Passages from the Diary of a Late Physician ... First series

Preface

. It is not without emotion that the Author sees, a quarter of a century after the Mst appearance of ' The Diary of a Late Physician,' a People's Edition of it, not only caded for, but welcomed to an extent very far surpassmg Ms most sanguMe expectations. During that period — a long one, surely, in the lde of a book, nowadays — this work has had a great circulation in both the Old and New World, and passed Mto various lan guages j the last of which the Author has heard, being the Bom isch, or Bohemian. That the work has not been repudiated by the heart to which it appeals, would seem, from tMs, to be certaM : as also it is, that the Pubhc nobly overlooks errors of detad, when assured of an Author's earnest effort, and honest purpose. He is sensible of many defects in this, the earliest of Ms works ; but has abstained from Msturbmg a text wMch has become so long faniMar, to so many, M so many languages.

The views taken of this work, M America, France, and Germany, shortly after its completion, may be gathered from quotations wMch wM be found in the Preface to the Fdth Edition, and the Introduction. The Author wishes the former to be permanently annexed to this work, as a record of the affectionate respect with which he cherishes the memory of the late Mr Blackwood; and the latter, as an VI

PREFACE.

. evidence of the Author's views and feelings in composing ' The Diary of a Late Physician ' — those not of a Novehst, but of a Moralist. While its motto is taken from the -writings of our great Doctor Johnson, another dictum of his concerning Fiction has ever been present to the writer's mind : " These familiar histories may perhaps be made of greater use than the solem nities of professed Morality; and convey the knowledge of Vice and Virtue with more efficacy, than axioms and de finitions." Possibly few of his readers have had ampler opportuMties than the Author of this work, of watching society M ad its different phases, gravely, and patiently ; and the resMt, to his own mind, is a profound conviction, that human hfe and character, and all the incidents affecting them, can be contemplated safely, with instruction, and with true and enduring interest, only by the dlumination of Christianity.

Without it, everything looks, so to speak, upside down. ►Some one once said of this work, that it might be caded 'The Bomance of Death:' tridy an unhappy and signally inapplicable expression ; for there is no Bomance M Death, but a tremendous reality, to be dealt with by every one of us, as best he may. The steady purpose of this work was to exhibit deathbeds, — those of fool and philosopher, profligate and virtuous, Mgh and low, and the courses of life which have pre ceded them, — as witnessed by those summoned to do so, whether as friend, physician, or divine. He hopes he may be pardoned for stating that an excedent nobleman, since dead, was so much interested in one of these papers, " The Martyr Philosopher," that he wrote to the late Mr Blackwood, askMg permission to reprint it separately, at his own expense, for extensive circulation among the upper classes of society ; declaring that he himself should never forget the effect which it had produced upon Ms own mind and heart.

PREFACE.

. VII Such incidents as this — the approbation of wise and good men — richly reward writers who aim, however humbly, to do good. In committing this work finally to the public, the Author ventures to express a hope that another object with which it was written, has been attained — to awaken society to a sense of its Mcalculable obhgations to Medical Men. The amount of misery and suffering which they adeviate, cheerfudy and patiently, often altogether gratuitously, and too frequently with ill-requital — nay, cruel ingratitude — can be appreciated by him only who has moved among them, as one of themselves. This the Author Md, for several years, till he quitted it to study for that other great profession, to which he has ever since devoted himself. ShoMd his leisure allow him, he intends to offer to the medical profession, as a discharge of some portion of that debt wMch Lord Bacon says every man owes to Ms profession, a Memoir, which his engagements have hitherto prevented his completing, of that illustrious surgeon, Sir Astley Cooper.

