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TACT AND TALENT.

BY M. Y. A.

CHAPTER I.

"There are no tricks in plain and simple faith:

But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,

Make gallant show and promise of their mettle."-JULIUS CÆSAR. THE first few years of a professional life are a series of trials, anxieties, and disappointments. Occasionally, of course, there are trifling successes, and now and then a circumstance of more than ordinary encouragement; but who that has attempted to distinguish himself in any of the professions has not felt, time after time, that he had taken upon himself the performance of a task, the difficulties of which are almost, perhaps altogether, insurmountable! I do not speak of those who are placed by fortune beyond the necessity of labouring diligently in their calling, but of those who feel that their future standing in society-nay, the very means of their subsistence-depends upon immediate success. It may be that all, or nearly all, the aspirant's capital has been expended in his professional education, and he has to commence the struggle almost penniless; yet, at the same time, he must hide his poverty, and make what is called a respectable appearance. This is no doubt more the case in the medical profession than in any other. The offshoots of once wealthy families, too proud for trade, too poor for independence-the favourite child of the needy literary man, whose income is barely sufficient to support the expenses of a collegiate education-the sons of those who, having begun life poor, and acquired by hard struggling a little competence, have given them an education for a fortune; these, and many more of a similar description, daily swell the list of rising medical practitioners. Of the latter description was the hero of our present sketch. His father was an active, bustling personage, who had gone through life with the determination to make the best of it, and had succeeded tolerably well. Of nine children, eight of them were settled to his heart's content; his four daughters were respectably married, two of his sons had commissions in the army, one was in the Church, one in the law, and the youngest and last had just passed his examination, and received his degree from the College of Surgeons. "William," said the old man, as he gave him his last supply of money, "you have now your own fortune to make. I have done for you what I did for your brothers. You are all set off in life, and it will be your own fault if you do not do well. I have sold my business, and have just enongh left to see me to the end of my days. God bless you, lad! I can do no more for you." A few weeks after this occurrence, our young hero was comfortably settled in a respectable corner house, a situation deemed almost indispensable for a practitioner of the chirurgical art, and a large brass plate bearing the inscription "W. WYLIEHART, SURGEON," announced the fact to the inhabitants of the King's Road, Chelsea, and neighbourhood." Dorothy," said he, to his only domestic, as she removed the remains of a frugal dinner, "remember,

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you are my housekeeper." "Yes, Sir," said she, smoothing down. her clean white apron, "that's what I calls myself." "Then don't forget it do you hear? And, Dorothy, if any one should ask-you know, why, I'm doing very well!" This speech was accompanied by an intelligent kind of look, which said, "You understand?" Dorothy did not understand, and she stood holding the door as if unwilling to leave the room until she was quite sure she comprehended her master's meaning. "Oh, I suppose you have been ill then, Sir?" said she, after a pause. No, no, my good woman; you don't understand it yet, I see, but I must drill you into it. If any one should ask you how I am getting on in my profession, you must say Very well. You know now, Dorothy, what I mean."

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"Oh yes, Sir," said she, as the new light broke in upon her untutored mind; and she went down the stairs, meditating upon the strangeness of the fact, that although Mr. Wyliehart had had but one patient since she entered his establishment, which was about three weeks since, he should consider that very well. Our young hero was, at this time, about twenty-three years of age; in figure rather below the middle height, yet withal duly proportioned. His complexion was fair, approaching to paleness, with cheeks slightly sunken, an open and rather intellectual forehead, and dark blue eyes. His appearance would have been decidedly interesting but for the expression of his features, which betrayed a restlessness and penetrating spirit, ever ready to sieze and appropriate to its own purpose the designs or actions of others, yet carefully guarding against the glance which would search into his own motives. Among strangers, upon whom he was anxious to produce a favourable impression, he would slightly draw down his brow, so as to shade and darken his eyes, and, with the upper lip elevated, would utter a tirade of technical phrases in an under tone-nay, completely under his breath, which of course were unintelligible to the generality of his hearers, while his look and manner pretty plainly asked " Am I not a clever fellow?"

