REVELATIONS 
OB A 
Boston Physician. 
BY 
CHARLES WISTAR STEVENS, M. D. 
A. WILLIAMS & CO., 
283 Washington Street, 
BOSTON: 
1881. COPYRIGHT. 
Boston: 
Wright & Potter Printing Company, 
18 Post Office Square. TO 
DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, 
JFonncr (Ccadjcr, 
THESE SKETCHES ARE INSCRIBED, BY PERMISSION, 
AS THE SMALLEST TRIBUTE, FROM ONE OF HIS GREATEST ADMIRERS. PREFACE. 
The following sketches, intended to illustrate the 
miseries of the very poor, the delusions of diseased 
imaginations, the sham diseases of sham patients, and 
amusing episodes occurring during the course of real 
sickness, are true, or substantially true. They were 
mostly derived from an experience of the last twelve 
years, as physician to the Board of Overseers of the 
Poor. Some of them were related to me by the patients 
themselves, as being incidents in their own life-history ; 
others were cases in the practice of my father, the late 
Dr. Thomas Jefferson Stevens, who, at the time of his 
death, in April, 1879, had completed half a century of 
medical work. He was born April 22, 1803, in 
Enfield, N. H., and began practice in Marlow in 1826, 
where, in the old-fashioned days of lancet and saddle- 
bags, he rode over the hills for eighteen years. In the 
summer he usually rode on horseback, and in winter 
drove in a sleigh, carrying in it a shovel, to make his 2 
PREFACE. 
own road as he went along. He was a member of the 
Keene Medical Society, and rode eighteen miles to meet 
his associates and discuss the questions of the day. 
In 1845 he removed to Charlestown, Mass., and was 
henceforth identified with the best interests of the city. 
He was eminently a friend of the poor, and was often 
known, after leaving his recipe, together with money to 
buy the medicine, to go to the nearest store and order 
provisions sent in at his expense. His name had 
become a synonym of charity, goodness, and gener- 
osity. He was well known as a good story-teller, and 
enlivened by his cheerful words many a sinking heart. 
C. W. STEVENS, 
54 Elm Street, Charlestown. CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER I. 
The Child of the Dumps, ....... 7 
The Man who was Somebody Else, 21 
CHAPTER 11. 
CHAPTER 111. 
Tea YELLING WITH A LUNATIC, 27 
A Case of Hemorkhagb, .37 
CHAPTER IV. 
CHAPTER IV. 
CHAPTER V. 
CHAPTER V. 
A Case of Catelepsy, 42 
Meddlesome Nurses, 50 
CHAPTER VI. 
CHAPTER VI. 
CHAPTER VII. 
Amos Kimball’s Prophecy, .54 
Totty vs. Tackaberry, ........ 61 
CHAPTER VIII. 
CHAPTER VIII. 
CHAPTER IX. 
CHAPTER IX. 
A New Remedy for Consumption, ..... 68 
The Secret of the Garret, ....... 76 
CHAPTER X. 
CHAPTER X. 
CHAPTER XI. 
CHAPTER XI. 
The Return of the Prodigal Son’s Father, ... 85 
[3] 4 
CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER XII. 
The Fatal Handkerchief 92 
The Man Who didn’t know how to be Sick, . . . 102 
CHAPTER XIII. 
CHAPTER XIII. 
CHAPTER XIY. 
CHAPTER XIY. 
The Old Piano, 109 
A New Way of Taming a Shrew, 115 
CHAPTER XY. 
CHAPTER XY. 
CHAPTER XVI. 
CHAPTER XVI. 
Only a Picture, 121 
CHAPTER XVII. 
CHAPTER XVII. 
A Case of Poisoning, . 130 
The Two Masquerades 135 
CHAPTER XVIIL 
CHAPTER XIX. 
Why I never go to a Party, 145 
A Fearful Night, 151 
CHAPTER XX. 
CHAPTER XX. 
CHAPTER XXI. 
CHAPTER XXI. 
A Case of Small-Pox, 156 
CHAPTER XXII. 
Ten Years of Waiting, 163 
Swallowing a Frog, 170 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
The Ragpicker’s Death, 178 
A Chase for a Patient 184 
CHAPTER XXV. CONTENTS 
5 
A Dry Birth, 191 
CHAPTER XXYI, Pugs. 
CHAPTER XXYII. 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
It was the other Man, 197 
The Cure of the Canker, 203 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
What my First Patient Cost Me, 211 
Is thy Servant a Dog that He should do this Thing ? 223 
CHAPTER XXX. 
CHAPTER XXX. 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
Post-Mortem Philosophy, . . . . . . 229 
Not Wanted, • 235 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
The Washerwoman, 244 EEYELMTONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER I. 
THE CHILD OF THE DUMPS. 
Twelve years ago, a boy about nine or ten years of 
age came to my door and desired me to go with him and 
see his mother. He was dressed in patched clothes, his 
hat was too large for him, and his shoes were large 
enough to turn round in; but his manner was frank, 
and his blue eye looked up into mine without wavering. 
“ My mother is very sick,” said he, in a manly way, 
“ but I have no money to pay you with, for I support 
her, and it takes all I can get to keep her comfortable ; 
but if you will wait, sir, I will pay you all, to the last 
cent, when lam a little older. She is everything to me 
and my little brother Ned. My name is Wilbur Home- 
speed.” 
I accompanied the little man to his homo. It was 
the end house in a narrow court, and his mother was 
lying on a straw mattress on the floor. There was a 
bedstead in the room; but the slats had been used to 
kindle the fire. The room had only one window; but 8 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
the light from that was shut out by another building, 
which abutted against the side of the house, and it was 
so dark that I had to call for a candle to see the 
poor invalid. She was suffering from valvular heart- 
disease, and a creaking sound, like the sawing of wood, 
could be audibly heard at some distance from her, and 
the thin bed-clothes could be seen to rise and fall as the 
enlarged heart hammered away at the chest-walls. Her 
face was seamed with distended blue veins struggling to 
carry along their burdensome stream. Her breath was 
short and her legs swollen. 
‘ ‘ Have yTou no one but this boy to care for you ?” I 
asked her. 
“ No, only me and Ned,” replied the lad, for his 
mother ; ‘ ‘ but we don’t let her want for nothing. Ido 
the heavy" work and Ned does the light.” 
“And what do you do to earn her living?” said I to 
him. 
He beckoned me into an adjoining room, which had 
one window giving light, and which was needed for his 
business. There were separate piles of white rags, 
colored rags, white paper, brown paper, old boots, old 
hats, pieces of iron, bottles and corks. He took up a 
long-toothed iron rake, and said : 
‘ ‘ This is the tool that earns my living. Igo every 
day with this to the city- dumps and rake over the ashes 
of the dirt-carts.” 
“And what do you find there?” THE CHILD OF THE DUMPS. 
9 
“Everything. When the dump-carts are unloaded, 
all the rag-pickers come round the heap lively with their 
long-toothed rakes, and every one hauls into a little 
heap whatever he can get or snatch away. You ’ll see 
old men and young men, old women and boys, all hard 
at work, everyone trying to get the most he can. Then 
we take our rakings, Ned and I, and either carry 
them in great bags on our backs or haul them home in 
a hand-cart, and then sort them over. All the old 
boots and shoes I sell to be ground up to make new 
leather; the old stove-funnel hats I sell to the hatter to 
make new ones. All the bottles and old iron go the 
junk-dealer, all the rags to the rag-dealer, all the corks 
are cleaned and sold to beer-bottlers. Then all the 
old coal and cinders are picked up to make our fire 
with. Before I start, I leave mother a big bowl of tea 
and a piece of bread, and me and Ned take the hand- 
cart and go to the dumps.” 
How true it is that everything has its life in a circle. 
Nothing is destroyed, nothing was ever annihilated. 
The rain that waters our fields to-day once bore up the 
ark and its precious burden of life. Our cattle feed on 
the grass which grows from earth that once was an 
animal or a man, returned to dust. The planks which 
build our ships and houses were at one time green and 
living, and grew from the soil to which they shall come 
back to nourish other trees. Every solid, every liquid 
and gas are constantly changing into each other, now 10 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
appearing as force, now as heat, now as electricity. In 
fact, Proteus was a true symbol of matter. 
The little fellow, with sparkling eyes and heightened 
color, looked so proud and heroic in recounting his 
humble but filial work that I could not but admire him. 
“But, my little man,” said I, after a pause, “you 
are doing your duty to your mother in this way, but you 
are forgetting your duty to yourself you are neglect- 
ing your education in this way.” 
“ No, sir, I ain’t. I went to school till a year ago, 
when father went to sea ; and now I read and study in 
the evening. A little friend in the class I was in tells 
me the lessons of the day, and I learn them every night 
before going to bed. I’m going to be a merchant when 
I grow up.” 
I now returned to the mother, and asked her how she 
had been reduced to so much wretchedness. 
“ Remain in the junk room till I call you, Wilbur,” 
said the woman to her son. 
“ This boy,” she began with her narrative, “ is the 
child of shame. I was a shop-girl during my teens, and 
obliged to support a blind mother. My employer, who 
was a single man, by kindness and promises, overcame 
my scruples, and became father to this lad. I was at 
the time engaged to a young carpenter whom I loved, and 
when this misfortune came upon me this young man left 
me with reproaches. My employer sent me adrift into 
the world, without any assistance. I became a degraded THE CHILD OF THE DUMPS. 
11 
woman, and took to drink, I finally, by representing 
myself as a widow, married a man as miserable as 
myself, and we both drank. He is the father of my 
youngest son. After being arrested several times for 
drunkenness and bad conduct, he shipped a year ago 
for India, and I have heard nothing from him since. 
He forbade the ship-owners allowing me half pay, and my 
two little bo3'S have kept me from starving, God bless 
them ! My drinking, and thin clothing, brought on rheu- 
matic fever and heart disease, and I have been confined 
for several months to this hard bed.” 
As the woman finished her short but pathetic story, she 
sank back speechless, and scarcely seemed to breathe. 
“ Women are either better or worse than men,” says 
La Bruy ere. That women are ordinarily better than 
men, I admit more virtuous, more benevolent, more 
Christian ; but that they are worse than men, I cannot 
concede. When woman turns to the bad, it is generally 
because she is dragged there by man seduced, aban- 
doned, trod under foot and made accomplice to his 
wickedness. Few women, of their own will and dis- 
position, become bad. Let woman alone, and she will 
stand bright, pure and godlike; but let man open his 
batteries upon her, she falls, and her career is hence- 
forth downward. But man’s fall is the fall of vice; 
woman’s, that of love. 
I offered what consolation I could, and, leaving some 
medicine, promised to call the following day. 12 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
The next morning little Wilbur came to my office with 
a silver fork in his hand, saying that he had found it 
among the ashes at the dumps, and wanted to know 
how he could find its owner. On the handle were the 
initials, “J. 0. P.” I looked in the directory, and found 
it was the name of a rich merchant on K Street, and 
directed him to carry it to the house. In a few hours 
he came back, and reported that, on calling for the lady 
of the house, she replied that she had nothing for 
street beggars ; but on his stating that he merely wished 
to return a silver fork he had found, she looked at it, 
and recognized it as her missing fork. She wanted to 
give him a few cents; but he refused, on the ground 
that he had only done what was right. At this her 
husband came to the door, and, being told the circum- 
stances, inquired how and where he lived, and promised 
to call and see him. 
The next morning I had scarcely touched the pulse of 
Mrs. Homespeed when a gentleman knocked at the 
outer door and entered. He was a portly, red-visaged 
man, well-dressed, and about sixty years of age. He 
stood still a moment in the doorway, looked around 
with the air of one who is in a strange country and 
wishes to reconnoitre, and then coming forward was 
about to explain the occasion of his entrance, when 
Wilbur, with a smile, ran towards him, and said : 
“ This is Mr. J. O. Pope, whose fork I found.” 
“ I came,” said he, kindly, approaching the bedside THE CHILD OF THE DUMPS. 
13 
and leading the lad with him, “ to sec what I could do 
for the mother of so honest and bright a boy as this. I 
am sorry to see so much misery.” 
The sound of his voice and his name seemed to call 
out some nearly forgotten remembrance in the sick 
woman, who half raised herself in bed and looked 
attentively at the stranger. 
“ It is you, Mr. Pope, it is you who are the author of 
all this misery,” she said, after a long scrutiny. 
“I, madam? You are mistaken; I do not know 
you. I am Mr. Pope. But her mind wanders,” he 
added, turning to me. “ I pity the poor thing. What 
can I do for her, doctor ? ” 
“ No, my mind does not wander. I see at last the 
author of all my life’s disappointment and misery. 
