menu_book Chapter 12

CHAPTER IX. In Rugby Chapel, that noble poem in memory of his father, Matthew Arnold draws a strong contrast on the one hand between the average man who eddies about, eats and drinks, chatters and loves and hates, and then dies, having striven blindly and achieved nothing, and on the other the strong soul tempered with fire, not like the men of the crowd, but fervent,

heroic and good, the helper and friend of mankind. Dr. William Pepper, whose loss we mourn today, while not a Thomas Arnold, belonged to this souls, our leaders and masters, the men who make progress possible. There are two great types of leaders, one the great reformer, the dreamer of dreams, with aspirations completely in the van of his generation, lives often in wrath and disputations,

passes through fiery ordeals, is misunderstood and too often despised and rejected by his generation. The other, a very different type, is the leader who sees ahead of his generation, but who has the sense to walk and work in it. While not such a potent element in progress, he lives a happier life and is more likely

to see the fulfillment of his plans. Of this latter type, the late professor of medicine at the University of Pennsylvania was a notable example. The most notable the profession of this country has offered to the world. William Pepper began life under conditions which are very often unfavorable to success.

His father, a distinguished physician, the professor of medicine in a school in which his son was educated, belonged to a family of position and influence. For the young man there were none of those tempering blows of circumstance, no evil star with which to grapple and grow strong. Yet as much grit and a much harder climb are needed to reach distinction from the top,

as from the bottom of the social scale, and to rise superior to the res abundans domi has taxed to the uttermost many young men in this country. We have heard enough of the self-made men who are always on top. It is time now to encourage in America the young fellow who is unhappily born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Like the young man in the gospels, he is too apt to turn away sorrowfully from the battle of life, and to fritter his energies in Europe, or to go to the devil in a very ungentlemanly manner, or to become the victim of Nuristhenia. To such the career I am about to sketch should prove a stimulus and an encouragement. At the age of twenty-one in 1864, the year of his father's death, Pepper graduated from

the medical department of the University of Pennsylvania, having previously taken the B.A. degree. What now were the influences which sent this youngster bounding up the ladder three rungs at a time? In the first place, the elder Pepper was a clinical physician of exceptional abilities,

but more than this, intellectually he was a son of the great Louis, one of that band much-loved American students, whom Louis sent to their homes with high ideals, with good methods of work, and with a devoted admiration of their chief. The talk at home, while young Pepper was a medical student, must often have been of the old teacher, of his ways and works, of his noble character, and of his loving heart.

The father's mental attitude had been molded finally by Louis, and the son's early work shows deep traces of the same influence. Indeed, all through life the clinical manner and habits of thought of the younger Pepper were much more French than English or German. In this respect, he differed widely from his contemporaries, who became dominated by the

Vienna and Berlin schools. Dr. Pepper, Sr., died a few months after his son's graduation, leaving him a moderate competency and the example of a life devoted to all that was highest in our profession. It is interesting to note that the two diseases portrayed most skillfully by Louis, typhoid fever and thesis, were those which both the elder and the younger Pepper studied with

special ardor. For more than a century, the Pennsylvania hospital has been the nursing mother, the P.A. Mater, of the kings of the clinic in Philadelphia, but in the long list of medical officers given in Morton's history of that institution, you can find no young man who made his connection with the hospital so immediately productive as William Pepper.

In it I find the second potent factor in his rapid professional development. In the summer following his graduation, he served temporarily as apothecary. In 1865 he was elected one of the resident physicians and had as a colleague his friend Edward Rhodes. On the completion of his service he was appointed pathologist to the hospital and curator of

the museum, positions which he held for four years. He immediately threw all his energies into the study of morbid anatomy and in 1868 was appointed lecturer on the subject in the university. Making autopsies, working in the museum, studying tumors and microscopic specimens, his time could not have been more fortunately spent, for in these early years he thus obtained

a knowledge of morbid anatomy which stood him in good stead when time became more precious and engagements numerous. Throughout his entire career this work lent accuracy and firmness to his diagnosis. He never forgot the value of morbid anatomy nor the debt which he owed to it. I have known few practitioners more keen or more successful in obtaining permission for

autopsies. Very often he would send an especially interesting specimen to my laboratory knowing that I would gladly get it ready for his clinic. Quite early in my association with him I saw that he had served an apprenticeship in the dead house.

