Chapter XX: Act IV: for further particulars (6)

Opium is eaten in the world by one hundred and twenty million people.

Hasheesh is used by some twenty millions.

The temperate live longer than the intemperate.

SELF-DESTRUCTION.

The Hon. Francis Gillette, in a speech in Hartford, Conn., in 1871, said that there was "in Connecticut, on an average, one liquor shop to every forty voters, and three to every Christian church. In this city, as stated in the _Hartford Times_, recently, we have five hundred liquor shops, and one million eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars were, last year, paid for intoxicating drinks. A cry, an appeal, came to me from the city, a few days since, after this wise: 'Our young men are going to destruction, and we want your influence, counsel, and prayers, to help save them.'"

In New London, report says, the young men are falling into drinking habits as never before. So in New Haven, Bridgeport, and the other cities and large places of the state.

"The pulse of a person in health beats about seventy strokes a minute, and the ordinary term of life is about seventy years. In these seventy years, the pulse of a temperate person beats two billion five hundred and seventy-four million four hundred and forty thousand times. If no actual disorganization should happen, a drunken person might live until his pulse beat this number of times; but by the constant stimulus of ardent spirits, or by pulse-quickening food, or tobacco, the pulse becomes greatly accelerated, and the two billion five hundred and seventy-four million four hundred and forty thousand pulsations are performed in little more than half the ordinary term of human life, and life goes out in forty or forty-five years, instead of seventy. This application of numbers is given to show that the acceleration of those forces diminishes the term of human life."

"In New York, Mr. Greeley states that 'a much larger proportion of adult males in the state drink now than did in 1840-44.' After speaking of the adverse demonstrations all over the country, he adds, 'I cannot recall a single decisive, cheering success, to offset these many reverses.'

"Massachusetts is moving to build an asylum for her twenty-five thousand drunkards. Lager beer brewers at Boston Highlands have three millions of dollars invested in the business, manufactured four hundred and ninety-five thousand barrels last year, and paid a tax of half a million to the general government. The city of Chicago, last year, received into her treasury one hundred and ten thousand dollars for the sale of indulgences to sell intoxicating drinks.

"The same rate of fearful expenditure for intoxicating drinks extends across the ocean. In a speech before the Trades' Union Congress, last October, at Birmingham, 'on the disorganization of labor,' Mr. Potter shows drunkenness to be the great disorganizer of the labor of Great Britain, at a yearly cost of two hundred and twenty-eight million pounds, equal to one billion one hundred and forty million dollars; enough," he adds, "to pay the public debt of Great Britain in less than five years, and greatly diminish taxation forever."

HOW THEY LIVE.

In one block near the New Bowery, New York, are huddled fifteen hundred and twenty persons. Eight hundred and twelve are Irish, two hundred and eighteen Germans, one hundred and eighty-nine Poles, one hundred and eighty-six Italians, thirty-nine Negroes, sixty-four French, two Welsh, only ten American. Of these, ten hundred and sixty-two are Catholic, two hundred and eighty-seven Jews, etc. There are twenty grog-shops and fifty degraded women. Of six hundred and thirteen children, but one hundred and sixty-six went to school.

New York city consumes nine thousand six hundred dollars' worth of flour a day (twelve hundred barrels), and uses ten thousand dollars' worth of tobacco per day.

OLD AGE.

We have mentioned some physicians who lived to an extreme old age--the Doctors Meade; one lived to be one hundred and forty-eight years and nine months. Thomas Parr, an English yeoman, lived to the remarkable age of _one hundred and fifty-three years_; and even then Dr. Harvey, who held a _post mortem_ on the body, found no internal indication of decay. One of his descendants lived to be one hundred and twenty. The Rev. Henry Reade, Northampton, England, reached the age of one hundred and thirty-two.

There was a female in Lancashire, whose death was noticed in the Times, called the "Cricket of the Hedge," who lived to be one hundred and forty-one years, less a few days. The Countess Desmond arrived at the remarkable age of one hundred and forty years.

One might suppose the allotted threescore and ten years a sufficiently long time to satisfy one to live in poverty in this world; but Henry Jenkins lived and died at the age of _one hundred and sixty-nine years_, in abject penury. He was a native of Yorkshire, and died in 1670.

WHY WE DIE.

But few of the human race die of old age. Besides the thousand and one diseases flesh is heir to, and the disease which Mrs. O'Flannagan said her husband died of, viz., "Of a Saturday 'tis that poor Mike died," very many die of disappointment. More _fret_ out. Mr. Beecher said, "It is the fretting that wears out the machinery; friction, not the real wear."

"Choked with passion" is no chimera; for passion often kills the unfortunate possessor of an irritable temper, sometimes suddenly. Care and over-anxiety sweep away thousands annually.

Let us see how long a man should live. The horse lives twenty-five years; the ox fifteen or twenty; the lion about twenty; the dog ten or twelve; the rabbit eight; the guinea-pig six or seven years. These numbers all bear a similar proportion to the time the animal takes to grow to its full size. But man, of all animals, is the one that seldom comes up to his average. He ought to live a hundred years, according to this physiological law, for five times twenty are one hundred; but instead of that, he scarcely reaches, on the average, four times his growing period; the cat six times; and the rabbit even eight times the standard of measurement. The reason is obvious. Man is not only the most irregular and the most intemperate, but the most laborious and hard-worked of all animals. He is also the most irritable of all animals; and there is reason to believe, though we cannot tell what an animal secretly feels, that, more than any other animal, man cherishes wrath to keep it warm, and consumes himself with the fire of his secret reflections.

