ot unsweeten its
atmosphere with reminiscences of extinguished meerschaums. He should
remember that the sick are sensitive and fastidious, that they love the
sweet odors and the pure tints of flowers, and if his presence is not
like the breath of the rose, if his hands are not like the leaf of the
lily, his visit may be unwelcome, and if he looks behind him he may see
a window thrown open after he has left the sick-chamber. I remember too
well the old doctor who sometimes came to help me through those inward
griefs to which childhood is liable. "Far off his coming "--shall I say
"shone," and finish the Miltonic phrase, or leave the verb to the happy
conjectures of my audience? Before him came a soul-subduing whiff
of ipecacuanha, and after him lingered a shuddering consciousness of
rhubarb. He had lived so much among his medicaments that he had at last
become himself a drug, and to have him pass through a sick-chamber was a
stronger dose than a conscientious disciple of Hahnemann would think it
safe to administer.

Need I remind you of the importance of punctuality in your engagements,
and of the worry and distress to patients and their friends which the
want of it occasions? One of my old teachers always carried two watches,
to make quite sure of being exact, and not only kept his appointments
with the regularity of a chronometer, but took great pains to be at
his patient's house at the time when he had reason to believe he was
expected, even if no express appointment was made. It is a good rule;
if you call too early, my lady's hair may not be so smooth as could be
wished, and, if you keep her waiting too long, her hair may be smooth,
but her temper otherwise.

You will remember, of course, always to get the weather-gage of your
patient. I mean, to place him so that the light falls on his face and
not on yours. It is a kind of, ocular duel that is about to take
place between you; you are going to look through his features into his
pulmonary and hepatic and other internal machinery, and he is going
to look into yours quite as sharply to see what you think about his
probabilities for time or eternity.

No matter how hard he stares at your countenance, he should never be
able to read his fate in it. It should be cheerful as long as there is
hope, and serene in its gravity when nothing is left but resignation.
The face of a physician, like that of a diplomatist, should be
impenetrable. Nature is a benevolent old hypocr