Horn. 294 |Nov, 16, 
of himself and his own attainments and accomplishments as anything 
more than an effort to follow in the footsteps of him who had given him } 
the ability and opportunity to do so, hn 
[ dwell principally upon the moral qualities of our departed friend, be- 
cause I trust that the Society will obtain a complete account of his scien- 
tific abilities from Dr. Horn, who has been first his pupil and then his col- 
laborator for twenty odd years, Let us place on our records that memorial 
of a blameless career in science, and its application to the uses of human 
existence. 
For myself I can only speak of what fills my heart to the exclusion of 
all other thoughts—of the lovable nature of the friend whom we shall never } 
again see, Let the world reverence his memory as a discoverer, as a 
philosopher, asa genius. I can only remember John Le Conte as an en- 
gaging friend, a faithful friend, a speaker of the truth, a judicious adviser, 
a companion to think with, a reliable coadjutor to deal with, but still, 
above all, as a most affectionate and trustworthy friend. 
I place above all his other exceptionally shining qualities his affection- 
ateness. He was a lover; and all the world loves a lover. But good lovers 
are said to be good haters. I doubt the truth of the saying. Selfish lovers 
may be good haters, but the perfect lover is incapable of any hate that de- 
serves the appellation. Le Conte was one of the men who liked to be hp 
called John, He had a regularly woman’s heart. And yet he could not 
hate anybody. When he tried, he simply made himself ridiculous. I have 
often laughed at his wrath ; it would no more counterfeit real hatred than 
a crystal of smoky quartz can counterfeit charcoal, His innate lucidity of 
good nature could not be veiled; it was as if a cherub knit its brows. 
And this innate good nature, allying him with the universe, was the sal- 
vation of his science, for it protected his mind against those damaging and 
delaying passions which futilize the career of men of talent, hough their 
horses and steal the linchpins from their chariot- wheels. 
Lovingly he lived and worked many, many years—as many as were good 
for him. The world wants us all ; and yet needs none of us. It is of no great 
consequence who is who, or what or how much any one does. What one 
leaves another takes; what one begins, some one else is sure to finish. 
But surely the memory of a friend is blessed, and such a friend as has just 
left us can never be forgotten. 
Memoir of John L. LeConte, MD. By George H. Horn, M.D. or 
\ 
(Read before the American Philosophical Society, December 7, 1883.) 
John Lawrence LeConte was born in New York City, May 138, 1825, ana 
died in Philadelphia, November 15, 1883. He was the son of Major John 
Eatton LeConte and Mary A. H. Lawrence. When but a few weeks old 
his mother died, and the father thenceforth seemed to live solely for the 