Look at me, Mr. Pope, and see the dying body of 
Alice Stanhope! ” 
“Alice Stanhope! Alice Stanhope!” he echoed, 
rapidly ; ‘ ‘ are you Alice Stanhope ? ” 
‘ ‘ I was and am now an outcast of the city, thanks 
to yourself.” 
Mr. Pope became speechless. He gazed attentively at 
her, with horror in his face. 
“ You, Mr. Pope,” she continued, after recovering 
her breath, “ ruined a poor shop-girl, and then sent her 
adrift.” 
“ For Heaven’s sake say no more,” besought the 
merchant; “ say no more; this is all a mistake. But 14 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
I will do what I can to get you out of this den, and will 
speak to the overseers of the poor and the church 
benevolent society to help you.” 
Mr. Pope was the most generous and charitable of 
men with other people’s money. He always carried 
the contribution-box, but put nothing in himself. If a 
neighbor was sick or poor, he would at once go round 
with a subscription paper or basket, and beg, and 
receive blessings that belonged to another. 
“ I want nothing from you, Mr. Pope ; I am past all 
human aid. But I want you to recognize this boy, 
Wilbur ; he is your son.” 
The merchant’s knees knocked together, and he 
nearly fell, while he gazed alternately at the boy and 
his mother. 
“Yes, Mr. Pope, that is your son, abandoned by you, 
but preserved and cared for by me ; and now that I am 
about to die I give him up to his father, and don’t you 
deny him as you hope for heaven.” 
“ But I don’t know you, Mrs. Homespeed,” said the 
guilty man, still trying to equivocate. “What proof 
have you that you have ever seen me before ? ” 
“ There is my proof,” gasped the woman, tearing off 
her finger a ring bearing the initials, “ J. 0. P.” 
The merchant took up the ring and studied the half- 
worn initials. 
“Yes, it was mine,” he murmured with choking 
voice, as the past surged up in his memory. “ I gave it THE CHILD OF THE DUMPS. 
15 
to you when I was a thoughtless and perhaps reckless 
young man ; but now, Mrs. Homespeed, I am a married 
man, and have a family. What could I do with this 
boy? How could I introduce him to my home and 
tell the tale of the past? It would ruin me, Mrs. 
Homespeed; have pity on me.” 
“He is your son, Mr. Pope, and I call upon you, 
before Almighty God, to take care of him when I am 
gone.” 
The distressed woman, who, by an herculean effort, 
had succeeded in giving vent to her pent-up feelings 
the feelings of ten years of suffering now lay back 
exhausted. 
“ Well, Mrs. Homespeed, I promise you to look after 
the boy; but,” he added, slowly, after a pause, “I 
cannot bring him to my family.” Then, turning to his 
son, he continued : “ Wilbur, will you go with me? ” 
The boy looked at his father a moment, with intense 
scorn and dislike pictured on his countenance, and then 
said: “ No, Mr. Pope, I will not go with you. Mamma 
says you are my father ; but you have been bad to her, 
and whoever is bad to her is my enemy, and I hate you. 
Ned and me can get along without you, Besides, Ned 
isn’t your son, and you won’t take him. I won’t leave 
Ned and Ned won’t leave me. We will stick together. 
I hate you more and more ! ” 
The little fellow who had showed so much affection 
for his mother and Ned, showed, likewise, that he was 16 
REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
capable of the most concentrated hatred. His feelings 
Avere all deep and honest, and, with a child’s candor, he 
could not help exhibiting them. Hypocrisy is not the 
art and language of childhood, but the premeditated 
disguise of a bad heart. 
Mr. Pope listened quietly to this declaration of war, 
and a feeling of relief seemed to lighten up his con- 
tracted brows. Without making any reply, he turned 
upon his heel and left the room. 
Mrs. Homespeed died in the course of the day. I 
informed Mr. Pope of it, and he sent an undertaker 
with full powers to bury decently the dead ; but he him- 
self did not appear. 
It was ten yoavs before I heard from little Wilbur 
again. Two years ago a 3Toung man came into my 
office, heartily took me by the hand, and said he was 
Wilbur Homespeed. He had grown tall and strong, 
and his clear, honest eye illuminated a manly dark face. 
I asked him to give an account of the events of his life 
from that evening of his mother’s death. 
“Although from what I saw of my father I hardly 
believed he would take the trouble to come after me and 
furnish me a home, yet, to make all sure, Ned and I 
laid our little plans, and, after wandering over to East 
Boston and waiting till night, stole aboard an English 
steamer just read}" to get under way for Liverpool. 
After she was well out of the harbor, we came out of THE CHILD OF THE DUMPS. 
17 
our hiding-places, and were brought before the captain, 
who began to rave and threaten. I told him we were 
orphan brothers, running away because we had no home, 
and some one wished to separate us. The captain then 
looked at us kindly, and said he was an orphan at about 
our ages, and would look out for us. He made us cabin- 
boys and treated us well. We remained with this cap- 
tain on this steamer these ten years, I being promoted 
to third mate and Ned still remaining cabin-boy. I 
have just arrived from Liverpool, where an event 
occurred which has decided me to give up a sea-faring 
life and get something to do in Boston. While Ned 
and I were on shore on leave of absence, we met Mr. 
Homespeed, his father. He did not recognize us, but 
we knew him at once. He was the same old sot, his 
eyes were red, his face bloated, his clothes torn and 
ragged, and he had an ugly scar on his forehead. He 
appeared to be staggering around without any destina- 
tion. I would not have spoken to him; but he was 
Ned’s father, and the poor boy’s heart ached to embrace 
him. When you are in a foreign land, and meet a 
relative, or even a fellow-countryman, you can embrace 
your greatest enemy and call him your friend. You 
forget everything, except that he is an American, and 
came from your own country. The old man imme- 
diately took us to his lodgings (for he was then without 
a ship), and the first question he asked was, how much 
money Ned had ; and Ned told him he had one hundred 18 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIANS 
dollars in a belt-pocket around bis waist. The old 
sailor wanted us to get him some gin, which we refused, 
but took him to an eating-house and gave him a good 
dinner. And yet he was cross and angry because we 
denied him liquor. He had that wild look about the 
eyes, and that restlessness and excitability that showed 
he was not far from the jim-jams, on account of sud- 
denly leaving off his drams, as his money had given out 
a few days before. One thought was constantly run- 
ning in his head, and that was, that he imagined he saw 
himself laid out dead in his coffin, being carried along 
to his grave, and every few moments he would stop, 
look straight ahead, and say : ‘ There, do you see that 
corpse in the pine coffin going to the grave ? that’s 
me.’ That night we decided to sit up with him ; I was 
to watch till midnight, and Ned the rest of the night. 
During my watch he was very unruly, and difficult to 
keep in bed. He was constantly demanding gin and 
looking at his own corpse. After awhile he began to 
see rats gnawing at his own coffin, trying to get at the 
dead body. Finally I called Ned, and we agreed to 
give him a spoonful of gin, and then I lay down to 
sleep. I must have fallen into a heavy sleep ; but all of 
a sudden a great cry awakened me, when I sprang up 
and ran down to see what was the matter. There la}’ 
poor Ned on the floor, bleeding from a great wound in 
his temple, and his father stood over him brandishing a 
hammer. I seized the miserable wretch, got the ham- THE CHILD OF THE DUMPS. 
19 
iner away, and held him while I called for help. At 
last another lodger came in, and I sent him for a 
policeman, wdio took the crazy sot to the station. I 
don’t know whether the old man murdered his son to 
get the money, or whether he was enraged because 
Ned refused to give him gin. But, in either case, 
it is probable that Ned must have been napping 
from fatigue, and the cunning maniac got out of bed 
and struck him with the hammer, which was in the 
room. Oh, doctor, that was a terrible loss to me! 
Ned was all I cared for in this world. I had him 
respectably buried in the cemetery just Liver- 
pool, and had a good gravestone put up, with an 
inscription. In another week, his father died of brain 
fever, and I took Ned’s money and buried his father 
beside him. What a demon is liquor! thank God I 
never touch a drop! The captain, who had a great 
attachment to me and Ned, actually cried over his grave. 
I returned with the steamer to New York, determined 
never to go to sea again ; and here I am, with no money, 
no work, no friends, and, above all, no Ned, all alone 
in the world. And I thought I would come to you for 
advice, as I still have my early ambition to be a 
merchant,” 
“ I cannot give you much consolation,” said I, “ for 
I cannot restore Ned to you; but I can aid you to 
start in the world. I have been looking for you a long 
time, and have advertised for you in the newspapers. 20 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
You have a legacy of ten thousand dollars, left you five 
years ago by your father, according to his will. Your 
whereabouts were unknown, and the money was invested 
by me as trustee. Your father, no doubt, chose me, 
because he knew I was interested in your welfare. It 
is probable that he grieved over the wrong he had done 
your mother, and wished to make what amends he 
could.” 
The young man looked up to me with almost a glance 
of doubt at his good fortune, and said : 
“Oh, if only Ned was alive to share this! If we 
could only have started a store together, as we had 
planned many times, I should be so happy.” 
In a few days he was in possession of his property, 
and some months afterward I saw his name on a sign 
over a smart store as dealer in rags and junk at whole- 
sale. It is probable that his memories of his life at the 
dumps were revived again, and he saw chances of profit 
in cast-olf refuse. THE MAN WHO WAS SOMEBODY ELSE. 
21 
CHAPTER 11. 
THE MAN WHO WAS SOMEBODY ELSE. 
Samuel Moffit was an incorrigible drunkard and 
his wife an incorrigible scold. His was the worst vice 
of a man and hers the worst of a woman, and each one 
ke]3t it up on account of the other,— he drank because 
she scolded, and she scolded because he drank, and 
neither was inclined to mend. He would stay out late 
at night and spend his money in carousing, and 
then return and be saluted by a broadside from his 
wife ; but the broadside ended in smoke, which, clear- 
ing away, left him as jolly and as read}7 for fuddle as 
ever. 
One night he returned home later than usual; but his 
wife was already primed to receive him. Her speech 
was well gotten-up and well delivered, with the most 
striking gestures suited to the most striking passages. 
Sam meekly bore it all for awhile, and then suddenly, 
without a word, opened the door and staggered from 
the house. He immediately proceeded to my house in 
a zigzag manner, each foot making a particular em- 
phasis as it struck the sidewalk. I had just got to 
bed and put out the light after a laborious day, when 22 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
the tongue of my bell uttered its fearful “ Get up.” I 
arose with a shiver and opened rny door, when a man 
appeared and asked me to come at once to a certain 
address, whispering in my ear the nature of the trou- 
ble. Most doctors, like Barkis, are willing to go when 
sent for, to the humblest as quickly as the richest. I 
dressed myself and hurried olf to the home of Mr. 
Moffit, but had to ring a long time before any response. 
At length a night gown and night cap came to the door, 
without any light. 
‘‘ So you’ve got back, Mr. Moffit,” snarled the 
ghostly image, opening the door and letting me in, 
mistaking me for her husband. “ I thought you would. 
Couldn’t find any shed to sleep in gin shops all shut 
up friends all gone to bed, if they’ve got any no- 
where else to go to, so you concluded to come home 
again and sleep it out. You deserve to have me leave 
you and go back to my mother. I’ve threatened it 
enough and shall do it too, you vagabond. Keeping 
me up to wait for you when you know I’ve been work- 
ing hard all day. You ought to be ashamed of your- 
self, Mr. Moffit. There, follow me, and come up to 
bed.” 
I had hitherto no time nor opportunity to explain on 
account of her excessive volubility, so I silently fol- 
lowed her to her chamber, where a dim light was burn- 
ing. The bed showed the imprint of her rotund bod}', 
so I saw that she had not been waiting nor watching. THE MAN WHO WAS SOMEBODY ELSE. 
23 
She turned round to look at me and begin again her 
invectives, when she perceived her mistake. 
“What the mischief do you want here, doctor?” 
said she, savagely, mortified at her ridiculous tirade. 
“Want ! ” I repeated, “ I want to see your mouth.” 
“ My mouth ! ” she screamed. 
“ Yes, your mouth. Now don’t be petulant with me 
on account of the bad manners of your husband. He 
has shown that he is very devoted to you, in spite 
of his little weaknesses. Come now, show me your 
mouth.” 
‘4 Show my mouth ! what do you want with my 
mouth ? My mouth is all right and my teeth paid 
for.” 
Believing that her obstinacy was due to the laugh- 
able scene down stairs, and thinking it my duty to see 
the disease if possible, I approached her and tried to 
open her mouth, but she resisted and wanted to know 
by what authority I insisted on examining her mouth, 
as she had not sent for me. 
