against his interest, he is very slow to believe that anything is the matter with anybody. If people are resolved to be quacked, he finds a bread-pill, to be taken four times a day—a safe and wholesome remedy. Still, though mortally averse to old women and nervous invalids, when there is real suffering, the sceptical doctor feels keenly, all the more, perhaps, from his efforts to conceal it.

"Of all others, perhaps, the most provoking is the talkative doctor. Well versed in almost every subject, fond of literature, of politics, and of science, it is difficult to keep him to the point, and obtain any definite opinion or practical advice from him. Quite forgetful that you are in actual pain or grievous discomforture, a single hint or remote allusion is sufficient to draw forth a learned discussion on ancient or mediæval art, or the marbles of Nineveh. He will harangue on the authenticity of Rowley, or the author of Junius; there is no subject which he cannot render interesting to every one but the poor patient, who needs more philosophy than he has ever dreamed of to bear patiently with it all!

"The morbid doctor is not a common specimen, but occasionally he may be met with. Take a drive with him some fine morning in his chaise, and, however cheerily you start, depend upon it you will come home moping. The morbid doctor sees disease and death before him at every turning. At each corner a death's-head stares him in the face. A gaunt, grim figure, the embodiment of all diseases, sits at his elbow. It would be hard to say how many functional disorders have become organic through his treatment of them. If the morbid doctor pronounces a complaint fatal, how can the patient doubt?

Some people find great difficulty in choosing their medical attendant. 'How,' say they, 'can we ascertain the real standing a man holds in his profession? A large practice is not a criterion; the courting, canting, quack will sometimes secure it, or mere manners will be against it; the public may be

deceived; from his medical brethren we can learn nothing. How, then, is the truth to be ascertained?'

"All we can say in reply is, that in this, as in most other things, people must employ common sense-an invaluable quality at all times, and especially needful in choosing a doctor. If you find a medical man shallow on general subjects, or wanting in clearness of perception, he is not likely to be very logical or very deep with regard to his profession. If you find him boasting, bustling, and pompous-disposed to talk of the variety of his engagements, and the value in which his opinion is held, are you not free to regard him as you would any other man who puts forth the same pretensions? At the same time be not carping or suspicious. Medical men are altogether, perhaps, the most valuable members of society; their sphere of usefulness is exceeded by none. A word spoken in season is doubly valued when falling from the lips of those who have ministered to our bodily necessities, and what influence may they not exert in our families! In sickness and by the bed of death, chords may be touched which will never cease to vibrate; love and domestic union may take the place of coldness and neglect; and the family doctor may prove of immense service as the family adviser." *

Altogether, the medical profession, though arduous in the extreme, is very noble; and few, we believe, who have entered upon it would be willing to change it for any other. The variety of learning it requires, the constant accession of new truths, the full, anxious, but interesting occupation it affords to the mind, renders it absolutely absorbing and exciting.

Add to this the society of all kinds into which the medical man is thrown, the knowledge of human nature he acquires thereby, the many beautiful traits of domestic affection and woman's love which pass daily before him, the gratitude of some hearts, the cordial friendship of others, the respect to be

*Chambers' Journal.

attained from all-and it will scarcely be denied that the practice of medicine is one of the most interesting and delightful, as well as responsible, of all professions.

In fine, since there is a sacredness in the trust confided to the professor of the healing art, a corresponding fidelity to its claims and responsibilities is indispensably requisite; and, consequently, he who is recklessly indifferent to these is guilty of the highest style of crime, in a wanton betrayal of the faith reposed in him.

THE topic we have chosen for the present chapter is so intangible, that the moment we essay to-grasp it, it is gone. Although impalpable it is yet real, for, like the circumambient atmosphere, it is ever present with us, although unseen. If we attempt to symbolize it, we fail fully to portray it, and yet images are its only mode of illustration. It is both the longest and the shortest, the swiftest and the slowest ; the most divisible and the most indivisible; the most regretted and the least valued; without which nothing can be done; yet, that which devours everything, and gives existence to everything. It is the most paradoxical, yet the simplest of elements. Strictly speaking, it is never palpable, yet it is ever present; a

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constant succession, an unfathomable duration; the most momentous benefactor to man, yet seldom estimated according to its worth.

It is the account current with all, in which more are found bankrupt than wealthy, when the balance-sheet is demanded. It marks the rising and the setting sun, spreads over us the black veil of night, and gilds with gladness the face of day; it rolls on the revolving seasons, chronicling the deeds of centuries; watching over the birth of infancy, the ardent aspirations of youth, toiling manhood, and the tottering steps of the infirm and aged-his sorrows, loves, and cares, nor forsakes him so long as life shall last. It is always the friend of the virtuous and the true, a tormenting foe to those who abuse the gift; to the former, it is redolent of fragrant and pleasant memories, to the latter, of gloomy remorse and despair.

"It rolls away, and bears along

A mingled mass of right and wrong;

The flowers of love that bloomed beside

The margin of life's sunny tide;

The poisoned weeds of passion, torn

From dripping rocks, and headlong borne
Into that unhorizoned sea--

Which mortals call eternity!"

And such is that mysterious myth, named Time, who measures our allotted span, from the cradle to the coffin, mingles our joys and griefs in the chalice of life, and then terminates it with his scythe,—

"A shadow only to the eye,

It levels all beneath the sky."

Time is but a name; it is what is done in time that is the substance. What are twenty-four centuries to the hard rock, more than twenty-four hours to man, or twenty-four minutes to