In the way our fathers trod”--that seems to be the proud boast of the
English country towns, and I am not sure that it is not a worthy
one, though its application to certain cases is certainly humorous.
I remember revisiting a town where I had once lived, and getting into
conversation with an elderly and well-to-do inhabitant. I mentioned
having met in London a surgeon who had been born in and lived in the
town. He certainly enjoyed the largest practice in London, and, in
addition to the K.C.B., bore as many continental orders as permitted of
his wearing (which he did) a very dingy dress-coat without its dinginess
being perceptible. His reputation had, however, eluded the cognizance of
his native town.
“What a fool he was to go off to London, when he might have done so well
here,” was the comment of the elderly citizen upon my proud boast that I
had met Sir William in London. “If he had only held on here he might by
this time have got the best dispensary in the town.”