View source for Mistook His Calling

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<p>It often happens that the occupation for which a man is best qualified, is that in which he engages the most reluctantly. Few men, indeed, work from any affection for the use in which they are employed; though all men are more happy while busy, even at hard work, than when idle. In proportion as we serve the community, is our reward in the natural good things of life; though not always is the highest service rewarded best; the public estimation has much to do with this.<br><br>
Mr. Leland was well qualified for a teacher of children. He understood their character, and could impart instruction in an easy, familiar way, that rendered it comprehensible to young, unfolding minds. In first entering upon life, no better way presented itself for gaining a subsistence than by teaching, and so he opened a school, in the conducting of which he was successful. The children liked him, and learned well; but he was not altogether satisfied. To use his own words, he looked for something higher. There was not honor enough, in his idea, in the calling of a mere instructor. So, he applied himself to the study of medicine, with the view of graduating and becoming a physician.<br><br>
It is difficult to engage in two pursuits and do justice to both. To make a good teacher, a man must let his affection come into it as a life-calling, and devote to it the most active energies of his mind. And so in any other pursuit. As a natural result, in becoming a student of medicine, Mr. Leland neglected his school. He was scarcely conscious of this neglect himself, but it was perceived, and dissatisfaction was the result. One scholar after another was taken away, and his school kept falling off, term after term, until, at the period of his graduation, which took place after a three years' course of study, he had not enough scholars in his school to pay expenses. At this time Mr. Leland had a wife and four children.<br><br>
"It's well I've got this to depend upon," said the new<em> M.D. </em>to his wife, holding up his diploma. "Teaching has got to be worse than nothing."<br><br>
"I haven't a great deal of faith even in that," replied Mrs. Leland, half smiling, half serious.<br><br>
"You always look on the dark side of things. But I have more hope in my composition," said Mr. Leland. "In a year or two, you will see a very different result from what you anticipate."<br><br>
At teaching, while undivided attention was given to the work — good returns had been realized, and Mr. Leland, in the course of a few years, was able to lay up two or three thousand dollars. On this he had drawn, during the last year of his devotion to the study of medicine, pretty seriously. On breaking up and removing to the small town of Putnam, numbering some five or six thousand inhabitants, he found his property reduced in amount to less than two thousand dollars. But this he considered ample to sustain him until he got into a lucrative practice.<br><br>
For the science of medicine, Leland had a passion; or imagined that he had. It was the profession, above all others, for which he believed himself best qualified by nature. Had he examined himself interiorly, he would have discovered that his love of medicine was not so much an affection for the art of healing as an art, as for the honors he believed to attend its successful practice. The sound of <em>Doctor </em>Leland came like music to his ears: and, when it was first pronounced, he felt more of the real dignity of manhood than it had ever been his privilege to experience. The term "office" had, likewise, an agreeable sound; and when he walked to and fro in the little room appropriated to books, bottles, and consultations, he felt that he was indeed <em>somebody</em>.<br><br>
A week elapsed after getting fairly settled in Putnam, without a call upon Doctor Leland for any professional service, notwithstanding his sign had been up all that time, and his card had appeared in both the Whig and Democratic newspapers. Though the doctor made no remark on the subject, the fact was to him rather unaccountable. Another week passed with no different result. What could it mean? There must be some combination against him among the physicians of the place — some stories prejudicial to him must be afloat in the community. In no other way could he explain it. This thought found utterance to his wife, who was looking on the experiment with a doubting heart.<br><br>
"It may be," was her desponding answer, "though I hardly think it is so. People don't like to trust their lives in the hands of a physician about whom they know nothing. I'm sure I would hesitate to do so. It takes a long time to gain confidence and make a practice. In many cases it is the work of half a lifetime."<br><br>