44 Didn’t send for me ! ” cried I, in surprise ; 44 why, 
your husband just came to my house and told me to 
make haste and see you, as you had a terrible breaking 
out of the mouth.” 
At this I beat a precipitate retreat, and left her to 
settle the matter with her husband when he returned. 
She was in a terrible rage at the insult perpetrated 
upon her, and determined to have revenge. When he 24 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
returned he was drunk in the superlative degree, or 
drunk to the degree that he could neither walk, talk, 
nor understand anything. She undressed him, then 
blackened with burnt cork his face, hands, and chest, 
and then went out to an undertaker’s, living at hand, 
to whom she told her trials, and asked to hire a coffin 
for a few days to punish him with. The undertaker, 
who was socially a jovial man, agreed to help her, and 
himself carried up the coffin to her room and helped 
her to put the sot inside. The top was then screwed 
down and his jaws were tied up, but the lid was left 
open. She now blackened herself in the same manner, 
and sat down to wait for his coming to himself. In 
about twenty-four hours he opened his eyes, looked 
around and tried to move, but found it impossible. 
“ Where am I ?” he hiccoughed. 
“ In your coffin,” replied his wife, trying to sob. 
“ What am I here for ? ” 
“ Because you are dead.” 
u But I ain’t dead ; I am drunk.” 
“ Oh, it’s all the same thing; you are dead drunk.” 
“ But who are you crying for ? I don’t know you.” 
“lam your wife.” 
“ My wife ! I never married a black woman.” 
“ Why shouldn’t you ? You are a nigger yourself.” 
“I ain’t black.” 
“ There, see if you ain’t,” and Mrs. Moffit placed a 
looking-glass so that he could see himself in it. THE MAN WHO WAS SOMEBODY ELSE. 
25 
The poor man uttered a scream of fright. He did 
not recognize himself. 
“Who am I ? who am I ? I thought I was Sam 
Mofflt.” 
“ No, you fool, you ain’t Sam Moffit; you are Sandy 
Johnson, the barber. You know you have shaved Sam 
Moffit, the drunken toad, many a time.” 
The wretched man looked at himself in the glass, and 
then at his blackened wife, and he felt more and more 
bewildered. The darkened room, the confinement in 
a coffin, the clouded brain, and the black forms of 
himself and wife, all conspired to make him believe 
that he was another man, and beyond all this the 
thought that he was a dead man at that. His wife 
now left him alone and did not return to see him for 
three days. On her return the room was in total dark- 
ness and the man was a raving maniac. His mind had 
become so weakened by a long continuance of drink- 
ing and the confinement in a coffin that he was unable 
to determine his individuality. His wife returned with 
the undertaker, who, after lighting up the room pro- 
ceeded to unscrew the top of the coffin and let him out. 
No sooner was the man out than he ran to the chim- 
ney-piece and seized his razor, exclaiming, “I’m 
Sandy Johnson, the barber, and I’m going to shave 
both of 3’ou.” 
The pair were thoroughly frightened, as his eyes 
glared and he had a fierce expression ; but at length, 26 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
after dodging around awhile, they managed to escape 
and lock the door behind them. Mrs. Moffit then 
came for me and related the events which had trans- 
pired after I left her. Suspecting what might have 
happened, I took a policeman with me, and on enter- 
ing found the man lying on the floor with his throat 
cut. He was not dead, as the jugulars and carotids 
had been spared, but the wound was bleeding freely. 
A suicide who uses a razor rarely dies from that cut, 
as he does not cut deeply enough. I sewed up the 
wound and dressed the neck, but the insane man, with 
his hands tried to tear off the dressings. I found I 
could do nothing with him, so I sent him off to the 
insane asylum. His unhappy wife, who, in a spirit of 
mischief and revenge, had caused this terrible result, 
now lamented in earnest her inconsiderateness and 
folly. Her husband remained in the asylum about a 
year and was then released ; but his mind was im- 
paired, and he still had freaks, if he drank anything, of 
'magining himself Sandy Johnson, the barber. TRAVELLING WITH A LUNATIC. 
27 
CHAPTER 111. 
TRAVELLING WITH A LUNATIC. 
In the fall of ’OB I was consulted by an elderly 
gentleman, about his son, a young man of twenty- 
five, who, after finishing his education, showed signs 
of incipient insanity. This was so little pronounced 
that it was only on rare occasions that it was mani- 
fested. It appeared that his mother had shown, before 
her death, signs of melancholia. The father, who was 
wealthy, and idolized his only child, wished me to try 
some moral shock, such as the effect of suddenly an- 
nouncing the death of a near relative, of giving him 
some medicine and declaring that he had drunk the 
blood of an executed murderer, of suddenly throwing 
him into the river, or making an assault upon him in 
the disguise of a highwayman. All this, as Legraud 
du Saule asserts, is not rational medicine; terror is 
not a remedy; it is merely cruelty, which may kill 
patient and disease together. 
I asked to see the young man, and he called upon 
me. He was rather thin, pale, and nervous. He 
could not look you squarely in the face, but had the 
habit of constantly looking round and listening. I 28 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
found, by questioning him, that his ideas were coherent, 
and he could readily converse on any subject; but 
when he was asked whether he had any enemies, he 
changed color, and said he unfortunately was annoyed 
by certain enemies of his, who were continually talking 
ill of him and trying to injure him. They not only 
were constantly whispering and talking, but at night 
they threw about him certain poisonous vapors; so 
that he was obliged to change frequently his bed-room 
to avoid being smothered by them. I asked him how 
his enemies could scatter these essences when his room 
was locked; and he replied, that they came down the 
chimney, penetrated through the keyhole and open 
window. As he was quiet and gentlemanly, I advised 
his father to send his son on a travelling tour, in the 
hope that a change of scene might perhaps divest him 
of his hallucinations. The old gentleman immediately 
acquiesced in the proposal, and invited me to accom- 
pany his son on a trial trip ; and, as it was the time I 
usually took my annual vacation, I accepted the trust. 
We decided to visit the West, and scour the broad 
prairies. 
As Mr. Blenkinsop, my companion, had received a 
finished education, and was social, we enjoyed our- 
selves finely until we arrived at Chicago, when he 
began to be more disturbed by the persecution of his 
supposed enemies and their poisons. As we stood in 
the depot in that city, waiting the time of departure TRAVELLING WITH A LUNATIC. 
29 
of a train bound farther on, Mr. Blenkinsop slipped up 
to the engine, and giving the engineer a dollar, asked 
him to show how the engine was started and run, as it 
was something with which he was unacquainted, and 
he had a great curiosity to see how it was done. The 
engineer pleasantly granted the request, and minutely 
explained the working of the machinery. Meanwhile I 
went back to the eating-room to get some refreshments, 
and on returning to meet my fellow-travellers, saw the 
train starting off and now just outside the depot. At 
this moment the engineer, running up, said that he had 
left his locomotive a moment, and now it was gone, 
and that probably it was the curious young man who 
had run off with it. I acknowledged that the runaway 
was partially insane and was under my care. The poor 
engineer was almost beside himself for a moment, but 
on a little reflection, set, out procuring an extra engine 
from the round-house, to chase after the vagabond. 
Blenkinsop had put on all steam, and was whirling 
along with terrible rapidity. 
“ There will be an explosion or a collision,” said the 
engineer, white as snow. 
I kept beside him because I wished to take posses- 
sion of the escapist. He soon hauled down a spare 
engine; I jumped in with him, and we started in hot 
pursuit. The train was about a quarter of a mile 
ahead ; we could, hear the runaway ring his bell at the 
crossings, but he made no stop. Our only hope la}' in 30 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
the fact that Blenkinsop had a heavy train to drag, 
while we had only an engine and could gain on him. 
Blenkinsop was evidently piling on coal, as the black, 
thick smoke showed incomplete combustion. We now 
saw him stretching out his head to look back upon us, 
and, taking off his hat, waved it in triumph; and at 
the same time began to ring his bell violently, without 
regard to the road-crossings or way-stations. We hur- 
ried on at full speed, and in a few minutes more were 
close upon him. The rest was done so quickly that I 
hardly could believe my eyes. 
Our engine was running behind its tender, which 
must have been intentional on the part of the engi- 
neer, who, when he had kept at the same distance a 
few minutes, began slightly to increase his speed, and 
then gradually approached the rear car until within a 
few feet. He then told me the address of his wife, and 
asked me to call upon her, if anything happened to him, 
and say that he had tried to do his duty. There was a 
momentary tenderness in his voice, as he alluded to his 
wife, but it changed into words of almost stern com- 
mand, as he gave me a few instructions how to stop 
the engine. Now clambering over the tender, he 
darted forward and stood a moment on its edge. He 
looked upward as if invoking Divine aid, and then 
suddenly sprang forward and landed safely on the rear 
car. In a few moments more the train stopped. I 
immediately got down, ran forward, entered the en- TRAVELLING WITH A LUNATIC. 
31 
gine, and there saw the engineer struggling with Blenk- 
insop, each trying to throw the other out. I grappled 
with the lunatic and we overpowered him, when he 
finally became manageable. I asked him why he had 
undertaken such a dangerous and dastardly run, and 
he replied that his persecutors were so numerous and 
menacing that he felt impelled to run away anywhere. 
The air was full of voices, and they were crazing him 
and he must get away from them. 
The extra engine was sent back and we continued 
our journey. He relapsed into a melancholy mood, 
from which I could not divert him. He was irritable 
and rude, and I was glad when we arrived at our next 
stopping-place for the night. As we alighted from the 
cars we saw a large theatre-poster, with Othello or the 
Moor of Venice on it, and this at once seemed to fasci- 
nate Mr. Blenkiusop. He may have thought that the 
interest of the drama would absorb his attention and 
take away the haunting voices. I objected, on the 
ground that the play might excite him, and the audi- 
ence might contain persecutors; but his persistency 
overpowered me, and we accordingly went. We took 
a box, so as to be secluded. Mr. Blenkinsop watched 
attentively the scenes, and seemed to feel the reality 
of the fiction. I spoke to him several times; but he 
made me no answer, so much he was absorbed. And 
when Othello, having taken off his sword, takes up the 32 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
feather-bed to smother'the traduced Desdemona, and 
she, with the pathos of innocence, exclaims, 
“Kill me to-morrow, but let me live to-night! ” 
young Blenkinsop suddenly leaped over the railing (we 
were in the lowest box) and jumped over the footlights 
upon the stage. He then ran forward, and seizing 
Othello’s sword, which he had laid down, rushed at the 
jealous Moor, with murder in his eyes. Othello was 
at first stupefied, and gazed speechless at the intrepid 
avenger of Desdemona. Blenkinsop made a lunge at 
the actor and wounded him in the arm, while the actor, 
now starting up from his panic, took his only weapon, 
the feather-bed, and throwing it with full force and 
pressing it home, brought the madman to the ground; 
then following up his advantage, jumped upon it, and 
would have accomplished upon the poor maniac what 
he intended for Desdemona, had not the cries of the 
audience brought out the other actors,—lago, Gratiano, 
and Ludovico,—who drew away Othello and the feather- 
bed, and seized the supernumerary actor, who was play- 
ing in earnest. It was a terrible scene. The shrieks 
of the audience, the fainting away of poor Desdemona, 
the struggles of the madman in the hands of his cap- 
tors, the now exhausted Othello, who fell back bleed- 
ing upon the stage, all this made a scene which 
thrilled every spectator and made the stage-acting 
seem tame. I now leaped upon the stage, followed TRAVELLING WITH A LUNATIC. 
33 
the actors, who dragged Blenkinsop behind the scenes, 
and explained to the manager that the avenger of Des- 
demona was insane and under my medical care. He 
was then allowed to go with me. I took him to our 
hotel, gave him a dose of chloral, and saw him safely 
in bed. 
“The voices are troubling me,” said he to me. “My 
enemies are increasing ; they surround me at every step ; 
they throw snares in my way, and poison my food and 
the air I breathe. I cannot stand it longer. I feel in 
myself that I must kill somebody. I have kept down 
the desire ; I have struggled against it; but still it is 
uppermost in my mind, and I shall not be able to get 
rid of my persecutors till I drink the blood of some 
one.” 
By this time the sleeping-draught had taken effect, 
and I left him to go to bed. I always slept in a room 
adjacent to his, that I might be able to render assist- 
ance in case of any convulsion or trouble on his part. 