He could come into the clinic and pick up a heart which he had never seen but only felt and heard and go at once to the seat of the disease. The descriptive catalogue of the Pathological Museum at the Pennsylvania Hospital was issued in 1869 and while a large portion was from the pen of Dr. Morton, every page bears witness to the careful and thorough manner with which Dr. Pepper had worked over the specimens.

The early volumes of the transactions of the Pathological Society attest his zeal in this study. As the third powerful element in his progress I place his association with Dr. John Forsyth Miggs in the revision of the well-known work The Diseases of Children. The third edition had appeared in 1858.

The fourth edition by Miggs and Pepper was practically a new work. Dr. Miggs was an exceedingly busy man and the bulk of the revision fell to his junior. The descriptions of disease were admirable, the pathology well up to date, and the authors broke away in a remarkable manner from many of the traditions and routines of old-time practice.

If you compare Miggs and Pepper of 1870 with the third edition or with the contemporary books on the same subject, you will see what a radical work it was for that date. To one section of the edition we may turn with special interest, namely to Diseases of the Secum and Appendix. Nowhere in literature, I believe, before 1870 is the importance of the appendix so fully

recognized or is there so good a description of the results of perforation. One cannot but regret that no edition of this work appeared after the sixth in 1877. The experience gained by Pepper, while still a very young man, in the preparation of this work, was of incalculable value. It familiarized him with the literature, gave him an insight into the art of book-making,

brought him into close personal contact with a man with remarkable medical instincts, and altogether was a circumstance which, I think, may be justly regarded as one of the three most powerful influences during the formative period of his career. Indeed, in many quarters, Dr. William Pepper, Jr., as he used to be called, really never got the credit for the association with Miggs in the work on Diseases of Children.

For years I had the impression that it was his father who was the joint author of the work, and even quite recently, since Dr. Pepper's death, I heard a man well versed in medical literature and interested in Diseases of Children express great surprise that the Pepper of Miggs and Pepper was the late provost of the University. In 1870 the Philadelphia Medical Times was started, but the health of Edward Rhodes,

who had been selected as editor, had failed so rapidly that the opening of the new enterprise was entrusted to his friend, William Pepper, who brought out the first twelve numbers of the journal and then transferred the editorship to the late James H. Hutchinson. I have glanced over Volume 1 to glean indication of Pepper's early work. Among five or six contributions, two are of particular interest as they indicate the sort

of work this young man was doing in clinical medicine. At page 274 is recorded a case of cirrus of the pelorus with dilatation of the stomach, an ordinary enough case nowadays, but one which has gone into literature and is often quoted on two counts. First, the accurate study of the peristalsis of the stomach wall, which was visible, and

made the subject a very careful electrical experiment, and secondly, the practical point of using the stomach tube at that date a novel procedure, and, so far as I know, not previously practiced in America, in cases of the kind. The other contribution, still frequently referred to in the literature on progressive muscular atrophy of the pseudo-hypertrophic type, is one of the most exhaustive contributions

to the subject made up to that date, and is a model of accurate clinical and anatomical study. An advertisement and a supplement to one of the numbers gives us an idea of the sort of work he was doing at this time in teaching. In conjunction with H.C. Wood, Jr., he announces a course of practical medicine at the Philadelphia

Hospital to extend throughout the months of April, May, and June. They announce that between them they have 175 patients under their care. Dr. Pepper was to meet the class at 8 a.m. on Tuesday and Dr. Wood at 9.30 a.m. on Friday. It seems to me that, for so young a man, Pepper had a great deal of good sense to have avoided the pitfalls of medical journalism.