"For <em>drones </em>it may be," replied the doctor, confidently, "but not for one whose heart is in his profession; and who is up with all the progressive developments of science. Let me once get a foothold here, and I will show the people that a <em>new man </em>is among them. I'll wake up the plodding old fellows they've got, and show them they've been sleeping for half a century."<br><br>
Mrs. Leland sighed, but did not answer. She saw their subsistence gradually wasting, day by day, and had no rational hope in the future.<br><br>
"Ah! if he had only been content to let well enough alone," she would sometimes sigh to herself, as she still saw no dawning of light in the future prospect.<br><br>
The doctor's first patient came after he had been in Putnam some two months. The case was that of a young girl afflicted with epilepsy. She had passed, successively, through the hands of all the physicians in the town, without receiving any benefit; and catching at a new hope, her parents called in the new doctor. After he had examined the patient, and obtained as intelligible a history of the treatment she had received from her former physicians, as it was in the power of her friends to give, he said —<br><br>
"It is plain that her case has not been understood."<br><br>
The countenance of the anxious parents brightened at this.<br><br>
"The history of medical science," continued the doctor, "to which I have devoted great attention, records very many cases like this. It is a serious disease, but by no means incurable. I do not in the least doubt my ability to give your daughter great relief; and I cherish the hope of being able to restore her to perfect health."<br><br>
"Do so," promptly replied the father, "and your fortune is made. Everyone in town has heard of the case, and if you cure it, you will stand at once in the front rank of the profession here."<br><br>
Inspired by this inducement, as well as by his self-confidence, Leland undertook the case. He doctored it so well — that the poor girl was <em>buried </em>in less than a month! We will not say that he <em>killed </em>her; but the parents said so, and the people believed them.<br><br>
A year's experience in Putnam satisfied Doctor Leland that he had chosen the wrong location. He did not get practice in a dozen families; and not a third of them were willing or able to pay his bills.<br><br>
"A large city is a better place," said the doctor to his wife, when the subject of moving came up for serious consideration. "People are less bound by old forms and prejudices. They understand the value of new men. In a place like New York, with my knowledge of the profession, and my earnest devotion to it, there is nothing to prevent my attaining the most eminent success. We will go to New York."<br><br>
Mrs. Leland was passive. All was but an <em>experiment</em>, that must fail — at least so she believed. In the year of their residence at Putnam, there had been another birth in the family, bringing additional care and expense, and making the gaze of both into the doubtful future, more anxious than before. A year in New York resulted like the one spent in Putnam; and, at its close, Doctor Leland found himself without practice and out of money. The two thousand dollars with which he had begun his career as a physician were all spent; and yet he was not established. The fact that he had committed a mistake, began at last to dawn upon his mind. At first he pushed the suggestion away; but it came up so pertinaciously, and presented itself in so many forms, that he was forced to admit that it was so. But of what good was the admission? Experience had come too late.<br><br>
The third year of Dr. Leland's experiment was the great year of trial and suffering. In coming to New York, he had taken a house at six hundred dollars rent. In three months he was satisfied that he had only made matters worse by the change, and that, unless something like a miracle occurred, he would soon be penniless. By this time, his professional enthusiasm had nearly died out under the pressure that was on him. A competence for his rising family was now, in his eyes, a thing more to be desired than any medical honors which could be lavished. Where was bread to come from, if no speedy change occurred? was the question that ever and anon intruded. Thus it went on during the third year, and, at its close, as we have said, Doctor Leland found himself without money and without practice; and, still worse, indebted for a quarter's rent.<br><br>
"We must move from here," said he, in a voice of despondency, to his wife.<br><br>
"How are we to get away?" she inquired sadly. "Our rent is not paid."<br><br>
"There is no help but to sell a part of our furniture."<br><br>
Mrs. Leland sighed.<br><br>
"Where shall we go after that?" she asked.<br><br>
