LITMIR.BIZ

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soon as he returns. Do not think yourselves compelled to adhere to me, simply because you have been obliged to call me once. I will yield most cheerfully to the individual of your preference."

      Mrs. B. apologized. She knew I had done as well as I could, she said; and perhaps no one could have done better. "But little Leonora," said she, "is dreadfully sick; and I do very much want to see Dr. B. He has had more experience than you. These young doctors, just from the schools, what can they know, the best of them?"

      I saw her difficulties; but, as I have already intimated, I did not look so wise as Dr. B., nor had I so grave a face, nor so large an abdomen. I could neither tell so good a story, nor laugh so heartily; I could not even descend to that petty talk which is so often greatly preferred to silence or newspaper reading, not only by such individuals as Mrs. B. and her friends, but by most families. A physician must be a man of sympathy. He need not, however, descend to so low a level as that of dishonesty; but he must come down to the level of his people in regard to manners and conversation. He must converse with them in their own language. He must not only seem to be devoted, unreservedly, to their interests, but must actually be so. This confession is most cheerfully and sincerely and honestly made; and may he who reads it understand.

      On a certain occasion I was called to prescribe in a family where the disappointment was so great that the patient was actually made worse by my presence, and an unfavorable turn given to the disease. It may be said that people ought not to yield themselves up to the influence of such feelings; and it is certainly true that they ought not. But sick people are not always rational, nor even judicious. Dr. Johnson says: "Every sick man is a rascal;" but we need not go quite so far as that. Sickness changes us, morally, sometimes for the better, but much oftener for the worse; and in general it makes us much less reasonable.

      But it is far enough from being my intention to present a full account of the trials incident to the life of a young medical man; for, in order to do this, I should be obliged to carry you with me, at least mentally, to places which you would not greatly desire to visit. Physicians can seldom choose their patients; they are compelled to take them as they find them. They will sometimes be called to the vilest of the vile and the filthiest of the filthy.

      Their office is indeed a noble one; but is noblest of all when performed honestly, in the fear of God, with a view to do good, and not merely to please mankind and gratify their own ambition. Above all, they should not practise medicine for the mere love of money. A physician should have a heart overflowing with benevolence, and should feel it incumbent upon him, at every step in his professional life, not only to do good to his patients, but to all around him. He should be a guide to mankind, physically, for moral ends. He should let his light so shine, that they, seeing his good works, may be led to glorify the Father who is in heaven. His object should be to spread, by the good he performs, the everlasting gospel, just as truly as this should be the object of him who ministers in holy things at the altar. Such a physician, however, at first, I was not. Such, however, I soon aspired to be; such, as I trust, I at length became. Of this, however, the reader will judge for himself, by-and-by. "By their fruits ye shall know them."

      CHAPTER XXVII

      A DOSING AND DRUGGING FAMILY

      For several months of the first year of my medical life, I was a boarder in a family, all of whom were sickly. Some of the number were even continually or almost continually under the influence of medicine, if not of physicians. Here my trials were various, and some of them severe.

      But I must give you a particular description of this family; for I have many things to say concerning it, some of which may prove instructive.

      Mr. L. had been brought up a farmer; but being possessed of a delicate constitution, had been subsequently converted into a country shop-keeper, – a dealer, I mean, in dry goods and groceries. As is usual in such cases, he was in the habit of keeping a small assortment of drugs and medicines. The circumstance of having medicine always at hand, and often in hand, had led him, as it has thousands of others, into temptation, till he had formed and confirmed the habit of frequent dosing and drugging his frail system. But as usually happens in such cases, the more medicine he took, the more he seemed to require, and consequently the more he swallowed. One thing prepared the way for another.

      With Mrs. L. matters were still worse. In the vain belief that without a course of medication, she could never have any constitution, as she was wont to express it, her mother had begun to dose and drug her as early as at the age of twelve or fourteen years. And what had been thus early begun, had been continued till she was twenty-four, when she married Mr. L. But she was feebler, if possible, at twenty-four, than at fourteen, and believed herself under the necessity of taking medicine in order to be able to sit up a part of the day and perform a little light, but needful, family labor, such as sewing, mending, etc.

      When I first had a seat at their family table, it was by no means uncommon for Mr. and Mrs. L. to begin their meal, as soon as "grace" was over, with Stoughton's bitters, or some other supposed cordial, or strengthener of the appetite. As I not only refused to join them, but occasionally spoke a kind word against the custom into which they had fallen, the bitters at length fell into disuse; and it was found that their meals could be digested as well without the stimulus, as with its aid.

      But I was much less successful in preventing the torrent of medicine from producing its wonted – upon this family, at other times and seasons; for which Mr. L.'s business furnished such facilities. But you must not think of Mrs. L. as a mere tyro in this business of compounding medicine, nor in that of administering it, especially to herself. From the apothecary's shop of her husband, as well as from other sources, she selected one thing after another, not merely for the time, but for permanent purposes, till it was almost difficult to say which had the best assortment, she or her husband. And she not only had it on hand, but she took it, as freely, almost so, as her food and drink.

      More than even this should be affirmed. Had she at any time flagged in this work of self-destruction, she would have been brought up again to the line by her mother. For though the latter resided at a considerable distance, she paid Mrs. L. an occasional visit, and sometimes remained in the family several weeks. Whenever she did so, little was heard of in the usual hours of conversation, – especially at the table, – but Sarah's stomach, Sarah's nerves, and what was good for Sarah. It was enough to make one sick at the stomach, to witness the conversation even for a single day; and above all to be compelled to join in it.

      She was there once, in the early spring, and remained until the ground was fairly settled. No sooner could she get into the woods, and come to the naked surface of the earth, than the whole country around was laid under tribute to furnish roots "good for the blood." These were put into a beer to be prepared for Sarah. It was supposed by many, – and by this wondrous wise old lady, among the rest, – that the efficacy of these medicinal beers in cleansing the blood, must ever be in due proportion to the number of their respective ingredients. Thus, if twenty articles, "good for the blood," could be procured and boiled in the wort, the result would be a compound which would be worth twenty times as much, or at least be many times as useful, in accomplishing its supposed specific purpose, as if only one kind of root had been obtained.

      It was a long time before I could break in upon this tissue of error, to any practical purpose. For so deeply imbedded in the human brain is the idea of purifying the blood by some such unnatural means, that one might almost as well think of building a railroad to the moon, as of overcoming it. They never thought – perhaps never knew – that the blood of the human body of to-day, will be little more the blood of the body to-morrow, than the river which flows by our door to-day will be the river of to-morrow; and that the one can no more be purified independently of any and all things else, than the other.

      But it is said to be a long road which never turns. Some good impressions had been made on this family, as we shall see hereafter. Not, indeed, until there had been much unnecessary suffering, and many an unwilling penalty paid for transgression, as well as much money uselessly expended for physicians and medicine. For though I was somewhat a favorite in the family, I was as yet young and inexperienced, and many a wiser head than mine was from time to time invoked, and much time and money lost in other ways, that might have been saved for better and nobler purposes.

      Among

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