For about four years from the time of getting up the above-named temperance society, strange as the assertion may seem, I retained the right to use a little beer and a good deal of coffee. But in May, 1830, I abandoned all drinks but water, to which custom I have ever since adhered and in which I shall probably die.
CHAPTER XXVI.
TRIALS OF A YOUNG PHYSICIAN.
The poet Cowper, in his delineations of a candidate for the pulpit, prescribes, as one needful condition or qualification,
"That he is honest in the sacred cause."
So, when I entered upon the medical profession, which I regarded as next of kin to sacred, I deemed honesty quite a high recommendation; and whatever in the abstract appeared to me to be right, I endeavored to pursue through the routine of every-day life. Alas, that I should ever have had occasion to doubt the policy of common honesty!
I was called to see Mrs. ——. The case was an urgent one. There was no time for deliberation or consultation. I understood her case but very poorly; yet I knew that in order to success I must at least seem to be wise. Besides, what was to be done must be done quickly; so I boldly prescribed. My prescription was entirely successful, and I left the house with flying colors. I left, moreover, with the full consciousness of having acted in the main like an honest man.
A few days afterward I was sent for by Mrs. ——, who immediately filled my ears with the most piteous complaints, the sum total of which was that she was exceedingly nervous, and I told her so. Of course I did not complain of culpability or crime. But I told her, very plainly, that she needed no medicine—nothing but plenty of air and exercise, and less high-seasoned food. My great frankness gave offence, and impaired my reputation. She employed, in my stead, Dr. Robinson, who continued to attend her till his bill amounted to a sum sufficient to buy a good carriage and harness, and till his credit for skill was advanced in a degree corresponding.