"Age dims the lustre of the eye, and pales the roses on beauty's cheek; while crows' feet, and furrows, and wrinkles, and lost teeth, and gray hairs, and bald head, and tottering limbs, and limping, most sadly mar the human form divine. But dim as the eye is, pallid and sunken as may be the face of beauty, and frail and feeble that once strong, erect, and manly body, the immortal soul, just fledging its wings for its home in heaven, may look out through those faded windows as beautiful as the dewdrop of summer's morning, as melting as the tears that glisten in affection's eye, by growing kindly, by cultivating sympathy with all human kind, by cherishing forbearance towards the follies and foibles of our race, and feeding, day by day, on that love to God and man which lifts us from the brute, and makes us akin to angels."

GET MARRIED.

There's nothing like it. Get married early. The majority of men save nothing, amount to nothing, until they are married. Don't get married _too much_. There was a man up in court recently for being too much married. A well-matched, temperate couple grow old, to be sure, but they "grow old gracefully." When people venture the second and third time in the "marriage lottery," it is fair to presume the first experience was a happy one. Here is a case:--

AN OLD PEOPLE'S WEDDING.

"Married, in Gerry, Chautauqua County, New York, November 6, 1864, by Elder Jonathan Wilson, aged eighty-eight, Silvanus Fisher, a widower, aged eighty-two, to Priscilla Cowder, a widow, aged seventy-six, all of Gerry."

What were their habits? Did they drink, smoke, or chew? Did they dissipate in any way? Who will tell us how these aged people managed to keep up their youthful spirits so long?. We should like to publish the recipe for "the benefit of whom it concerns."

A GOOD ONE.

A Maryland paper tells the story of a marriage under difficulties, where first the bridegroom failed to appear at the appointed time through bashfulness, and was discovered, pursued, and only "brought to" with a shot gun. The bride then became indignant, and refused to marry so faint-hearted a swain. And finally, the clergyman, who is something of a wag, settled the matter by threatening to have them both arrested for breach of promise unless the ceremony was immediately performed--which it was.

THE HONEYMOON.

The origin of the honeymoon is not generally known.

The Saxons long and long ago got up the delightful occasion. Amongst the ancient Saxons and Teutons a beverage was made of honey and water, and sometimes flavored with mulberries. This drink was used especially at weddings and the after festivals. These festivals were kept up among the nobility sometimes for a month--"monath." The "hunig monath" was thus established, and the next moon after the marriage was called the honeymoon.

Alaric, about the fifth century king of the Saxons and Western Goths, is said to have actually died on his wedding night from drinking too freely of the honeyed beverage,--at least he died before morning,--and it certainly would seem to be a charitable inference to draw, since he partook very deeply of the "festive drink." It was certainly a sweet oblivion, "yet it should be a warning to posterity, as showing that even bridegrooms may make too merry."

Dr. Blanchet recently read a paper before the Academy of Science, Paris, relative to some cases of "long sleep," or lethargic slumber. One of them related to a lady twenty years of age, who took a sleeping fit during her _honeymoon_, which lasted fifty days.

"During this long period a false front tooth had to be taken out in order to introduce milk and broth into her mouth. This was her only food; she remained motionless, insensible, and all her muscles were in a state of contraction. Her pulse was low, her breathing scarcely perceptible; there was no evacuation, no leanness; her complexion was florid and healthy. The other cases were exactly similar. Dr. Blanchet is of opinion that in such cases no stimulants or forced motion ought to be employed.

"The report did not say whether the husband was pleased or not with her long silence."

There is too much talk in the world about woman's "_jaw_." As for me, give me the woman who can _talk_; the faster and more sense the better.

"MANY MEN, MANY MINDS."

There are in the United States about thirty-five thousand physicians. Of this number about five thousand are Homeopathists, and nearly thirty thousand are what is wrongly termed Allopathists.

Allopathic--Allopathy.--The dictionaries say this term means "the employment of medicines in order to produce effects different from those resulting from the disease--a term invented by Hahnemann to designate the ordinary practice as opposed to Homeopathy." The term is not acknowledged by physicians, only as a nick, or false one, given by the Hahnemannites to regular practitioners. "Never allow yourself," says Professor Wood, author of the American or U. S. Dispensatory, "to be called an Allopath. It is an opprobrious name, given by the enemies of regular physicians." It is, moreover, very inappropriate, for we give other remedies besides those of counter-irritation; as, for instance, an emetic for nausea.

The first regular physicians of Boston were Dr. John Walon, Dr. John Cutler, and Dr. Zabdal Boylston. Some of the earlier doctors had acted in the double capacity of minister and physician, as previously mentioned.

Massachusetts has now twelve hundred "regular" doctors, three hundred, or more, homeopathists, and some hundred botanics, etc. Boston has three hundred and twenty "allopathics," about fifty homeopathists, a dozen "eclectics," one hundred and twenty of miscellaneous, and eighty-four female doctors.

Surely some of them must needs "scratch for a living;" yet there is always room for a first-class practitioner anywhere.

THE ITCH MITE.

As we are speaking of "scratching" we will mention the itch mite, which we propose to give particular--sulphur--in this chapter.

The animal which makes one love to scratch is from one sixteenth to one seventeenth of an inch in length, and may be seen with the naked eye if the eye is sharp enough to "see it."

The luxury of scratching is said to greatly compensate for the filthy disease known as the "itch."

Dr. Ellitson says "a Scotch king--viz., James I.--is alleged to have said that no subject deserved to have the itch--none but Royalty--on account of the great pleasure derived from scratching." The king was said to have spoken from experience.

In these days of filthy horse-cars (we are speaking of New York), this fact may be interesting to passengers.

A HORSE-CAR RIDE.

Never full; pack 'em in;
Move up, fat men, squeeze in, thin;
Trunks, valises, boxes, bundles,
Fill up gaps as on she tumbles.
Market baskets without number;
Owners easy nod in slumber;
Thirty seated, forty standing,
A dozen more on either landing.
Old man lifts his signal finger,
Car slacks up, but not a linger;
He's jerked aboard by sleeve or shoulder,
Shoved inside to sweat and moulder.
Toes are trod on, hats are smashed,
Dresses soiled, hoop skirts crashed,
Thieves are busy, bent on plunder;
Still we rattle on like thunder.
Packed together, unwashed bodies
Bathed in fumes of whiskey toddies;
Tobacco, garlic, cheese, and lager beer
Perfume the heated atmosphere;
Old boots, pipes, leather, and tan,
And, if in luck, a "soap-fat man;"
Ar'n't we jolly? What a blessing!
A horse-car hash, with such a dressing!