The young surgeon was sitting alone, with his eyes fixed on the fire, as all people in a contemplative mood are apt to do in winter time. There were two candles on the table, only one of which was burning, and beside him lay several great and learned-looking volumes, and a sheet of paper apparently crowded with memoranda. There was a loud knock at the street door. The candle was lit in a moment, and Wyliehart himself, with equal speed, was deeply buried in "Laennec on the Chest," when the room door was thrown open, and "Mr. Sandon" announced. The first greeting the student received was a hearty laugh, as he raised his eyes from the page. "Now really, Will," said Sandon, "the effect of that attitude is fine! Legs extended, body cast carelessly into an easy chair, and long thin fingers wandering listlessly through tangled masses of hair. And then the books! Well, effect is everything!" Wyliehart paused for a moment, and then, with a cunning smile, said, in a low voice, "I wish it may answer.' A simultaneous roar of laughter from the friends proved how entirely they both relished the joke, and Sandon, sweeping the books to the farthest corner of the table, seated himself comfortably by the fire.

"And so you are settled down at last?" said the visitor. "Now you only want one thing."

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"You are mistaken there, Charles; I must have something before I can keep a wife."

"I know what you mean-a practice. That's all very prudent, but why not fix your eye on a fortune; then you need not wait for practice? Depend upon it, you never will get on much till you are married."

"I know all that very well, but fortunes are rare birds to catchI don't know one that's at all get-at-able."

"Oh no-of course you don't! Why you spent the whole evening at Lainson's party in a tête à tête with Miss Sinclair. But I suppose you think it too cheap to sell yourself for five thousand down, and seven more when the grandfather dies?"

"There you are out, my fine fellow; this would just set me up in life. But then, Charles, Miss Sinclair is the proudest girl I know; I am certain I should stand no chance there."

"Pooh! nonsense! you are certain of nothing of the sort. A fellow with your attractions-why the women always rave about dark blue eyes; and with the aid of a tongue that would coax a bird off a tree! If I were you, Wyliehart, I should make a dash at Miss Sinclair. -Faint heart,' you know"

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By the bye, Sandon, how is it you have never introduced me to that cousin of yours? I hear she's a pretty little creature, and sings like a linnet. I think she has something like seven thousand, and most likely, being younger, would not be so confoundedly pert and coquettish as Miss Sinclair."

"Oh, that would never do-never; it is not at all the sort of thing for you. Whatever she will have, she has nothing now, but must wait till she is of age and then, she is a mere child—a school-girl-an unsophisticated creature. Oh no! that would never do for you."

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"I know she must wait a few years for the legacy, but your uncle would never let her marry without settling something handsome on her."

"If you are talking seriously, Wyliehart, I must tell you that, though I joke about bargains and money-matches, I do not include my own relations in the jest. If I had a sister, and any man spoke in my presence, either in joke or earnest, about marrying her for money, I would fell him to the earth.”

Sandon spoke with a warmth and energy that plainly told he meant what he said.

"Well, what has that to do with it? You have no sister to quarrel about."

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Only this much," replied Sandon, with a serious and determined air, "that a cousin is next to a sister."

"Well, well," said Wyliehart, "you know it's all a joke-I would never be such a fool as to marry for money."

"I don't know that!" replied Sandon. "By the bye, I had almost forgotten the object of my visit. You know Hilton, of our firm? He was talking to me about his sister, who has been laid up some time with a spinal complaint. I thought she would make an excellent patient for you, so I put in a good word about your skill,

&c., and the conversation ended by my being requested to bring you this evening to see her."

Wyliehart's eyes glistened, as well they might, for this was almost his first patient; and in a few minutes the young friends were pursuing their way towards the residence of Miss Hilton.