About three in the following morning I was aroused 
out of sleep by Blenkinsop, who was standing at my 
bedside, and ordered me to get up. I looked up 
drowsily at the man; but on seeing his flashing eyes 
and fierce look (my gas wms burning all night as usual 
with me), glanced at the outer door, when he immedi- 
ately drew out the key, put it into his pocket, and then 
cocking a pistol, which I did not know he possessed, 
said to me, sternly : 34 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“You must die, doctor; you have troubled me long 
enough. You have tried to poison me ; you are haunt- 
ing me at all times and sending noxious vapors over 
me at night; and not satisfied with that, you arc con- 
stantly magnetizing me, so that I am always in }7our 
power, and m3r thoughts are known to 3Tou as soon as 
the}7 are to nryself.” 
I knew that resistance would be useless, as he was 
very powerful and a sure shot. If I shouted for help I 
should be a dead man before assistance arrived. Dis- 
cretion and counterplot were m37 only sources of deliv- 
erance. 
“Well,” said I, calmly, “as }7ou have determined to 
shoot me, will }7ou allow me to write a farewell letter to 
m37 wife and child? You could not refuse me so reason- 
able a request, and then you can shoot to }rour heart’s 
content.” 
“All right, doctor, I will give }rou ten minutes,” and 
he took out his watch and held it in his left hand, with 
the pistol in the other. 
“ AYell, well, lam out of paper,” said Ito nryself; 
“ that is too bad. Just run down to the office and get 
a sheet for me. It isn’t necessar}” for me to dress, as 
you are going to kill me so soon.” 
The maniac was thrown off' his guard, and, unlocking 
the door, went out and locked it again. There was not 
a moment to lose. The 011137 exit was by a window, 
opening upon the street from the fourth stoiy, or b}7 a TRAVELLING WITH A LUNATIC 
35 
transom ventilating-window over the door. Crying out 
from that height, and at that hour, from the window, 
would be foliy. I first took a boot, and running to my 
companion’s room, struck hard several times upon the 
wall contiguous to the next room beyond, occupied b}T 
some unknown lodger ; and then, coming back, dragged 
to the outer door my bed and put a chair upon it. By 
great effort I managed then, after opening the transom- 
window, to get my body partly out of it, feet foremost, 
when I heard the returning steps of my intended assas- 
sin. I was unable to get entirely through when he 
appeared beneath me. 
“ I see,” he cried, “ yon thought to deceive me fry a 
clever ruse ; but you will be disappointed. I will shoot 
you there without waiting for letters, messages or pray- 
ers. You expected to get away and then deliver me 
up ; but you are mistaken.” 
I instinctively shut my eyes and commended myself 
to Heaven. I heard a noise, followed by a shot, but 
could see nothing. I was fastened where I was, and 
could get neither out nor in ; but I heard altercation, 
and then became unconscious, probably from faintness 
or terror. When I came to myself I was lying on my 
bed, and around me were a doctor, the landlord, a 
chambermaid, a stranger, and a policeman holding Mr. 
Blenkinsop. I inquired what all this meant, and the 
stranger informed me that he was a lodger occupying 
the room next to Mr. Blenkinsop’s, that he had been 36 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
aroused by my knocking against the wall, and, sus- 
pecting some accident, ran out into the hall, where he 
saw the madman coming up the stairway, and myself 
projecting out of the ventilating window. Then ob- 
serving the madman raising his pistol, and hearing his 
murderous intentions, he knocked up the pistol, which 
discharged its ball in the ceiling; and then, grasping 
the assassin and calling loudly for help, held him until 
some servants arrived. A policeman and the landlord 
were sent for, and the maniac secured. They then pro- 
ceeded to release me from my awkward position and 
bring me to. I now, in my turn, informed them of the 
nature of the adventure, and desired the policeman to 
take charge of the man and send him on to Boston, as 
I renounced all intention of further travelling with a 
lunatic. A CASE OF HEMORRHAGE. 
37 
CHAPTER IV. 
A CASE OF HEMORRHAGE. 
I was sent for one dismal night, at two a. m., to 
see a patient said to be dying of hemorrhage. The 
messenger, in an excited tone, and with gasping breath, 
declared the sufferer had already vomited up two quarts 
of blood, and unless I hurried to the spot he would be 
a corpse before I arrived. As a matter of fact, very 
few die of the bleeding itself, for among the very large 
number of cases which I have seen, only four or five 
have died from the loss of blood. In those who suffer 
from an attack of hemorrhage, death finally ensues 
from the effects of the disease which gave rise to the 
effusion of blood, as consumption, cancer, etc. 
I arrived at the scene of woe and found a large con- 
gregation assembled to witness the last moments of a 
man who was losing his best blood very much against 
his will. The outside circle was composed of his 
immediate family and friends, who were alternately 
weeping and tasting some cake and cold pie set out 
for their refreshment. A lawyer was getting ready to 
draw up a will, and a clergyman was inviting the 
patient to look upward. Last of all, the poor heart- 38 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
broken wife was busy wringing her hands and urging 
the lawyer to make haste and get the will made out. 
I entered quietly and looked at the melancholy 
scene. The husband, pale as death and drenched in 
a cold sweat, was sitting propped up in bed sucking 
pellets of ice, and occasionally gasping in a hoarse 
whisper some word to those around him. 
“Know all men by these presents,” began the 
lawyer, rubbing his sleepy eyes and gaping. 
“Presents!” interrupted the ignorant and avari- 
cious wife, on whom the word made an unfavorable 
impression. ‘4 Presents ! Think of your faithful wife 
and your poor orphan children, Mr. Yopp, and don’t 
begin the will by giving presents to your greedy rela- 
tions.” 
A momentary silence followed this ill-timed remark, 
which was improved by the clergyman, who said ; 
“Do you give up all, Mr. Yopp ; are you willing to 
give up all ? ” 
“Yes,” gasped the sufferer, “I am willing to give 
up all.” 
“Do you hear that, squire ?” said the wife, “he 
gives up all to me and my poor orphan children. Put 
that down, squire.” She appeared to have no ears nor 
mind for anything, but considerations of her own sel- 
fish interest. 
“I am the doctor,” I now observed, looking over 
the shoulders of the outside circle. A CASE OF HEMORRHAGE. 
39 
“Wait a moment, doctor, please,” impatiently ob- 
served Mrs. Yopp ; “wait a moment until Squire 
Brown has written the will. Give the doctor a chair. 
Go on, squire.” 
“ But had not you better wait, Mrs. Yopp, until I 
perform my sacred offices, and prepare the poor dying 
man for another world ? ” asked the minister, somewhat 
otfended. 
“ The minister is right,” said the friends, all to- 
gether. 
“Mr. Yopp can repent at the last moment, but a 
will, to be legal, must be made when he is in his right 
senses,” retorted the sharp lady. 
“Mrs. Yopp is right,” corroborated the lawyer, 
dipping his pen in the inkstand, and gaping, “ The 
will is not binding unless made while he is in his right 
mind. I will go on.” 
“ Stop a moment, gentlemen,” said I, edging myself 
forward. “ There is something above your functions, 
and that is the duty of saving life if possible. While 
you are bandying words the time to save life may be 
irretrievably lost. I must request jmu both to wait 
until I see whether I can save the man.” 
Amid the frowns of Mrs. Yopp, the serene resigna- 
tion of the minister, and the business-like impassive- 
ness of the yawning lawyer, I craned myself forward 
to the bedside, got hold of the patient’s pulse, and 
asked him the history of the case. 
“ The doctor is right,” said the friends again. REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ I had eaten a very hearty supper,” whispered the 
man, almost strangling himself with a large piece of 
ice, which he was trying to swallow whole, “ and felt a 
sensation of weight and fullness in my stomach all the 
evening, but, making nothing of it, retired early to bed. 
A short time ago I was awakened out of sleep by great 
nausea, followed by vomiting. lat once half filled the 
wash-bowl, and on getting a light, found to my horror, 
that it was blood. I fainted at the sight, and was 
restored by my wife, who said I had burst a blood- 
vessel and was dying. She then sent for a lawyer, and 
I sent for a minister and doctor. If you can do any- 
thing for me, do it, doctor.” 
“ Make haste, doctor, or it will be too late for the 
will,” hissed Mrs. Yopp in my ear. 
‘ ‘ Are you ready and willing to repent ? ” asked the 
minister, going to the other side of the bed. “Your 
business is with the other world.” 
The patient was fairly bewildered. His mind was 
wanted in so many different directions at the same 
time, that he could attend to nothing. 
“ Let me look at the blood,” I demanded, without 
noticing the disagreement of the other parties. 
Some one handed me the wash-bowl ; it appeared 
half full of blood, but something in it attracting my 
attention, I called for a stick, and stirred the vomita, 
and found it to be an undigested mass of blueberries, 
and no blood at all. A CASE OF HEMORRHAGE. 
41 
“ My friends,” said I, exhibiting the spurious gore, 
“ in this case at least, ignorance is not bliss, for it has 
made you all miserable; and as for you, Mr. Yopp, 
your wife has no doubt done all she could to save you 
and comfort your supposed last moments,— at least 
she has shown a good will, and you will have to take 
the will for the deed.” 42 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER V. 
A CASE OF CATALEPSY. 
Catalepsy, as defined by Dr. W. A. Hammond, is 
“ seizures usually coming on with suddenness, and are 
characterized by more or less complete suspension of 
mental action and of sensibility, and by the supervention 
of muscular rigidity, causing the limbs to retain for a 
long time any position in which they may be placed. 
In some cases there are an imperfect consciousness 
and an ability to appreciate strong sensorial impressions. 
In two cases under my care, there was the conscious- 
ness of mental action during the paroxysm. The 
paroxysm may last a few minutes or hours, or may be 
prolonged to several days. The temperature of the 
body, in all the cases that have come under my observa- 
tion, was reduced from two to four degrees below the 
normal standard. The paroxysm generally disappears 
with as much abruptness as marked its accession.” 
The only case of catalepsy which has come under my 
notice was that of a middle-aged man, named George 
Ilubbuck. When called to him for the first time, about 
twenty years ago, he stood in the middle of the room, 
holding a violin in the ordinary position, his head turned A CASE OF CATALEPSY. 
slightly towards the instrument, and his right hand 
holding the bow, and about to draw it. His eyelids 
were widely open, and the eyes apparently staring at 
vacancy; the pupils were dilated and fixed, unaffected 
by light; his breathing slow and scarcely perceptible ; 
his pulse hardly discernible; his face bloodless and 
shrunken, and his limbs rigid as iron. You might 
rather break the limbs than bend them in their tetanoid 
state. And there he stood with his beloved violin in 
position, just as he drew the last stroke, motionless and 
silent. You might hesitate at first to decide whether it 
was a wonderful statue, or a tableau vivant; but never 
would you suppose it was a man in a nervous paroxysm. 
I put a few drops of ether under his nostrils, and 
poured some cold water upon his head ; when suddenly 
his eyes looked down upon his instrument, he drew a 
deep inspiration, the color flew to his lips, his right 
hand moved his bow, and his left fingers trembled 
along the strings. He continued the piece from where 
he left off when the cataleptic seizure came upon him. 
The effect was startling. It was a statue come to life ; 
it was a dream metamorphosed into reality. And so 
absorbed was the musician in his selection, that he did 
not notice my presence, but played on until he had 
finished the piece. He then sat down and told me this 
was the second attack which he had had. I asked him 
to describe to me the first paroxysm. It appeared that he 
had just left his wife on account of some domestic 44 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
trouble with a quack doctor, of whom he was jealous. 
The first part of his story was tinged with satirical 
remarks, prompted by his injured feelings, and was 
very extraordinary. How much is true Ido not know ; 
I give it in his own language : 
“ I was always of a nervous temperament, and rather 
subject to spasms. Three months ago, after a long 
nervous sickness, I was suddenly taken with a period 
immobility of every part of my body. I could not open 
my eyes, nor move a limb, nor speak ; but I was con- 
scious, and could hear every word. My wife came to 
me, and seeing me lie like a corpse, pinched me in her 
businesslike manner; but I was perfectly unfeeling 
at least I did not feel her pinching. She then sent for 
an undertaker, and told him I had died in a spasm. 
He asked for a certificate of death, when she replied she 
would get one of Dr. Hoogs, her family physician. She 
made some general remarks about our former wealth 
and style, with tender allusions to our present decay, 
owing to her husband’s prodigality. But in order to 
keep up appearances, she desired to hire an elegant 
rosewood, silver-mounted casket to keep me in state in 
the parlor, and then change the casket for a pine coffin 
in the tomb after the mourners had departed. He 
grumbled, but finally agreed to it, as she threatened to 
employ some one else. 
‘“I want a magnificent funeral,’ said she ; ‘ could not 
you let me have the carriages at four dollars apiece ? ’ A CASE OF CATALEPSY. 
“ ‘ Yes,’ assented the undertaker, ‘ seeing you want 
a grand funeral. Will you have one or two dozen 
hacks ?’ 
