Photo for The Critic 
DR. OSLER'S HOUSE IN BALTIMORE 
See page 411 "Osler" 
"Osler" 
DAY ALLEN WILLEY 
FIFTEEN years ago the students of 
Johns Hopkins Medical School listened 
to the lecture of a new professor. Gos- 
sip had it that he was a Canadian, had 
studied and taught at McGill, had 
drifted southward to the University of 
Pennsylvania, thence to Baltimore. 
They knew also that he had an M. D. 
from Edinburgh, and was a graduate at 
Berlin and Vienna. Eying him as he 
stepped upon the rostrum and began 
his address, they saw a man of slight 
figure whose jet-black hair and eyes 
intensified the paleness of his features, 
while the long, drooping moustache 
brought to mind the old engravings of 
the Druids. Year after year Dr. Wil- 
liam Osler went through the daily rou- 
tine of the educator and of his private 
practice. Then Oxford called him to 
its chair of medicine, and he said fare- 
well. Some of his valedictory utter- 
ances were these: 
I am going to be very bold and touch on another 412 
The Critic 
question of some delicacy, but of infinite impor- 
tance in university life, one that has not been set- 
tled in this country. I refer to a fixed period for 
the teacher, either of time, of service, or of age. 
Except in some proprietary schools, I do not know 
of any institutions in which there is a time limit of, 
say, twenty years' service, as in some of the London 
hospitals, or in which a man is engaged for a term 
of years. Usually the appointment is aut vitam 
aut culpam, as the old phrase reads. It is a very 
serious matter in our young universities to have all 
the professors growing old at the same time. In 
some places only an epidemic, a time limit, or an 
age limit, can save the situation. 
I have two fixed ideas well known to my friends, 
harmless obsessions with which I sometimes bore 
them, but which have a direct bearing on this im- 
portant problem. The first is the comparative 
uselessness of men above forty years of age. This 
may seem shocking, and yet read aright the world's 
history bears out the statement. Take the sum of 
human achievement in action, in science, in art, in 
literature-subtract the work of the men above 
forty, and, while we should miss great treasures, 
even priceless treasures, we would practically be 
where we are to-day. It is difficult to name a great 
and far-reaching conquest of the mind which has 
not been given to the world by a man on whose 
back the sun was still shining. The effective, mov- 
ing, vitalizing work of the world is done between 
the ages of twenty-five and forty years-these fif- 
teen golden years of plenty, the anabolic or con- 
structive period, in which there is always a balance 
in the mental bank and the credit is still good. 
In the science and art of medicine there has not 
been an advance of the first rank which has not 
been initiated by young or comparatively young 
men. Vesalius, Harvey, Hunter, Bichat, Laennec, 
Virchow, Lister, Koch-the green years were yet 
on their heads when their epoch-making studies 
were made. To modify an old saying, a man is 
sane morally at thirty, rich mentally at forty, wise 
spiritually at fifty-or never. The young men 
should be encouraged and afforded every possible 
chance to show what is in them. If there is one 
thing more than another upon which the professors 
of the university are to be congratulated, it is this 
very sympathy and fellowship with their junior 
associates, upon whom really in many departments, 
in mine certainly, has fallen the brunt of the work. 
And herein lies the chief value of the teacher who 
has passed his climacteric, and is no longer a pro- 
ductive factor; he can play the man midwife, as 
Socrates did to Thesetetus, and determine whether 
the thoughts which the young men are bringing 
to the light are false idols or true and noble 
births. 
My second fixed idea is the uselessness of men 
above sixty years of age, and the incalculable bene- 
fit it would be in commercial, political, and in pro- 
fessional life if, as a matter of course, men stopped 
work at this age. Donne tells us in his " Biatha- 
natos " that, by the laws of certain wise states, sex- 
agenarii were precipitated from a bridge, and in 
Rome men of that age were not admitted to the 
suffrage, and were called depontani, because the 
way to the senate was per pontem, and they from 
age were not permitted to come hither. In that 
charming novel, the "Fixed Period," Anthony 
Trollope discusses the practical advantages in mod- 
ern life of a return to this ancient usage, and the 
plot hinges on the admirable scheme of a college 
into which at sixty men retired for a year of con- 
templation, before a peaceful departure by chloro- 
form. That incalculable benefits might follow such 
a scheme is apparent to any one who, like myself, 
is nearing the limit, and who has made a careful 
study of the calamities which may befall men during 
the seventh and eighth decades! 
