Welsh Journals

fifty years and is still going on, against what is now recognised as one of the most destructive groups of disease-producing organisms with which science has to contend. The value of his discovery to medical and veterinary men is im- possible to exaggerate, and his many friends and admirers will rejoice with us in the tribute paid to him at the meeting of the British Association last month. We shall not readily forget the burst of cheering which greeted Dr. Du Toit's appreciation of this Welsh scientist, and the de- light with which the audience learned that "this veteran of science, Griffith Evans, is still alive to-day, with more than four score years and ten to his credit, and is able to watch, from his home in Bangor, the progress which has been made in this field of work." THE career of Dr. Evans has other interest for scientists besides his discoveries about the trypanosome which bears his name. The subject of his graduation thesis, written in 1864, was "Tuberculosis," and in this he gave evid- ence of its infective character and advocated the open-air treatment. Professor Fraser, of McGill University, challenged the infection the- ory in Convocation, but young Evans held his ground and produced evidence of his own obser- vation. Tetanus was another field in which he showed his power of original thought. At Ips- wich, in 1870, there was a bad outbreak of the disease. Every case had proved fatal. Then the child of a sergeant in the battery was smitten. Evans was invited to a consultation, and gave his view that the disease was a specific fever, due to a specific cause, for which there was no known specific remedy. Arguing from his experience of the disease in horses, he urged that the treat- Ol rolling, treadmill world whose blue Of sky but waiteth to be bled- That is a whirling garland, too, Or roses white and red O trees that would pick up their roots And dance away for very joy, And gardens that would with their fruits Through grey hairs find the boy Of birds whose songs I cannot bear, Who flaunt a mad, ecstatic tune As if it held, the cruel year, No other month but June; O! sweet, O! honey-laden hour! Why should one know despondency NEAR NEVIN (Caernarvonshire). ment should be rest in a dark silent room, no noise from without or within, no food of any kind nor any medicine, but let the patient drink water ad lib and leave the rest to nature. He was challenged to accept responsibility for the case, and with the consent of the child's parent he accepted the challenge. Then, as always, he had the full courage of his convictions, and he won. The case recovered. DR. Griffith Evans remembers Wales in the hungry 40's and the days of the mail coach. He had friends who knew the Ladies of Liangollen. His father, the first man in Western Wales to sign the teetotal pledge and the founder of the first teetotal Society at Towyn in 1837, knew Cobden. He himself met and talked with Abraham Lincoln, and with Lincoln's personal pass in his pocket, spent two months at the front with the Northern Army. Here he met Butler, Grant, Sheridan and other famous north- ern generals. He saw the great rush West in the sixties, and the activities of the Fenians in Canada. He was "behind the scenes" in India when Lord Roberts made his historic march to Kandahar. He knew Madame Blavatsky. And his recollections of these events and persons, and of many more equally interesting, are as vivid and clear to-day as ever. In these days of juven- ile autobiographies we are apt to forget what a full life really means, and we are glad to see that Dr. Evans has allowed the Press, awakened by the British Association tribute, to interview him and to publish a few of his reminiscences. We hope he will allow these interviews to continue, and in the course of them tell his whole story. It is a tale in which Welshmen will delight, and he will be doing a national service. JUNE When in the field the trumpet-flower To harvest calls the bee; O! June, why should'st thou, in my need, Of all the twelve months of the year That make the rosary of my creed, Be but the loveliest tear; Why should thy calm make for unrest, Thy golden meadows make for moan, When promise does the swallow's breast The very pink of dawn ? O can it be that now, at last, The child in me that worshipped all, For much chastisement in the past, Has fled beyond recall! Huw Menai.