He must have seen at an early date that to be successful in it meant practically the sacrifice of everything else. By the end of December 1870, young Pepper, then only a little past 27 years of age, already had a well-established reputation as a teacher and worker. I do not know of another instance in the profession in which a man at his time of life had made

so favorable a start. From this date on, we may divide his life into three periods, to 1881, when he was appointed provost at the university, his provostship, 1881 to 94, and the short period since his resignation from that office. 2.

The decade from 1871 to 1880 demonstrated that a man of men, to use a phrase of Milton's, had arisen in the profession in Philadelphia, a man with both geist and go, one who could not only blow a trumpet blast loud enough to awaken the slumbering conservatives of his native city, but could command a following which enabled him, in spite of all opposition, to set on foot much-needed reforms.

As illustrating his activity during this period, I can allude, and only briefly, to three important pieces of work. The removal of the university to West Philadelphia doubtless made her friends aware of the possibilities of the situation. In the medical school, then a relatively much more important section, the plans had been

organized for well-equipped buildings and laboratories in West Philadelphia. An exceedingly judicious plan, for which I do not know whether Pepper was solely responsible, but one in which he had his whole heart, was the organization of a hospital to be under the control of the faculty and trustees. Blockley was within a stone's throw of the new buildings of the medical school, and its

rich stores of material were available, but it was a very wise and far-seeing scheme, which regarded the clinical equipment as an integral part of a medical school which should be under the immediate supervision of the faculty. For many years it was a hard struggle to make both ends meet, and even when I joined the faculty of the university in 1884 the hospital was constantly in need of funds,

and much besides. One thing it never lacked, hopefulness on the part of Dr. Pepper, who never for a moment consented to look at the dark side of the picture, always saw a few years ahead, predicted success in the days when the debt was the greatest, and with many other schemes on hand he never let an opportunity slip of forwarding the interests of that part of the institution

which he loved perhaps better than any other. In 1881 the Vice Provost, in an address at the inauguration of Dr. Pepper as Provost, expressed the popular feeling as follows, To him who has pleaded for mercy to the helpless sick, as a lover would plead his own cause, who working with other men of good will, took by tacit election the headship among them,

who has touched with a master hand the springs of influence, to him public esteem has given the wreath as the moral architect of our hospital. It is gratifying to think that he lived to see it placed on a solid basis of success with the maternity department splendidly organized, the Pepper Clinic Laboratory, which he himself gave in memory of his father, the Center for High Class Work, and the new nurse's home

and the Agnew Wing in full operation. Were I asked to name the most satisfactory single piece of work in Dr. Pepper's life, I should say unhesitatingly that which related to the promotion of higher medical education. This little volume contains two addresses, one delivered October 1, 1877, the other October 2, 1893.

They represent a forecast and a retrospect. At the time of the removal of the University to West Philadelphia, the University faculty was a strong one, but it contained a number of men who were saturated with old-time prejudices and who were bitterly opposed to any change in the methods of medical education. Once before, in 1846, the University had made an attempt to elevate the standard of medical

education, but unsuccessfully. In 1871, the Harvard medical faculty had been taken in hand and reorganized so that the example had been set, but there was probably no school in the Union in which the outlook for reform was thought to be less hopeful than at the University. The struggle was a hard one.

The brunt of it fell upon the young men, more particularly upon Pepper, who was the very head and front of the new movement. The plan of reorganization was not carried without much bitterness. Indeed, it looked at one time as though the faculty would split, as Professor Rogers, who did resign, very nearly carried with him several strong colleagues.

