It was equally natural,
that, as the dear old man looked his own fate straight in the eyes,
and saw his patients falling away one by one, he should adjourn
practical success to his only son,--myself. Quiet, but unremitting,
were his efforts to make me avoid the rock on which his worldly
fortunes had been wrecked. In vain: to me there was a light in his eye
which lured me on to those visionary shores from which he warned me;
and whilst he was holding out the labors and duties of a regular and
steadfast practitioner as merciful and honorable among the highest,
there was an undertone in his voice, of which he was unconscious,
which told me plainly that the knowledge he most valued in himself was
that apparently most unproductive. My mother had died several years
before; my father's affection, pride, and hope rested utterly upon
me. I knew not then how sad it was to disappoint him. Often, when he
returned to his office, hoping to find me studying the "Materia
Medica," I was discovered poring over some old volumes on the "Human
Humors, or the Planetary Sympathies of the Viscera." A sincere grief
filled his eyes at such times, but I could not help feeling that it
was mingled with respect. The heaviest cross I had to bear was that
the curious old volumes which attracted me were gradually abstracted
from the library.
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