LITERATURE

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 963, 27 July 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE

MY FIRST PATIENT. By Cammie. Six years ago to day ? Impossible! But it is though, lor you are thirty-two to day, and you were only twenty-six then, John Preston. I never look back to the year following my twenty-sixth birthday without an involuntary prayer that I may never hava such another year’s trouble and despair to go through. Six years ago to-day I took a temporary leave of my dear mother, and made my real start in life. As I seated myself in the comfortable lirst-class carriage—my mother’s arrangement— * First impressions, my dear boy,’she said, ‘are everything’ —and, with my paper open on my knee, left the unend ing bustle and noise of the modern Babylon behind, my mind dwelt in anticipation on the new life before me, and my news-sheet dropped disregarded W ould my dear father, had he lived, have approved of this start in life ? Should 1 accomplish, or be nearer accomplishing, my desire to make a name and standing in my profession by its means ? What kind oi people should 1 encounter in the course of my professional duties, and would any of the said people condescend to admit the struggling young doctor into the select circle of their intimate acquaintance ? These and a thousand and one other conjectures kept rny mind fully occupied during the hour and a half’s ride b tween Paddington and my destination, Clok*sham, a picturesque and old wo-Id village nestled on the banks of Father Thames some few miles beyond the first reach of London holiday-makers. Six months before ! I should have started with nothing but bright hopes on my journey, and without any regret to shadow the future. As it was—-well, it could hardly be called a regret, for this country practice might enable me the sooner to decide for my ultimate happiness or misery, instead of remaining in town taking friends’ practices during their occasional holidays, as I bad been doing for two or three years. It was while engaged in the last of these undertakings that I had found cause for my present regret at leaving Loudon. My old friend Fred Hughes, who had been fortunate enough to step into his futher’s practice upon his retirement, called on me one morning, full of his intended trip into North Wales.

‘ I should be off this day week if I could only get some one to look after my patients just for three weeks ; the worst of it is that everybody else is either off too or just going off. Ho you think you could do it for me, old boy ?’ ‘ Certainly,’ I replied, * if mother does not mind putting off her visit to Hastings for that time.’ ‘ Oh, I couldn’t let you do that, you know !’ ‘Nonsense,’ I said; ‘we can go afterwards. but unless you go now 1 know you won’t be able to go at all when your patients are back in town,’ ‘ You are a trump !’ exclaimed Fred, giving my hand a mighty squeeze. ‘ Let me know for certain to-night. ’ So it was settled that we were to defer our outing until Fred had returned from his fishing expedition. My duties as substitute were not very heavy, as a large proportion of Fred’s patients were, like himself!, taking their annual holiday. One morning a hurried little note was forwarded to me from his surgery, requesting Mr Hughes’s immediate attendance at 16, Colville square, a id signed “M. Bertram ” Fearing something serious, I started at once, and on my arcival found the household in a state of anxious excitement. ' Mrs Mason is at Rome, and has left the children under the care of their governess, Miss Bertram, and the two younger ones are certainly sickening of some fever,’ the housemaid informed me, upon opening the door. Miss Bertram, when she heard from my inquiries who I was, came forward to meet me. Shall I draw a word-picture? From my own memory it is impossible. It would be composed of sweet lines and nameless graces —the features of a person form, after all, such a very small part of her individuality. But I have a miniature, and that I can describe to you. A sweet, pensive, clear, oval-shaped face looks at you with kind, thoughtful hazel eyes, whi h often look black from the deep shade of heavy lashes —but that is not in the miniature—the mouth is gentleness and firmness combined-rare-combination 1 Looking at it, you would naturally infer that the owner thereof was a person to be obeyed, simply because it was a pleasure to obey her, and this latter fact would in no degree weaken the former; delicate but perfectly-marked eyebrows complete the face, which, framed in rippling bauds of deep-brown hair, smiles at me whenever I open my case to feast on its contents. Must I confess my weakness, or have I not already confessed it ? Looking back, I know that I loved her there and then, as I stood talking in the hushed, shadowy hall. I did not know then why it was that 1 felt such tender pity for her in her responsible position—l did not know why in addressing her 1 involuntarily dropped my voice in emulation of her own soft tones, or why, in meeting her eyes, mine took an earnest expression, no matter how trivial the subject under discussion. Each day found me hastening to my anxious duties like a scho-dboy to his play, and, when Mrs Mason returned at the end of ten days and found her darlings on the road to recovery, thanks to the unwearied attention of their kind nurse, I awoke to the discovery that 1 loved deeply and passionately. No passing fancy for a f eautiful face was this, but all-enduring love, such as a true man seldom feels but once in his life. The days slipped by all too quickly until the return of Fred, rollicking and robust from his holiday, when there was no longer the slightest excuse for my daily visits to Colville Square. I heard from him of Mrs Mason’s departure for Ilfracombe with her family, and 1 lived on the hope of future meetings ou their return. 1 hastened my mother home from Hastings a week sooner than she wished, greatly to her mystification, that I might not miss one chance of seeing my darling, for 1 had determined, short as our acquaintance had been, to ask if she -would consent to brighten the world forme, and me for the world—to give me an object, an aim in life -to render myself worthy of her. After a week of patient waiting 1 ventmed to question Fred as to Mrs Mason’s movements, assuming a wouldbe air of nonchalance. (To ho continued,)