HOW TO KEEP COOL.

1. _Don't fan yourself._ Those persons who are continually using a fan are ever telling you "how awful hot it is." Look at their faces! Red hot! Human nature is a contrary jade. The more you blow with a fan that warm air on your face, the more blood it calls to that part, and the more blood the more heat. So don't fan.

2. _Don't drink ice-water._ Cold, iced water is excellent for a fever, perhaps (_similia similibus curantur_); but if you drink it down when you are merely warm from outward heat, you get up an internal fever, which is increased in proportion as you take that unnatural beverage into the stomach. I drink tea, chocolate, coffee. Some persons cannot drink the latter. _Then don't_; but take black tea; not too strong, nor scalding hot. If very thirsty after, take small quantities of cold (not iced) water. Don't take ice-cream. It increases heat and thirst. Soda-water is less objectionable. Sprinkling the carpet with water several times a day keeps the room cooler. If there are small children or invalids, this may be objectionable.

3. _With the hand_ apply cool or tepid water to the entire person every six to twenty-four hours. The electricity from the hand _equalizes_ the circulation. Rub dry with a soft towel. A coarse scrubbing-cloth (even a hemlock board) does nicely for a hog, but do not apply such to human beings. It is quite unnatural.

4. Do not sleep in any garment at night worn during the day. Have your windows open as wide as you will, and bars to keep out flies and mosquitos. Keep a sheet over the limbs, to exclude the hot air from the surface.

5. Eat fruits, and but little meats. You will find, as a general rule, all ripe fruit healthy in its season. I have lived in the South several years, and know whereof I affirm.

6. And above all--_keep cool_!

KNICKKNACKS.

_More Truth than Poetry._--The following conversation between a colored prisoner and a temperance lecturer who was in search of facts to fortify his positions and illustrate his subject, explains itself:--

"What brought you to prison, my colored friend?"

"Two constables, sah."

"Yes; but I mean, had intemperance anything to do with it?"

"Yes, sah; dey wuz bofe uv 'em drunk, sah."

* * * * *

_Humble Pie._--The humble pie of former times was a pie made out of the "umbles" or entrails of the deer; a dish of the second table, inferior, of course, to the venison pastry which smoked upon the dais, and therefore not inexpressive of that humiliation which the term "eating humble pie" now painfully describes. The "umbles" of the deer are usually the perquisites of the gamekeeper.

* * * * *

_Increase of Insanity._--Insanity in England is rapidly increasing. In 1861, when the population was 19,860,701, there were 36,702 lunatics, being nineteen in every ten thousand persons. In 1871, with a population of 22,704,108, there were 56,735 lunatics, or twenty-five out of every ten thousand persons. Of these lunatics 6,110 were private patients.

* * * * *

_Error of Diagnosis._--"Doctor," said a hard-looking, brandy-faced customer a few days ago to a physician! "Doctor, I'm troubled with an oppression and uneasiness about the breast. What do you suppose the matter is?"

"All very easily accounted for," said the physician; "you have water on the chest."

"Water! Come, that'll do very well for a joke; but how could I get water on my chest when I haven't touched a drop in twenty years? If you had said brandy, you might have hit it."

* * * * *

_Ferocity of a Wasp._--A lady at Grantham observed a wasp tearing a common fly to pieces on the breakfast table. When first noticed the wasp grasped the fly firmly, and had cut off a leg and a wing, so that its rescue would have been no kindness. The wasp was covered with a basin until it should receive a murderer's doom; and when the basin was removed for its execution, nothing was seen of the fly but the wings and a number of little black pieces.

* * * * *

Madame Regina Dal Cin, a famous surgeon of Austria, having performed one hundred and fifty successful operations in the city hospital at Trieste, was rewarded by the municipal authorities with a letter of thanks and a purse of gold.

* * * * *

_A Cool Student._--In the Quartier Latin, Paris, a student was lying in bed, to which he had gone supperless, trying to devise some means to raise the wind; suddenly, in the dead of night, his reveries were disturbed by a "click." Stealthily raising himself in bed, he saw a burglar endeavoring to open his desk with skeleton keys. The student burst into fits of laughter; the frightened thief, astounded, inquired the cause of his glee. "Why, I am laughing to see you take so much trouble to force open my desk and pick the lock to find the money which I cannot find though I have the key." The thief picked up his implements, politely expressed his regret for having uselessly disturbed him, and transferred his talents and implements to some more Californian quarter.

* * * * *

_How to get rid of a Mother-in-Law._--During the recent small-pox excitement in Indianapolis, an excited individual rushed into a telegraph office, hurriedly wrote a despatch, and handed the same to the able and talented clerk. The message bore the startling intelligence that the sender's wife was down with the small-pox, and closed with the request that his mother-in-law come "immediately." While making change, the telegraph man said, "My friend, are you not afraid your mother-in-law will take the small-pox?" Without vouchsafing an immediate reply to the query, the dutiful son-in-law remarked, "Sir, are you a married man?" "No, sir, I am not." "Then, sir, take my word for it, it's all right. Just bring the old woman along."

* * * * *

_A Dying Request._--A kind physician living near Boston, wishing to smooth the last hours of a poor woman whom he was attending, asked her if there was anything he could do for her before she died. The poor soul, looking up, replied, "Doctor, I have always thought I should like to have a glass butter-dish before I died."

XXVIII.

BLEEDERS AND BUTCHERS.