Innek Temple, lYoremher 1853. PEEFACE TO FIFTH EDITION. The first chapter of these Passages from the Diary of a late Physician appeared in ' Blackwood's Magazine ' in August 1830, and the last in August 1837. The first separate publication of them, in two volumes, took place in 1832, between which period and the present, four very large impressions of them have been exhausted ; and it is a great satisfaction, both to my pub lisher and myself, to find that this has been effected without having, in any way, had recourse to the modern system of puffing — that miserable source of the degradation of literature. A fifth edition having been called for, is accompanied by the Third Volume, which contains all the chapters that have since made their appearance in ' Blackwood's Magazine.' As it lately became necessary, in the course of Chancery proceedings insti tuted by Mr Blackwood against parties who had pirated considerable portions of this work, that I should make oath of the fact of my being the sole author of it ; and as it has been, both at home and abroad, long confidently attributed to other people — I now repeat the statement, that I am the sole author of every portion of the work, and, in deference to the wishes of my family, place my name, as such author, upon the title-page.* It is not necessary to trouble the reader with the reasons that induced me so long to abstain from doing so.

To account for any appearance of familiarity with medical details in this work, I may add, that I was for six years actively engaged in the practical study of physic — a profession, however, which I quitted in the month of September 1827. It may, perhaps, be not uninteresting to the reader — merely, however, as a matter of petty literary detail — to be iuformed, that the first chapter of this ' Diary ' — the " Early Struggles " — was offered by me successively to the conductors of three leading magazines in London, and rejected as " un suitable for their pages," and " not likely to interest the public." In despair, I bethought myself of the Great Northern Magazine. I remember takino* my packet to Mr Cadell's in the Strand, with a sad suspicion that I should * In three foreign editions of the ' Diary,' the name of " Dr Harrison *' is placed upon the title-page : in England, several persons have actually stated themselves to be the writers of this work ; others, that they have contributed towards it. I need hardly say that all such statements are entirely untrue.

PREFACE.

. IX never see or hear anything more of it : but at the close of the month I received a letter from Mr Blackwood, informing me that he had inserted the chapter, and begging me to make arrangements for immediately proceeding regularly with the series. It expressed his cordial approval of the first chap ter, and predicted that I was likely to produce a series of papers well suited for his Magazine, and calculated to interest the public. It would be great affectation in me, and ingratitude towards the public, were I to conceal my belief that his expectations have been in some degree verified by the event. Here I wish to pay a brief and sincere tribute to the memory of my late friend, Mr Blackwood. I shall ever cherish it with respect and affection. I have this morning been referring to nearly fifty letters which he wrote to me during the publication of the first Fifteen Chapters of the ' Diary.' The perusal of them has occasioned me lively emotion.

All of them evidence the remarkable tact and energy with which he conducted his celebrated Magazine. Harassing as were his labours at the close of every month, he nevertheless invariably wrote to me a letter of considerable length, in style terse, vigorous, and accurate — full of interesting comments on literary matters in general, and instructive suggestions concerning my own papers in particular. He was a man of strong intellect, of great practical sagacity, of unrivalled energy and industry, of high and inflexible honour in every transaction, great or small, that I ever heard of his being concerned in. But for him, this Work would certainly never have been in existence ; and should it be so fortunate as to live, I wish it ever to be accompanied by the tribute I here sincerely and spontaneously pay to the memory of my departed friend, William Blackwood.

I hope I may be permitted to add a word or two concerning the general nature of this Work, and my design in writing it. I never desired to count myself among the myriad novelists of the present age. Even were I able, I have no ambition to attempt such a thing ; all I wished was to present some of the results of my own personal observation of life and character in their most striking exemplification — to illustrate, as it were, the real practical working of virtues and vices. With this view I have ever, of set purpose, selected the most ordinary incidents, the simplest combinations of circumstances ; never attempting to disturb or complicate the development of character and of feeling with intricacy of plot or novelty of incident. To this plan I have steadily adhered throughout the Work, and I hope it has gained the approbation of sober and judicious readers.

I trust I shall be pardoned, and not treated as vain or egotistical, if I venture to extract the following passages from the " Preface by the Translator," prefixed to the German edition of this Work, as they have greatly gratified me, and also given that particular character to my labours which I have always been so anxious to vindicate for them : — " This Work is such an unusual literary production, that even on that account, a translation of it into German can by no means appear an unworthy undertaking. A further and better acquaintance with the original has strengthened the translator in his purpose, and has also convinced him of the merits of these ' Passages.' Indeed, he is now of opinion that this Work, though at first sight, perhaps, appearing to belong to the class of amusing literature, far distinguishes itself, by its intrinsic worth, from the usual run of fashionable literary productions.

