The writer, as an invited guest of the Boston Christian Science Association, attended the ninth anniversary and picnic of that body last week, at the "Point of Pines." It was an occasion of great enjoyment.
Among the sources of intense gratification which I, as a medical man, experienced there, was the exemption from listening to the physical complaints of three score females! Did I ever before meet with a similar body of people? I asked myself, as I sat at that long dinner table, overlooking nearly one hundred ladies and gentlemen, enjoying that bountiful feast, and not one of them presenting occular proof of disease, nor one regaling her or his neighbor with the usual encyclopædia of the "ills to which human flesh is heir." Well—never! "And," said I, "if this is the result of the teachings of this 'Science'—for science it must be which will deter most people, especially females, from inflicting their friends and neighbors with an eternal recital of their ills—I say, with all just men, God speed the Christian Scientists. The Boston Herald, that usually correct newsdealer, erroneously reported me on this occasion as "Reverend." My title is not one of divinity, but a medical title. It also reported the poem, "My Aine Countrie," (Scotch), as an "original" poem.
Eggleston Sq., Boston, July 20th.
