At this writing establishment, unique of
its kind, he could turn his mind with equal facility, in company or
alone, to any subject, whether of business, study, politics,
instruction, or amusement, and move the minds of his hearers to
laughter or tears at his pleasure."
The daily life at Combe Florey was eminently patriarchal. He lived
surrounded by children, grandchildren, and friends; chatting with the poor,
comforting the sick, and petting the babies of the village. Old and young
alike he doctored with extraordinary vehemence and persistency, "As I don't
shoot or hunt, it is my only rural amusement." He wrote to a friend--"The
influenza to my great joy has appeared here, and I am in high medical
practice." "This is the house to be ill in," he used to say, "I take it as
a delicate compliment when my guests have a slight illness here. Come and
see my apothecary's shop." The "shop" was a room filled on one side with
drugs and on the other with groceries. "Life is a difficult thing in the
country, I assure you, and it requires a good deal of forethought to steer
the ship, when you live twelve miles from a lemon."
The church of Combe Florey was described by Francis Jeffrey as "a horrid
old barn." There the Rector performed two services a Sunday, celebrated the
Holy Communion once a month, and preached his practical sermons,
transcribed from his own execrable manuscript by a sedulous clerk.
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