John Torrey. 419 
daily reports upon the very day of his death, and quietly tell- 
ing his son and assistant that it would not be necessary to bring 
him any more), he was frequently requested by the head of 
the Treasury Department to undertake the solution of difficult 
problems, especially those relating to counterfeiting, or to take 
charge of some delicate or confidential commission, the utmost 
reliance being placed upon his skill, wisdom, and probity. 
In two instances these commissions were made personally 
gratifying, not by pecuniary payment, which, beyond his sim- 
ple expenses, he did not receive, but by the opportunity they 
afforded to recruit failing health and to gather floral treasures. 
Kight years ago he was sent by the Treasury Department to 
California by way of the Isthmus; and last summer he went 
again across the continent, and in both cases enjoyed the rare 
pleasure of viewing in their native soil, and plucking with his 
own hands, many a flower which he had himself named and 
described from dried specimens in the herbarium, and in which 
he felt a kind of paternal interest. Perhaps this interest cul- 
minated last summer, when he stood on the flank of the lofty 
and beautiful snow-clad peak to which a grateful former pupil 
and ardent explorer, ten years before, gave his name, and 
gathered charming alpine plants which he had himself named 
forty years before, when the botany of the Colorado Rocky 
Mountains was first opened. That age and fast-failing strength 
had not dimmed his enjoyment, may be inferred from his re- 
mark when, on his return from Florida the previous spring, 
With a grievous cough allayed, he was rallied for having gone 
to seek Ponce de Leon’s fountain of Youth. “No,” said he, 
“give me the fountain of Old Age. The longer I live, the 
more I enjoy life.” He evidently did so. If never robust, he 
was rarely ill, and his last sickness brought little suffering and 
no diminution of his characteristic cheerfulness. To him, in- 
deed, never came the “evil days” of which he could say, “I 
have no pleasure in them.” 
Evincing in age much of the ardor and all of the ingenuous- 
ness of youth, he enjoyed the society of young men and stu- 
dents, and was helpful to them long after he ceased to teach,— 
if, indeed, he ever did cease. For, as Emeritus Professor in 
Columbia College (with which his old Medical School was 
