He advised well with the Surgeons, and, generally, approved their treatment; but suggested frequently that judicious change which the nature of the case required. This he did in so gentlemanly and considerate a manner, that he was sure to be consulted by the very next patient of the same Surgeon.
In this way, he made many friends, lost very few, and found himself in the most affluent circumstances from very extensive practice. But, somehow, he overworked himself, and got into a very irritable, and at the same time desponding, tone. Prosperity tries men very often more severely than adversity.
The Doctor, as long as he had his way to make in the world, was more attentive to others, and thought less about his own ails than he did about others. Now that he had accumulated money, he began to think of investments, and how he should place to the best account his accumulations.
He also thought a little more of style, equipage, choice society, and innumerable things, to which his life had been hitherto a stranger. He began to think and to care more about himself, than he did about any body else. He became of some consequence in his neighbourhood, and expected every one to bow to him, and to treat him as a monied man. In short, from a pure philanthropist, he became almost a misanthrope.
He began to torment himself about every thing and every body. Nothing pleased him,—his wife and children disturbed him,—he was downright cross to them. And the same man, who once never came into his house without a cheerful smile for every one in it, now took no notice of anyone, except it were to find fault, and to let out words which in his sober senses he would be shocked to hear any other person make use of.
"My dear, I am sure you are not well," said Mrs. Bull, to him one day, "I am sure you are not well."
"I could have told you that," was the reply.
"Do take a little change."
"Pish! change! what change? I am changing, and shall soon make some great change, if things go on as they do in this house."
"Is anything wrong, my dear?"