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Experience has taught us that wishing costs little, and so we generously present each other with the best and warmest wishes. Among these the one for a long life takes first place. The ambivalency of just this wish is discovered in well-known oriental anecdote. A Sultan got two soothsayers to cast his horoscope. 'Happiness will be thine, Lord', said the one; 'it is written in the stars that thou shalt see all thy relatives die before thee'. This seer was executed. 'Happiness will be thine', said the other, too; 'for I read in the stars that thou wilt survive all thy relatives'. This one was richly rewarded. Both had given expression to the same wishfulfilment.
In January 1926 it was my lot to write an obituary notice for our unforgettable friend, Karl Abraham. A few years before, in 1923, I could felicitate Sándor Ferenczi on completing his fiftieth year. To-day, a bare decade later, it pains me to learn that I have survived him too. In what I wrote in celebration of his birthday I might publicly praise his manysidedness and originality, the wealth of his talents: discretion forbade a friend to speak of his lovable and benevolent personality, one that welcomed all in life that had significance.
Since the time when interest for the young science of psycho-analysis led him to me we had shared much with each other. I invited him to accompany me when I was called to Worcester, Massachusetts, in 1909, to lecture there during a Commemoration week. Every morning, before the hour of my