"Three special months, September, April, May,
There are in which 'tis good to ope a vein:
In these three months the moon bears greatest sway;
Then old or young that store of blood contain.
September, April, May, have daies apiece
That bleeding do forbid, _and eating geese_."

BLEEDING IN 1872.--EARLIEST BLOOD-LETTERS.--A ROYAL SURGEON.--A
DRAWING JOKE.--THE PRETTY COQUETTE.--TINKERS AS BLEEDERS.--WHOLESALE
BUTCHERY.--THE BARBERS OF SOUTH AMERICA.--OUR FOREFATHERS BLEED.--A
FRENCH BUTCHER.--CUR?--ABERNETHY OPPOSES BLOOD-LETTING.--THE
MISFORTUNES OF A BARBER-SURGEON (THREE SCENES FROM DOUGLAS JERROLD)
JOB PIPPINS AND THE WAGONER; JOB AND THE HIGHWAYMEN; JOB NAKED AND JOB
DRESSED.

When, in the year of our Lord 1872, a full half dozen educated physicians meet around the dying bed of a _Rich_ man in this city to quarrel over him, and in the absence of one branch of the faction, the other assume charge of the patient, whom they _bleed_ and leave _in articulo mortis_, it is not too late to take up the subject of venesection.

Podalirius is supposed to have been the first man who employed blood-letting, since whose time the lancet is said to have slain more than the sword; and, notwithstanding the many lives that have been sacrificed to this bloody absurdity, it is still practised by those who claim to have all science and wisdom for its sanction.

It is useless to bring one learned man's opinion against it, because another's can be found equally wise to offset him: the great public has condemned the practice. It early fell into disrepute with the more refined, notwithstanding some kings took to bleeding as naturally as butchers.

A ROYAL SURGEON.

A gentleman who was about retiring, after having dined with a friend at St. James's, fell down a flight of stairs, which fall completely stunned him. On his recovery he found himself sitting on the floor, while a little old gentleman was busily attending to his wants, washing the blood from his head, and sticking a piece of plaster on to some variegated cuts for which he could not account. His surprise kept him silent till the kind and very convenient surgeon was through with the operation, when the patient arose from the floor, limped forward with extended hand, to offer his profound thanks, if not fees, to his benefactor, when an attendant instantly checked him with such intimation as to further astonish the gentleman by the knowledge that for his kind assistance he was indebted to George II., King of England.--_Percy's Anecdotes._

A DRAWING JOKE.

Several kings and great lords are made mention of as being particularly fond of using the lancet. Peter the Great of Russia was remarkably fond of witnessing dissections and surgical operations. He even used to carry a case of instruments in his pocket. He often visited the hospitals to witness capital operations, at times assisting in person, and was able to dissect properly, to bleed a patient, and extract a tooth as well as one of the faculty.

The pretty wife of one of the czar's valets had the following unpleasant experience of his skill. The husband of the "maid" accused her of flirting, and vowed revenge. The czar noticed the valet seated in the ante-room, looking forlorn, and asked the cause of his dejection. The wicked valet replied that his wife had a tooth which gave her great pain, keeping them both awake day and night, but would not have it drawn.

"Send her to me," said the czar.

The woman was brought, but persisted in affirming that her teeth were sound, and never ached. The valet alleged that this was always the way she did when the physician was called; therefore, in spite of her cries and remonstrances, the king ordered her husband to hold her head between his knees, when the czar drew out his instruments and instantly extracted the tooth designated by the husband, disregarding the cries of the unfortunate victim.

In a few days the czar was informed that the thing was a put-up job by the jealous husband, in order to punish, if not mar the beauty of, his gallant wife, whereupon the instruments were again brought into requisition; and this time the naughty valet was the sufferer, to the extent of losing a sound and valuable tooth.

EVERY TINKER HAS HIS DAY.

During a long period, and in several countries, the barbers were the only acknowledged blood-letters. Some of them were educated to the trade of bleeding. Dr. Meade was once lecturer to the barber-surgeons, and, if I mistake not, Dr. Abernethy; but the majority of them were as ignorant as the tinkers, who also went about the country bleeding the people at both vein and pocket.

In 1592 one Nicolas Gyer published a work entitled "The English Phlebotomy, or Method of Healing by Letting of Blood." Its motto was, "The horse-leech hath two daughters, which crye, '_Give, give_.'" The author thus complains: "Phlebotomy is greatly abused by vagabond horse-leeches and travelling tinkers, who find work in almost every village, who have, in truth, neither knowledge, wit, or honesty; hence the sober practitioner and cunning chirurgeon liveth basely, is despised, and counted a very abject amongst the vulgar sort."

Many of the abbeys of Europe and Asia had a "phlebotomaria," or bleeding-room, connected, in which the sacred (?) inmates underwent bleeding at certain seasons. The monks of the order of St. Victor, and others, underwent five venesections per year; for the "Salerne Schoole," 1601, says,--

"To bleed doth cheare the pensive, and remove
_The raging furies fed by burning love_."

The priests seem to have overlooked Paul's advice, for such to marry, as it was "better to marry than to burn." If the writer could unfold the secrets of his "prison-house,"--as doubtless is the experience of most physicians,--he could tell of worse habits of some modern priests than this quinarial venesection.

"To bleed in May is still the custom with ignorant people in a few remote districts" of England. In Marchland a woman used to bleed patients for a few pence per arm.

Steele tells of a bleeder of his time who advertised to bleed, at certain hours, "all who came, for three pence a head"--he meant arm, doubtless!

Mention is made of the Drs. Taylor (horse doctors), who drew blood from the rabble as they would claret from a pipe. "Every Sunday morning they bled _gratis_ all who liked a prick from their lancets. On such occasions a hundred poor wretches could be seen seated on the long benches of the surgery, waiting venesection. When ready, the two brothers would pass rapidly along the lines of bared arms, one applying the white strip of cloth above the elbow, the other following and immediately opening the vein. The crimson stream was directed into a wooden trough that ran along in front of the seats where the operation was performed."