In a beautifully-furnished house in Sloane-street lay the interesting invalid. She was apparently about nineteen years of age; of a clear, delicate complexion, and an expression of extreme langour on her countenance. Her hair, which was very fair, was arranged in a neat and simple style, befitting one who was suffering from ill health; while her almost transparent eyelids were allowed to fall over her full, blue, but listless eyes. She was dressed in white, although it was drawing very near the winter season; but the room was kept at a certain temperature, and a rich Cashmere shawl was so arranged at the back of the couch as to preclude the possibility of a breath of air wandering near the delicate girl. At her feet, on a crimson cushion, slept a little silky dog, whose well-washed coat and long soft ears had procured for him the name of "Flossy." By the side of the couch, in an easy chair, sat a tall and elegant woman, scarcely less fragile and sickly in her appearance than her young companion. It was anxiety and watching that had paled her cheek and attenuated her form, for she was the mother of the invalid. Mrs. Hilton had been left a widow in early life, with two children-a son, and the young lady by her side. They had each been handsomely provided for by the late Mr. Hilton, but the son had lately chosen to embark a portion of his property in a mercantile speculation, and had become a sleeping partner in the firm with which Charles Sandon was connected. "Mamma," said the young lady, in a low weak voice, "do you think they will come soon?"

"I should rather they did not, dear love, till Francis comes home."

Then, perhaps, I shall be too tired to see them; you have no idea, Mamma, how weak I feel."

"Yes, dear Clara, I have," replied Mrs. Hilton, in a tone and with a look of distress; "I am afraid you are losing your strength daily." "I'm afraid I am," replied she, drooping her eyelids slowly till her eyes were closed: and then she lay still and pale as a marble monu

ment.

"I fear she is going-gradually going," thought the anxious mother; "I felt as though I had buried all when I left her father in his tomb-but this is a stroke which I think I cannot bear ;" and the tears chased each other down her thin pale cheeks. Her reverie was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Charles Sandon and his friend the surgeon. Some time passed away in desultory conversation, during which Wyliehart learnt that Miss Hilton had been under various and opposite courses of treatment for spinal disease, the result of which had been to reduce her strength, and render her the helpless being he found her. Brodie had been the last consulted, and he had given it as his opinion that there was no disease of the spine whatever, but that the morbid symptoms were dependant on an altered condition of the nervous functions, which only required fresh country air, tonic medicines, and due bodily and mental exertion, for

its removal. Mrs. Hilton reported Brodie's speech, in a tone of great indignation; and the pale cheeks of the invalid assumed a deep crimson hue, at the bare idea of being suspected of having a healthy spine. "I am sure she has suffered enough, poor girl," said the Mamma, as her wasted appearance shows, without being told she must get up and go about, as though she had the power of banishing the pain at pleasure."

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"There are many cases," said Wyliehart, with a learned knit of the brow," so closely resembling real spinal affection, that, except to a man experienced in this particular form of disease, it is very difficult to distinguish between the real and imaginary one; but Brodie ought to have known the difference. However, I will call in the morning, and shall then be able to form a more correct judgment on the case. As you have honoured me," said he to Mrs. Hilton, "by placing the young lady under my professional care, you may rest assured, that whatever my judgment or experience can suggest shall be studiously devoted to your daughter's recovery."

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"I like the look of that young surgeon," said Clara Hilton, as the door closed; " he has a clever expression about the eyes." "I thought him rather young," replied the Mamma; “very different from what I expected, after Charles Sandon's account of him." "Oh, his age has nothing to do with it," said Miss Hilton; the experience he has had, and I am sure he is clever, by his look.” "What a deal of humbug there is in the world," said Wyliehart, as he placed his arm in that of his friend, and turned from Mrs. Hilton's house; people humbug themselves more than any one else, and are determined not to have their eyes opened. Now, here are these worthies evidently in extreme wrath with Brodie for telling them a plain fact, whereas, if I confirm them in their own vagaries, I shall be the cleverest fellow alive."

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"Then what do you intend to do?"

"Do? why I must humour them, and see as they see-only a great deal further. I tell you what it is; if people will be bamboozled, why, they ought to be."

"That's what you call professional tact, I suppose ?" said Sandon, laughing.

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Exactly so; and no man in this mortal world ever got on without it. That's my opinion."

"Well, I suppose not. I was quite amused at your gravity and hard words, but I would advise you to drop a little of it to the young lady. It looks all very learned, but girls like a little change. Well, I go this way; good night."

"He is a good-hearted fellow," thought the young surgeon, as he parted from his friend," and up to a little, but he is not a finished tactician."

CHAPTER II.

"There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come.No man, of aught he leaves, knows what is't to leave betimes."-HAMLET. SOME time after these occurrences, Wyliehart received a visit from a Mr. Hamilton, a gentleman residing in one of the neighbouring

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