To the true physician there is an inexpressible sanctity in the sick chamber.

At its threshold the more human passions quit their hold on his heart.

Love there would be profanation; even the grief permitted to others he must put aside.

He must enter that room--a calm intelligence.
He is disabled for his mission if he suffer aught to obscure the keen quiet glance of his science.

Age or youth, beauty or deformity, innocence or guilt, merge their distinctions in one common attribute,-human suffering appealing to human skill.
Woe to the households in which the trusted Healer feels not on his conscience the solemn obligations of his glorious art! Reverently as in a temple, I stood in the virgin's chamber.