Still more when he contemplates the many evils 
which they perpetuate unconsciously and with im- 
punity! As it can be maintained that all the great 
advances have come from men under forty, so the 
history of the world shows that a very large propor- 
tion of the evils may be traced to the sexagenarians 
-nearly all the great mistakes politically and so- 
cially, all of the worst poems, most of the bad 
pictures, a majority of the bad novels, and not a few 
of the bad sermons and speeches. It is not to be 
denied that occasionally there is a sexagenarian 
whose mind, as Cicero remarks, stands out of reach 
of the body's decay. Such a one has learned the 
secret of Hermippus, that ancient Roman, who, 
feeling that the silver cord was loosening, cut him- 
self clear from all companions of his own age, and 
betook himself to the company of young men, 
mingling with their games and studies, and so lived 
to the age of one hundred and fifty-three, puerorum 
haliiu refocillatus et educatus. And there is truth 
in the story, since it is only those who live with the 
young who maintain a fresh outlook on the new 
problems of the world. 
The teacher's life should have three periods- 
study until twenty-five, investigation until forty, 
profession until sixty, at which age I would have 
him retired on a double allowance. Whether An- 
thony Trollope's suggestion of a college and chloro- 
form should be carried out or not, I have become 
a little dubious, as my own time is getting so short. 
Heard by his associates, the sayings 
were read by the world, and it gasped 
with indignant amazement. What 
manner of man was this, who would 
turn customs topsy-turvey, who thus "Osler" 
413 
dared to defy tradition? But the storm 
of censure, to quote a friend's words, 
"never phased him.'' To an inquiry 
if such were his views in truth, he 
replied: 
"Nothing in the criticisms has shaken 
my conviction that the telling work of 
the world has been done and is done 
by men under forty years of age. 
"It would be for the general good if 
men at sixty were relieved from active 
work. We should miss the energies of 
some young-old men, but, on the 
whole, it would be of the greatest ser- 
vice to the sexagenarii themselves.'' 
The name of the man who thus 
gained the notoriety of a lifetime over- 
night, is intimate to the fraternity of 
healers and to the people of Baltimore. 
They do not call him Doctor Osler, 
Professor Osler, but 
Osler. 
For he stands in a class by himself. 
Student and practitioner have put him 
on such a height that mere titles do 
not express their estimation. He is 
not simply the physician, the teacher. 
He is both. He is a literateur as well. 
He might have been a poet. He could 
have been a novelist had he devoted 
himself to fiction. 
A year or so ago, several physicians 
gathered in consultation. The case 
was a complication of ills and the 
patient had reached a stage when, as 
the saying goes, life hung by a thread. 
All agreed heroic measures must be 
taken, but the question arose what was 
best-and here they differed. The dis- 
cussion ran into hours until one of the 
younger men ended it this wise : 
"Let's leave it to Osler.'' He came, 
examined the woman, and, without 
asking a question of the doctors who 
had attended her, recommended a cer- 
tain operation. It was performed and 
she recovered, although the majority 
of counsellors, until he came, believed 
it would prove fatal. 
This is why he is called Osler, why 
the young men who have listened to 
his lectures and followed his every 
movement at the clinic regard him 
as almost more than man-because 
of his marvellous knowledge of the 
human body. He may use the knife 
or saw, he may compile a prescrip- 
tion, but it is what he directs others 
to do-what he knows ought to be 
done-in short, his power of correct 
diagnosis. He might be called a living 
X-ray machine with additional eyes in 
finger-tips so familiar with the anatomy 
that they detect the growth or displace- 
ment so small that it would escape 
ordinary notice. The appearance of 
the body in health is so familiar that 
his eye catches the faintest tinge which 
may betoken disease. Perhaps no one 
in the United States is so well informed 
on symptoms. Thus it is that he has 
been summoned in so many instances 
where death was knocking at the door, 
that he might be called the Forlorn 
Hope, the last resort of the afflicted. 
Conceive of lectures delivered before 
nurse and student in the ether-laden 
air of the hospital, in which the origin 
and treatment of a fever or the life 
story of a bacillus is mingled with pas- 
sages from poets all the way from Mil- 
ton to Arnold, quotations from Marcus 
Aurelius and Sir Thomas Browne- 
even the Bible itself. Such was the 
instruction given during those "fifteen 
golden years'' at Johns Hopkins. In- 
tended merely for his hearers, the ad- 
dresses have recently been put in type 
under one of his favorite Latin titles, 
"yEquanimitas. " They display the 
author's intellectual diversity more 
than any of his other publications. 
Reading them through, one gets a faint 
idea of the breadth and depth of his 
mind, the wide range of prose and 
poetry with which he is conversant, 
and even the layman partially appreci- 
ates his great knowledge of the subject 
they are intended to discuss. One of 
the addresses discloses a secret of his 
success. In a passage from Kipling's 
"Jungle Book'' he selects the master 
word. It is "work." 
"I was too busy before I was forty 
to think of writing. '' Here is a typical 
sentence. He does not look upon 
literary effort as work in the sense of 
actual labor, but if it is a pleasure, he 
has had an abundance of it since he 
took up the pen. In ten years he has 
given the world the results of his life 
study-books that the average physi- 414 
The Critic 
cian would call the scriptures of medi- 
cine. Five years ago was published 
the one by which he is best known, 
"The Principles and Practice of Medi- 
cine," whose pages reveal his vast 
search and research into life and the 
remarkable extent of exclusive data 
obtained only to be bequeathed for the 
good of humankind. This book alone 
explains why he was too busy to think 
of writing, but he is still creating liter- 
ature and doubtless from within the ven- 
erable walls of Oxford will from time to 
time come volumes which will surprise 
even the healers of humanity. Yet you 
would call his study the home of a 
worker. The first glance takes in the 
piles of manuscript fresh from the 
typewriter, the partly revised proofs 
scattered on the desk, the correspond- 
ence which needs personal attention. 