The doctor was silent. It was the very question he could not answer for himself.<br><br>
"You will never succeed as a physician," said Mrs. Leland.<br><br>
"Not under present circumstances. If I could wait a few years for a practice. If my expenses would cease until I obtained an income. But that is out of the question."<br><br>
"What shall we do?"<br><br>
The doctor ventured not to answer; for no way opened before him. He had, in his journey through life, come to a <em>high mountain </em>that stretched across his way, and he had not sufficient strength to climb it.<br><br>
"When we move from here, we shall have nothing with which to buy even bread for our children," said Mrs. Leland, who was looking the evil before them steadily in the face. "Ah! if you had never given up your school!"<br><br>
"That was a great mistake. But it is too late to mourn over it now. Unhappily, <em>regrets will not cancel our errors</em>, nor remove the <em>sad effects </em>which flow from them. I never liked teaching."<br><br>
"Though you were well qualified for it."<br><br>
"But it was irksome to me; and it seemed such a waste of time. I felt <em>ambitious </em>to use the abilities I possessed in a higher calling."<br><br>
"And do you really think the profession of medicine higher than that of teaching?" asked Mrs. Leland.<br><br>
"Certainly I do. Can any use in the community be higher than that of saving life?"<br><br>
"Which is the highest use," asked Mrs. Leland, "to lead to good — or to save from evil?"<br><br>
The question struck the doctor as new, and he did not for some moments reply. At length he said —<br><br>
"Why do you ask?"<br><br>
"I ask it, of course, in connection with the subject about which we are conversing," said Mrs. Leland. "To me it seems that teaching, guiding, and seeking a right development for the young, immortal mind — is a far higher, more noble, and important work than the mere cure of bodily diseases. There is no estimating the <em>influence </em>of a single mind, rightly educated, when it comes to full maturity, and acts upon the world; and, in assisting to develop, in just order, all the elements of that mind, a man may do more good than in curing a hundred diseased bodies."<br><br>
This was presenting an entirely new view to the ambitious doctor. In an instant he saw that, so far as the true honor and value of professions were concerned, he had mistaken the relative elevation.<br><br>
"Perhaps you are right," said he. "At least, there is one thing certain, in giving up the <em>teacher </em>for the <em>physician</em>, I committed a sad mistake. Gladly would I return to my old employment. But, alas! it is too late now."<br><br>
"Perhaps not," urged Mrs. Leland. "As a physician, there seems to he no hope left for you. Had we not better return to the old place? You are known there as a successful teacher, and, if you open a school and give your whole mind to it, as before, no doubt you will obtain scholars."<br><br>
"But how are we to return? How are we to <em>live </em>until a school begins to pay? Everything is gone."<br><br>
"We must go somewhere. Privation, and perhaps suffering, are before us in any event. That we must expect. A change is necessary; in making that change, let us do it as wisely as we can. Can you not see more hope in a return to the old pursuit, than in a continuance in the new one?"<br><br>
"Ah! if it had not been put off to so late an hour. If the change had been determined when there was strength to make it."<br><br>
"Let us not despond," said the more hopeful wife. "Night is no permanent season. Day always breaks, though the season of darkness often seems long. We will go back to the old place, and I am sure it will be well with us again."<br><br>
But the doctor shook his head and sighed.<br><br>
"It is too late!"<br><br>
He was utterly discouraged. But to sit and fold his hands, he felt would be worse than useless. The first step which prudence and common sense dictated was to remove from a house the rent of which was six hundred dollars. The final quarter of the year was drawing to a close, and it was necessary to see the landlord and notify him that his house would be given up.<br><br>
The landlord was a man of large property and influence in the community; and he exercised both usefully. When his sad-hearted tenant appeared, he greeted him cheerfully.<br><br>
"Good morning, doctor," said he, smiling and extending his hand. "I'm glad to see you. What's the good news?"<br><br>
"Nothing very encouraging,'' replied the doctor, trying to assume a voice not altogether desponding. "I've come to say that I shall have to give up your house."<br><br>
"Ah! Why so?" inquired the landlord.<br><br>
"Can't make my expenses."<br><br>
"At doctoring?"<br><br>
"No."<br><br>
"It isn't much to be wondered at. Too many doctors now. The ranks of the profession are more than full."<br><br>
