank you sufficiently for having received her at the time you did, as I understand arrangements had been made by the doctor to remove the whole cheek, when Two DAYS BEFORE I was able to say you would receive and treat the case. I am sorry to add that I hear there is no lamp yet in the Coventry Hospital.

I hope you will receive the sincere thanks of Dorothy's parents, who are truly grateful, and mine also for saving one child from so terrible a future such a disfigurement would create.

A

MERICA has been slow to take up the new science of phototherapy, of which Dr. Finsen's discovery is the most important phase. Three reasons may be cited in explanation of this: first, the established conservatism and distrust of new methods characteristic of the medical profession in this country, which has kept the Finsen system out of our hospitals; second, the considerable expense of instalment and maintenance (apparatus, electrical power, etc.), which puts the matter beyond the reach of many practitioners; and third, the rarity of lupus, the terrible disease over which the new light has won so marvelous a victory.

It was in 1899 that the first Finsen tube to be used in this country was built for me from descriptions in an article published in a medical journal and from photographs furnished by Finsen's assistant, Dr. Bie, who was the author of the article. Owing to imperfections in mounting, this tube was soon broken, but not before the successful treatment of a number of cases of lupus had convinced me that Finsen's widely doubted and even derided claims were well founded. I made a hasty trip to Copenhagen, studied the light treatment under Finsen himself, and returned with another tube. Since then lupus cases have come to be treated from all parts of this country and Canada, and, except where the disease was far advanced, it has been uniformly eradicated by the wonderful rays, more surely than by the use of the knife. A few physicians in some of the larger cities have since taken up the treatment, and, I am glad to say, the number is constantly increasing. The treatment in use in America is the same as that employed at Copenhagen. By means of mechanical alterations, however, the Finsen tube is employed here in cases which could not be reached with the devices now in use in Finsen's hospital. Cases of internal abdominal tumor have been successfully treated by this apparatus. And it is to this improved mechanism, largely, that we may ascribe a notable advance in the use of the Finsen ray, which, I believe, is distinctively American: the treatment of cases of malignant cancer, more particularly those situated in the abdomen.

So far as I know, real cancer (carcinoma) has hitherto not been thought to be amenable to the beaming power of the actinic rays, whether internal or external. Lupus, it must be remembered, though presenting an appearance more terrible than that of true cancer, is a radically different and less malignant disease than that by whose name it is often called. Cancer proper has been generally regarded as hopeless. Having used the Finsen ray with good results in a case of cancer of the skin, I decided in 1900 to prove its results upon the deeper-seated cancer of the breast. Here, however, entered a difficulty. The Finsen ray has slight penetrative power. The use of the Roentgen, or X-ray, in connection with the Finsen ray suggested itself to me. The Roentgen ray, has extraordinary germicidal qualities, but no curative properties. Light heals; the Xray is not light, but something beyond light, the nature of which is an unfathomed secret. Therefore, to destroy the germs, I used the X-ray, which broke down the cancerous tissue and killed the bacteria. Then I used the Finsen tube to heal the open sore which resulted. The Finsen ray alone would have done the whole work had it been able to penetrate to the core of the ailment. Under the double radial attack the area of ulceration quickly shrank, and after several months of treatment disappeared. That was two years ago; there has been no return of the growth since. Subsequently, cases of abdominal cancer were treated with the same result. The Finsen light has also been found useful in the treatment of birth-marks. It gives rise to no pain, and leaves only a white scar which will undoubtedly fade out and in time assume almost a normal aspect.

It is yet too early to assert that the Finsen ray, used in combination with the X-ray, will definitely cure malignant cancer. Until the cases of apparent cure have been under observation for several years there can be no certainty that the disease is eradicated. This much, however, we may say that the dreaded scourge can be arrested even in its last stages, and the sufferings of the patient almost nullified by the simple action of the actinic rays. Should the apparent cures of

A"

MONG the handful of passengers on a Western Pennsylvania "local," one young man was neither bucolic nor commercial in appearance. He had laid his hat on the seat beside him; the shapeliness of his head fitted well with the trimness of his figure. Alert, humorous eyes, an incisive profile, and a narrow, determined chin set him forth as a man of good capabilities. Compressed lines about his mouth indicated intensity of nerves. Just now, lounging in the seat, he was obviously tired.

