in flanders fields and other poems-第13章

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is　a　secret　not　to　be　lightly　disclosed。　　It　may　indeed　be
that　already　his　education　is　complete。　　Upon　the　little　book
is　always　printed　the　table　of　multiples；　so　that　the　obvious　truth
which　is　comprised　in　the　statement；　〃two　by　two　makes　four〃；
is　imputed　to　the　contents　which　are　within　the　cover。
In　studying　the　table　the　catechism　is　learned　surreptitiously；
and　therefore　without　self…consciousness。

So；　in　this　well　ordered　family　with　its　atmosphere　of　obedience；
we　may　see　the　boy；　like　a　youthful　Socrates　going　about
with　a　copy　of　the　book　in　his　hand；　enquiring　of　those；
who　could　already　read；　not　alone　what　were　the　answers　to　the　questions
but　the　very　questions　themselves　to　which　an　answer　was　demanded。

This　learning；　however；　was　only　a　minor　part　of　life；　since　upon　a　farm
life　is　very　wide　and　very　deep。　　In　due　time　the　school　was　accomplished；
and　there　was　a　master　in　the　school　　let　his　name　be　recorded　
William　Tytler；　who　had　a　feeling　for　English　writing
and　a　desire　to　extend　that　feeling　to　others。

In　due　time　also　the　question　of　a　University　arose。
There　was　a　man　in　Canada　named　Dawson　　Sir　William　Dawson。
I　have　written　of　him　in　another　place。　　He　had　the　idea
that　a　university　had　something　to　do　with　the　formation　of　character；
and　that　in　the　formation　of　character　religion　had　a　part。
He　was　principal　of　McGill。　　I　am　not　saying　that　all　boys　who　entered
that　University　were　religious　boys　when　they　went　in；
or　even　religious　men　when　they　came　out；　but　religious　fathers
had　a　general　desire　to　place　their　boys　under　Sir　William　Dawson's　care。

Those　were　the　days　of　a　queer；　and　now　forgotten；　controversy
over　what　was　called　〃Science　and　Religion〃。　　Of　that　also
I　have　written　in　another　place。　　It　was　left　to　Sir　William　Dawson
to　deliver　the　last　word　in　defence　of　a　cause　that　was　already　lost。
His　book　came　under　the　eye　of　David　McCrae；　as　most　books　of　the　time　did；
and　he　was　troubled　in　his　heart。　　His　boys　were　at　the　University　of　Toronto。
It　was　too　late；　but　he　eased　his　mind　by　writing　a　letter。
To　this　letter　John　replies　under　date　20th　December；　1890：
〃You　say　that　after　reading　Dawson's　book　you　almost　regretted
that　we　had　not　gone　to　McGill。　　That；　I　consider；　would　have　been
rather　a　calamity；　about　as　much　so　as　going　to　Queen's。〃
We　are　not　always　wiser　than　our　fathers　were；　and　in　the　end
he　came　to　McGill　after　all。

For　good　or　ill；　John　McCrae　entered　the　University　of　Toronto　in　1888；
with　a　scholarship　for　〃general　proficiency〃。　　He　joined　the　Faculty　of　Arts；
took　the　honours　course　in　natural　sciences；　and　graduated　from
the　department　of　biology　in　1894；　his　course　having　been　interrupted
by　two　severe　illnesses。　　From　natural　science；　it　was　an　easy　step
to　medicine；　in　which　he　was　encouraged　by　Ramsay　Wright；　A。　B。　Macallum；
A。　McPhedran；　and　I。　H。　Cameron。　　In　1898　he　graduated　again；
with　a　gold　medal；　and　a　scholarship　in　physiology　and　pathology。
The　previous　summer　he　had　spent　at　the　Garrett　Children's　Hospital
in　Mt。　Airy；　Maryland。

Upon　graduating　he　entered　the　Toronto　General　Hospital　as　resident
house　officer；　in　1899　he　occupied　a　similar　post　at　Johns　Hopkins。
Then　he　came　to　McGill　University　as　fellow　in　pathology
and　pathologist　to　the　Montreal　General　Hospital。　　In　time　he　was　appointed
physician　to　the　Alexandra　Hospital　for　infectious　diseases；
later　assistant　physician　to　the　Royal　Victoria　Hospital；
and　lecturer　in　medicine　in　the　University。　　By　examination
he　became　a　member　of　the　Royal　College　of　Physicians；　London。
In　1914　he　was　elected　a　member　of　the　Association　of　American　Physicians。
These　are　distinctions　won　by　few　in　the　profession。