As Dr. Pepper says in his second address, speaking of the inauguration of the new system in 1877, "...we thought, too, alas, of the long and painful controversy lasting almost five years over the proposition to again elevate our standard of medical education, and of how the end had been attained only at the cost of old friendships and of the allegiance

of valued associates whose convictions remained unchanged as to the injury that should be worked to the University by the proposed advance." The movement was immediately successful, and the changes then made were but precursors to other more radical advances. It was always a source of great gratification to Pepper to feel that the plans for which

he had worked so hard had been crowned with such success. Years hence these two addresses with their appendices will be regarded as perhaps the most valuable single contributions to the literature of the phenomenal education movement through which we have lived during the last quarter of the nineteenth century. The third event of which I spoke was the organization of the Medical Department of

the Centennial Exposition of 1876. I only mention it as one which gave him an opportunity to demonstrate how strong were his executive abilities. In 1881 Pepper was elected to Provost of the University of Pennsylvania. The feeling was unanimous that he was the man in whose hands the destiny of the institution

would at any rate be safe, but no one could have predicted such a decade of development as took place under his management. The material progress is indicated by an increase in the acreage in West Philadelphia from 15 to 52. The number of students increased from 981 to 2180, and the fees of the students during

the same period more than trebled. I do not know that there has been an instance of such remarkable growth in any university in this country unless it has been in a newly established one such as the University of Chicago. That the university today occupies a position in the very first rank of educational institutions

is due to the energy of William Pepper. Passing, without further comment, the work of his provostship, since this has been dealt upon with gratefulness and various obituary notices, I may here refer to several important undertakings during this period. There had never been published in this country a composite work by native writers corresponding

to the System of Medicine by Reynolds or to Ziemzins Encyclopedia. A circular was issued in November 1881 to the joint authors, but it was more than three years subsequently before the first volume of the system was issued. The five volumes were then published in rapid succession, the fifth appearing in 1886. While unequal as all such systems must necessarily be, it remains a great work and contains articles

which have become classical in American literature. It proved to be perhaps the most successful venture ever made in this country by a medical publishing company, and it extended widely the reputation of the editor. For many years those of us whose work lay in the special field of medicine had felt that a society was needed in which we could meet our fellows in the same line of work.

As early as 1881 I had written to Dr. Tyson shortly after my first visit to Philadelphia, urging the organization of such a body, but it was not until the winter of 1885-6 that the initial steps were taken to form the Association of American Physicians. I remember well in the preliminary meetings how by tacit consent Dr. Pepper assumed the headship and in formulating the details and in arranging the final organization his executive

abilities made the work very easy. A few years later a much more difficult scheme was engineered by him to a successful issue in the welding of the various special societies into the triennial Congress of American Physicians and Surgeons. Much of the success of the first meeting in 1888 was due to the admirable manner in which

as chairman of the executive committee he shaped the policy of the organization. One astonishing feature in his character was the intense energy and enthusiasm with which he threw himself into these and similar schemes. Letters of suggestion here, of advice in another quarter, conferences, caucuses, as if indeed he had nothing else on his mind, nothing to do but the business at hand.

He always appeared at a meeting prepared, knowing exactly what was needed, and, as I have said, took the headship by tacit consent, and the business was put through in a way not always seen in gatherings of medical men. For many years Dr. Pepper had advocated a closer union between the United States and the Latin American republics, the commercial and intellectual relations of which he maintained

should be with this country rather than with Europe. He gave practical expression to the conviction by organizing the first Pan-American Medical Congress of which he was president, and by interesting the governments of the South American states in his commercial museum. Though a chief promoter both of the Association of American Physicians and of the Congress

of American Physicians and Surgeons, he was a warm advocate of the claims of the National Association, the meetings of which he very often attended, and in the success of which he was deeply interested. Of late years the extraordinary calls upon his time made attendance upon medical societies very difficult, and more than once he has expressed to me his deep regret that unavoidable

engagements either prevented it altogether or made his visits hurried and unsatisfactory. For some years before his formal resignation of the provostship Dr. Pepper had felt that he had done as much as any one man could, and that it was in the interest of the university that he should give way to someone else. It was his hope, I know, to be able to resign at the end of his ten-year service, but circumstances

delayed his action until 1894. But it was not for rest or for any warning that he was doing too much that he asked to be relieved from the cares of the university. Other great schemes had been absorbing his energies. For years he had been impressed with the importance of museums and collections.

