The country doctor.

Date:
[1863?]
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: The country doctor. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by The Royal College of Surgeons of England. The original may be consulted at The Royal College of Surgeons of England.

    1/6
    CO COWPER’S “TASK.” “If the work caunofc boasfc a regular plan (in which respect however, I do not think it altogether indefen- sible), it may yet boast that the reflections are naturally suggested alwa,ys by the preceding passage, and that, except the fifth book, which is rather of a political aspect, the whole has one tendency: to discountenance the modern enthusiasm after a London life, and to, recommend rural ease and leisure, as friendly to the cause of piety and virtue. If it pleases you I shall be happy, and colIectTrUhi jour pleasure in it an oincn of its general acccjitaiicc. “ yours, my dear Friend, “W. C.” “To Joseph IIili,, Esq.* ,, “ Olncj*, June 25, 1785. M Y BEAR I'JUEKB,—I write in a nook that I call my boudoir. It IS a summer-house, not much bigger than a sedan-chair, the door of which opens into the garden, that IS now crowded with pinks, roses, and honeysuckles; and the window into my neighbour’s orchard. It for- merly served an apothecary, now dead, as a smoknjg. room; and under my feet is a trap-door, which voifcc tovered a hole in the ground, where he kept his bottles. At present, however, it is dedicated to sublimer iises. i-lavmg lined it with garden-mats, and furnished it'with a table aiul two chairs, here I write all that 1 write in summer-time, whether to my friends or to the public. It IS secure from all noise, and a refuge from all in- trusion ; for intruders sometimes trouble me in the winter evenings at Oluey. But (thanks to my lomloirl) I can now hide myself from them. A poet’s retreat is sacred. They acknowledge the truth of that proposi- tion. and never presume to violate it. “ The last sentence puts me in mind to tell j-ou that I ha\x ordered my volume to your door. My bookseller is the most dilatory of all his fraternity, or you ivould have received it long since. It is more than a month since I returned him the last proof, and consequently since the printing was finished. I sent him the manu- script at the beginning of November, that he might publish while the town was full, and he will hit the e.vact moment when it is entirely empty. Patience, you will perceive, is in no situation cxemjitcd from the severest trials ; a remark that may serve to comfort you under the numberless trials of your own. “W. C.’’ • passage in the “Winter Morn- ing s Walk, Book v of the “ Task. 'A Tib mornmg; and the snn, with ruddy orb Ascending, fires the horizon; wliilo the clouds. That crowd away boforo the driving wind. More ardent as the disk emerges more. Resemble most some city in a blaze. Seen though the leafless wood. His slanting ray Shdes ineflectual down the snowy vale. ''Westminster, and a club-com- nrSfle innt w ’ “v was most cordial. Hill did profession of the In himself diligently and successfully to the he attainpfl n nn«v ’ assistance and patronage of Thurlow, of Co^rl competence. At a late perird the poet’s cireumntn ° hurlow acquainted with the narrowness of ttat as he wnT to which the ChanceUor thought been besLwnVfor him to enjoy the saUsfacUon of knowing it had Sort!, yo'T useful as enabUng his friends to add to his affairs To Hflf qo^ct ingf ’ addressed a very Uvely poetical epistle, begin- Bear Joseph—Hve-and-tweuty years ago— and it ends by desS‘SL®“' An honest man, olose-bnttoned to the chin, ~-V T. ^thont, and a warm heart within. frmZtuf, n\t lettei t, pxibhihed bp the Jtehgioue Tract Society. And, tinging all with ins own rosy hue From eveiy herb and every spiry blade’ Stretches a length of shadow o’er the field Mine, spindling into longitude immense. In spite of grarity, and sage remark Tliat I myself am but a fle'etmg shade. Provokes mo to a smile. With eye askance 1 View tho miisciilai»’’’f^jfcjoilion*d lin; Traj^i’dto.T^^^anh. The^ielei AsJTc^ dcsign’iyio mo^ me f p for I nd^i^roach I Ungo, walk along the plaster’d wall Preposterous sight 1 the legs without th Ihe verdure of tho plain lies 1 Rcneatli tho dazzling deluge • And coa-scr grass, upspearL Of late imsightly and un.ioeAnow i Conspicuous, and in brightH Mul fledged witli icy featliers, nd» KUperb. The cattle mown in corners, where the fence Screens them, and seem half.pctrified to sleep In unrccumbent sadness. There they wait Their wonted fodder; not like hungering man Fretful if unsupplied ; but silent, mock. And patient of the slow-paced swain’s delay. ■ eaives out the accustom’d load, plimging, and again deep plunging oft, Hi» broad keen knife into the solid mass: Pmoolh us a wall the upright remn.mt stands. With such nndeviating and even force He severs it away: no needless care. Lest storms should overset the loaning pile Deciduous, or its o^vn unbalanced weight. Forth goes tlio woodman, leaving unconcem’d ‘The cheerful haunts of man; to wield the axe And drivq tho wedge in yonder forest drear. From mom to eve his solitary task. Shuilgy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears And tail cropp’d short, haftlwcher and half cur His dog ottends him. Close behind his heel ’ Now creeps ho slow; and now, with many a frisk Wide scampering, snatches up tho drifted snow With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout; 'flicn shakes his powder’d coat, and barks for joy. Heedless of all his pranks, tho stwdy chwl Moves right toward tho mark; nor stops for aught. But now and then with pressure of his thumb ’ To adjust tho fragrant chai-go of a short tube. That fumes beneath his nose: the trailing cloud Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 87 TUE COUNTRY DOCTOR. A cftA^'E gentleman, elderly, or at least middle-aged, stepping from a comfortable close carriage, tasselled cane lu hand this, I believe, is tho most approved ideal people feign to themselves of a doctor. Neither is the presentment complete until you add an unexceptionable suit of spotless black, its sombreuess relieved by white cravat, the latter so stringent in its embrace as to merit a certain name that vulgar little hoys are wont to give it, but which respect for the classical purity of my mother tongue forbids my committing to paper. Such a pic- ture was once faithful enough in its application to the town and city doctor. It is no longer so, even for him. What with the beard movement, and other changes of usage and fashion, our town and city doctors have now become pretty much, to look at, like other men, distinc- tive professional type having well nigh vanished. Such a picture the country doctor never resembled in the slightest degree. Such an external was and is wholly incompatible with the surrounding circumstances of his life, with the very nature and genius of his calling. By a metaphor, not so flighty as metaphors sometimes are, the Arab is said to be bom to the saddle. Even thus is it also with the countiy doctor. Until the time when footpaths trending o’er hill and moor are widened out into macadamized queen’s highways—until the time when stiles shall he abolished, and taking a fence to save a mile shall be no longer to the counti’y doctor a thing desirable, there can be no soft-padded close car*