It scarcely seems possible that such wholesale butchery could have been openly performed but a hundred years ago! Yet it is still practised, but with a little more decency.

In South America venesection is still performed by the barbers, who are nearly all natives.

"A surgeon in Ecuador would consider it an injury to his dignity to bleed a patient; so he deputes that duty to the Indian phlebotomist, who does the work in a most barbarous manner, with a blunt and jagged instrument, after causing considerable pain, and even danger, to the patient.

"These barbers and bleeders are considered to be the leaders of their _caste_, as from their ranks are drawn the native _alcaldes_, or magistrates; and so proud are they of their position, that they would not exchange their badge of office (a silver-headed cane) for the cross of a bishop.

"The most prominent figures at the Easter celebration are the barbers, who are almost always Indians. They dress in a kind of plaited cape, and wear collars of a ridiculous height, and starched to an extreme degree of stiffness. In this class are also to be found the _sangradores_, or bleeders, who, as of old, unite the two professions."

A curious scene is presented during each successive day of the "Holy Week," when the effigies of the titular saints are brought out, and with the priests, music, and banners, and the barbers to bear burning incense, they are paraded before the superstitious, gaping, and priest-ridden people.

BLEEDING OUR FOREFATHERS.

Dr. Fuller, the first physician amongst the colonists of New England, wrote to Governor Bradford, June, 1630, saying,--

"I have been to Matapan (now Dorchester), and let some twenty of those people's blood."

What disease demanded, in the estimation of the good and wise doctor, this seemingly bloody visit, we are not informed.

"The _Mercure de France_, April, 1728, and December, 1729, gives an account of a French woman, the wife of a hussar named Gignoult, whom, under the direction of Monsieur Theveneau, Dr. Palmery bled _three thousand nine hundred and four times_, and that within the space of nine months. Again the bleeding was renewed, and in the course of a few years, from 1726 to the end of 1729, she had been bled twenty-six thousand two hundred and thirty times."

No wonder our informant asks, "Did this really occur? Or was the editor of the _Mercure_ the original Baron Munchausen?"

"Once, in the Duchy of Wurtemberg, the public executioner, after having sent a certain number of his fellow-creatures out of this troublesome world, was dignified by the title of 'Doctor.' Would it not be well to reverse the thing, and make such murderous physicians as Theveneau and M. Palmery rank as hangmen-extraordinary?"

A FRENCH BUTCHER-SURGEON.

But, then, some of those French surgeons are worse than hangmen.

Dr. Mott, when once in Paris, was invited by M. ---- to witness a private operation, which was simply the removal of a tumor from the neck of an elderly gentleman.

"Dr. Mott informed me," says Dr. S. Francis, "that never in his life had he seen anybody but a _butcher_ cut and slash as did this French surgeon. He cut the jugular vein. Dr. Mott instantly compressed it. In a moment more he severed it again. By this time, the patient being feeble, and having, by these two successive accidents, lost much blood, a portion of the tumor was cut off, the hole plugged up by lint, and the patient left."

A week after, Dr. M. met the surgeon, and inquired after the patient.

"O, _oui_," said the butcher, shrugging his shoulders. "Poor old fellow! He grew pious, and suddenly died."

And this was by one of the first surgeons of France, on the authority of Dr. Valentine Mott.

Cases are cited in Paget's "Surgical Pathology," of tumors being removed by the knife from four to nine times, and returning, proving fatal, in every instance.

CUR?

Yes, "Why?" A man's strength is in his blood, Samson notwithstanding. Then if you take away his blood, you lessen his chances of recovery, because you have lessened his strength.

"_Cum sanguinem detrahere oportet, deliberatione indiget_," said Aretæus, a Greek physician of the first century. ("When bleeding is required, there is need of deliberation.")

"_Cur?_" (why) was a favorite inquiry of Dr. Abernethy's.

"We recollect a surgeon being called to a gentleman who was taken suddenly ill. The medical attendant, being present, asked the surgeon,--

"'Shall I bleed him at once, sir?'

"'_Why_ should you desire to bleed him?'

"'O, exactly. You prefer cupping?'

"'Why should he be cupped?'

"'Then shall I apply some leeches?'

"This, too, was declined. In short, it never seemed to have occurred to the physician that neither might be necessary; still less that either might therefore prove mischievous."

THE MISFORTUNES OF A BARBER-BLEEDER.

Three Scenes from a Story by Douglas Jerrold--rewritten.

_Scene 1._--Job Pippins, a handsome Barber, is discharged from Sir Scipio Manikin's, for kissing that gentleman's young and pretty wife. He meets a Scotch wagoner.

"I say, I ha' got a dead mun in the wagon."

"A dead man?" cried Job.

"Ay; picked him up i' the muddle o' the road. The bay cob wor standin' loike a lamb beside um. I shall take um to the 'Barley Mow' yonder." (An inn.)

"But stop, for God's sake," exclaimed Job, jumping upon the wagon. Instantly he recognized the features of Sir Scipio. Struck by apoplexy, he had fallen from his horse. Instantly Job tore off Sir Scipio's coat, rolled up his sleeves, bound the arm, and produced a razor.

"Ha! what wilt ye do, mun?" cried the wagoner, seeing the razor.

"Bleed him," replied Job, with exquisite composure; "I fear his heart is stopped."

"Loikely. I do think it be Grinders, the lawyer. Cut um deep, deep;" and the fellow opened wide his eyes to see if the lawyer had red blood or Japan ink in his veins. "Cut um deep; though if it be old Grinders, by what I hear, it be a shame to disturb him, ony way," said the wagoner.

"Grinders! Pshaw! It's Sir Scipio Manikin."

