"Ah me," exclaimed a Jew, one day, as he reluctantly drew out his wallet to pay three dollars for his examination, prescription, and advice, "if I could only make money like the doctors of mede_cene_! Ah me." Then, taking two dollars from his purse, he asked, "Won't that do?" This Jew was a merchant, reputed rich, and penurious as he was wealthy, and I demanded the accustomed fee. "Let me see," said he; "how many patients have you seen to-day?" "Nine," I replied. "Let me see," counting his fingers as a tally. "At least twenty-seven dollars a day, and nothing out but a bit of paper. Ah, I wish I had been a doctor in mede_cene_," he added, with a sigh, and a woful look at the money, as he reluctantly handed it over. This was casting pearls before worse than swine, prescribing for such a wretch. Brains, education, anxiety, all went for nought, with him. _Money_ was his all. A shilling before his eyes would shut out even God's sunlight. If the shilling only _shone_, _glistened_,--sunlight enough for such a wretch. [Illustration: RECKONING A DOCTOR'S FEES.] "Let _me_ see," I said, after his miserable body had taken his penurious soul out of my office; "nine patients, one three miles away. Horse-tire and carriage-wear, time, advice, and medicine given, because the patient was a widow. No. 2 patient, the sick child of an invalid mother; no fee. No. 3, an Irishman. The Irish never wish to pay anything; did pay one dollar. No. 4, a merchant. "Charge it." That was _his_ fee. No. 5, a young sewing girl, who, in sewing on army cloth, had sewed her life's blood into the seams. In consumption. Could I take her fee? God forbid. No. 6, a "lady," who, having so much upon her back, had nothing in her purse. I may get my fee at the end of the quarter. "You know my husband. Good morning." It was near two o'clock then. She had occupied my time a whole hour. My dinner was cold; my wife was out of sorts, waiting so long. Nos. 7 and 8, two sick children. Visit them daily; pay uncertain. The ninth was the wealthy Jew. Nine patients; four dollars! Don't I sometimes wish I kept an "O' clo'" store, like the old Jew? This actually occurred when I practised medicine in Hartford. [Illustration: PATIENT NUMBER FIVE.] DR. HUNTER'S GENEROSITY. No man cared _less_ for the profits of the medical profession, or _more_ for the honor thereof, than the great Dr. John Hunter. He was honest, honorable, and simple in his every day life. His works, which contributed more to the science of medicine than any other writings during a thousand years, were simply announced as by JOHN HUNTER. A plain door plate, with the same name, announced his residence. Money was a secondary consideration to him. The following shows that he desired a professional brother to so consider it:-- "DEAR BROTHER: The bearer needs your advice. He has no money, and you have plenty; so you are well met. "Yours, JOHN HUNTER."