In a few moments he opened the window and sat forward, striving to identify the features of the landscape with which he had once been so familiar. Except that the iron mills extended farther down the broad river that the train followed, he fancied there had been little change; even the grimy faces of the halfnaked men who leaned here and there at windows out of the fire-flashing black interiors seemed to him those same imprisoned faces for which, as a boy speeding by, he had often caught a moment's compassion.

The country began; the smoke from the locomotive wrote its shadow upon smooth sunny fields, the river slipped away behind orchards and farms, and then flashed alongside cheerfully. The train shot by a group of boys naked on the beach; one who had swum out and clambered up on a row boat pitched himself forward for a dive.

"I can do those things still," thought the

young man gazing out of the open window. "I'm as strong as ever, my wind's as good, out doors all the time and plenty of exercise-" His mind trailed off into a vapid murmur of medical opinions for which he himself had been sufficiently good authority, even if they had not been corroborated by the older men at the hospital.

The cinders from the engine came through the window, sprinkling the empty seats with tiny crystals. The car was the last one on the train, and the dust swirled up from behind and floated in at the open door. Motes of it hung in the beam of sunlight traversing the young man's breast and remained his imperturbable companions.

He glanced about the car; a stout, suffering country-woman opposite him was fanning herself with a folded newspaper, while a small child climbed over her, drawing forth fretful complaints-"I wish't you wouldn't be so restless." Behind her two young farmers lay stretched out dozing, one with his head drooping over the aisle, the other with his head fallen against the window, both with feet symmetrically crossed upon the next seat. A large fly climbed their window patiently and fell back buzzing in exasperation; the tin cup chained to the water-cooler was shaken from its stand and went banging and jangling against the woodwork; the brakeman eyed it sullenly for a moment before putting it into place. In the forward end of the car, a pink, ro

bust looking girl and a dark, sunburned man with a flannel shirt and a gray slouch hat occupied a seat together. The man's arm lay along the back of the seat, and his hand dangled familiarly by the girl's shoulder. In the rack overhead were a handbag and a white parasol, from which hung a cascade of soiled lace. The girl wore a yellow hat; to the idle gaze of the young man behind her it resembled a mound of orange sherbet, which ought to be in process of melting.

Suddenly he saw her turn her face to the window, put her handkerchief to her eyes, and begin to sob. Her companion showed an indifference which, so far as could be judged from his back, might have been either brutal or polite. The observer was not long in doubt how to interpret it, for as the girl, wiping her eyes, rose to leave the seat, the man roughly dragged her back into it; whereupon she again broke into tears.

The young man who had seen all this strolled up to the front of the car, turned and walked slowly back, with his eyes on the pair. Then he stopped.

"Why, it's Sally Packer, isn't it?" he said to the girl.

She nodded, gulped down a sob, and put out her hand, saying, "Yes; you're Dr. Neal Robeson, ain't you?" He took her hand and held it under her companion's face. "Has this fellow been annoying you, Sally?" "Oh, go and sit down,' growled the man.

He was handsome, yet with no agreeable features with high, arrogant cheek bones, an insolent mouth, cold, steelcolored eyes, a mustache curled to a careful picturesqueness.

"Would you like to change your seat?"

She hesitated; then she rose timorously. The man made no attempt to molest her, and she passed out into the aisle. Robeson walked behind her; suddenly she turned and said:

"Can I sit with you? I must tell you about it." But when she had taken her seat she did not speak for a moment; then she broke out : "Oh, I don't know how to tell you; I'm so ashamed."

"Then don't try," Robeson advised. "How are your uncle Sol and your aunt Emeline? You're still living with them?'' "Yes, oh yes, ," she said, hastily. "I-I wonder if you'd tell?" Her immature, rather weak face darted at him an inquiring ray of acuteness. "I don't believe you'd tell," she decided. "I-I started to run away; that is, I meant to elope." She simpered a little, self-consciously romantic. "With Ike Braddish there; Sam Sipe's nephew, and boards with the Sipes when he ain't working. He's been a driller in the Skibo oil fields; he makes more money than any of the home boys. But he's always said there was just one thing that kept him from getting a steady job." "Yes?" said Robeson.