"Wounds!" roared the scared wagoner. "No, man, no! Don't meddle wi' such gentry folks in my wagon." So saying, he sought to stay the hand of the bleeder at the moment he was applying the sharp blade of the razor to the bared arm, but only succeeded in driving the instrument deep into the limb. Job turned pale. The wagoner groaned and trembled.

"We shall be hanged for this job--hanged, hanged!"

"Providentially," as the knight afterwards affirmed, the landlord of the "Barley Mow," in chastising his wife, had broken his leg, and had called in Dr. Saffron, who, now returning, came upon the wagon containing the bulky body of Sir Scipio, mangled and bleeding.

The apoplectic squire began to return to dim consciousness, and beholding Job, with a razor between his teeth, standing over him, timing his pulse, he gave an involuntary shudder, particularly as he now recalled the late scene, which had terminated in his kicking Job penniless into the highway.

Dr. Saffron took the wounded arm, looked at Job, and said,--

"Is this your doings?"

Job looked, "Yes," but spoke not.

"Bleeding!" repeated the doctor, fiercely; "I call it capital carving." Then turning to the wagoner, he said, "And you found Sir Scipio lying in the road?"

"Ay, sir; rolled up like a hedge pig," replied the wagoner.

Job wiped his razor, and slipped silently away.

* * * * *

_Scene 2._--Job, half starved and half dead from the fatigues of his long walk, finds his way into an old woman's hut, which unfortunately is the rendezvous of three highwaymen.

"Moll, the stool," said one of the men.

The stool ordered was thrown towards Job, who sank resignedly upon it.

"What's o'clock?" asked Bats, one of the robbers.

Job leaped from the stool in amazement, clapped his hand to his waistcoat pocket, and drew forth a splendid gold watch, the late property of Sir Scipio. Job had merely borrowed it to time the pulse of the apoplectic knight, and forgot to return it. The eyes of the highwayman were fixed leeringly upon the chronometer. They gave no heed to the embarrassment of the possessor.

"I say, friend, time must be worth something to you to score it by such a watch."

"It isn't mine," cried Job, the perspiration starting from every pore of his body.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the three at this unnecessary information.

"A mistake; I got it in the oddest way."

"Ha, ha, ha!" again roared his hearers in chorus.

"O Lord! I shall be hanged for this," cried Job.

"In course you will," said Mortlake, comfortingly.

Job now hastily felt in his other pockets to see if he unwittingly possessed any other property not his own, when he pulled out a large handkerchief well saturated with Sir Scipio's blood.

Mortlake gave an expressive cluck. Bats uttered a low, accusing whistle.

"What! he was game--was he? Well, it is all over now; tell us how it happened, and what you did with the body," said the third.

In vain Job persisted in the truth. He was only laughed at....

"Moll, the gin." Such a gamy highwayman as Job presented evidence of being deserves to be treated! Let us see in the next scene _how_ he was treated.

* * * * *

_Scene 3._--Job was drank dead drunk. Stripped of not only Sir Manikin's watch and chain, but of everything save one brief garment, and under cover of night deposited in an adjoining meadow.

"Job Pippins slept."

"Job Pippins awoke."

An insect ticked its little note in Job's ear.

"The watch!" cried the bewildered Job, springing to his feet and gaspingly applying his hands to his flesh.

Who can depict his utter amazement when he had become convinced of his own identity, and found himself standing out in the broad world, reduced to the brief wardrobe, which is summed up in the one single word--"SHIRT"?

Hatless, shoeless, hoseless, he stood upon the grass, the bold zephyrs playing with his garment--a bloody, tattered flag of terrible distress. Job looked timidly about. He resolved, and he re-resolved. Should he turn back to the house from whence he had been so ruthlessly ejected? Should he hide behind the hedge and solicit the help of some male passer? Who would put faith in a man with no recommendation, and possessing such a small wardrobe? O, indecision! how many better men have gone to ruin because of thee!

Decision came to Job's help--at least help out of that field. At this very moment of need for some one to help him decide what course to pursue, a ferocious bull, feeding in the next meadow, annoyed or scandalized by the appearance of Job, scaled the low fence, and with one bellow, ran full tilt after Job, who hesitated no longer, but leaped the rail fence just as the animal made a lunge at him. Job reached the highway in safety of person, though the bull retreated with a full square yard of the false flag of truce upon his horns.

Job's destitution seemed perfect without this last affliction. The sound of carriage wheels startled him, but to where should he flee? He was at the zero of his fortunes. He was naked, hungry, penniless. Where should he find one friend.

"Ah! the river!" That would hide him forever from the uncharitable world!...

Job crawled across the field, and was already near the stream.

What! Had some pitying angel, softened by Job's utter destitution and despair, alighted amongst the bushes! Or was it a temptation of the devil?

Reader, "put yourself in"--No! But imagine Job reduced to the moiety of a shirt, about to take the fatal plunge, when lo! he discovers just before him, lying,--a golden waif,--a very handsome suit of clothes,--hat, breeches, hose, shoes, gloves, cane, cravat! and no visible second person near.

Job's perplexity was brief. He seated himself on the grass. He changed his equivocal shirt for the ample piece of ruffled "aired-snow" in the twinkling of an eye; donned the stockings and breeches,--"just a fit,"--waistcoat, and coat, seized the hat, gloves, cravat, and cane, and in three minutes he was back on the main road. The swimmer must have been just Job's size, so admirably did the whole wardrobe fit and become him.

Again Job passed the five-barred gate, where stood the bull, with glaring eyes, waving in vain the flag of truce upon his horns.

Job journeyed onward, waving his cane, and smiling in supreme contempt at the bit of rag which so recently proclaimed his crime and wretchedness. He put his hand into _his_ pocket, and pulled out a _purse_! It contained eight guineas! This was too much. Job fell upon his knees in the highway, overcome with gratitude, and holding up the purse in his left hand, placing the other over his stomach, he "blessed his lucky stars" for his propitious change of fortunes.