It contains a series of psychological sketches of human nature in various conditions, and especially m the last moments of jjj , . xhey bear on them the undoubted stamp of genuineness; and the X

PREFACE.

. reflecting reader must he convinced, by the many characteristic touches with which most of them abound, that these nan-atives are at least founded upon truth ; he will further feel persuaded that facts— facts witnessed by the author— are related, though, undoubtedly, here and there the reality has been coloured and veiled by a fiction-like dress Although those narratives are, for the most part, of a peculiarly melancholy cast, and although, perhaps, we might have wished that the author had more spared the feelings of his readers, and that many close dissections of human misery had been omitted ; yet it must be owned that even the most gloomy and heart rending parts of these sketches are rich in thrilling situations and psychological per ceptions—that a bright fountain of advice and warning springs from them all.

The tendency of his work is throughout pure and moral ; which must secure for him the most grateful acknowledgments from such even of his readers (amongst whom the translator is bound to place himself) as cannot perfectly agree in the strict religious opinions of the author The translation has been made with the greatest accuracy ; and, with the exception of a few polemical observations, nothing is altered." I certainly feel much gratified by the approbation of my labours here expressed : but am quite at a loss to divine what can be the ** religious opinions " from which such a translator would dissent, or the " polemical observation." he has found it necessary to suppress. Being a firm believer in Christianity — a conscientious member of the Church of England — I hope and believe that nothing will be found in this book inconsistent with such an avowal.

I do not intend to vindicate my selection of characters, scenes, and inci dents. Some of them have been pretty freely remarked upon by the Press ; all I can say, however, being, that my aim has been in every case for the best. One or two exceedingly severe, perhaps I might add, wanton and malignant attacks, have been made upon some of them ; but I heartily forgive those who have done so, whoever they may be. In conclusion, I know, alas ! that this work has many imperfections ; but it has been too long in too many forms before the world for me to attempt, even were I so disposed, extensive alterations. Such as it is, I now finally commit it, in this its complete and authentic form, to the judgment of the public, veiy thankful for their approbation, and deferential to their censure. The duties of a laborious profession maej not admit of my making any further contributions to literature, or I might, perhaps, attempt to prove myself worthier of the favour I have ex perienced, and cheerfully exclaim, " To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new I " SAMUEL WARREN.

Inner Temple, London, Oct. 31, 1837. TO SAMUEL LILCKENDEY WARREN, MY ELDEST CHILD, THIS MY EARLIEST PUBLICATION IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, BY HIS LOVING FATHER, THE AUTHOB. CONTENTS. PAOE INTRODUCTION, . . . . . .XV CHAP. I. EARLY STRUGGLES, ..... 1 II. CANCER, ...... .27 III. THE DENTIST AND THE COMEDIAN, ... 32 IV. A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED, .... 33 V. PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE, .... 48 VI. DUELLING 53 VII. INTRIGUING AND MADNESS, .... 64 VIII. THE BROKEN HEART, ..... 82 IX. CONSUMPTION, ...... 89 X. THE SPECTRAL DOG, . . . . .112 XL THE FORGER, ...... 118 XII. A MAN ABOUT TOWN, . . . . .129 XIII. DEATH AT THE TOILET, . . . . .160 XIV. THE TURNED HEAD, . . . . .164 XV. THE WIFE, ....... 179 XVI. GRAVE DOINGS, ...... 203 XVII. THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN, ..... 214 XVIII. THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER, .... 240 XIX.

