12 THE: Gia R) DoE N SIMA GTASZsIe Near 
FEBRUARY, 1916 
‘THE: TALK: OF- THE-OFRICE: 
DR. TRUDEAU AND R. L. S. 
N THESE days of hurry and rush and of 
whitehot history in the making there are 
perhaps fewer of the good old books of bio- 
graphy and autobiography than there were ina 
more leisurely period; but special interest seems 
to attach to two books of this nature in which 
we feel a certain degree of pride. One is the 
autobiography of Dr. Edward Livingston 
Trudeau, the founder of the Saranac Lake 
Sanatorium, and the other is “‘On the Trail of 
Stevenson,” by Clayton Hamilton. The books 
seem to require mention in the same breath, 
because each gives an interesting and a vivid 
picture of the other; the Stevenson book of 
Dr. Trudeau, the autobiography of Dr. 
Trudeau of Stevenson. 
When Stevenson went to Saranac Lake in 
1887 he was attended by Dr. Trudeau, and 
in his rather complete account of this period 
of Stevenson’s life Mr. Hamilton goes into 
detail. Mr. Hamilton visited Dr. Trudeau 
at Saranac and apparently was carried away 
by the courage, cheerfulness, and charm of 
the great fighter of tuberculosis. He de- 
scribes one incident in particular as typical of 
Stevenson. R. L. S., it appears, visited Dr. 
Trudeau’s laboratory and saw there the 
tuberculosis cultures being grown in glass jars. 
His comment, according to Mr. Hamilton, 
was characteristic. Mr. Hamilton says: 
Louis was merely disgusted and annoyed. “Tru- 
deau,”’ said he, “you are carrying a lantern at your 
belt, but the oil has a most objectionable smell.’’ 
The doctor told me this with humor; but it did 
not seem to me so funny when I thought about it 
afterward. At present I remember an eager, active- 
minded man, sitting anchored in a lounging chair and 
muffled among furs; talking with that tense voice of 
the achieving dreamer; at home in life, though exiled 
from its laughing and delightful commonplaces; 
cheerful and alert, though slowly dying; young, clear- 
eyed, and still enthusiastic, although already ancient 
in endurance; lying invalided while his City of the 
Sick grows yearly to greater prominence among the 
pines; fighting with an easy smile the death that has 
so long besieged him, to the end that others after 
him, afflicted similarly, may not die. And the best 
of our tricky and trivial achievements in setting words 
together dwindle in my mind to indistinction beside 
the labors and the spirit of this man. 
Dr. Trudeau describes the same incident, 
with a charming and self-effacing modesty, 
as follows—note the difference in the two 
versions of Stevenson’s words: 
“To business that we love we rise betime 
And go to ’t with delight.” —Antony and Cleopatra 
Mr. Stevenson and I had many interesting and at 
times heated discussions by the fireplace in the sitting 
room. It was really a great privilege to meet him in 
this informal way, and even if we didn’t always agree, 
the impression of his striking personality, his keen 
insight into life, his wondrous idealism, his nimble 
intellect and his inimitable vocabulary in conversation’ 
have grown on me more and more as the years roll by. 
It is hardly to be wondered at that we did not agree on 
many topics, for our interests and our points of view 
on many subjects were utterly at variance. My life 
interests were bound up in the study of facts, and in 
the Laboratory I bowed daily to the majesty of fact, 
wherever it might lead. Mr. Stevenson’s view was 
to ignore or avoid as much as possible unpleasant facts 
and live in a beautiful, strenuous and ideal world of 
fancy. He didn’t care to go to the Sanatorium with 
me or see the Laboratory, because to him these 
were unpleasant things. He evidently felt this, for, 
after he had written “The Lantern Bearers,’ I got 
him one day into the Laboratory, from which he 
escaped at the first opportunity with the words, 
“Trudeau, your light may be very bright to you, but 
to me it smells of oil like the Devil!” 
In another place Dr. Trudeau says: 
When he left Saranac Lake he sent me a beautiful 
set of his works which he had had bound with a 
special binding for me, and in each book he had written 
in his own hand a verse dedicating the volume to some 
member of my family and to me, and even to my dog, 
Nig. 
In “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” he had written: 
Trudeau was all the winter at my side: 
I never spied the nose of Mr. Hyde. 
To Mrs. Trudeau he had dedicated ‘‘The Dyna- 
miter” in these words: 
As both my wife and I composed the thing, 
Let’s place it under Mrs. Trudeau’s wing. 
To my daughter, “ Virginibus Puerisque”, in these 
words: 
I have no art to please a lady’s mind, 
Here’s the least acid spot, 
Miss Trudeau, of the lot. 
If you’d just try this volume, ’twould be kind! 
To Ned, ‘“Treasure Island,” in these words: 
I could not choose a patron for each one: 
But this, perhaps, is chiefly for your son. 
To the baby (Francis), ‘‘A Child’s Garden of 
Verse,” in these words: 
To win your lady (if, alas, it may be), 
Let’s couple this one with the name of Baby! 
And to Nig, “Memories and Portraits,” in these 
words: 
Greeting to all your household, small and big, 
In this one instance, not forgetting—Nig! 
This invaluable gift, alas, was destroyed when my 
house and laboratory were burned to the ground in 
1893. 
Sy SO 
wee 
Dr. Trudeau’s autobiography is just pub- 
lished and ‘‘On the Trail of Stevenson,” was 
issued in October. 
DR. BOOKER T. WASHINGTON 
Another book of biography which is of 
timely interest is the life of Dr. Booker T. 
Washington, the Negro educator, to be pub- 
lished under the title of “Booker T. Wash- 
ington, the Builder of a Civilization.” This 
book is now in course of preparation by Lyman 
Beecher Stowe and Emmett J. Scott, the 
latter one of the members of the faculty at 
Tuskegee and for years a trusted lieutenant 
of Dr. Washington. Most of the material 
was gathered by Mr. Scott before Dr. Wash- 
ington’s death last fall and bore his full 
authorization. 
A NEW KIND OF BOOK ON SOCIALISM 
In “Socialism in America,” John Macy, the 
well-known literary critic and energetic radical 
thinker, has given the world a new kind of 
book on socialism. In his foreword Mr. 
Macy explains that the book is not a 
“‘come-to- Socialism” tract, nor yet an attempt 
to define within certain limits this broad 
philosophy. 
“Most of the arguments,” says Mr. Macy, 
“are inter-Socialist, that is, they are on one 
side or another of questions on which Socialists 
disagree among themselves. The outside 
may step in, see what the row is about, and 
then step out again. I am a member of the 
Socialist Party and of the Industrial Workers 
of the World, but I have no official position in 
either. I express only my own opinions on 
opinions of others which happen to appeal 
to me.” 
In other words, the person who has been 
perplexed by the seeming discord and the 
inability to agree upon any one subject, 
among Socialists, has here a book which will 
show the point on which these Socialists split, 
and why. 
Mr. Macy is particularly concerned with 
the different aspects of socialism and their 
relation one to another. To the student of 
the doctrine his clause by clause explanation 
of the Socialist Party platform will be stimu- 
lating and illuminating whether one agrees 
with it or not. 