Here we bid adieu to the barber-bleeders. Those who wish to know how the swimmer came out, must consult "Men of Character," by Jerrold.

THE USE OF BRAINS.

Mr. G. H. Lewes tells a story of a gentleman who, under the scissors, said something about his thinning locks being caused by the development of his brains. "Excuse me, sir," remarked the barber, "but you are laboring under a mistake. The brains permeate the skull, and encourage the growth of the hair--_that's what they're for, sir_."

XXIX.

THE OMNIUM GATHERUM.

EX-SELL-SIR!--"THE OBJECT TO BE ATTAINED."--A NOTORIOUS FEMALE
DOCTOR.--A WHITE BLACK MAN.--SQUASHY.--MOTHER'S FOOL.--WHO IT
WAS.--THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS DAUGHTER.--EDUCATION AND
GIBBERISH.--SCOTTISH HOSPITALITY.--THE OLD LADY WITH AN ANIMAL IN HER
STOMACH.--STORIES ABOUT LITTLE FOLKS.--THE BOY WITH A BULLET IN
HIM.--CASE OF SMALL-POX.--NOT MUCH TO LOOK AT.--FUNERAL ANTHEMS.

EX-SELL-SIR.

The morning sun was shining bright,
As lone upon old Georgetown's height,
A Bliss-ful doctor, clad in brown,
Desiring wealth and great renown,
Displayed aloft to wondering eyes
A shrub which bore this strange device,
Cundurango!

A maiden fair, with pallid cheek,
With ardent haste his aid did seek
To stay the progress and the pain
Of carcinoma of the brain;
While still aloft the shrub he bore,
The answer came, with windy roar,
To Cundurango!

A matron old, with long unrest
From carcinoma of the breast,
This Bliss-ful doctor rushed to see,
And begged his aid on bended knee.
The magic shrub waved still on high,
And rushed through air the well-known cry,
Try Cundurango!

The evening sun went down in red--
The maid and matron both were dead;
And yet, through all the realms around,
This worthless shrub, of mighty sound,
Will serve to fill the purse forlorn,
And the cancer succumb "in a horn"
To Cundurango.

THE OBJECT TO BE ATTAINED.

A doctor was called in to see a patient whose native land was Ireland, and whose native drink was whiskey. Water was prescribed as the only cure. Pat said it was out of the question; he could never drink it. Then milk was proposed, and Pat agreed to get well on milk. The doctor was soon summoned again. Near the bed on which the sick man lay was a table, and on the table a large bowl, and in the bowl was milk, but strongly flavored with whiskey.

"What have you here?" said the doctor.

"Milk, doctor; just what you orthered."

"But there's whiskey in it; I smell it."

"Well, doctor," sighed the patient, "there may be whiskey in it, but milk is my object."

THE LAUGH WINS.

An old lady reduced in circumstances applied to a physician to know if she might conscientiously sell some quack pills. The physician rather recommended that she should sell some pills made of bread, observing that, if they did no good, they would certainly do no harm. The old lady commenced business, and performed many cures with her pills, till at last she had great confidence in them. At length the physician, whom she called her benefactor, became ill by a bone sticking in his throat, which he could not pass up or down. In this situation the old lady visited him, and recommended her pills in his own language. The physician, upon this expression, burst out laughing, and in the act of laughing brought up the bone.

A NOTORIOUS FEMALE DOCTOR.

WASHINGTON, January 10, 1872.

From an account of the "Women's National Suffrage Association," reported to the Press, I cut the following description of a noted female doctress who dresses in a garb as near to a man's as the cramped laws of the land will admit.

"Ten minutes after the opening ... a curly, crinkly feminine, in very
large walking boots, came to the front, being followed, after a brief
pause, by the rest of the sisters. This lady was new, even to the
reporters, and one of them, handing up a pencilled inquiry to Mrs. Dr.
Walker, was informed that she was 'Mrs. Ricker, a beautiful, charming,
and good widow, fair, forty, and rich.' This bit of interesting news
started on its travels.

* * * * *

"The doctor, who has the usual manly proclivity for hugging the girls,
threw her arms around a pretty and modest-looking girl standing by,
and enthusiastically shouted, "You are a dear, sweet little creature."
The frightened young woman drew hastily back, and faltered out that
she was not in the habit of being hugged by men. This turned the laugh
on the doctor; but she gained her lost ground by quickly replying to
the inquiry of the secretary as to what place he should put her down
from as a delegate, to put her down "from all the world;" but he
objected, anxious for the completeness of his roster.

"You must have a local habitation, you know."

"Put me down from Washington, then, for that is the home of everybody
who has none other."

Unmindful of the eloquent protest of her coat and pantaloons against
feminine distinctions, he wrote her down as "Mrs. Mary Walker;" but
seizing the pencil from his fingers, she spitefully erased the "Mrs."
and wrote "Doctor."

"I never was Mrs.; I never will be."

A WHITE MAN TURNING BLACK.

The San Francisco Examiner says a gentleman of that city, about twenty-five years of age, ruddy complexion, curly red hair, who had an intractable and painful ulcer on the left arm, resisting all previous modes of treatment, yielded to the request of trying the effect of transplanting a piece of skin to the ulcer from another person. The ulcer was prepared in the usual manner by his physician, and a bit of skin, about an inch square, was taken from the arm of a fine healthy negro man and immediately spread over the ugly ulcer, and then carefully dressed and bandaged. The skin transplantation had the desired effect. Healthy granulation sprang up, and the unsightly ulcer soon healed. A few months afterwards he went to his physician and told him that ever since the sore healed the black skin commenced to spread, and it was increasing. About one third of his arm was completely negroed. The doctor himself was alarmed. The high probability is, that the whole skin of this white man will become negro.

* * * * *

An officer had a wooden leg so exceedingly well made that it could scarcely be distinguished from a real one. A cannon ball carried it off. A soldier who saw him fall called out, "Quick, run for the surgeon." "No," replied the officer, coolly; "it is the joiner I want."