THE STATESMAN, ...... 279 XX. A SLIGHT COLD, . . . . . .324 XXI. RICH AND POOR, ...... 336 XXII. THE RUINED MERCHANT, ..... 348 XXIII. MOTHER AND SON, ...... 383 XXIV. THE THUNDER-STRUCK. THE BOXER, . . 440 XXV. THE MAGDALEN, ...... 473 XXVI. THE BARONET'S BRIDE, ..... 529 XXVII. THE MERCHANT'S CLERK, . . . . .595 XXVIII. THE DESTROYER, ...... LIST OF ENGEAVINGS. PAGE INVALID IN THE PARK, "* THE DENTIST AND THE COMEDIAN, 32 TREVOR HURLING THE GLASS AT CAPTAIN , .... 58 i WARNINGHAM AND CAPTAIN , 75 Mlss b PLAYING TO THE DOCTOR, 108 THE TURNED HEAD, 1™ GRAVE DOINGS, - 210 SCENE IN THE LABORATORY, "54 THE DUEL, 305 THE CHILD AND ITS DEAD FATHER, 347 "WHERE'S THE £20,000?" 356 QUARREL IN THE GAMING-HOUSE, 408 MOTHER AND SON, 432 THE BOXER THROWN FROM HIS GIG, 448 THE THUNDER-STRUCK, 472 THE MAGDALEN, 504 SIR HENRY STOPPING THE CARRIAGE, 544 SIR HENRY PURSUED BY HIS KEEPER, 576 MOONLIGHT SERENADE, 593 MR HILLARY DISCOVERING HIS DAUGHTER'S ATTACHMENT, . . 626 MR ELLIOTT AT THE HOSPITAL GATES, 671 MRS ST HELEN AT THE BALL, 708 MRS ST HELEN REFUSED ADMITTANCE, INTKODUCTION.

It is somewhat strange, that a class of men who can command such interesting, extensive, and instructive materials, as the experience of most members of the medical profession teems with, should have hitherto made so few contributions to the stock of polite and popular literature. The Bar, the Church, the Army, the Navy, and the Stage, have all of them spread the volumes of their secret history before the prying gaze of the public ; while that of the medical profession has remained hitherto, with scarcely an exception, a sealed book. And yet there are no members of society whose pursuits lead them to listen more frequently to what has been exquisitely termed The still, sad music of humanity. What instances of noble, though unostentatious heroism — of calm and patient fortitude, under the most intolerable anguish that can wring and torture these poor bodies of ours ; what appalling combinations of moral and physical wretchedness, laying prostrate the proudest energies of humanity ; what diver sified manifestations of character ; what singular and touching passages of domestic history, must have come under the notice of the intelligent practitioner of physic ! — And are none of these calculated to furnish both instruction and entertainment to the public .

Why are we to be for ever shut out from these avenues to the most secret and profound knowledge of human nature . Till the attempt was made, in the publication of this Diary, who has sunk a shaft into so rich a mine of incident and sentiment . Considerations such as these have led to the publication of this work, reprinted from the pages of Blackwood's Maga zine — a periodical which was the first to present similar papers

Introduction

. to the public. Whether the Writer or Subject of them is dead or alive, can be a matter of very little consequence, it is apprehended, to the reader ; and no information, therefore, on that point, is requisite. It can scarcely be necessary to say, that the various names which have been pitched upon, in the papers, as those of the writers of this Diary, are all of them totally erroneous, and that it has, in particular, no claim whatever to the honourable names of "Dr Gooch, Dr Armstrong, or Dr Baillie." It is respectfully suggested, that, if the ensuing pages have no intrinsic claims to attention, the deficiency cannot be supplied by the most glittering appendages of name or title.* In selecting from a copious store of sketches, in every in stance drawn from nature — warm and vivid with the colouring of reality — all possible care has been taken to avoid undue dis closures, as far as that end could be obtained by the most scrupulous concealment of names, dates, and places.

I cannot close these introductory remarks better, than in the words of the American Editor's Preface to the stereotyped edition : — " These scenes, so well calculated to furnish both instruction and amusement, have been, hitherto, kept from public observa tion, as carefully as the Eleusinian mysteries were kept from the eyes of the vulgar. Access is occasionally given to the death bed of some distinguished character : Addison is seen instructing a profligate how a Christian can meet death ; and Dr Young, in his Deathbed of Altamont, has painted, in strong and lasting colours, the closing scene of one whose career too nearly re sembled the profligate Warwick's. But those in the humbler walks of life have been overlooked, as if men could be tauo-ht only by great examples." * I have not often known of a piece of easier assurance than that of the French translator of these papers, who, not content with rendering them into French has so para phrased and misrepresented many of them, and especially the first, that I scarce knew them myself.

