ABSTRACT
Our Society requires its retiring President to close the annual meeting with a discourse or sermon. Text and title having been selected, autopsychoanalysis, which, like prayer, is now one of my favourite diversions, revealed the fact that I was suffering from an acute, repressed desire to commit sabotage on our academic biology by hurling a monkey-wrench into its smug machinery. My mental condition is, no doubt, partly due to the disappointing spectacle of our accomplishments as more or less decayed campus biologists in increasing the number, enthusiasm and enterprise of our young naturalists. In our universities, apart from the students preparing to enter medicine, the number indulging in advanced and graduate courses in the science would probably shrink to zero if we failed to provide fellowships or to hold out to them at the end of a long pole that enhaloed bundle of hay, the doctor's degree.
