THE ROMANCE OF MEDICINE. 427 



make an exhibition of tongue and pulse. What made matters so aggra- 

 vating was, that she was as strong as a horse, while the doctor was a 

 delicate man. She was so selfish and perverse, that he was obliged to 

 tell her that he would have nothing to do with her case. Similarly, I 

 have known the son of a rich man who proposed to pay a clergyman 

 several hundred pounds a year for leave to spend his evenings with 

 him. The parson, however, was obliged to tell his rich friend that he 

 talked such intolerable twaddle, that he could not accept his company 

 on any terms that could be named ! But the oddest of these arrange- 

 ments is the following : A medical man has been attending a patient 

 several years, and yet he has never seen his patient. The gentleman 

 firmly believes that he has an oesophagus of peculiar construction, and 

 that he is accordingly liable at any moment to be choked. That help 

 may be at hand whenever any sudden emergency may occur, he has a 

 physician in the house night and day. The physician, being human, 

 must needs take his walks abroad, and it becomes necessary to provide 

 a substitute for him two hours a day. Accordingly a doctor attends 

 daily from twelve to two, fills up his time by disposing of an admira- 

 ble lunch, and finds the gold and silver coin, in their usual happy com- 

 bination, neatly put by the side of his plate, in tissue-paper. Up to 

 the present date he has never had the pleasure of exchanging words 

 with his interesting patient. 



It is in medical biography, or, rather, medical autobiography, that 

 we must look for our most valuable and authentic instances. Medical 

 literature is not rich in this way; some half-dozen volumes would 

 nearly include the whole. It is to be regretted, indeed, that the best 

 medical men write the least ; those who have obtained the highest 

 rank in their profession, and who would have most of science, most of 

 incident to impart. There is all the difference in the world between 

 books that are written to obtain practice, and books that are written 

 out of the fulness of practice. ... In medical autobiography we have 

 such charming narratives as those written by Sir Benjamin Brodie and 

 Sir Henry Holland. There is no doubt that even fictitious narratives, 

 such as " Early Struggles," in the "Diary of a Late Physician," really 

 give us facts substantially as true as any which we find in regular 

 memoirs. I myself know physicians of singular learning and ability, 

 who for half a dozen years have not taken half a dozen guineas a year. 

 Other men, by the happy use of dress and address, though inferior, 

 leave them far behind. One instance is on record which might well 

 be worked up into some narrative like Mr. Warren's. An able man 

 waited and waited hopelessly till ruin stared him in the face. One 

 night, when brooding on his miseries, he heard a bell ringing violently 

 at his surgery door. Opening it, he found that a man had been thrown 

 out of his cab and nearly killed, and they wanted to bring him into 

 the surgery. The medical man found that there were concussion of the 

 brain and dislocation of the shoulder-joint. His card-case showed that 