"Oh, yes," and she simpered again. "Well, I s'pose you've got to know, though I do say it. Why, he meant-me. Having to be running down to the Sipes all the time to see

was

me, don't you know. I s'pose I oughtn't to have done it, but I guess I'm a kind of a flirt -I know it's terrible and I kept him the longest time from getting to the point. Which that he wanted to marry me. "We-ell," she smoothed out her dress in a satisfied way, "so far, so good. For I couldn't know Ike without getting to sort of love him, don't you know. He is so handsome. But Uncle Sol and Aunt Emeline they couldn't abide to have him round, so I saw right off there would be a great to-do. And he knew this, too, and said we'd have to elope. Seemed," she interjected dreamily, "seemed like that would make it more of a love match anyhow."

66

"So you decided to elope," Robeson Robeson prompted her. "Yes, we arranged to go up to Avalon this noon and get married. I packed just a few things in my satchel and gave out I was going up to do some shopping and might spend the night with Sadie Fuller-she's Jess Torson's cousin; I don't know as you ever knew Jessand then I took the 11.15 train. Ike had gone up an hour before, so's nobody would suspect." 'Braddish met you at the station?" "Oh, yes; Ike was there. We went straight up to City Hall, for Ike hadn't got the marriage license, and of course we had to have that first. I set downstairs in the hall, while Ike went to hunt the clerk, and by and by he came back, looking pretty glum, I can tell you. 'Twas after twelve, he said, and the office where they give out licenses was closed and wouldn't be open till to-morrow." "H'm," said Robeson.

"You can guess what a disappointment that was to us both," Sally proceeded. "We went and had dinner at a hotel, and then we walked round discussing, and set on a bench in the park and talked. And Ike said, 'Let's stay and have supper, and then to-morrow get the marriage license.' But I said smack out, "No, sir,' and I got up to go, and told him I'd elope all over again to-morrow if he wanted, but I'd take the first train back to Rehoboth now. Well, he kept on coaxing and saying I didn't really love him or I wouldn't act so. When I got on the train, he got mad. And just before you came up, I'd asked him if he wanted to elope to-morrow; and he said, no, he did not, and that a woman that couldn't trust him didn't really love him, and he was glad to find it out in time."

In the recital of Ike's grievance, Sally's voice had risen to a distressed inflection, and now she blinked her eyelids. "And-and," she added, "he talked to me real mean."

Robeson looked at her thoughtfully. It baffled him that she could delude herself into believing that Ike thought she had failed at a crucial test of her love. Robeson felt that her maturity of figure, with her immaturity of years and character, was something reprehensible; and being suddenly placed in the attitude of adviser, he resented her knack of dress and her pretty face. She was what the Rehoboth people would term "well grown." The phrase was an impartial one for handsome girls and praiseworthy turnips.

"I'm sorry," said Robeson, "but Braddish deceived you. The marriage-license office is open all day. He could have got a license perfectly well."

"But why didn't he, then?" Sally exclaimed. "Why, what object could he have not to get it?"

Robeson decided to leave her to study that out.

"If you'll excuse me a moment I'll go and speak to Braddish," he said.

Braddish raised his eyes and fixed them on Robeson maliciously, but unshrinkingly, as the doctor, taking his seat in front, turned and faced him.

"You are about the most contemptible specimen I've struck," said Robeson. "I want you to clear out of Rehoboth within the next twenty-four hours-and I give you warning.' "Oh, you do," sneered Braddish. “And who are you, anyway?"

"Only one of a number. And if you should be found in Rehoboth more than twenty-four hours from now, and a party should set out to tar and feather you, I'd be helping." "And you'd get into difficulties," asserted Braddish angrily. "And you give me any more of your lip, and not all the train hands on board 'll keep me from pitchin' you off this car."

"I know the whole story," said Robeson, "and if it's told, there's not a man in Rehoboth that won't itch to lay his hands on you. And if you don't clear out by the time I say, it will be told. Just think it over." "Oh, go to h-1," replied Braddish.

Each man had kept his voice and his expression so under control that neither the dozing young farmers nor the exhausted brakeman nor the fat country woman gave them any thought. Robeson rose, saying very distinctly:

"I shall be at the station to-morrow afternoon to see you off on the 5.15 train-if you don't go before. The tar will be put on to boil at 5.30."

He picked Sally's satchel and parasol out of