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For more than thirty years it has been my good fortune to possess the acquaintance of a certain country doctor—a man unknown to the world at large, but yet, like many another of his class, a man that the world would honor itself in honoring.
Even in my youngest days I knew him. His tall form, his lean but kindly countenance, his thin hair and tuft of chin beard, were among the earliest images of my childhood. Often I played in his yard. Often he would call me into his office where he sat at study, there to read to me from his books, or to demonstrate to me the bones of a skeleton, or, if the day were clear, to show me in his microscope the structure of the kidney or lung. Often, too, I went with him on his rounds; many a long summer day we rode, from
SHASTID TH. A COUNTRY DOCTOR. JAMA. 1897;XXVIII(9):400–402. doi:10.1001/jama.1897.02440090018002i
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