Chapter IX: Shows That Doctors Differ

Having christened his child, Agamemnon felt it to be his bounden duty to have him vaccinated; but his wife's mother, with a perversity strongly characteristic of the _genus_, strenuously opposed Dr. Jenner's plan of repealing the small pox[1], and insisted upon having him inoculated. Poor Mrs. Applebite was sorely perplexed between her habitual reverence for the opinions of her mama and the dread which she naturally felt of converting the face of the infant heir into a plum-pudding. Agamemnon had evidently determined to be positive upon this point, and all that could be extracted from him was the one word--vaccination!

[1] Baylis.

To which Mrs. Waddledot replied,

"Vaccination, indeed!--as though the child were a calf! I'm sure and certain that the extreme dulness of young people of the present day is entirely owing to vaccination--it imbues them with a very stupid portion of the animal economy."

As Agamemnon could not understand her, he again ejaculated--"Vaccination!"

"But, my dear," rejoined Mrs. Applebite, "Mama has had so much experience that her opinion is worth listening to; I know that you give the preference to--"

"Vaccination!" interrupted Collumpsion.

"And so do I; but we have heard of grown-up people--who had always considered themselves secure--taking the small pox, dear."

"To be sure we have," chimed in Mrs. Waddledot; "and it's a very dreadful thing, after indulgent and tender parents have been at the expense of nursing, clothing, physicking, teaching music, dancing, Italian, French, geography, drawing, and the use of the globes, to a child, to have it carried off because a misguided fondness has insisted upon--"

"Vaccination!" shouted _pater_ Collumpsion.

"Exactly!" continued the "wife's mother." "Now inoculate at once, say I, before the child's short-coated."

Agamemnon rose from his seat, and advancing deliberately and solemnly to the table at which his wife and his wife's mother were seated, he slowly raised his dexter arm above his head, and then, having converted his hand into a fist, he dashed his contracted digitals upon the rosewood as though he dared not trust himself with more than one word, and that one was--"Vaccination!"

Mrs. Waddledot's first impulse was to jump out of her turban, in which she would have succeeded had not the mystic rolls of gauze which constituted that elaborate head-dress been securely attached to the chestnut "front" with which she had sought for some years to cheat the world into a forgetfulness of her nativity.

"I was warned of this! I was warned of this!" exclaimed the disarranged woman, as soon as she obtained breath enough for utterance. "But I wouldn't believe it. I was told that the member for Puddingbury had driven one wife to her grave and the other to drinking.--I was told that it would run in the family, and that Mr. _A.C._ Applebite would be no better than Mr. I. Applebite!"

"Oh! Mama--you really wrong Aggy," exclaimed Theresa.

"It's lucky for you that you think so, my dear. If ever there was an ill-used woman, you are that unhappy individual. Oh, that ever--I--should live--to see a child of mine--have a child of hers vaccinated against her wish!" and here Mrs. Waddledot (as it is emphatically styled) burst into tears; not that we mean to imply that she was converted into an explosive _jet d'eau_, but we mean that she--she--what shall we say?--she blubbered.

It is really surprising how very sympathetic women are on all occasions of weeping, scolding, and scandalising; and accordingly Mrs. Applebite "opened the fountains of her eyes," and roared in concert with her mama.

Agamemnon felt that he was an injured man--injured in the tenderest point--his character for connubial kindness; and he secretly did what many husbands have done openly--he consigned Mrs. Waddledot to the gentleman who is always represented as very black, because where he resides there is no water to wash with.

At this agonising moment Uncle Peter made his appearance; and as actors always play best to a good audience, the weeping ladies continued their lachrymose performance with renewed vigour. Uncle Peter was a plain man--plain in every meaning of the word; that is to say, he was very ugly and very simple; and when we tell you that his face resembled nothing but a half-toasted muffin, you can picture to yourself what it must have looked like under the influence of surprise; but nevertheless, both Agamemnon and the ladies simultaneously determined to make him the arbitrator in this very important matter.

"Uncle Peter," said Agamemnon.

"Brother Peter," sobbed Mrs. Waddledot.

"Which are you an advocate for?" hystericised Mrs. Applebite.

"Vaccination or inoculation?" exclaimed everybody _ensemble_.

Now whether Uncle John did clearly understand the drift of the question put to him, or whether he conceived that he was solicited to be the subject of some benevolent experiments for the advantage of future generations, it is certain that no man ever looked more positively

than Uncle Peter. At length the true state of the case was made apparent to him; and the conclusion that he arrived at reflects the greatest possible credit upon his judgment. He decided, that as the child was a divided property, for the sake of peace and quietness, the heir of Applebite should be vaccinated in one arm and inoculated in the other.

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FALSE ALARM.

We were paralysed the other day at seeing a paragraph headed "Sibthorpe's conversion." Our nose grew pale with terror; our hump heaved with agitation. We thought there existed a greater genius than ourselves and that some one had discovered that Sibthorp could be converted into anything but a Member for Lincoln, and buffoon-in-waiting to the House of Commons. We found, however, that it alluded to a Reverend, and not to OUR Colonel. Really the newspaper people should be more careful. Such startling announcements are little better than

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DOING THE STATE SOME SERVICE.