"SQUASHY."

Squashy was a contraband. He came from North Carolina. He was looking about Washington for "a new masser," when Dr. ----, of ---- regiment C. V., took him for a body servant.

The doctor was out on horseback at parade that very day, and the most that Squashy had as yet learned of his master was, that he was handsome.

"Dat's him! Dar's my new masser! see um! see um! ridin' on hoss-back, dar!" exclaimed the contraband to a host of other negroes watching the parade.

That night, when the doctor returned to his quarters, Squashy came to assist in removing some of the superfluous and dirt-covered garments of his new master, amongst which were his heavy and mud-splashed boots.

The doctor was a joker. "Now, what's your name, boy?"

"Squashy, sar; dat's what dey called me, sar," replied the contraband, showing a gorgeous row of ivories, and the whites of two great, globular eyes.

"Well, Squashy,--that's a very appropriate name,--just pull off these boots. Left one first. There--pull! hard! harder!--There she comes! Now the other; now pull; it always comes the hardest; pull strong--stronger--now it's coming--O, murder! you've pulled my whole leg out!"

Sure enough, the boot, leg and all, came off at the thigh, and slap! crash! bang! over backwards, over a camp-stool, on to the floor, went Squashy, with the boot and wooden leg of the doctor grasped tightly in his brawny hands.

"O, de Lord!" cried Squashy, rising. "I didn't go for to do it! O, Lord, see um bleed!" he continued, as in the uncertain light he saw a bit of red flannel round the stump; and, dropping the leg, he turned, and with a look of the utmost terror depicted on his countenance, he fled from the apartment.

On the following day the doctor made diligent inquiry for Squashy; but he never was found, and probably to this day thinks he pulled out the leg of his "new and hansum masser."

* * * * *

We do not know who wrote the following which is too good to be lost; hence we give it anonymously.

MOTHER'S FOOL.

"'Tis plain enough to see," said a farmer's wife,
"These boys will make their marks in life;
They never were made to handle a hoe,
And at once to college ought to go.
There's Fred, he's little better than a fool,
But John and Henry must go to school."

"Well, really, wife," quoth farmer Brown,
As he set his mug of cider down,
"Fred does more work in a day for me
Than both his brothers do in three.
Book larnin' will never plant one's corn,
Nor hoe potatoes, sure's you're born,
Nor mend a rod of broken fence:
For my part, give me common sense."

But his wife was bound the roost to rule,
And John and Henry were sent to school,
While Fred, of course, was left behind,
Because his mother said he had no mind.

Five years at school the students spent,
Then into business each one went.
John learned to play the flute and fiddle,
And parted his hair, of course, in the middle,
While his brother looked rather higher than he,
And hung out a sign, "H. Brown, M. D."

Meanwhile, at home, their brother Fred
Had taken a notion into his head;
But he quietly trimmed his apple trees,
Milked the cows and hived the bees;
While somehow, either by hook or crook,
He managed to read full many a book,
Until at last his father said
He was getting "book larnin'" into his head;
"But for all that," added farmer Brown,
"He's the smartest boy there is in town."

The war broke out, and Captain Fred
A hundred men to battle led,
And, when the rebel flag came down,
Went marching home as General Brown.
But he went to work on the farm again,
And planted corn and sowed his grain;
He shingled the barn and mended the fence,
Till people declared he had common sense.

Now common sense was very rare,
And the State House needed a portion there;
So the "family dunce" moved into town,
The people called him Governor Brown;
And his brothers, who went to the city school,
Came home to live with "mother's fool."

WHO IT WAS.

There is an anecdote told of Dr. Emmons, one of the most able of New England divines, meeting a Pantheistical physician at the house of a sick parishioner. It was no place for a dispute. It was no place for any unbecoming familiarity with the minister. It was no place for a physician to inquire into the age of the minister, especially with any intent of entangling him in a debate; and, above all, where the querist was too visionary for any logical discussion. But the abrupt question of the Pantheist was, "Mr. Emmons, how old are you?"

"Sixty, sir; and how old are you?" came the quick reply.

"As old as creation, sir," was the triumphant response.

"Then you are of the same age with Adam and Eve."

"Certainly; I was in the garden when they were."

"I have always heard that there was a third party in the garden with them, but I never knew before that it was you."

A HEAVY DOCTOR.

Dr. Stone, of Savannah, walked into the river at Savannah, and, like other stones, was about to sink, when he was romantically rescued by a brave lady.

SCOTTISH HOSPITALITY.

The Scotch people--even the females--are great smokers, and female tobacco-users are not considered the embodiment of neatness.

The Countess of A., with a laudable desire to promote tidiness in the various cottages on her estate, used to visit them periodically, and exhort the inmates to cleanliness. One cottage was always found especially untidy; and getting, perhaps, the least out of patience, the countess took up a brush-broom, and having by its dexterous use made the room much improved, she turned to the housewife, who, with pipe between her lips, had been sitting on a stool, with body bent forward, her elbows on her knees, and her chin resting in the palms of her hands, watching the proceeding. The Countess said,--

"There, my good woman, is it not much better?"

"Ay, my leddy," said the woman, nodding her head, and rising, she stepped towards the countess, drew the pipe from her mouth, and wiping it with her brawny palm, presented it, saying,--

"An' will ye tak' a blast noo, my leddy?"

ANIMALS IN THE STOMACH.

Most physicians scout the idea of terrestrial animals or reptiles living in one's stomach. The wife of Captain Hodgden, of Mount Desert, presented the writer with a singular looking reptile some three inches in length, looking not unlike an earwig, excepting having two horns on its head, which animal she said crawled from her mouth the night previous. She declared for years that there was a live animal in her stomach, and attributed its dislodgment to the use of some bitters (Chelone glabra).