The Wistar Museum of Anatomy had been a source of great satisfaction. In 1891 he undertook the establishment of the archaeological and paleontological museums. The strong personal interest which he took in archaeology encouraged his friends to hope that he had at last found a hobby which might divert him from more trying duties. He could talk on the outlook in Babylonia, buttonholing some local divas and impressing

him with the need of their last university expedition, as though he had no other interest in life. To the next man it was of the wonderful finds in Florida or Peru and of their great importance in the history of the early races of this continent. It was extraordinary how he could warm up in talking of these and allied subjects, and

his quick receptive mind and retentive memory enabled him to grasp the important points in the problem to be attacked. For a quarter of a century he devoted his marvelous energies to the University of Pennsylvania, believing that in serving her he could best serve his city and state. The last years of his life were given to promote the material and intellectual welfare of his

native town. The success of the museum schemes gave courage to his ambition, and he began the organization of the Commercial and Economic Museum, of which he was president at the time of his death. His desire was to see about the University of Pennsylvania a great group of museums which would not only illustrate the past and present history of man in all his relations, but which

would reflect the commercial and economic aspect of his present activities, and particularly one in which the raw and manufactured products of the world would be represented, a place in which the businessman of Pennsylvania could be put in touch with producer or consumer in any country. An immense scheme involving millions of dollars, it was advanced to a stage in which not only

his success assured, but in which people are beginning to appreciate what a boon has been bestowed on a great manufacturing city. And then, as if such a colossal enterprise were not sufficient to keep him busy, he undertook the organization of a free library for Philadelphia. It was no doubt through his influence that his uncle had given a quarter of a million

dollars for the purpose. This library was very near to his heart, and its remarkable success in so short a time was, he told me, a source of the keenest pride. Not long before his death he secured a bequest of a million dollars for a public art gallery. From this hurried sketch you may get an idea of the ceaseless energy and activity of his life, but it would be very incomplete without some specific reference to his work as a practicing

physician. The medical profession in every country has produced men of affairs of the first rank, men who have risen high in the councils of nations, but with scarcely an exception the practice of medicine has not been compatible with such duties. So absorbing are the cares of the general practitioner, or the successful consultant, that he has but little time to mingle in outside affairs, and the few who enter public life

do so with many backward glances at the consulting room, and with well-grounded forebodings of disaster to professional work. But Dr. Pepper maintained to the end the closest relations with the profession, both as a consultant and a teacher. To me, one of the most remarkable features of his life is the conscientiousness with which he attended to a large and exacting practice. That amid such multifarious cares

and duties he should have been able to maintain an undiminished activity in his calling is perhaps the greatest tribute to his genius. As a teacher his fort was in the amphitheater where he displayed precision in diagnosis, great lucidity in the presentation of a complicated case, and a judicious and thorough knowledge of the resources of our art. Naturally as he became more and more involved in outside affairs he became less able to contribute

important papers to medical literature. But a glance through the files of the American Journal of the Medical Sciences and the Transactions of the Association of American Physicians shows during the past ten years a large number of very valuable contributions, many of them in collaboration with younger men. The journal literature of the same period is full of more ephemeral contributions in the form of clinical lectures. I have already referred to several

important early contributions. Among others of special importance I may mention his studies on pernicious anemia, the first made I believe by any physician in this country, and his contributions to Addison's disease. In tuberculosis he always took a very warm interest. For many years he was supposed to be a victim of pulmonary tuberculosis and indeed the autopsy showed that he had a healed patch of the disease in one lung. In the lectures and in numerous

general articles he dwelt upon the great importance of the disease. One of his most interesting contributions was on the local treatment of cavities in the lungs. He also made an extensive investigation into the subject of pulmonary tuberculosis in the state of Pennsylvania. Diseases of the stomach and intestines were always favorite subjects of study. His papers on appendicitis were of special value, particularly those upon the relapsing form of the disease.

