pouring spirits of wine over him, for his
better preservation.

I was sent up to London in due course to
walk the hospitals, with a purse very ill-
provided for that somewhat expensive
exercise. There was little fear of my operating
hand getting shaky, as I have known many
young hands to become, through wine parties
and supper parties and coming home from
the casinos at three. My poverty, if not my
will, consented to lead a quiet life, and I
became medical student in something more
than name. I liked the work immensely. I
felt none of those qualms which some of my
companions—not more kind-hearted than
myself, I think—experienced when for the
first time we saw the poor frightened
patients carried into the operative theatre.
There were then, too, groans and cries, and
agonies to be listened to and beheld, such as a
generation blessed with chloroform has no
conception of. No, an occurrence to which I
was a witness at St. Winifred Hospital, in
those early days, gave me a sadder notion of
my profession than any of those necessary
tortures; for, as I have said, I was indeed
attached to her, and felt any slight put on
her as an insult to myself.

We had had great trouble and expense
with a certain patient who had died upon
our hands. He had been thrown from his
horse, grievously injured, and was brought in,
placed in a private ward, and diligently
tended for five months—in vain. He was a rich
man without nearer relatives than a distant
cousin, to whom all his property, some three
thousand a-year, descended—and he constantly
expressed his desire (and in the presence of his
cousin, more than once) to show his sense of the
solicitude which dear St. Winifred had shown
for him, although she could not save him.

Three months after this man's decease the
heir appeared in our entrance hall, and having
asked to see an authority, was ushered into a
room where I happened to be also.

"I have come," he said, " to express my
gratitude for the care and kindness exhibited
in this place towards my late lamented
relative, and if you will put me into the way of
showing it more solidly, I shall feel obliged."

The authority bowed; explained that St.
Winifred was open to all—gratis—to rich
and poor alike. It was true that it was
supported by voluntary contributions, but that
he (the authority) could by no means dictate
or even suggest what amount would be, in any
particular case, suitable; some people became
life-governors by the payment of one
hundred pounds, that was the best.

"I should be sorry," resumed the cousin—
who looked a vast deal more prosperous than
when he was wont to frequent ward number
one, with "and how is my dearest relative this
morning?"—"to suffer my sense of the benefits
of professional skill, and—and—Christian
tenderness to remain unmarked. Have you four
sovereigns about you? Thank you. Here is
a five pound note. You need not mention
my name, sir, except as a friend to science—
yes, a friend to science,—twenty shillings. I
wish you good day."

"Well," said the authority, coolly, "that is
not a grateful person, certainly. One really
would have conjectured that we had saved
his rich cousin's life."

But this old gentleman was not indignant,
as I was, for he had been far too long in the
profession, not to know the value which even
friends to science are accustomed to put upon
medical skill.

I speak, perhaps, bitterly, but I speak as I
have found. I am told that a man who does
his duty in the hospitals, steadily and
earnestly, who is not afraid of a little drudgery,
not too proud to accept small sums for working
for his medical seniors in a hundred ways, or
even to receive praise and recommendation,
instead of money for his toil, is pretty certain,
if there be really anything in him to succeed
for himself, at last; that, having thus won
the regard of his own profession, he must
needs win the public, too;—fortune as well as
fame. This is the case among the London
faculty, I do not doubt, since I hear it so
continually; but how is it with the parish
doctor in the country?

The clergy, I understand, are by no means
without their grievances in this respect; but
think of a young divine, without private
fortune, undertaking the cure of three thousand
people for forty pounds per annum—or
threepence per head—and finding his own
physic, into the bargain. Such was my first
appointment at Milston in Berkshire, and
I am now not at all certain that it was not
my best one. I bought the dispensary of the
out-going doctor, at a very reasonable
figure, a handsome case of instruments was
presented to me by my uncle—a humble
apothecary to whom I have been indebted for
help through life far more than to any
parochial relief—and I confess I took down with
me, besides, as furniture, some pounds of
excellent Cavendish tobacco. By the time I
was housed in pretty comfortable lodgings,
the rent of which exactly coincided with my
annual income, I found myself with twenty-six
shillings and sixpence only, in hand. This
appointment had been got for me through favour
by private means, and, being better than any
advertised by board of guardians, I had
jumped at it greedily, without any sort of
inquiry; but, when I came to look at my gift-
horse more carefully, I found him to be more
than twelve miles from end to end, and about
four miles across, with much undulating
down-land, and very indifferent roads.
Besides this, he straggled immensely; the
second night of my sojourn here, I was
called up in the night by a little boy to see
his mother, who lived on the other side of
Chilling Bottom. The messenger was
running off again, but I bade him remain and
show me the way.