I HAVE just been looking over the 1965 edition of the British Pharmacopeia, and I must confess that I am a shaken man. No one need now tell me that the contemporary world is breeding changes, not to say revolutions, so rapidly and of such dimensions that it is quite impossible to keep up with them or to adjust to them. The young may succeed; they are themselves part of the change, and see the world with fresh eyes, unconditioned minds, and surpassing zest. But for oldsters it is all too much; they are battle worn, have memories and habits, and too haunting a sense of the past.
The British Pharmacopeia, for men of my day and breed, is something like the Old Testament. It is the good old massive repository and monolithic master index of drugs and medicines, the work of the herbalists, the medical prophets, the dry-as-dust old