“ ‘ Well,’ sobbed my wife, ‘ my husband was a man 
of few friends and no relations, so I think I’ll have only 
one carriage to carry me and the doctor. Of course, I 
want flowers to enliven the terrible scene. Couldn’t 
you supply me with a choice display of white roses, 
violets, smilax, and tuberoses something gorgeous, 
but a little wilted; you know that would be symbolical 
of death ? Some wreaths and crosses left from a recent 
funeral would answer nicely. I have always thought 
that faded flowers harmonized better with a corpse than 
fresh ones. And if you could loan me a mourning suit 
to wear at the funeral it would save buying one, as I 
am afraid moths might get into my other clothes. I 
must save all the money I can to build a monument to 
his virtues, something elegant and fashionable, with an 
epitaph on it, or don’t you think he would be just as 
happy and contented in your tomb ? ’ 
‘ ‘ The undertaker went off growling something I could 
not hear, and she began to mumble about making it all 
up to me in crying, a business she was experienced in. 
She then hunted in the private drawers of my desk till 
she found my will, and finding some legacies in it, 
quietly put it into the fire. 
“ That evening Dr. Hoogs came in to see the principal 
mourner ; I mean my -wife. This Dr. Hoogs was about 46 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
as perfect in ignorance as a man can well be ; but what 
he knew least of all was medicine. He could talk 
glibly of horses, politics, law, religion, and theatres ; 
but on the subject of medicine he was silent. His cures 
were hence rare, so that he might be said to practice 
without prospect of cure ; in other words, he was a sine 
cure. Well, this doctor was a single man ; I mean by 
that, he had a wife out West who didn’t know his 
address. He had become a mark of admiration to my 
wife, and was at my house a great deal more than sick- 
ness required, or at least she always had a sick spell 
every day while I was at work, and felt quite smart 
when I returned. As I was saying, in came Dr. Hoogs, 
when my wife set to crying almost as naturally as if she 
really felt bad. 
“ ‘ What’s the matter, Mehitable?’ said he, coming 
up and taking her hand. 
‘ ‘ ‘ Oh, doctor, I was thinking how good George was 
to die and leave me all his property.’ 
“ ‘ Any will, Mehitable?’ 
“ ‘ No.’ 
“He then fell to kissing her, but she said he had 
better wait till after the funeral. 
“ ‘You need sympathy,’ said he, ‘your affliction is 
so great. You loved him dearly, next to me. Every- 
thing is for the best, and, as they say, his loss is your 
gain. But remember, in this your trial }Tou have one 
friend ready to share it all with you, and that’s me.’ A CASE OF CATALEPSY. 
47 
“ ‘ Share it all! ’ she snapped out, ‘ I guess I can take 
care of the whole.’ 
“‘I mean your grief,’ said he; ‘lam willing to 
share your grief.’ 
“ ‘Oh, yes, you can do that,’ she said, brightening 
up. 
“ At this point some neighbors came in, when she set 
to crying again, and sobbingly gave a short biography 
of my life, and a eulogy of my domestic virtues, and 
expressed a determination never to marry again, but to 
wear deep mourning to her dying day.” 
At this point in his story, the man’s manner changed 
entirely. He had appeared to make light of his cata- 
leptic state ; in fact, appeared amused at the opportunity 
it offered him to observe the treason and avarice of his 
wife, who, to gratify her selfishness, burned up his will, 
and was unwilling to lay out even reasonable expenses 
to bury her husband decently. But now, when he began 
to narrate his experience in a coffin and in a tomb, his 
face grew even whiter than it was, and he appeared to 
realize the most intense mental emotions. 
“ The funeral took place,” he continued, solemnly, 
“ I was still conscious, but unable to move or speak, 
and could not feel that I was breathing. I must have 
appeared like a dead man. Imagine my feelings, 
imprisoned in a casket, with the prospect of being buried 
alive. At that moment I would have preferred cremation, 
for my sufferings would have been over in a few minutes. 48 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
And yet, in my case and the cases of discovery of 
burial alive, where the buried one has come to life, it is 
a merciful thing that cremation does not exist. The 
kind minister said over me more than I deserved, and 
those pleasant words were the only consolation I had in 
that terrible moment. And then they closed down the 
lid, and I heard the screws worming themselves into the 
wood, and it seemed as if they were entering my brain. 
I wanted to scream, but could not. I wanted to press 
apart the sides of the coffin, or raise its lid, but I was 
immovable. I wanted to call for air, for water, for 
light, but the silence of death held me still. Coffined 
alive in that two-by-six box, with no food, air, nor 
light, was the most exquisite torment that imagination 
can conceive. I felt my brain whirling, and an icy 
dampness creeping over me. This, thought I, is death 
in earnest, and I welcome it; death is simply release 
from prison, and is liberty. They brought me to the 
graveyard, and laid me on the top of a pile of moulder- 
ing coffins, smelling of the decay of a hundred bodies ; 
but I had become unconscious. It was the happiest 
thing for me. The next thing I knew I was dropped, 
thug, and felt life coming into my veins. A sense of 
resurrection came over me. I felt a fluttering in me, a 
soaring feeling, and an expansion of the chest as if I 
was breathing. I tried to move and did move. Mak- 
ing a tremendous effort, I half rose up and opened my 
eyes. I was lying in a pine coffin in the tomb, and the A CASE OP CATALEPSY. 
49 
undertaker had just changed me from the rosewood 
casket to this, and let me drop, thug, into it. This had 
awakened me from my lethargy. It could not have 
been over an hour from the time I had been screwed 
down at home ; but it seemed as if I had risen from the 
long sleep of the dead. I felt jubilant, radiant, and 
buoyant, so much so that I thought I would profit by 
the consternation of the frightened undertaker, and 
have a jest at his expense. So I said to him, seriously : 
“ ‘ Do you think that I would lie quietly in a pine 
coffin after I had once been used to rosewood ? Put me 
back in the casket, or I will employ another under- 
taker.’ 
6 ‘ At this the amazed man let everything drop and 
started on a run, and I haven't seen him since. I got 
up and went home on foot, where I found Dr. Hoogs 
and my wife in social communion. My wife went into 
a hysteric fit, and the doctor took his departure at sight 
of me. I immediately left the premises and took these 
quarters, pending a suit of divorce.” 
How much was satire and how much truth I cannot 
say ; but it was a wonderful case. I put him under a 
course of treatment, and he had no further seizures to 
my knowledge. lam inclined to ascribe the attacks to 
mental trouble, brought on by his wife’s duplicity. 50 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER VI. 
MEDDLESOME NURSES. 
It is probable that every physician is more or less 
troubled with the assurance and ignorance of ill-trained 
nurses. As it is an apothecary’s business to dispense 
but not prescribe medicines, so is it a nurse’s duty to 
carry out strictly a doctor’s directions and make no 
important changes without his knowledge. Nurses can 
cause trouble either by clandestinely administering their 
own remedies, by dispraising the attending physician, 
or by extolling another whom they prefer. I remember 
a case in point. A nurse named Brimbecomb was 
employed to take care of a lady affected with asthma, 
and I was sent for to give her what relief I could. 
This nurse had long, greasy curls dangling in every 
direction and looking like the snaky hair of the mythic 
Gorgon, and I even felt a petrified feeling on looking 
at her cold, granite face. Mrs. Brimbecomb had the 
hobby of using on the sick her panacea, which was soft 
soap and salt, which she applied to every available sur- 
face. She said soap was cleansing and salt preserving ; 
but I could not see any such results on her person, as 
she was very dirty and badly preserved. And what MEDDLESOME NURSES. 
she liked equally well was to apply a fly blister to 
the back, to draw out the humors and pain; but the 
barbaric remedy always caused great annoyance and 
proved a draw-back to both patients and nurse, for they 
would not employ her a second time. But Mrs. Brim- 
becomb was not satisfied with external applications,— 
she wanted likewise to meddle with the physician’s treat- 
ment and prescribe her own herbs. Her best quality 
was that she would sleep all night in her official chair, 
and all the groans and calls for help in the world would 
never awake her ; but then, while she was sleeping 
she could do no harm, and the patient’s chances for 
recovery were increased by the Monroe doctrine of 
non-intervention. 
When I saw Mrs. Brimbecomb’s briny face by the 
bedside of Mrs. Britt, my asthmatic patient, I felt 
uneasy and feared trouble, for I knew what was before 
me. I appeared as impassible as possible, and pre- 
scribed a bottle. The next day I was sent for in a 
hurry, with the message Mrs. Britt was in a dying con- 
dition. She had a poultice of soft soap and salt on her 
chest and a blister on her back; but I said nothing 
about them, as she was in an alarming state. Her 
pupils were largely dilated, her body covered with a 
dark red rash, and her pulse very rapid and feeble. 
She vomited frequently, and a profuse cold sweat bathed 
her skin. She was evidently poisoned. On looking 
around I saw a half-empty bowl of some dark drink on 52 
KEVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
the table and a broken package of herbs on the chim- 
ney mantel, which, on examination, I found marked 
stramonium. 
“You’ve killed me, doctor,” gasped Mrs. Britt ; 
“ you’ve poisoned me with your bottle.” 
I looked at her speechless. 
“That one dose was enough, doctor; you’ve done 
it,” sputtered the nurse, shaking her snaky ringlets at 
me. “I expected it ; I felt something was coming.” 
“Just look at her, doctor,” sobbed the husband, 
indignantly; “ look at her and see what you’ve done.” 
I made no immediate reply to those insinuations, but 
at once set to work to rally the patient by coffee and 
brandy, and finally succeeded. While the nurse was 
out of the room a moment, I asked Mrs. Britt whether 
she had drank of the tea in the bowl, and she replied 
that she had, and that it was some simple herb-drink 
made from the package on the mantel, which Mrs. 
Brimbecomb had been making for her. 
The husband said that he had no further need of my 
services, as I had been guilty of malpractice. 
“I acknowledge all that has been said about the 
danger of the patient and the guilt of giving her poi- 
son,” I remarked, as calmly as I could, “but you have 
mistaken the person who ordered it. Your wife has 
been drinking apple-peru tea, a deadly poison, pre- 
pared and ordered by your nurse. She has all the 
symptons of stramonium poisoning, whereas you will MEDDLESOME NURSES. 
53 
find, by carrying my bottle to the apothecary, that it is 
merely an infusion of coffee which I wished to use as a 
remedy and did not mention its name so that she might 
not despise it as a remedy. 
The next day Mrs. Britt had another nurse. 
Some time after this I again met Mrs. Brimbecomb 
who, I had been informed, had been circulating derog- 
atory stories about me. 
“I hear,” said I, “that you have been circulating 
bad stories about me.” 
“La, me,” she simpered, “I did so once a long time 
ago, but I haven’t any sence.” 
“Well, then, Mrs. Brimbecomb,” I observed, sav- 
agely, “ as long as you haven’t any sense, I will over- 
look it.” 54 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER VII. 
Amos kimball’s prophecy. 
[extracts from my case-book.] 
July 1, 1868.—Just returned from a visit to Amos 
Kimball, a young man of one-and-twenty, who was 
dying of pneumonia. Has been sick only one week, 
but the disease has attacked both lungs. Has spit 
up a great deal of blood during the week, and suffered 
much from pleuritic stitch. Have given him milk- 
punches to keep up his strength, and ammonium 
carbonate to rally him ; but all to no purpose. As 
I entered the room his breath grew shorter, his eyes 
were glazed, his feet and hands cold and perspir- 
ing, and a purple hue spread itself over his face and 
finger-nails. Death was folding over him his great 
wings. I could do nothing but look on with the 
others. Suddenly he raised himself up in the sitting- 
posture, then threw up both arms and tried to catch 
something between them, and then fell back and was 
dead. His friends and relatives, who had been expect- 
ing this trying moment, burst out in acute and insa- 
tiable lamentation. Until the last breath is drawn 
there is something in us which keeps back and re- Amos Kimball’s prophecy. 
55 
strains the coming tide of grief : a spirit is about to 
go forth to the undiscovered country, and a solemn 
silence befits the occasion ; but when once the last 
flutter has ebbed out of those cold lips, the human 
heart must find utterance in tears and words and sobs. 
In about half an hour, to the astonishment of all pres- 
ent, Amos opened his eyes, looked around, and began 
to breathe again, and finalty said, solemnly : 
“ There, I have died once, haven’t I ? but I shall die 
again soon, and one of those in this room will follow 
me within three weeks.” 
The wonder-struck friends looked at each other, and 
then at him, as if to say, “Is it I ? is it I?” No 
one dared to speak ; but at last his grandfather 
made bold to say, in order to remove the gloom of 
the fatal words: 
“ Pooh, pooh ! you are a sick man, Amos, and a 
little out of your head.” 
