Of physicians it should be remembered that they spend their time among the sick, the wayward, the abnormal of this world. In philosophy their knowledge of our flesh-faults is a heavy balance wheel to the tangents of our loose idealism. As critics of society, they tend to hush the hallelujah chorus, introducing sardonic groans for those imperfections of mankind at which the Chautauqua-shouters, sniffing the electric air of a millennium, flap their coattails. The true earnest of a physician's worth outside his consulting room* is therefore the degree to which he refrains...
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