In　spite；　or　rather　by　reason；　of　his　various　attainments
John　McCrae　never　developed；　or　degenerated；　into　the　type
of　the　pure　scientist。　　For　the　laboratory　he　had　neither　the　mind
nor　the　hands。　　He　never　peered　at　partial　truths　so　closely
as　to　mistake　them　for　the　whole　truth；　therefore；　he　was　unfitted
for　that　purely　scientific　career　which　was　developed
to　so　high　a　pitch　of　perfection　in　that　nation　which　is　now
no　longer　mentioned　amongst　men。　　He　wrote　much；　and　often；
upon　medical　problems。　　The　papers　bearing　his　name　amount　to
thirty…three　items　in　the　catalogues。　　They　testify　to　his　industry
rather　than　to　invention　and　discovery；　but　they　have　made　his　name　known
in　every　text…book　of　medicine。

Apart　from　his　verse；　and　letters；　and　diaries；　and　contributions
to　journals　and　books　of　medicine；　with　an　occasional　address　to　students
or　to　societies；　John　McCrae　left　few　writings；　and　in　these
there　is　nothing　remarkable　by　reason　of　thought　or　expression。
He　could　not　write　prose。　　Fine　as　was　his　ear　for　verse
he　could　not　produce　that　finer　rhythm　of　prose；　which　comes　from
the　fall　of　proper　words　in　proper　sequence。　　He　never　learned
that　if　a　writer　of　prose　takes　care　of　the　sound　the　sense　will　take　care
of　itself。　　He　did　not　scrutinize　words　to　discover　their　first
and　fresh　meaning。　　He　wrote　in　phrases；　and　used　words　at　second…hand
as　the　journalists　do。　　Bullets　〃rained〃；　guns　〃swept〃；　shells　〃hailed〃；
events　〃transpired〃；　and　yet　his　appreciation　of　style　in　others　was　perfect；
and　he　was　an　insatiable　reader　of　the　best　books。　　His　letters　are　strewn
with　names　of　authors　whose　worth　time　has　proved。　　To　specify　them
would　merely　be　to　write　the　catalogue　of　a　good　library。

The　thirteen　years　with　which　this　century　opened　were　the　period
in　which　John　McCrae　established　himself　in　civil　life　in　Montreal
and　in　the　profession　of　medicine。　　Of　this　period　he　has　left　a　chronicle
which　is　at　once　too　long　and　too　short。

All　lives　are　equally　interesting　if　only　we　are　in　possession
of　all　the　facts。　　Places　like　Oxford　and　Cambridge
have　been　made　interesting　because　the　people　who　live　in　them
are　in　the　habit　of　writing；　and　always　write　about　each　other。
Family　letters　have　little　interest　even　for　the　family　itself；
if　they　consist　merely　of　a　recital　of　the　trivial　events　of　the　day。
They　are　prized　for　the　unusual　and　for　the　sentiment　they　contain。
Diaries　also　are　dull　unless　they　deal　with　selected　incidents；
and　selection　is　the　essence　of　every　art。　　Few　events　have　any　interest
in　themselves；　but　any　event　can　be　made　interesting　by　the　pictorial
or　literary　art。

When　he　writes　to　his　mother；　that；　as　he　was　coming　out　of　the　college；
an　Irish　setter　pressed　a　cold　nose　against　his　hand；　that　is　interesting
because　it　is　unusual。　　If　he　tells　us　that　a　professor　took　him　by　the　arm；
there　is　no　interest　in　that　to　her　or　to　any　one　else。
For　that　reason　the　ample　letters　and　diaries　which　cover　these　years
need　not　detain　us　long。　　There　is　in　them　little　selection；　little　art　
too　much　professor　and　too　little　dog。

It　is；　of　course；　the　business　of　the　essayist　to　select；
but　in　the　present　case　there　is　little　to　choose。　　He　tells　of
invitations　to　dinner；　accepted；　evaded；　or　refused；
but　he　does　not　always　tell　who　were　there；　what　he　thought　of　them；
or　what　they　had　to　eat。　　Dinner　at　the　Adami's；　　supper　at　Ruttan's；　
a　night　with　Owen；　　tea　at　the　Reford's；　　theatre　with　the　Hickson's；　
a　reception　at　the　Angus's；　　or　a　dance　at　the　Allan's；　　these　events
would　all　be　quite　meaningless　without　an　exposition　of　the　social　life
of　Montreal；　which　is　too　large　a　matter　to　undertake；　alluring　as　the　task
would　be。　　Even　then；　one　would　be　giving　one's　own　impressions　and　not　his。

