ars of age when he left
Canada he had always retained an appearance of extreme youthfulness. He
frequented the company of men much younger than himself, and their youth
was imputed to him. His frame was tall and well knit, and he showed
alertness in every move. He would arise from the chair with every muscle
in action, and walk forth as if he were about to dance.

The first time I saw him he was doing an autopsy at the Montreal General
Hospital upon the body of a child who had died under my care. This must
have been in the year 1900, and the impression of boyishness remained
until I met him in France sixteen years later. His manner of dress
did much to produce this illusion. When he was a student in London he
employed a tailor in Queen Victoria Street to make his clothes; but with
advancing years he neglected to have new measurements taken or to alter
the pattern of his cloth. To obtain a new suit was merely to write a
letter, and he was always economical of time. In those days jackets were
cut short, and he adhered to the fashion with persistent care.

This appearance of youth at times caused chagrin to those patients who
had heard of his fame as a physician, and called upon him for the
first time. In the Royal Victoria Hospital, after he had been appointed
physician, he entered the wards and asked a nurse to fetch a screen so
that he might examine a patient in privacy.

"Students are not allowed to use screens," the young woman warned him
with some asperity in her voice.

If I were asked to state briefly the impression which remains with me
most firmly, I should say it was one of continuous laughter. That is not
true, of course, for in repose his face was heavy, his countenance more
than ruddy; it was even of a "choleric" cast, and at times almost livid,
especially when he was recovering from one of those attacks of asthma
from which he habitually suffered. But his smile was his own, and it was
ineffable. It filled the eyes, and illumined the face. It was the smile
of sheer fun, of pure gaiety, of sincere playfulness, innocent of irony;
with a tinge of sarcasm--never. When he allowed himself to speak of
meanness in the profession, of dishonesty in men, of evil in the world,
his face became formidable. The glow of his countenance deepened; his
words were bitter, and the tones harsh. But the indignation would
not last. The smile would come back. The effect was spoiled. Everyone
laughed with him.

After his experien