“ I tell you,” repeated the dying man, impressively, 
“one of you will follow me within three weeks, or you 
shall call me a false prophet.” 
There were young and old present, and his words 
sounded ill-timed, for all were in good health. A 
shudder ran through that circle, and each looked in the 
face of his neighbor, as if to read a death-warrant 
there. 
“ Tell me, Amos,” said the old man, again, “what 
was that you were trying to catch ? ” 56 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ I thought I saw Jesus, and tried to embrace him. 
The moment I saw him my sight returned, and the 
air appeared so transparent that I could see things you 
would not dream of. It seemed as if the air was 
thronged with the most lovely beings, and in the midst 
of them Jesus was smiling down upon me. There 
he is again, and this time I shall go for good.” 
After a few short gasps his breath left him, never to 
return. 
In a distant corner of the room, apart from the rest, 
sat a young girl of sixteen, named Ruth Sampson. 
She was not a relative, but only a neighbor who had 
been the companion of Amos since childhood. From 
simple playmates they had become lovers, and were 
betrothed, and were looking forward to a life-long 
union. They were almost inseparable companions, and 
he had taken this disease out of an effort to save 
Ruth from drowning. They had been out rowing, 
when, a sudden squall coming on, upset the boat, 
and hurled them both into the water, which was very 
cold. He was a good swimmer, and tried to tell her 
to remain calm, and cling hold of his back ; but with 
the trepidation and panic of such occasions, she seized 
hold of him and held him so tightly that he could 
neither swim nor extricate himself. They both sank 
together, twice, and then rose, when they were pulled 
up into another boat, by a man who was rowing near, 
and had seen the accident. Both were nearly drowned. Amos kimball’s prophecy. 
57 
Ruth came to easily; but Amos was with difficulty 
restored to life, after long efforts with Sylvester’s 
method of restoring drowned persons, and was imme- 
diately taken with congestion of the lungs, followed by 
double pneumonia. He never seemed to rally, from the 
commencement, and I had had no hopes of him ; his 
thready, rapid pulse, cyanosis and the fine crepitus 
of pneumonia, all told how deeply his lungs were 
invaded. 
Ruth had not appeared to notice the remarkable 
words and acts of the dying scene, but sat in a stupor, 
with her beautiful head buried in her beautiful hands. 
At length she quietly rose, and withdrew from the 
house without a word or a sob. From that moment 
she became a changed girl. From the opening bud 
that she was she suddenly wilted, and the bright petals 
of her cheeks faded and fell away. No tears wet 
her cheeks, no sudden cry escaped her lips as she went 
about her daily duties. She attended the funeral, and 
was seen to pluck off a single flower from the coffin, 
and put it in her bosom, while her eyes looked upward, 
as if breathing a prayer. She waited while the grave- 
diggers were shovelling down the brown earth, heard 
it patter on the coffin, and saw that precious box 
gradually disappear as the cold earth crowded over it; 
still she seemed not to give vent to any visible feelings. 
What feelings she had must have been strangled at their 
point of origin, before they took form and manifesta- 58 
REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
tion. After the funeral she went home and continued 
her domestic work. She spoke to no one, and hardly 
replied to a question, but seemed to be in a state of 
somnambulism by day and night. Every evening at 
sunset she went out alone to the graveyard, sat down 
upon the grave of Amos, and clasped her hands in 
prayer. 
July 20, midnight,— Have just returned from a visit 
to Mrs. Sampson’s. Found Ruth lying on her back, 
on the floor, dying from a pistol-ball, which had pene- 
trated her lung ; her mother was crouching over her, 
shrieking and tearing her hair, while a policeman stood 
by calmly looking on. I first examined the pulse and 
wound, and found life nearly extinct; and then, after 
carefully noting the position of the fallen woman, the 
direction of the bullet-wound, and the appearance of 
the room and furniture, inquired of the mother what 
she knew of the circumstances. 
“ Since my husband died,” said she, as well as her 
sobs would permit, “I have been very nervous at 
night. He was a powerful, courageous man, and I 
feared nothing; but since his death I have been in such 
a state of nervous prostration that the least noise 
startles me, and lam in daily apprehension. To such 
a pitch of nervous timidity have I arrived that, unbe- 
known to my daughter, I bought a pistol, loaded it, 
and kept it under my pillow at night, that I might be 
ready for burglars. To-night my daughter and I Amos kimball’s pkophpcy. 
59 
retired as usual together. About midnight I was 
awakened by the noise of the door opening, and some 
one entering. I was at first bewildered by the sudden 
awakening; but soon my senses coming to my rescue, I 
thought of my pistol, and reached for it under the 
pillow. It was total darkness; but I could hear a 
footstep, and felt that some one was approaching. I 
rapidly presented the pistol, and said as firmly as I 
could: 
“ ‘ Whoever you are, unless you turn and go back, I 
shall shoot.’ 
‘ ‘ The intruder still advanced; I instinctively pulled 
the trigger and heard a heavy fall. I then arose and 
lighted a lamp to see who the burglar was. I was so 
nervous it was a long time before I could find the 
matches; but when the light fell upon the floor, there 
la}' my own daughter, my only child. I wanted to put 
the other bullet in my own heart; but my daughter, 
who was conscious, forgave me, and reminded me that 
Amos Kimball had prophesied that some one present 
should follow him within three weeks of his death.” 
‘ ‘ And how do you account for your daughter’s being 
out at that time ? ” said I. 
“She must have got up in her sleep and wandered 
off to Amos Kimball’s grave, to pray, as she has done 
every night. The door was opened without a key 
turning, so she must have unlocked the door on going 
out, and left it unlocked.” 60 
REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ That seems plausible,” said I to the policeman. 
“ It may be,” observed the policeman, “ and is cor- 
roborated by what I know about the affair. My beat 
is near the graveyard, and as I was passing near it a 
short time ago, I saw a white object standing on its 
outer wall. The moon was full, and the object ap- 
peared so white that for a moment I was at a loss what 
to call it; but coming under the wall, I saw above me 
a young girl, clad in a white dress or night-dress, with 
her hair floating down her neck and back, standing 
still and looking straight ahead. I spoke to her at 
last, but she made no reply. I then touched her foot, 
when she lightly jumped from the wall, and started 
rapidly down the street. Suspecting now that she was 
a sleep-walker, I followed her ; but she flew so fast that 
I could not keep up with her, though I sighted the 
direction. When I at last arrived at this building I 
heard the pistol-shot, and came up the stairs. This 
woman had a smoking pistol in her hand, and the 
young girl lay at her feet. Under the circumstances, I 
consider it my duty to take her into custody, and let 
the court decide the matter.” 
On the trial it was proved that the daughter was in 
the habit of wandering off at night, to pray in the 
graveyard ; that she was affected in mind ; that mother 
and daughter were on affectionate terms, and that no 
earthly motive but insanity or accident could account 
for it. The wretched mother was accordingly released. TOTTT VS. TACKABERRY. 
61 
CHAPTER VIII. 
TOTTY VS. TACKABERRY. 
Mrs. Lorinda Tackaberry was a wealthy young 
widow who had married her first husband, an elderly 
merchant, for his money. After his decease she put 
on the most comely of sad faces, and having run a 
burnt cork along her eyebrows and drawn a dark semi- 
circle under her lids, to put her e}’es in mourning, and 
at the same time to set off their brilliancy, she appeared 
the saddest but sweetest mourner that ever graced a 
funeral carriage. On her return from the burial cere- 
monies she was called upon by a gentleman friend of 
hers, an ardent admirer of her bank account, who 
remarked, in the most tender tones : 
“ Mrs. Tackaberry, you are to-day the most wretched 
woman in Christendom. You have suffered an irrepar- 
able loss/ You will be miserable for months, and 
every time you look up to the portrait of Mr, T. in 
your parlor, your heart will break, and I have no doubt 
it is now well-nigh broken. Poor woman, how I 
sympathize with you in your affliction ! Just in the 
spring of youth and pleasure, to be stricken down with 
such a blow! Oh, how bereft you feel! how unspeak- 
able your woe! ” 62 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
Mr. Totty paused a moment, to allow her tears to flow 
afresh at this touching monody, when she looked up at 
him and said in a naive way: 
‘‘ I didn’t know I felt so bad! ” 
This heartless expression is a tell-tale of the woman 
herself. As for positive good qualities she had none ; 
but in her defects she was brilliant a finished coquet, 
an agreeable flatterer, a generous spendthrift. Her 
embellishments were an amiable ignorance, a graceful 
negligence, an elegant slothfulness. Her qualities were 
all negative, and the only activity she ever showed was 
in dredging for human hearts in deep-water soundings, 
And it was less for the sake of winning those who 
loved her, than for the false glory of beguiling away 
hearts already belonging to others. There seems to be 
in every man and woman a passion for hunting, and the 
object of the chase is not the game but the excitement 
of the pursuit. In fox-hunting, the hunter, with the 
greatest care, secures the swiftest horse, and the best- 
trained hounds. He bounds over wall and ditch at the 
peril of his life, and pounces upon the panting fox, 
broken with the chase. The victorious hunter then 
cuts off the quivering tail to hang up in his hall as a 
trophy of strength over weakness. He then is read}' 
for another chase. This same hunting feeling is what 
impels a male flirt to pursue a woman’s heart, and a 
coquet to raid on man’s unguarded territory. 
This was the lady whom Mr. Totty determined to TOTTT VS. TACKABERRY. 
63 
win, and lie was no better than she. He was one of 
those hangers-on to society, too shiftless to make his 
own fortune, and therefore resolved that others should 
make it for him a fortune hunter. But his qualities 
were all positive: he was positively a handsome man, 
and his dress would have served for a fashion-plate, 
lie wore a dark, navy-blue suit, and flashed in 
diamond ring and pin, while a heavy gold chain glit- 
tered on his vest and anchored him to a gold watch ; so 
that he might be called the blue and gold edition of a 
man. His manners were so graceful and measured that 
he appeared to be always walking a quadrille. With 
all this he was positively a bad man, constant in noth- 
ing but inconstancy. His face expressed a balance 
struck between impudence and stupidity, or if the 
balance was more in favor of the one than the other, 
it was on the side of impudence. But the most re- 
markable thing about his face was his smile. He never 
spoke without smiling: whether it was a serious or 
solemn subject, or an every-day remark, or whether he 
was in a towering passion, still he smiled, and it was 
always the same monotonous smile, that had nothing 
warm or genial in it; nay, his smile would freeze you, 
it would poison you, it would annihilate you. It was 
the fascination of the serpent, that is charming to 
devour its victim. He had not the slightest doubt that 
his external blandishments were sufficient to induce the 
capricious widow to fall in love with him. He was 64 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
attentive, persevering and profuse in gifts, and was 
about to obtain her consent in marriage when she fell 
dangerously ill of typhoid fever. 
I was summoned to the bedside of Mrs. Tackaberry, 
whom I had previously attended; but being at that 
moment about to set out on my summer’s vacation, 
requested a young medical friend of mine to take 
charge of the case. He was the exact antipode of his 
lovely patient. He was reserved and unobtrusive, and 
plain in dress, manner and physiognomy ; but there was 
in him an unusual depth of feeling. His voice was 
low-pitched and soft, and the music of his voice added 
charms to the earnestness of his manner and the 
kindliness of his words. The young physician became 
very much interested in her. During the crisis of the 
disease he passed many nights at her bedside, and 
through his devotion and watchfulness she was saved. 
During her convalescence not a word of flattery or com- 
pliment flowed from the doctor’s lips; but he spoke 
such eloquent words of encouragement, depicted so 
vividly the high mission of woman, and lifted her up so 
from the frivolous life she was leading, that she felt a 
dawning desire for better things than her past life. As 
her mind rose in earnestness of purpose she began to 
love the one who had awakened it in her, and in an 
outburst of her first true womanly love, told him so. 
This little episode was followed by an engagement. As 
she had no sincere respect for Mr. Totty, but had TOTTY VS. TACKABERRY. 
65 
merely been attracted by his recommendations of show 
and manner, she determined now, as she was getting 
better, to dismiss him in a way that would amuse her- 
self and teach him a lesson. Having colored her face 
with saffron until she was very yellow, she sent him a 
note saying that as he had been very kind to her and 
was so anxious to see her, she would be happy to have 
him call upon her that afternoon. Ho came in with a 
bouquet in one hand and a smile of triumph on his face, 
and was ushered into her chamber. 
“ Good God,” he exclaimed, in amazement, at sight 
of her sTellow5Tellow and wasted countenance, “what is the 
matter with you ? ” 
“ The yellow fever,” she said, faintly. 
There had been reports of cases of yellow fever in 
Boston, and much excitement had been caused by it. 
