is pronounced by Dr. Stark Munro, of Oakley Villa, to have suffered no
serious injury." As Cullingworth used to say, it is hard enough for the
young doctor to push his name into any publicity, and he must take what
little chances he has. Perhaps the fathers of the profession would shake
their heads over such a proceeding in a little provincial journal; but
I was never able to see that any of them were very averse from seeing
their own names appended to the bulletin of some sick statesman in The
Times.

And then there came another and a more serious accident. This would be
about two months after the beginning, though already I find it hard to
put things in their due order. A lawyer in the town named Dickson was
riding past my windows when the horse reared up and fell upon him. I was
eating saveloys in the back room at the time, but I heard the noise and
rushed to the door in time to meet the crowd who were carrying him in.
They flooded into my house, thronged my hall, dirtied my consulting
room, and even pushed their way into my back room, which they found
elegantly furnished with a portmanteau, a lump of bread, and a cold
sausage.

However, I had no thought for any one but my patient, who was groaning
most dreadfully. I saw that his ribs were right, tested his joints,
ran my hand down his limbs, and concluded that there was no break or
dislocation. He had strained himself in such a way, however, that it
was very painful to him to sit or to walk. I sent for an open carriage,
therefore, and conveyed him to his home, I sitting with my most
professional air, and he standing straight up between my hands. The
carriage went at a walk, and the crowd trailed behind, with all the folk
looking out of the windows, so that a more glorious advertisement could
not be conceived. It looked like the advance guard of a circus. Once at
his house, however, professional etiquette demanded that I should hand
the case over to the family attendant, which I did with as good a grace
as possible--not without some lingering hope that the old established
practitioner might say, "You have taken such very good care of my
patient, Dr. Munro, that I should not dream of removing him from your
hands." On the contrary, he snatched it away from me with avidity, and I
retired with some credit, an excellent advertisement, and a guinea.

These are one or two of the points of interest which show above the dead
monotony of my life--small enough, as you see, bu