young and old, who, as specimens of physical manhood and womanhood, are
far from perfect. He will see many who are young in years but who are old
in looks and physical bearing. They creep or shuffle along as if bowed
down with the weight of years, lacking the graces of buoyancy and
abounding youth. They are bent, gnarled, shriveled, faded, weak, and
wizened. Their faces reveal the absence of the looks that betoken hope,
courage, aspiration, and high purpose. Their lineaments and their gait
show forth a ghastly forlornness that excites pity and despair. They seem
the veriest derelicts, tossed to and fro by the currents of life without
hope of redemption.

Their whole bearing indicates that they are languid, morbid, misanthropic,
and nerveless. They seem ill-nourished as well as mentally and spiritually
starved. They seem the victims of inherited or acquired weaknesses that
stamp them as belonging among the physically unfit. If the farmer should
discover among his animals as large a percentage of unfitness and
imperfection, he would reach the conclusion at once that something was
radically wrong and would immediately set on foot well-thought-out plans
to rectify the situation. But, seeing that these derelicts are human
beings and not farm stock, we bestow upon them a sneer, or possibly a
pittance by way of alms, and pass on our complacent ways. Looking upon the
imperfect passersby, the observer is reminded of the tens of thousands of
children who are defective in mind and body and are hidden away from
public gaze, a charge upon the resources of the state.

Such a setting forth of the less agreeable side of present conditions
would seem out of place, if not actually impertinent, were we inclined to
ignore the fact that diagnosis must precede treatment. The surgeon knows
full well that there will be pain, but he is comforted by the reflection
that restoration to health will succeed the pain. We need to look squarely