Mr. Totty let fall the bouquet and started back panic- 
stricken. 
“I I—will call again,” he gasped; and ab- 
ruptly started down-stairs and left the house. 
The door had scarcely closed when a peal of laughter 
arose from the case of yellow fever, as she washed ofl 
the saffron. 
“We shan’t see him again,” said she to her nurse ; 
“but to make things sure I shall write him a note that 
will clinch the matter.” In a few days she accordingly 
sent to him the following missive; 66 
REVELATIONS OK A BOSTON PHYSICIAN 
Mr. Totty: 
Dear Sir,— My illness has made me a changed 
woman. The flirt in me is dead, and love will, I hope, 
regenerate me. If I thought I could love you, I was 
mistaken in my heart; if I gave you encouragement, I 
withdraw it. You are not the man I could love, and I 
would never again marry a man I do not love. It is 
not me 3*oll wanted, and as for myself I want “ a man 
after my own heart,” and one that is after mj* money 
can have it at six per cent, on good mortgages. 
I hope 3*ou have not caught the 3’ellow fever. 
Yours respectfully, 
Mrs. Tackaberry. 
This letter was a great blow to Mr. Totty. All his 
air-castles were dashed to pieces, and his last dollar 
was spent. The debts which he hoped to pay after his 
marriage, and which he had contracted on the strength 
of his engagement, were now staring him in the face. 
He had considered himself an accepted suitor, and had 
been congratulated by his friends, who saw feasts of 
good things before them. What a humiliation! what 
a miscalculation! But Mr. Totty was not going to let 
the matter rest here ; he said to himself he would have 
revenge and indemnity, but would wait a favorable 
opportunity. 
It was not long before Mrs. Tackaberry married the 
young doctor, and he changed his residence to the 
elegant mansion she occupied. Instead of going on 
foot, he now drove in his carriage and received an TOUT VS. TACKABERRV. 
67 
aristocratic patronage. Soon after this a suit of breach 
of promise was filed in court against her by her old 
admirer. The lovely bride was very much amused, 
and remarked, laughing, that Mr. Totty would find his 
suit a suit of mourning before he got through. This 
was an unusual step for a gentleman to take against a 
lady ; but he determined to do it, and get redress. The 
plaintiff came into court armed with letters from her, 
couched in the most endearing language, which his 
lawyer read, and then proceeded to paint the picture of 
his broken heart and blasted hopes, his mental suffer- 
ings and the immense expense he had undergone in her 
behalf. The opposing lawyer disdained to make any 
plea, but left the case in the hands of the judge, who 
decided that the plaintiff was nonsuited. 
“ What does this mean, your honor?” asked Totty, 
in breathless suspense. 
“It means you did not suit her” replied the judge, 
smiling. 68 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER IX. 
A NEW REMEDY FOR CONSUMPTION. 
Mr. Barebones, a bachelor of about forty or forty- 
five, thin, ghastly and narrow-shouldered, was a con- 
sumptive by profession, and had been so for twenty 
years. He was of the nervous temperament of hypo- 
chondriacs, and disposed by nature to look on the dark 
side of things. He lived with a maiden sister, who, 
meek and humble, and having no will of her own, was 
devotedly attached to her brother. His habits were of 
the strictest sort. He rose at nine, consulted his 
thermometer, hydrometer, barometer, weather-vane and 
the clouds; then, having made up his mind about the 
weather for the day, sat down to a bowl of mush and 
milk, and, at ten, was ready to receive his physician, 
whose duty it was, every day, to look at his tongue, 
count his pulse, examine his lungs, take his bodily 
temperature, and compare these results with the chart 
of the previous day. Being wealth}", Mr. Barebones 
found no difficulty in being well attended to and 
humored by his medical counsellor. He had employed, 
in turn, hydropaths, eclectics, electricians, botanies, 
spiritualists, and homoeopaths. After the medical visit, A NEW REMEDY FOR CONSUMPTION. 
69 
he read a few pages in the latest work on consump- 
tion, as an appetizer, then sat down to beefsteak and 
sherry, with cod-liver oil for dessert. He always had 
on tap a cask of cod-liver oil, and had drank it until he 
was so permeated with it that he left a greasy mark on 
whatever he touched, his sweat was oily, and there was 
1‘ an ancient and fish-like smell ” about him. As for 
an3r tender feelings, there was no tenderloin in his body, 
and he hated woman as he hated sin. In November, 
he went to Florida ; and, as spring approached, gradu- 
ally moved northward, following the thermometer as his 
pole-star. 
Once a week, in the afternoon, he went out to the 
nearest groceiy to get weighed. This was an important 
event, as he had a perfect horror of out-door air. He 
put on a muffler, a double chest-protecter, took a final 
look at the barometer and the weather-vane, and then, 
pinning a pocket thermometer on his coat, so as to be 
informed of the slightest change in the temperature, 
sallied out. After being weighed with great care, he 
took out a pocket memorandum-book, and noted down 
the weight, so as to compare it with his weekly 
variations. An increase in weight of a few ounces 
would make him supremely happy. As his greatest 
wish was to grow fat, so he hoped the cod-liver oil 
would settle somewhere in his system, and form blubber. 
On his way home, he would occasionally remove his 
muffler, and smuggle in a few homoeopathic doses of 70 
REVELATIONS OE A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
pure air, as if it was contraband, provided Ms pocket 
thermometer indicated a degree higher; but, if the 
temperature became lower, he would hasten home, in 
great distress, and only breathe the air filtered through 
his woollen muffler. 
The eccentric man finally sent for me, through a 
recommendation from a mutual friend, who gave me 
the above details of his private life. I made a thorough 
examination of his lungs, and found them as sound as 
a nut. The natural, breezy sound of inspired air was 
heard all over his chest; but, on looking into his throat, 
I discovered an elongated, hanging palate, which, lying 
upon the base of the tongue, caused a constant tickling 
sensation, with a desire to cough. The frequent cough 
had induced dyspepsia, which had brought on hypo- 
chondria and emaciation, with loss of strength; and 
his hypochondria had brought out an eruption of— 
doctors, who cropped out all around him, and pro- 
nounced him in consumption. 
“ Your debility,” said I, “ arose from inaction, and 
has been kept up by too much medicine and over-heat- 
ing with clothes ; while your cough is kept up by your 
hanging palate, which is too long, and needs amputa- 
tion ; then, the cause being removed, you can easily 
get well.” 
Mr. Barebones looked at me with incredulity. He 
had been so accustomed to being told that he was in 
chronic, incurable consumption, that it had become a A NEW REMEDY FOR CONSUMPTION. 
71 
part of his confession of faith; hut then, he was always 
willing to follow any direction of his physician, and so 
consented that I should snip it off with scissors. He 
made a wry face, took a glass of brandy, and, remark- 
ing to his sister that his will was signed, and he had 
not forgotten her, told me to proceed. 
After its removal, I said to him, seriously: “Mr. 
Barebones, take no more medicine.” 
He rose to his feet in amazement. Medicine was the 
idol which he had set up and worshipped ; and here was 
an iconoclast destroying the sacred image of his 
idolatry. 
“Eat according to your appetite,” I pursued, without 
noticing the interruption, “and ride horseback two 
miles in the morning. The best thing for a consump- 
tive is to get into a saddle and stir-vp. A gallop- 
ing consumption is more easily cured than a slow 
one.” 
Mr. Barebones made a tremendous exclamation. He 
thought himself laughed at, and became indignant; but 
I merely continued, calmly: 
“ Throw away your thermometer, barometer, and the 
rest of your ometers, dress like a Christian, and, above 
all, get married. There is only one herb you need. 
You know your life has hitherto been bitter; take a 
sweet wife, and she will make hitter siveet for you.” 
Mr. Barebones now began to rave like a madman; 
but his feeble body was not equal to the excitement, 72 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
and he fell back on the sofa exhausted, I profited by 
this forced silence, and left the room. As I went out, 
I beckoned to his sister to follow me. She was un- 
willing to leave her invalid brother a moment, and was 
not satisfied with my prescription ; but, on my beckon- 
ing again, she slowly followed me down stairs, and I 
led her into the parlor and shut the door. She appeared 
a little frightened, as if she had some doubts of my 
sanity in having treated her consumptive brother in this 
unsparing manner. 
“Miss Barebones,” said I, as gently and kindly as 
possible, “ do you wish your brother restored to health 
and society ? ” 
“Why, yes, doctor, above all things,” she answered, 
after a little hesitation. 
‘ ‘ Do you know any young widow who would be a 
suitable person for his wife ? ” 
Miss Barebones got up, and deliberately opened a 
blind and the curtains, to see whether there was satire 
or serious intention on my face, and profited by the 
occasion to take a chair farther off and near the door. 
She even looked as if she wanted to call for assistance. 
I repeated my question. 
“Yes,” she finally and feebly said. 
“ Would you remain in bed two weeks to cure your 
brother? ” 
She half rose, and looked imploringly towards the 
door. I repeated my question. A NEW REMEDY FOR CONSUMPTION. 
73 
“ Certainly, if it could cure him,” with a great deal 
“Well, then, Miss Barebones, go to bed, and feign 
sickness for two weeks. Send for the young widow, 
and request her to be your nurse. After she is once 
here, tell her she is also to nurse your brother, and cheer 
him up as much as possible. I have sowed the seed in 
your brother’s mind this morning, and, if that widow 
knows her business, she and your brother will be 
married in two weeks, or there is no hope for him.” 
stress on the word ‘ ‘ if.” 
The sister, who, at first, was opposed to my proposi- 
tion, now became amused at my singular requirements, 
and finally entered into the plot. She sent for the 
widow, who was an intimate friend of hers, and easily 
persuaded her to undertake the nursing. I called in, 
after a few days, and saw Mrs. Smartweed, the young 
widow, who was lively in disposition and attractive in 
person. She was getting tired of her straitened circum- 
stances ; tired of her weeds ; tired of a cold bed ; tired 
of only one plate at table ; tired of her seclusion from 
the fashionable world; tired of having no one to tell 
her mind to when she had a mind to; tired of the 
pity of the pitying world; tired of everything but the 
desire of conquest. She therefore considered it as the 
act of a kind Providence that she was thus accidentally 
thrown upon the desolate island of poor Mr. Barebones. 
She had seen him before, knew what he was worth, and 
pitied his fortune immensely; or, rather (as pity is 74 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
akin to love), she loved his fortune and pitied the man. 
With this state of mind, she was a very fit person to 
undertake the cure of the patient, and at once pro- 
ceeded, methodically, to carry out her benevolent 
intentions. 
On the other hand, Mr. Barebones, when he found he 
must be deprived of his sister’s tender solicitude and 
care, and be waited upon by a comparative stranger, to 
whom he had an aversion, as to all women, determined 
to wait upon himself, and diminish his wants. But 
when he, with a side-glance, saw the pert widow look 
so sweet, so healthy, so fresh, so neat, he felt something 
he never felt before; something between shyness and 
longing; an unexplainable uneasiness, and a desire to 
get out of. the way, and remain, at the same time. He 
did not have the courage to ask her to examine his 
ometers; he felt ashamed to call for his third-hour 
balsam and his cod-liver oil while she was there. 
The third day after Mrs. Smartweed’s arrival, he 
ordered a hack, and, returning with a new suit of 
clothes and his hair cut, made a very respectable figure. 
The sister now began to complain, maliciously, that 
her nurse neglected her too much, and wanted to know 
if her brother was worse. Mrs. Smartweed colored, 
and said “ no,” but that she was trying to keep up his 
spirits, as she had been directed. 
In a week, not a bottle was to be seen in the sick- 
room but cologne-water and jockey club ; the books on 75 
A NEW REMEDY FOR CONSUMPTION. 
consumption were shut up in the library, and a volume 
of Tom Hood and ‘ ‘ Pickwick Papers ” were seen on 
the reading-table. Mrs. Smartweed’s name was written, 
in a dainty hand, on the fly-leaf, and she had begged the 
invalid to read the books for her sake, just to cheer 
him up. He took them, and said he would read them, 
for her sake ; but it was noticed by the widow that he 
spent more time reading that simple autograph on the 
fly-leaf than the contents of the book. 
In two weeks, Miss Barebones sat up, and said, she 
felt able to see her brother, for the first time. He was 
sent for, and briskly entered, fashionably dressed and 
perfumed, a smile on his lips and a little color in his 
cheeks. 
“ Why, brother,” quizzed the artful one, “ how comes 
this wonderful change ? ” 
“ I have been trying a new remcd}T, which is going 
to cure me,” said he, with a bright look and a little 
interesting embarrassment. 
“ And what is that miraculous medicine?” 
