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And when gas pipes were first placed in the
House of Commons, the members put their gloved
hands very carefully upon them, supposing that the
gas passed along the iron tubes, on fire. No pa-
tent was obtained for the invention, Boulton and
Watt, whose works Murdock superintended, being
overwhelmed with their own lawsuits over the
steam engine, and too busy to assist him. He died
unrewarded for his great discovery.

When Doctor Edward Jenner of England, first
discovered vaccination, and after many satisfactory
experiments had been made upon his own little
six-year-old son, the medical societies forbade his
speculations upon the subject at their regular meet-
ings under pain of expulsion, refused to try his pro-
cess, accused him of an attempt to “ bestialize ” men
because the vaccine was taken from a cow, and
many clergymen pronounced it “diabolical.” A
few years after, when the method became popular,
and Parliament voted him fifty thousand dollars for
his boon to humanity, small-pox having been a
dreaded scourge heretofore, and one hundred thou-
sand dollars later — then several physicians claimed
the honor of its discovery themselves !

Similar, in many respects, reads the history of an-
other of the greatest benefactors of our race, the
man who discovered anasthesia, or a way to render
persons insensible to pain while undergoing surgi-
cal operations or in other form. In hospitals and
on battle-fields, a few years ago, when limbs were
cut off, the patients often died in the excruciating
agony. Now, this dread aspect of human woe is
changed. Under the influence of ether, pain is not
felt.

For ¢4zs blessed alleviation, the world still owes
a great debt to Dr. Wm. T. G. Morton, an Amer-
ican physician, whose life was the same pathetic,
heroic struggle as that of most thinkers and invent-
ors.

Born in the little village of Charlton, Mass., Au-
gust 9, 1819, Willie Morton, as he was called, asunny
affectionate lad, passed his early life like other New
England farmer-boys, tapping maple-trees in the
sugar orchard, mowing hay, shearing sheep, and get-
ting such education as the town afforded. His mind
seemed naturally to turn toward medicine, his young
mates calling him “doctor,” because he experi-
mented upon them with bread pills, carrying them
about in little vials made from elder branches. This
early practice soon came to an inglorious end, when
he nearly caused the death of his baby sister, by
administering his “ medicine ” while she lay asleep

_in her cradle, whereupon he was severely adminis-
tered to in another manner.

His father, always feeling keenly his own lack
of collegiate education, determined that his son
should have opportunities for study, and, at thir-
teen, sent him to Orford Academy, where he made
his home with a well-known physician. Here he
could spend his leisure in poring over medical books,

LITTLE BIOGRAPHIES.—HOW SUCCESS IS WON.

and in talking to Doctor Pierce of the pleasure he
should some day have inhis profession. The grave
man would shake his head and say, “ You hardly
know what you talk about, and how hard I have to
work.” Later, he went to Leicester, using all his
time in an eager search for knowledge ; while other
boys were deep in the sports natural to their years,
he was peering and pounding among the rocks for
minerals, or studying natural history.

It was when he was at Leicester that there came
the first great sorrow of his life. His father, in an
unfortunate business partnership, lost his money,

‘ and as a consequence William, at seventeen, must

abandon his plans for an education, and at once go
out into the world to earn his daily bread. This to
a boy whose one ambition was study and research
was a test-trial of the elements in his character.

And then, what could he do! His mother, a
woman of unusual practical good sense set out
with himfor Boston. There she succeeded in plac-
ing him in the publishing house of Mr. James B.
Dow, a man of sterling integrity. As was the cus-
tom at the time, the boy lived in his employer’s fam-
ily. Mrs. Dow, a noble woman, tried to make him
contented, but he was so genuinely homesick that
at last, fearing for his health, as it seemed impos-
sible to overcome his despondency, he was returned
to his father’s house, where he remained for some
time, learning as he had opportunity, and saving as
much as he could for future schooling.

About the time he reached his twenty-first year,
a college of dental surgery was opened in Balti-
more. Other young men had made money in the
practice of dentistry ; perhaps he could earn enough,
should he learn this business, to carry him through
a medical course. For eighteen months he studied
diligently, using a small sum of money left him by
an aunt, and then boldly opened an office in Bos-
ton, where he made many friends, and did his work
well.

Two years of earnest labor passed, and then
from Farmington, Conn., one of the prettiest towns
in New England, he brought a lovely bride of eigh-
teen, Elizabeth Whitman, to share thereafter with
beautiful devotion his struggles and his fame. It
was about this time also that he entered the Medi-
cal School of Harvard University. At last, eight
years after his school life had been so rudely broken’
up, he had reached the goal of his hopes.

With what delight he attended clinics in the wards
of the Massachusetts General Hospital is well re-
membered by many; and it is recorded by Ben:
Perley Poore, the journalist, that such was his de-
votion to his profession that “a skeleton was kept
in his bridal chamber, and that rising long before
sunrise, he used to prepare himself for the anatomi-
cal studies of the coming day.” Late in the even-
ing, he would be found last at the dissecting tables.

His sympathetic nature shrunk from the agony he
had often to witness in the hospital. Heasked him