His work and worth were recognized, however, during his lifetime. Among the honors conferred upon him were Master of Science, Columbia University, 1889; Honorary Fellow of the Phipps Institute, 1903; LL.D., McGill University, 1904; and LL.D., University of Pennsylvania, 1913. The last-mentioned degree he received _in absentia_. Yale offered to confer the degree of LL.D., but the doctor was too ill to be present at the exercises. III I had intended to omit anecdotes in this brief sketch of Trudeau’s life, from the time that he was carried into Paul Smith’s “weighin’ no more’n a lambskin” up to the latter days when he lay on a final bed of suffering. But the anecdotes would creep in; and now they may stay just where they are, for it was characteristic of Trudeau, even when addressing a grave body of physicians and master-surgeons, to lighten his most serious discourses with anecdotal humor; although the first time he ever tried to address his colleagues,--at Baltimore in the eighties,--he fainted from illness, and, while others restored him, Dr. Loomis read the frail doctor’s address to the gathering. Even in his own sufferings he found a text for interesting discourse that was flavored with the grim humor of grit. It does not seem long ago that I stood by his bedside while he, with one poor portion of a single lung, labored for breath. The possible benefits of artificial pneumo-thorax had not yet been fully established, yet the doctor had been one of the first to submit to the operation, offering himself, it seemed, as a victim of experimentation, although he told the operating physician that he expected no good results,--“For, after all, my dear fellow, the age of miracles is past.” Yet it eased his sufferings for several years, although at the time he was very ill. He assured me that he was not going to die right away. “No such luck!” said he in the most cheerful manner. “But,” he continued, as connectedly as breath would allow, “what is the scheme of this business--of life--suffering--death? I don’t understand. It reminds me of this English ‘Cat and Mouse’ bill. They put a woman in a cell till she’s near dead of starvation. Then they let her out for a square meal--so she can get strength enough to suffer some more. You’ve got to have feeling, you know, to suffer. There’s a philosophy, by the way, for those who fear the agony of death. As you lose the enduring powers of life, you lose also the sensibility to suffering. It must be so. It is so. I have seen it many times.... Cat and mouse,” he half-mused,--“life and death. Death’s the cat--comes and paws until poor life is about dead to all feeling. Then the cat retires into a dark corner and purrs while the mouse gets a little life back, so as to be more sensible of suffering when the cat comes pawing again. I don’t say there’s no reason behind it--but I can’t see it--can you?”