Wherever　he　lived　he　was　a　social　figure。　　When　he　sat　at　table
the　dinner　was　never　dull。　　The　entertainment　he　offered　was　not　missed
by　the　dullest　intelligence。　　His　contribution　was　merely　〃stories〃；
and　these　stories　in　endless　succession　were　told　in　a　spirit　of　frank　fun。
They　were　not　illustrative；　admonitory；　or　hortatory。
They　were　just　amusing；　and　always　fresh。　　This　gift　he　acquired
from　his　mother；　who　had　that　rare　charm　of　mimicry　without　mockery；
and　caricature　without　malice。　　In　all　his　own　letters　there　is　not
an　unkind　comment　or　tinge　of　ill…nature；　although　in　places；
especially　in　later　years；　there　is　bitter　indignation　against
those　Canadian　patriots　who　were　patriots　merely　for　their　bellies'　sake。

Taken　together　his　letters　and　diaries　are　a　revelation
of　the　heroic　struggle　by　which　a　man　gains　a　footing　in　a　strange　place
in　that　most　particular　of　all　professions；　a　struggle　comprehended
by　those　alone　who　have　made　the　trial　of　it。　　And　yet　the　method　is　simple。
It　is　all　disclosed　in　his　words；　〃I　have　never　refused　any　work
that　was　given　me　to　do。〃　　These　records　are　merely　a　chronicle　of　work。
Outdoor　clinics；　laboratory　tasks；　post…mortems；　demonstrating；　teaching；
lecturing；　attendance　upon　the　sick　in　wards　and　homes；　meetings；
conventions；　papers；　addresses；　editing；　reviewing；　　the　very　remembrance
of　such　a　career　is　enough　to　appall　the　stoutest　heart。

But　John　McCrae　was　never　appalled。　　He　went　about　his　work　gaily；
never　busy；　never　idle。　　Each　minute　was　pressed　into　the　service；
and　every　hour　was　made　to　count。　　In　the　first　eight　months　of　practice
he　claims　to　have　made　ninety　dollars。　　It　is　many　years
before　we　hear　him　complain　of　the　drudgery　of　sending　out　accounts；
and　sighing　for　the　services　of　a　bookkeeper。　　This　is　the　only　complaint
that　appears　in　his　letters。

There　were　at　the　time　in　Montreal　two　rival　schools；
and　are　yet　two　rival　hospitals。　　But　John　McCrae　was　of　no　party。
He　was　the　friend　of　all　men；　and　the　confidant　of　many。　　He　sought　nothing
for　himself　and　by　seeking　not　he　found　what　he　most　desired。
His　mind　was　single　and　his　intention　pure；　his　acts　unsullied
by　selfish　thought；　his　aim　was　true　because　it　was　steady　and　high。
His　aid　was　never　sought　for　any　cause　that　was　unworthy；
and　those　humorous　eyes　could　see　through　the　bones
to　the　marrow　of　a　scheme。　　In　spite　of　his　singular　innocence；　or　rather
by　reason　of　it；　he　was　the　last　man　in　the　world　to　be　imposed　upon。

In　all　this　devastating　labour　he　never　neglected　the　assembling　of　himself
together　with　those　who　write　and　those　who　paint。　　Indeed；
he　had　himself　some　small　skill　in　line　and　colour。　　His　hands　were
the　hands　of　an　artist　　too　fine　and　small　for　a　body　that　weighted
180　pounds；　and　measured　more　than　five　feet　eleven　inches　in　height。
There　was　in　Montreal　an　institution　known　as　〃The　Pen　and　Pencil　Club〃。
No　one　now　living　remembers　a　time　when　it　did　not　exist。
It　was　a　peculiar　club。　　It　contained　no　member　who　should　not　be　in　it；
and　no　one　was　left　out　who　should　be　in。　　The　number　was　about　a　dozen。
For　twenty　years　the　club　met　in　Dyonnet's　studio；　and　afterwards；
as　the　result　of　some　convulsion；　in　K。　R。　Macpherson's。　　A　ceremonial　supper
was　eaten　once　a　year；　at　which　one　dressed　the　salad；　one　made　the　coffee；
and　Harris　sang　a　song。　　Here　all　pictures　were　first　shown；
and　writings　read　　if　they　were　not　too　long。　　If　they　were；
there　was　in　an　adjoining　room　a　tin　chest；　which　in　these　austere　days
one　remembers　with　refreshment。　　When　John　McCrae　was　offered　membership
he　〃grabbed　at　it〃；　and　the　place　was　a　home　fo