liction of
suffering, so readily as some gentler office. Yet, while I am writing
this paragraph, there passes by my window, on his daily errand of duty,
not seeing me, though I catch a glimpse of his manly features through
the oval glass of his chaise, as he drives by, a surgeon of skill and
standing, so friendly, so modest, so tenderhearted in all his ways,
that, if he had not approved himself at once adroit and firm, one would
have said he was of too kindly a mould to be the minister of pain, even
if he were saving pain.

You may be sure that some men, even among those who have chosen the task
of pruning their fellow-creatures, grow more and more thoughtful and
truly compassionate in the midst of their cruel experience. They become
less nervous, but more sympathetic. They have a truer sensibility for
others' pain, the more they study pain and disease in the light of
science. I have said this without claiming any special growth in
humanity for myself, though I do hope I grow tenderer in my feelings
as I grow older. At any rate, this was not a time in which professional
habits could keep down certain instincts of older date than these.

This poor little man's appeal to my humanity against the supposed
rapacity of Science, which he feared would have her "specimen," if his
ghost should walk restlessly a thousand years, waiting for his bones
to be laid in the dust, touched my heart. But I felt bound to speak
cheerily.

--We won't die yet awhile, if we can help it,--I said,--and I trust we
can help it. But don't be afraid; if I live longest, I will see that
your resting place is kept sacred till the dandelions and buttercups
blow over you.

He seemed to have got his wits together by this time, and to have a
vague consciousness that he might have been saying more than he meant
for anybody's ears.--I have been talking a little wild, Sir, eh? he
said.--There is a great buzzing in my head with those drops of yours,
and I doubt if my tongue has not been a little looser than I would have
it, Sir. But I don't much want to live, Sir; that's the truth of the
matter, and it does rather please me to think that fifty years from now
nobody will know that the place where I lie does n't hold as stout and
straight a man as the best of 'em that stretch out as if they were proud
of the room they take. You may get me well, if you can, Sir, if you
think it worth while to try; but I tell you there has been no time for
this many a year when