He calls " Early Struggles," he Jeune Docteur.- and I am made to sav at the commencement — J " Un Docteur el'Edimbov.rg (!) mort recemment, et dont je dois taire le nom bien que cette precaution necessaire puisse engager mes lecteurs _. le confondre avec ses personnages fictifs dont les romanoiers sont les creatures— ee Docteur dont l'eaiuc ition avait ___ faite a Edimbourg, ville tout studieuse, et dont le talent s'etait develop,,,. _, Londres, a consign* dans une serie de memoranda, qui se trouvent entre mes mains les observations morales, les incidens, les caracteres, les tableaux domestioues dont sa longue pratique lui k fourni les materiaux. Tout est r.el dans ces souvenir's • ils ont les inconveniens et les merites que cette realite entraine," &_.— Souvenir Ytln The French reader is further informed, that this paper appeared in ' The Literary

Chapter I. Early

struggles. Can anything be conceived more dreary and disheart ening than the prospect before a young London physician, who, without friends or fortune, yet with high aspirations after pro fessional eminence, is striving to weave around him what is technically called " a connection . " Such was my case. After having exhausted the slender finances allotted me from the funds of a poor but somewhat ambitious family, in passing through the usual routine of a college and medical education, I found myself, about my twenty-sixth year, in London — possessed of about _£100 in cash, a few books, a tolerable wardrobe, an inexhaustible fund of animal spirits, and a wife — a lovely young creature, whom I had been absurd enough, some weeks before, to marry, merely because we loved each other. She was the only daughter of a very worthy fellow-townsman of mine, a widower ; whose fortunes, alas ! had decayed long before their possessor.

Emily was the glory of his age, and, need I add, the pride of my youth ; and after having assiduously attended her father through his last illness, the sole and rich return was his daughter's heart. I must own, that, when we found ourselves fairly housed in the mighty metropolis, with so poor an exchequer, and the means of replenishing it so remote and contingent, we were somewhat startled at the boldness of the step we had taken. " Nothing venture, nothing have," however, was my maxim ; and I felt supported by that unaccountable conviction which clings to all in such circumstances as mine, up to the very A pinching moment, but no longer, that there must be thousands of ways of getting a livelihood, to which one can turn at a moment's warning. And then the swelling thought of being the architect of one's own fortune !

As, however, daily drafts began to diminish my £100, my spirits faltered a little. I discovered that I might, indeed, as well " Lie packed in mine own grave," as continue in London without money, or the means of getting it ; and after revolving endless schemes, the only conceivable mode of doing so seemed calling in the generous assistance of the Jews. My father had fortunately effected a policy on my life for £5000, at an early period, on which some fourteen premiums had been paid ; and this available security, added to the powerful influence of a young nobleman to whom I had rendered some service at college, enabled me to succeed in wringing a loan, from old Amos L , of £3000, at the trifling interest of fifteen per cent, payable by way of redeem able annuity. It was with fear and trembling that I called myself master of this large sum, and with the utmost diffidence that I could bring myself to exercise what the lawyers would call acts of ownership on it.

As, however, there was no time to lose, I took a respectable house in C Street, West * — furnished it neatly and respectably — fortunately enough, let the first floor to a rich old East India bachelor — beheld " Dr " glisten conspicuously on my door t — and then dropped my little line into the great water of London, resolved to abide the issue with patience. Blessed with buoyant and sanguine spirits, I did not lay it much to heart that my only occupation during the first six months was — abroad, to practise the pardonable solecism of hurrying haud passibus cequis through the streets, as if in at tendance on numerous patients ; and at home, to ponder plea santly over my books, and enjoy the company of my cheerful and affectionate wife. But when I had numbered twelve months, almost without feeling a pulse or receiving a fee, and was reminded by old L that the second half-yearly instal ment of £225 was due, I began to look forward with some apprehension to the overcast future.