During the conflagration of the Tower, it was apprehended at one time that the portion of it called the White Tower would have shared the fate of the grand store-house,--this was however prevented by hanging _wet blankets_ around it, in which capacity Peter Borthwick, Mr. Plumtre, Col. Percival, and Lord Castlereagh, kindly offered their personal services and were found admirably adapted for the purpose.

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THE GENTLEMAN'S OWN BOOK.

We will now proceed to the consideration of that indispensable adjunct to a real gentleman--his purse. This little talisman, though of so much real importance, is very limited in the materials of its formation, being confined exclusively to silk. It should generally be of net work, very sparingly powdered with small beads, and of the most delicate colours, such conveying the idea that the fairy fingers of some beauteous friend had wove the tiny treasury. We have seen some of party colours, intended thereby to distinguish the separate depository of the gold and silver coin with which it is (presumed) to be stored. This arrangement we repudiate; for a true gentleman should always appear indifferent to the value of money, and affect at least an equal contempt for a sovereign as a shilling. We prefer having the meshes of the purse rather large than otherwise, as whenever it is necessary--mind, we say necessary--to exhibit it, the glittering contents shining through the interstices are never an unpleasing object of contemplation.

The purse should be used at the card-table; but never produced unless you are called upon as a loser to _pay_. It may then be resorted to with an air of _nonchalance;_ and when the demand upon it has been honoured, it should be thrown carelessly upon the table, as though to indicate your _almost_ anxiety to make a further sacrifice of its contents. Should you, however, be a winner, any exhibition of the purse might be construed into an unseemly desire of "welling," or securing your gains, which of course must always be a matter of perfect indifference to you; and whatever advantages you obtain from chance or skill should be made obvious to every one are only destined to enrich your valet, or be beneficially expended in the refreshment of cabmen and ladies of faded virtue. In order to convey these intentions more conspicuously, should the result of an evening be in your favour, your winnings should be consigned to your waistcoat pocket; and if you have any particular desire to heighten the effect, a piece of moderate value may be left on the table.

cannot do better than find an excuse for a recurrence to his purse; and then the partial exhibition of the coin alluded to above will be found to be productive of a feeling most decidedly confirmatory in the mind of the landlady that you are a true gentleman.

The same cause will produce the same effect with a tradesman whose album--we beg pardon, whose ledger--you intend honouring with your name.

You should never display your purse to a poor friend or dependant, or the sight of it might not only stimulate their cupidity, or raise their expectations to an inordinate height, but prevent you from escaping with a moderate _douceur_ by "the kind manner in which you slipped a sovereign into their hand at parting."

A servant should never be rewarded from a purse; it makes the fellows discontented; for if they see gold, they are never satisfied with a shilling and "I must see what can be done for you, James."

Should you be fortunate enough to break a policeman's head, or drive over an old woman, you will find that your purse will not only add to the _eclat_ of the transaction, but most materially assist the magistrate before whom you may be taken in determining that the case is very trifling, and that a fine of 5s. will amply excuse you from the effects of that polite epidemic known _vulgo_ as drunkenness. There cannot be a greater proof of the advantages of a purse than the preceding instance, for we have known numerous cases in which the symptoms have been precisely the same, but the treatment diametrically opposite, owing to the absence of that incontrovertible evidence to character--the purse.

None but a _parvenu_ would carry his money loose; and we know of nothing more certain to ensure an early delivery of your small account than being detected by a creditor in the act of hunting a sovereign into the corner of your pocket.

We have known tailors, bootmakers, hatters, hosiers, livery-stable-keepers, &c., grow remarkably noisy when refused assistance to meet heavy payments, which are continually coming due at most inconvenient seasons; and when repeated denials have failed to silence them, the _exhibition only_ of the purse has procured the desired effect,--we presume, by inspiring the idea that you have the means to pay, but are eccentric in your views of credit--thus producing with the most importunate dun

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TREMENDOUS FAILURE.

The Editors present their compliments to their innumerable subscribers, and beg to say that, being particularly hard up for a joke, they trust that they will accept of the following as an evidence of

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A THOROUGH DRAUGHT.

The extreme proficiency displayed by certain parties in drawing spurious exchequer-bills has induced them to issue proposals for setting up an opposition exchequer office, where bills may be drawn on the shortest notice. As this establishment is to be cunningly united to the Art-Union in Somerset-House, the whole art of forgery may be there learned in six lessons. The manufacture of exchequer-bills will be carried on in every department, from printing the forms to imitating the signatures; in short, the whole art of

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THE O'CONNELL PAPERS.

OUR EXTRAORDINARY AND EXCLUSIVE CORRESPONDENCE.

We have been favoured by the transmission of the following singular correspondence by the new Mayor of Dublin's private secretary. We hasten to lay the interesting documents before our readers, though we must decline incurring the extreme responsibility of advising which offer it would be most advantageous for Mr. O'Connell to accept.