Yet thus it was precisely. For three long months I was endeavoring to meet and obviate the symptoms of a disease which I secretly believed was induced by lead, but of which I had no such strong evidence as would have justified the positive affirmation that it was so, or prevented me from searching for other causes. This state of mind was by no means favorable to my success as a medical practitioner; for it somehow greatly impaired or weakened their general confidence in my wisdom and skill. Had I, on the other hand, "looked very wise," declared the disease to be so and so, with great pertinacity, and adhered, through good report and through evil, to my opinion, whenever it was assailed, and withal manifested no desire to receive medical counsel, I should have had a larger measure of their esteem, and a very much larger measure, as a professional man, of their confidence. They might then have thought me a very wise and good physician.
A man who wishes to be greatly popular in the world must learn the ways of the world, and walk in them more or less, whether they are crooked or straight. He must not be over-modest, or over-honest; nor must he be over-solicitous to improve his own mind or heart, or encourage others, by precept or example, to walk in the way of improvement. He must not only make up his mind to take the world as it is, but to suffer it to remain so. The world does not like to be found fault with; it has a great deal of self-confidence.
The young man, in the end, recovered; not, as I now believe, in consequence of the treatment, but in spite of it. Had he been nursed carefully from the first, and kept from every source of irritation, both external and internal, even from food, except a very little of the mildest sort, just enough to keep him from absolute starvation; and had his air been pure and his temper of mind easy, cheerful and hopeful, he would probably have recovered much sooner than he did, and with far better prospects for the future. But he had been frightened about himself, from the very first, by my own inquiries about poison,—which had unwarily been communicated to him,—and his fears never wholly subsided.
How much wisdom from both worlds does it require in order to be a physician! The office of a medical man, I repeat, is one of the noblest under the whole heaven. The physician is, or should be, a missionary. Do you regard this assertion as extravagant or unfounded? Why, then, was it made an adjunct, and more than an adjunct, in the first promulgation of the gospel, and this, too, by the gospel's divine Author? Why is it that our success in modern times, in spreading the gospel, has been greater—other things being equal—in America or China, in proportion as its preachers have attended to the body as well as to the soul?
At the time of my commencing the practice of medicine, I was no more fit for it than I was to preach the cross of Christ; that is, I was almost entirely unqualified for either profession. I was honest, sanguine, philanthropic, but I was uneducated. I knew very little, indeed, of human nature; still less did I know of the sublime art of becoming all things to all men, in the nobler and more elevated sense of the great apostle Paul. I would yield to no other compromise than such as he encourages, of course. Let us be honest and truthful, though the heavens fall.
CHAPTER XXIX.
STANDING PATIENTS.
Medical men well know—should any such condescend to look over this volume—what is meant when I affirm that I was not long in securing to myself a good share of standing patients. They are the dread, not to say the curse, of the profession. And yet they abound. They are found throughout the length and breadth of the land, and in great numbers.