"So it seems. At least, in a great city like this, there is but small chance for a <em>stranger</em>."<br><br>
"I can't say that I am sorry for your lack of success," remarked the landlord, smiling.<br><br>
The doctor looked surprised.<br><br>
"Why do you say that?" he inquired.<br><br>
"Because I think we can make use of you in a better business. I was going to call on you this very day."<br><br>
"For what purpose?"<br><br>
"I had a long conversation yesterday with a gentleman who resided in the town where you lived for some years. He says that you were engaged in <em>teaching</em>, and, while you gave it your undivided attention, had one of the best schools he ever knew. But that when you commenced studying medicine, your mind was divided, and your school declined. From all he said, I would think that you possessed higher qualifications for a teacher than for anything else; and, if you would return to the profession, would be eminently successful."<br><br>
"No doubt," replied Doctor Leland, "I made a great mistake in changing my profession. I have been going down ever since."<br><br>
"Then why not change back?"<br><br>
"It's too late, I'm afraid. I have exhausted myself too far."<br><br>
"Would you be willing to take charge of a school, as principal, if the place could be procured for you?"<br><br>
"I would accept it gladly," replied Leland, with a brightening countenance.<br><br>
"It has become necessary to remove the principal of a large school, in the management of which I have a leading influence, on account of incompetency and had conduct; and the place is now vacant. We have been looking around for the right kind of a man for some weeks. It strikes me that you are just the person we want. The salary is twelve hundred dollars. If you will procure testimonials and bring them to me, I will submit them, and obtain for you, without doubt, the place."<br><br>
For some time after Dr. Leland left the house of his landlord, his mind was so bewildered, that he was more than once in doubt whether he were not really dreaming. The required testimonials were speedily obtained, and the doctor returned to his old employment a wiser man.<br><br>
In the school which now came under his charge, were three or four lads, the sons of wealthy parents, who, from injudicious treatment both at home and while under instruction, had become so warped in their characters, that they gave but a sad promise for the future. It had been for some time in serious contemplation to remove them from the institution, when Dr. Leland came into it, and he was informed of the fact.<br><br>
"I think I can manage them," said he, speaking from a knowledge of his ability to govern children. And he was successful. The lads soon came under his influence, and were in a short time as orderly and studious as any in the school.<br><br>
"You have laid me under a weight of gratitude that I shall ever feel," said the father of one of these boys to Leland, a year after he had taken charge of the institution; "for you have done for my child, what other teachers have failed to accomplish. You have developed his <em>good</em> — at the same time that you have restrained his <em>evil</em>. Ah, sir! the calling of a<em>teacher </em>is one of the highest and most responsible. How many children have been ruined by bad teachers; how many saved by good ones! If we had better <em>teachers</em> — we should have better <em>men."</em><br><br>
When the doctor related this to his wife, in whose bosom the dove of peace had again folded its wings, she replied —<br><br>
"There is a <em>wise Providence </em>in all things. Doubtless men are driven by the pressure of varying circumstances, which often come in misfortunes and the loss of worldly goods, into those pursuits wherein they may best minister to the common good. Society is sustained by mutual services; and the Father of all, who seeks the good of all, will force men into those places where they can be most useful, if they do not fill them willingly."<br><br>
"In that you are, no doubt, right. I sought only honor and reputation, when I decided to enter the medical profession; not good to my fellows," replied the doctor.<br><br>
"And yet," said his wife, "there can be no true honor that is not based upon good deeds."<br><br>
And she was right. How many commit mistakes similar to that made by Doctor Leland! And how many, like him, are driven back, through the reaction of disastrous circumstances, and compelled to enter upon those employments in which they are best fitted to serve the community! If we all looked less to personal results, and more to the effect of what we do upon <em>others</em> — we would be equally prosperous in things pertaining to the world, and far happier than at present.<br>
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