His work on pulmonary tuberculosis early led him to make careful inquiries into the climate of different sections of the country and few members of the profession had a more accurate knowledge of the subject. He was a strong believer in the value of the mineral springs of this country and some years ago with Dr. Deland he collected an enormous amount of material which was the basis for his report on the mineral springs of America. In 1893

he edited the American textbook of medicine which had a large sale and served to keep his name prominently before the profession. As a man the late provost formed a most interesting study and as I had such a warm appreciation of his character I may in the privilege of friendship say a few words of a more personal nature. I remember as though it were yesterday the occasion of our first meeting in 1881. I had come to Philadelphia to look over the

museums and hospitals. I was much impressed with his cordiality, the ease of his manner, the freshness and elasticity of his mind. He was just starting to his lecture and I was delighted to accompany him. For years I had not listened to a clinic so well and so artistically planned and conducted with such readiness. I did not see him again until I became his colleague. In five years of pleasant fellowship in the faculty of the University

of Pennsylvania I remember to have been seriously vexed with him but once and that was on account of my confrere Howard Kelly. A number of us had backed that Kensington colt as we called him in those days. I forget for what appointment. I only remember that I was very keen about it at the time. At the last moment Pepper entered a dark horse who won easily to our great chagrin. To my warm expostulations he listened with great patience but after about five minutes of that

delightful persuasiveness which was so freely at his command I left him not only with all bitterness assuaged but almost sorry that I had not supported his candidate. In Athens he would have been called a sophist and I do not deny that he could, when the occasion demanded, play old Belial and make the worst appear the better cause to perplex and darken maturest counsel, but how artistically he could do it. His faults I am not here either to portray or to defend them.

They say best men are molded out of faults and for the most become much and more the better for being a little bad. He was human and to those of a man he added the failings of a college president. To some sedate Philadelphians he seemed a modern Machiavelli but a man engaged in vast schemes with many clashing interests is sure to be misunderstood and to arouse sharp hostility in many quarters. The average citizen, if he does not understand, is very apt to dread or to dislike a new Ulysses.

In many ways the American is the modern Greek, particularly in that power of thinking and acting which was the strongest Hellenic characteristic. Born and bred in one of the most conservative of cities, surrounded by men who loved the old order and who hated change or even the suggestion of it, Pepper displayed from the outset an adaptability and flexibility truly Grecian. He was preeminently a man of felicities and facilities, to use a somewhat flash but most suitable phrase.

Matthew Arnold's comment upon the happy and gracious flexibility which was so incarnate in Pericles has often occurred to me in thinking of the character of the late Provost. Lucidity of thought, clearness and propriety of language, freedom from prejudice, freedom from stiffness, openness of mind, and amiability of manner. There was another Grecian feature which must not be lost sight of. You remember in the Timaeus how the Egyptian priest said to Salon,

You Hellenes are never anything but children. There is not an old man among you. In mind, you are all young. To the very last there was a youthful hopefulness and buoyancy of spirits about Pepper that supported him in many trials and troubles. I never knew him despondent or despairing. If things looked dark, if plans and projects on which his heart was set had miscarried, he kept the disappointment with a smile which robbed it of half its power. The persistency

of this buoyant hopefulness often wore out the most obstinate opposition. In fact, it was irresistible. Nor was it the hopefulness which we condemn as visionary, but a resourceful hopefulness based on confidence in himself and most valuable quality of all, capable of inspiring confidence in others. Nor must I neglect to bear testimony to his inherent kindliness of heart. Busy and prosperous and so much absorbed in large projects and with

