Hilda Wade's gift was so unique, so extraordinary, that I must illustrate it, I think, before Iattempt to describe it. But first let me say a word of explanation about the Master.I have never met anyone who impressed me so much with a sense of GREATNESS as ProfessorSebastian. And this was not due to his scientific eminence alone: the man's strength and keennessstruck me quite as forcibly as his vast attainments. When he first came to St. Nathaniel's Hospital, aneager, fiery-eyed physiologist, well past the prime of life, and began to preach with all the electricforce of his vivid personality that the one thing on earth worth a young man's doing was to work inhis laboratory, attend his lectures, study disease, and be a scientific doctor, dozens of us wereinfected by his contagious enthusiasm. He proclaimed the gospel of germs; and the germ of his ownzeal flew abroad in the hospital: it ran through the wards as if it were typhoid fever. Within a fewmonths, half the students were converted from lukewarm observers of medical routine into flamingapostles of the new methods.The greatest authority in Europe on comparative anatomy, now that Huxley was taken from us,he had devoted his later days to the pursuit of medicine proper, to which he brought a mind storedwith luminous analogies from the lower animals. His very appearance held one. Tall, thin, erect, withan ascetic profile not unlike Cardinal Manning's, he represented that abstract form of asceticismwhich consists in absolute self-sacrifice to a mental ideas, not that which consists in religiousabnegation. Three years of travel in Africa had tanned his skin for life. His long white hair, straightand silvery as it fell, just curled in one wave-like inward sweep where it turned and rested on thestooping shoulders. His pale face was clean-shaven, save for a thin and wiry grizzled moustache,which cast into stronger relief the deep-set, hawk-like eyes and the acute, intense, intellectualfeatures. In some respects, his countenance reminded me often of Dr. Martineau's: in others itrecalled the knife-like edge, unturnable, of his great predecessor, Professor Owen. Wherever hewent, men turned to stare at him. In Paris, they took him for the head of the English Socialists; inRussia, they declared he was a Nihilist emissary. And they were not far wrong-in essence; forSebastian's stern, sharp face was above all things the face of a man absorbed and engrossed by oneoverpowering pursuit in life-the sacred thirst of knowledge, which had swallowed up his entirenature.He WAS what he looked-the most single-minded person I have ever come across. And when Isay single-minded, I mean just that, and no more. He had an End to attain-the advancement ofscience, and he went straight towards the End, looking neither to the right nor to the left foranyone. An American millionaire once remarked to him of some ingenious appliance he wasdescribing: "Why, if you were to perfect that apparatus, Professor, and take out a patent for it, Ireckon you'd make as much money as I have made." Sebastian withered him with a glance.
