1.
God’s own best will bide the test,
And God’s own worst will fall;
But, best or worst or last or first,
He ordereth it all.
2.
For ALL is good, if understood,
(Ah, could we understand!)
And right and ill are tools of skill
Held in His either hand.
3.
The harlot and the anchorite,
The martyr and the rake,
Deftly He fashions each aright,
Its vital part to take.
4.
Wisdom He makes to guide the sap
Where the high blossoms be;
And Lust to kill the weaker branch,
And Drink to trim the tree.
5.
And Holiness that so the bole
Be solid at the core;
And Plague and Fever, that the whole
Be changing evermore.
6.
He strews the microbes in the lung,
The blood-clot in the brain;
With test and test He picks the best,
Then tests them once again.
7.
He tests the body and the mind,
He rings them o’er and o’er;
And if they crack, He throws them back,
And fashions them once more.
8.
He chokes the infant throat with slime,
He sets the ferment free;
He builds the tiny tube of lime
That blocks the artery.
9.
He lets the youthful dreamer store
Great projects in his brain,
Until he drops the fungus spore
That smears them out again.
10.
He stores the milk that feeds the babe,
He dulls the tortured nerve;
He gives a hundred joys of sense
Where few or none might serve.
11.
And still he trains the branch of good
Where the high blossoms be,
And wieldeth still the shears of ill
To prune and prune His tree.
12.
So read I this--and as I try
To write it clear again,
I feel a second finger lie
Above mine on the pen.
13.
Dim are these peering eyes of mine,
And dark what I have seen.
But be I wrong, the wrong is Thine,
Else had it never been.
I am quite ashamed of having been so didactic. But it is fine to think
that sin may have an object and work towards good. My father says that
I seem to look upon the universe as if it were my property, and can’t be
happy until I know that all is right with it. Well, it does send a
glow through me when I seem to catch a glimpse of the light behind the
clouds.
And now for my big bit of news which is going to change my whole
life. Whom do you think I had a letter from last Tuesday week? From
Cullingworth, no less. It had no beginning, no end, was addressed
all wrong, and written with a very thick quill pen upon the back of a
prescription. How it ever reached me is a wonder. This is what he had to
say:--
“Started here in Bradfield last June. Colossal success. My example must
revolutionise medical practice. Rapidly making fortune. Have invention
which is worth millions. Unless our Admiralty take it up shall make
Brazil the leading naval power. Come down by next train on receiving
this. Have plenty for you to do.”
That was the whole of this extraordinary letter; it had no name to it,
which was certainly reasonable enough, since no one else could have
written it. Knowing Cullingworth as well as I did, I took it with
reservations and deductions. How could he have made so rapid and
complete a success in a town in which he must have been a complete
stranger? It was incredible. And yet there must be some truth in it, or
he would not invite me to come down and test it. On the whole, I thought
that I had better move very cautiously in the matter; for I was happy
and snug where I was, and kept on putting a little by, which I hoped
would form a nucleus to start me in practice. It is only a few pounds
up to date, but in a year or so it might mount to something. I wrote
to Cullingworth, therefore, thanking him for having remembered me, and
explaining how matters stood.
I had had great difficulty in finding an opening, I said, and now that I
had one I was loth to give it up save for a permanency.
Ten days passed, during which Cullingworth was silent. Then came a huge
telegram.
“Your letter to hand. Why not call me a liar at once? I tell you that I
have seen thirty thousand patients in the last year. My actual takings
have been over four thousand pounds. All patients come to me. Would not
cross the street to see Queen Victoria. You can have all visiting, all
surgery, all midwifery. Make what you like of it. Will guarantee three
hundred pounds the first year.”
Well, this began to look more like business--especially that last
sentence. I took it to Horton, and asked his advice. His opinion was
that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. So it ended by my
wiring back accepting the partnership--if it is a partnership--and
to-morrow morning I am off to Bradfield with great hopes and a small
portmanteau. I know how interested you are in the personality of
Cullingworth--as every one is who comes, even at second hand, within
range of his influence; and so you may rely upon it that I shall give
you a very full and particular account of all that passes between us. I
am looking forward immensely to seeing him again, and I trust we won’t
have any rows.
Goodbye, old chap. My foot is upon the threshold of fortune.
Congratulate me.