Of the £3000, for the use of which I was paying so cruel and exorbitant a premium, little more than half remained — and this, notwithstanding we * " On sait que la partie Est. de Londres est reservee aux gens de commerce ; et que l'Ouest de la meme ville est habits par l'aristocratie." — Note of the French Translator. t " Ces plaques de cuivre, portant le nom du propri<_'aire, ou du principal locataire, se trouvent sur toutes les portes."— 16. had practised the most rigid economy in our household expen diture, and devoted as little to dress as was compatible with maintaining a respectable exterior. To my sorrow, I found myself unavoidably contracting debts, which, with the interest due to old L , I found it would be impossible to discharge. If matters went on as they seemed to threaten, what was to become of me in a year or two 1 Putting everything else out of the question, where was I to find funds to meet old L 's annual demand of £450 1 Belying on my prospects of professional success, I had bound myself to return the £3000 within five years of the time of borrowing it * and now I thought I must have been mad to do so.

If my profession failed me, I had nothing else to look to. I had no family resources — for my father had died since I came to London, very much em barrassed in his circumstances ; and my mother, who was aged and infirm, had gone to reside with some relatives, who were few and poor. My wife, as I have stated, was in like plight. I do not think she had a relative in England (for her father and all his family were Germans), except " Him, whose brightest joy Was, that he called her— wife." Lord , the nobleman before mentioned, who, I am sure, would have rejoiced in assisting me, either by pecuniary ad vances or professional introductions, had been on the Continent ever since I commenced practice. Being of studious habits and a very bashful and reserved disposition while at Cambridge, I could number but few college friends, none of whom I knew where to find in London.

Neither my wife nor I knew more than five people, besides our Indian lodger ; for, to tell the truth, we were, like many a fond and foolish couple before us, all the world to one another, and cared little for scraping to gether promiscuous acquaintance. If we had even been inclined to visiting, our straitened circumstances would have forbid our incurring the expenses attached to it. What, then, was to be done? My wife would say, "Poh, love, we shall contrive to get on as well as our neighbours ; " but the simple fact was, we were not getting on like our neighbours, nor did I see any pro spect of our ever doing so. I began, therefore, to pass sleepless nights, and days of despondency, casting about in every direction for any employment consistent with my profession, and redoubbng my fruitless efforts to obtain practice.

It is almost laughable to say that our only receipts were a few paltry guineas, sent, at long intervals, from old Mr Asperne, the proprietor of the European Magazine, as remuneration for a sort of monthly medical summary with which I furnished him, and a trifle or two from Mr Nicholls, of the Gentleman's Magazine, as an acknowledgment for several sweet sonnets sent by my wife. Knowing the success which often attended professional author ship, as tending to acquire for the writer a reputation for skill on the subject of which he treated, and introduce him to the notice of the higher members of his own profession, I determined to turn my attention that way. For several months I was up early and late at a work on Diseases of the Lungs. I bestowed incredible pains on it ; and my toil was sweetened by my wife, who would sit by me, in the long summer evenings, like an angel, consobng and encouraging me with predictions of success.

She lightened my labour by undertaking the transcrip tion of the manuscript ; and I thought that two or three hundred sheets of fair and regular handwriting were heavily purchased by the impaired eyesight of the beloved amanuensis. When at length it was completed, having been read and revised twenty times, so that there was not a comma wanting, I hurried, full of fluttering hopes and fears, to a well-known medical bookseller, expecting he would at once purchase the copyright. Fifty pounds I had fixed in my own mind as the minimum of what I would accept; and I had already appropriated some little part of it towards buying a handsome silk dress for my wife. Alas ! even in this branch of my profession, my hopes w*ere doomed to meet with disappointment. The bookseller received me with great civility ; listened to every word I had to say ; seemed to take some interest in my new views of the disease treated of, which I explained to him, and repeated — and ventured to assure him that they would certainly attract public attention.