the care of lives very important in a community, a great physician is apt to slight the calls of the poor and needy whose lives are of importance only to themselves. Necessarily his contact with such is in the hospital wards. The family physician has not a monopoly of the charity work. The consultant has often to take a share, and with his large and varied associations Pepper had an unusual number of calls upon his time and sympathy, as well as upon his purse, and to all he responded

with a gracious liberality. Only a year or two ago an instance came to my notice which illustrated his kindness. From one of the lower counties of Maryland, one of those sad wrecks which the little red schoolhouses apt to make of women had been under Pepper's care at the University Hospital. She had improved very much, had been able to return to work, but after a time had again broken down. She had written to him for advice. In reply he urged her to put herself under my care at the

Johns Hopkins Hospital, which was much more accessible, and he offered to give her a note of introduction to me. I was much impressed by the kindly tone of the letter, which was written with his own hand, an unusual event in his later years, and full of consideration and sympathy. Not in doubt it was supposed with a very strong constitution. The wonder is that he should have been able to do so much and to live so long. The bridle of theigs, an inherited or acquired

delicateness which has often proved in its possessor a blessing to the race, was no check reign to him, and I have heard him say that he preferred the life of a salmon to that of the turtle. Though premature in one sense, his death came after he had seen fulfilled the desire of his eyes, and to the rich life which he had lived the future could have added but little, though doubtless his restless spirit would have driven him into fresh fields. The reformation of

medical education, the reorganization of the University of Pennsylvania, the establishment of a great commercial museum and a free library, these and a score of minor plans he had either seen completed or well underway. Surely if ever a man could sing a nunc dimittis, it was William Pepper. But as no man liveth, so no man dieth to himself, and we may mourn with those who shared his inner life, and who so generously gave so much of it to us, of the profession and to the public.

For them we feel his loss to be irreparable, his death to be premature. For them we could have wished an extension of his time to the psalmist's limit. I have no desire to criticize the method of his life. Exceptional men cannot be judged by ordinary standards. The stress and strain of thirty years told severely on his arteries, and for two or three years there had been unmistakable warnings in attacks of angina pectoris. He kept at work with vigor unabated until the spring,

when he had signs of dilatation of the heart with bronchitis and dypsnea. The last time I saw him, in May 1898, I think, he was in bed, improving rapidly, he said, and very cheerful, talking much of his plans, particularly of the commercial museum and of the library. He spoke of a proposed visit to the Pacific Coast, and of the good it was sure to do him. Then came the sad announcement of his death in California, a shock to all his friends,

since with the discretion which we doctors often exercise, the secret of his serious attacks had been well kept. I may be permitted to quote one or two extracts from a letter from his physician who was with him at the time. He died at eight in the evening with a copy of Treasure Island in his hands. At seven I had left him, gazing upon Mount Diablo, shadowed in the gathering darkness. I was called at eight and found him in the attitude and with the expression

of Angor Ani-mi, from which he never roused. He had suffered a few months before with cardiac dilatation. At the time of his death he was recovering the lost compensation and appeared on the clear road to recovery. He had said a few days before, the battle has been won. Throughout his illness he exhibited the most perfect disposition and the greatest patience and forbearance. The fatal attack was, I think, about the seventh, extending over a period of

three years. The last previous attack was in April, at the time he was lecturing upon Angina Pectoris. He knew that the end must come some day, but he did not expect it so soon. I have never seen so beautiful a nature and sickness. His conduct and disposition were worthy of Marcus Aurelius. With such a book as Treasure Island in his hand, we can imagine that the great enchanter of the Pacific had filled his mind with the possibilities of peace and quiet. So long denied

him, possibilities turned instantly to realities with the summons to the peace and quiet of an eternal rest. Some lines of the same writer express both the spirit in which William Pepper utilized his time in the service of his fellow men and the chief lesson of his life to us who survive. Contend, my soul, for moments and for hours. Each is with service pregnant, each, reclaimed, is as a kingdom conquered, where to reign.