The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1876-01-20
A g o, n Os.
A Doctors story.


Tt is more than five and twenty years
since / first set up In practice in this
s,urt Of Jne country, coming here a
stranger to it. Now know every inch
of the road for miles round, rough and
wild as it is; then / often lost my way,
and it was with some difficulty in SO
sparsely- populated a country that I
learned the landmarks which guide you
aver the moors when bad weather oblit-
crates the track.
You remember, when we rode over the
summit of the moor yesterday, how you
admired the distant view of the sea, and
AOw you called nv attention also to the
picturesque appearance OF a deserted
and dismal cottage ON the right of us.
The view of the sea is undoubtedly fine
enc, and strikes me now every time see
1T, even after many years acquaintance
ship; but cannot admire that cottage,
though rich green moss and yellow
1ichen have gathered upon its matched
1oof, and though the purple heather
grows close to its walls. [ responded to
your admiration of the view of the sea,
But / said nothing about that cottage,
nor, you may remember now, did make
any response to your fancies regarding
IL. A worn and wholly obliterated sign
hangs before it; the place had evidently
.aSeen an inn, you said; and, as we rode
down the hill, you INDUCED in some fan
-ssifUl speculations as to old travellers who
had sought shelter therein, and how the
wind must have beaten round it at night,
eringing strange messages from the
storm tossed sea, and soaring them with
lbs violence even within the stoutly built
walls. The place looked as If it had
sstory, you said, and, on my asserting,
,y0B pressed me to tell it. I now fulfill
may promise; and no one can tell You the
fytory of that roadside inn with more au-
SElority than I can, for / passed the most
terrible and memorable night of my life
there, and had something more to scare
nae than sounds of wind or sea.
[ came here Immediately after passing
%ae college, nearly thirty years ago,
stranger, as l have said, and was at first
assistant to DIR. Greenfield, long since
A&1eado who afterward took me- into part
aership. The practice in those days was
not what 1t is now-for this town has
crown wonderfully of late years, as also
have some of the surrounding hamlets-
though we hal great deal of outside
practice beyond the ll.oor, and even in
some places still more distant. A coun-
dry doctors life is not very enviable
ONE. He does notget paid too literally,
tEis fees are small, and the gratitude he
-earns with them still smaller, while the
xsno CUNT of responsibility thrown upon his
shoulders is enormous Bear with
word or two in defense of my profession.
Eou go to a city doctor, who examines
yeu, prescribes, and pockets his money,
ssEnd probably you never see him again.
you return to my care-your regular
Eaedical man in the country-and if you
get well, what wonderful man the city
doctor is; while, if you die, am blamed
for it. Take another case. It is COM
paratively easy TO perform an operation
IN O city hospital, where, if you fail,
Aaere are half dozen men competent to
take up the knife and finish your work;
d Is another thing to have to perform a
Baurried operation with the nearest medi-
Md man miles away, and no one to help
yeu but an unqualified assistant, or per-
maps Q dispenser, whose knowledge of
surgery is, to say the least, painfully
EMdimentary.
Some few weeks after had come here,