And imagine a "doctor's office" odor- 
less of drugs, without some gruesome 
picture of a surgical operation on the 
wall, or without at least a scalpel or a 
phial somewhere about. Save the por- 
traits-if you know them - and the 
book titles, there is not an indication 
to reveal the vocation by which the 
man is chiefly known. 
Yes, the term "office" is a misnomer. 
It is a study, filled with things that re- 
flect the Osler characteristics. No 
need to question if he is a reader, a 
writer, a lover of the aesthetic. Per- 
haps the instinctive sense of art has led 
him to prefer the sombre coloring 
which darkens the apartment on the 
brightest day. The Doctor's pale fea- 
tures reveal themselves more strongly 
by the contrast than if the room were 
flooded with light. There is a resem- 
blance to some of the old-time, Rem- 
brandt-like medical portraits which 
adorn the walls with their black ground- 
work, in keeping with the ebony tint of 
the furniture. As he sits facing the 
big open grate, above its mantel his 
eyes rest on three artistic likenesses of 
Linacre, Sydenham, Harvey. He has 
grouped them in one frame mottoed in 
thiswise: "Literae, Scientia, Praxis." 
But in the multitude of interesting 
things in this interesting place one may 
escape notice. It reveals a bit of 
genealogy well worth remembering. 
The document, yellowed or rather 
rusted by time, casually viewed, re- 
sembles one of the diplomas of formeii 
days, but study out the faded, cramped 
lettering and it tells you that back in 
the reign of George Third - nearly a 
hundred years ago-one Edward Osler, 
of the town of Falmouth, County of 
Cornwall, placed himself out as an ap- 
prentice "for the sum of forty pounds, 
good and lawful money, to acquire the 
art of complete surgery and physics.'' 
Note that the word "complete'' in the 
ancient document is emphasized by 
being placed in capitals. Who knows 
but what the descendant of the ambi- 
tious Cornish lad took this with his 
"master-word" for his motto? The 
little square of parchment with its seals 
and signatures is perhaps as much of 
an inspiration as the gallery of famed 
physicians and surgeons in contrast 
with which it seems so insignificant. 
Books, books everywhere. The walls 
half-way to the ceiling are lined with 
cases. The study table is fortified on 
three sides with piles of volumes and 
pamphlets. Within reach are rows 
presumably of his favorite works. 
What are they? Well, here is one: 
A little old Bible with covers badly 
frayed and giving evidence of frequent 
use; next to it a gem of an edition of 
"Tristram Shandy" in green and gold. 
Well-thumbed copies of Keats's and 
Henley's poems clasp between them 
an ancient work on pathology covered 
in raw leather so commonly used by 
the bookbinders a half-century back. 
At the end of the row is a copy of 
Epictetus. Directly in front of the 
Doctor, occupying a place of honor on 
the mantel, is - a portrait of Weir 
Mitchell, who recently called himself 
"75 years young." Not content with 
one likeness, his friend who has dared 
to handle the venerable side of life so 
roughly, has two pictures of the Quaker 
author-physician. 
"Whether Anthony Trollope's sug- 
gestion of a college and chloroform 
should be carried out or not, I have 
become a little dubious since my own 
time is getting so short." Character- 
istic of the vein of humor which the 
seriousness of his life has been unable 415 
to bury, this reveals another trait-ab- 
solute indifference to self, for to him 
the word egotism is useless. In the 
witticisms which have often convulsed 
his hearers even at the clinic and let 
the rays of cheerfulness brighten the 
sick room, he spares neither himself nor 
his friends. Several years ago one of 
his associates, a club man and bon 
vivant, came to him for advice. The 
Doctor prescribed treatment which di- 
rected him to stop drinking all alcoholic 
liquors. The patient went to a hotel 
at a fashionable seaside resort noted 
for the quality of its beverages. One 
morning Dr. Osler opened this letter: 
\ Dear Doctor : Have been here a week. Have 
not taken a drop of your medicine, but have had a 
julep every morning, and feel like a new man. 
The same day the "patient'' received 
a telegram which read: "Congratulate 
you on your cure. Give my compli- 
ments to your resident physician.'' 
Shortly after the cable brought news 
of the honor conferred by the British 
institution a friend met him on the 
street. ' ' I see you have been appointed 
Regius professor at Oxford. Great 
honor, indeed.'' "Yes,'' was the lan- 
guid reply; "I suppose the boys will 
call me 'Reggie' when I get there.''