“Oh, I’ve left off apothecaries’ herbs and taken 
widows’ weeds.” 76 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER X. 
THE SECRET OP THE GARRET. 
“At last I am on the track,” soliloquized Mrs. 
Popinjay, as the postman gave her a letter addressed 
to her husband in the unmistakable female handwrit- 
ing. “ For the last week he has not been himself. 
As soon as he gets home he hurries up into the garret, 
locks the door and stays there alone, except when he is 
sleeping or eating. What in the world he can be doing 
among those spider-webs and rubbish I can’t imagine. 
And then again he goes out for an hour or two every 
evening, a thing he never did without me since we 
were married. To cap the climax, here is a letter to 
him in a lady’s hand, and I’m going to know who my 
lady gay is. Unless I’m mistaken she will find herself 
in a hornet’s nest.” 
The tear which had come to her eye when she thought 
of the ten years of happy married life was spitefully 
wiped away with her apron, and sitting down on the 
entry stairway, she, without any compunctions of con- 
science, tore open the envelope and deliberately de- 
voured its contents, as follows : THE SECRET OF THE GARRET. 
77 
My Darling : How unutterably long is the time 
that we have been separated! How miserable lam in 
your absence ! Every hour, every minute is a burden 
to me and I know that 3 011 are as unhappy as m}'self. 
I try eveiy possible device —books, crochet, a walk 
nothing can give me any pleasure except looking at 
your dear features in your photograph, and judging by 
that happiness I send }-ou mine to keep until you are 
restored to me. How long are we to be condemned to 
this miser}' ? When shall }'ou be released from }’our 
bondage? But I cannot write. My tears are the ink 
I am writing with, and I wait with impatience to be 
clasped again in }rour arms. 
Lovingly, 
Alice. 
“That’s lofty,” commented Mrs. Popinjay, sarcasti- 
cally. “ Poor thing, she has a hard time waiting, but I 
think she’ll have to wait longer than she imagines. 
And so this is the Alice that is pining for Mr. Popin- 
jay; ” and she picked up and attentively scanned the 
photograph that dropped out of the envelope. “A 
little wizzen, with shagg}T hair like a poodle, cj'es full 
of satanic mischief with eyelashes like Italian awnings, 
a pert look and full of conceit. I wonder how man}- 
times Mr. Popinja}r has kissed those impudent lips and 
wound his arm round that wasp-like waist. She 
seems to sa}', I defy }rou ; but she has got the wrong 
customer to deal with.” 
In the midst of this declaration of war, and while her 
blood was rising up to the boiling-point, Mr. Popinjay 78 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
came in with a friendly nod and salutation of affection, 
and was about to hurry up stairs, when he was stopped 
by his irate spouse. 
“It’s a pretty name, isn’t it, Mr. Popinjay?” 
“ What name,” he asked, quietly. 
“Alice ! ” she hissed. 
“ Alice ! What Alice are you talking about?” 
“ That won’t do, Mr. Popinjay. Old birds are not 
to be caught with chaff, so you need not try your 
chaffing at me.” 
“ You speak in riddles, Sarah.” 
“ No, I don’t speak in riddles, Mr. Popinjay. A 
sweet billet-doux from Alice, with her photograph in- 
cluded and directed to you, fell into my hands and I 
took the liberty of reading it. You can have the letter 
if you wish, and Alice into the bargain, if you wish to 
be relieved from bondage and domestic unhappiness.” 
The accused took the letter and portrait with a 
trembling hand, glanced at them, turned pale, and 
finally said, as he put them into his pocket: 
“I know, Sadie, appearances are against me; but 
you have no cause on my part to be jealous. You 
ought to know better. We have lived happily, like 
lovers, for ten years. I have nothing to complain of, 
and love you as dearly as ever.” 
“ Yes, in partnership,” said she, 
“ No, Sadie ; I love you and you only.” 
“False, faithless, truthless man, do }tou suppose I THE SECRET OF THE GARRET. 
79 
am a natural-born fool? Is there more than one in- 
terpretation of a letter like that? You could not say 
the first word to redeem yourself.” She hesitated a 
moment, and her womanly curiosity getting the upper 
hand, added, “ Could you?” 
“Yes, Sadie, I could exonerate myself; but at 
present it is impossible for me to speak. Call it secret 
if you will. I must keep it, for you are 
given to loud whispering. A thing whispered into one 
ear is heard all over the whole town. A woman’s ear 
appears to be a telephone whisper a secret in it and 
it is conveyed like lightning to all the stations on her 
circuit.” 
He then went up-stairs with a heavy heart, and she, 
at length, overcome by anger, jealousy and unsatisfied 
curiosity, sat down and had a good cry. 
It was said by one of the ancients, that jealousy pro- 
ceeds from too much love. There appear to be two 
kinds of jealousy,— a laudable jealousy, proceeding from 
deep and sincere love which desires that the same love 
shall be returned in kind, and be evidenced by actions 
more than words ; a despicable jealousy, which is only 
another word for selfishness, as when a husband wishes 
to get every enjoyment out of life and yet is unwilling 
to share with his wife, and unwilling that she should 
reap any enjoyment unless he is a partner in it like- 
wise. The former is reluctant to let the loved object 
be a cynosure of other admiring eyes because he wants 80 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
all those charms to enjoy himself. The latter, like the 
dog in the manger, neither appreciates his wife’s blan- 
dishments nor will allow others to do so. In the 
present case we will concede the former to be the 
jealousy of Mrs. Popinjay. She was jealous of her 
husband because she loved him, and would have him 
all to herself, for all her happiness was in him. 
A day or two after the above family jar, Mrs. Popin- 
jay sat in her chamber reading and watching. It was 
midnight, and still her husband did not return. This 
was something unprecedented. She felt that she was 
neglected, abandoned and derided for the sake of the 
satanic Alice. She finally hurled her book to the floor, 
wiped her red eyes, and then throwing herself on the 
bed was soon fast .asleep. Her next act of conscious- 
ness was hearing the front door shut. She listened, 
and in the dead silence thought she heard a voice, and 
straining her ears became certain it was a woman’s 
voice followed by her husband’s in suppressed tones. 
Her first impulse was to seize some weapon and rush at 
the false one ; her second thought was to remain quiet 
and wait the sequel. She heard the pair go up-stairs 
and occasionally utter “hush,” and finally enter the 
garret and lock the door. 
“ Now I have him in the trap,” thought she, “ and 
let not excitement get the better of discretion. I must 
have witnesses; ” and putting on her waterproof, she THE SECRET OF THE GARRET. 
81 
sallied out 101 a night policeman on her street, to whom 
she related an outline of her story, and requested him to 
accomparry her and catch the knave in flagrante delicto. 
They carefully went up, armed with an axe, and at 
her request he gave a tremendous blow against the 
door, which immediately gave way, and the two entered 
the mysterious garret. 
An old-fashioned garret is a curious place to visit. 
It brings back reminiscences of many scenes and ancient 
customs. It is there that our childhood loved to play 
and sit and ponder over the quaint objects with which 
it is encumbered. There is grandfather’s straight- 
backed chair, where he used to sit and tell the stories 
of the redskins and redcoats. There is grandmother’s 
spinning-wheel, on which the wool of a thousand sheep 
have been spun to the tune of its cheerful hum. There 
is the huge black-covered family Bible (with the family 
record in it) , which was read every morning and evening, 
and was always new and comforting. There is an in- 
complete blue tea-set of a hundred years ago, which 
used to adorn the tidied kitchen when the worthy 
pastor or squire called. There too is a pair of brass 
andirons which looked like gold when the crackling 
logs sent up a living flame in which were miniature sky- 
rockets of bursting sparks. There is a broken musket 
which had killed many an Indian, many a bear and 
many a redcoat, according to grandfather’s delightful 
tales. There is a monstrous bass-viol which had been 82 
REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
the wonder and admiration of the little church in which 
it was played every Sunday. These objects, tapestried 
with cobwebs and upholstered with dust, with heaps of 
moth-eaten old clothes and old papers, formed the 
furniture of this old gable garret. 
To the astonishment of the intruders there were three 
persons in the garret. The unknown lady was sitting 
on the knees and clasped in the arms of a stranger who 
was occupying the old arm-chair, while Mr. Popinjay, 
with his handkerchief to his eyes, was sitting on an old 
drum. 
There was an outburst of silence on both sides. 
Mrs. Popinjay felt as if she, like the cuckoo, had got 
into the wrong nest, and the policeman’s eyes started 
from their orbits. He turned a fierce glance at Mrs. 
Popinjay, and said, harshly: “ A pretty mess you’ve 
got me into.” 
“Mr. Popinjay,” said she, without noticing the 
patrolman, “what does all this mean? I thought you 
were bringing a lady with you up here, and I was 
indignant.” 
“ I will explain all if you will first attend the police- 
man to the door, as his services are no longer wanted,” 
said her husband, in a severe and mortified tone. “ I 
had hoped,” he continued, after his wife had returned 
again to the garret, “ to keep this secret a few daj’s 
more; but as your jealousy has carried you to this 
extent, I must tell you the whole story. “This gentle- 83 
THE SECRET OF THE GARRET. 
man is my friend, Mr. Scratclict, and this lady, his 
wife, is Alice Scratchet.” 
Mrs. Popinjay bowed and looked humiliated. 
“My friend Scratchet,” pursued the narrator, “ had 
the misfortune to have trouble with a good-for-nothing 
upstart named Brigley, and after some altercation, this 
jackanapes called my friend a liar. The result of this 
was a challenge and a duel, in which my friend was 
unfortunate enough to shoot Brigley, who is now lying 
in a dangerous condition. Of course a warrant for 
Scratchet’s arrest was issued, and I offered him an 
asylum until the vagabond’s life or death was known. 
This was a secure place and I brought him here one 
night, and I did not deem it prudent to let you into the 
secret, because I am so well acquainted with the un- 
fortunate weakness of your tongue. I came up here 
daily to bring his food, comfort him and communicate 
bulletins of the wounded man. The letter was written 
by Mrs. Scratchet to him, and addressed to me, to avoid 
detection, and now, to-night, his anxious wife, unable 
longer to bear the absence from her husband in his 
suspense, obtained my consent to visit the prisoner at 
night.” 
Mrs. Popinjay threw herself into her husband’s arms, 
asked forgiveness and expressed sympathy for the 
duellist; and last, and best of all, seized by the hand 
the faithful Alice and begged her friendship. 
“ I find,” said Mr. Popinjay, jocosely, “ that the old 84 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
adage applies to me but not to Scratcbet: if you do well 
you need fear no consequences.” 
The wounded duellist had fallen in my hands by the 
merest accident. I was passing my vacation in the 
town where the combat took place, and was strolling 
the woods, when the report of firearms brought me to 
the spot. I stated my name and offered my services, 
and as the parties had no surgeon, they were accepted. 
I had the wounded man removed to the county inn, and 
taken care of. I was fortunate enough to remove the 
bullet, which lodged in the humerus of the left arm. 
Mr. Popinjay came down from town every day or two 
to get my bulletins, and I telegraphed when he did not 
come. The only onto ward complication was erysipelas, 
which terminated favorably, and the man made a good 
recovery. After the affair was all over, Popinjay re- 
lated to me both what he knew himself, and what his 
wife had told him about the details of the curious 
circumstances which had well-nigh broken up a happy 
home. THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON’S FATHER. 
85 
CHAPTER XL 
THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON’S FATHER. 
A physician is often put off his guard by the delib- 
erate intention to deceive on the part of the patient. 
I once heard Prof. Nelaton, of Paris, say, that the 
statement of a patient must always be taken with a 
great deal of allowance, as they often have a secret 
reason for pretending sickness, or a mania for mislead- 
ing their medical attendant. I remember an instance 
of considerable confusion, arising from an attempt to 
cover up some wickedness by imposing on a physician. 
Guy Totters was a young man too smart for a fool, 
not smart enough for a sensible man ; but, rather, like a 
quack’s prescriptions a mixture of good intentions 
and bad results. He was constantly indulging in good 
resolutions; but this was mere theoretical work, for, 
practically, he never did anything right, moral, or good. 
He was a prodigal son ; but, unlike the renowned one 
of old, he did not wander away into strange lands, but 
stayed at home to do his rioting ; and so faithfully did 
he do it, that his father, disgusted, annoyed, dis- 
couraged and heart-broken, decided to go off into 
distant lands to get rid of maintaining his vagabond 86 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
son, and of the annoyance of his conduct. The old 
gentleman joined a party of Western emigrants, and 
left, in his son’s charge, his modest house, with its 
furniture, as this son was the only surviving member of 
his family. Young Totters rioted now worse than ever. 
He mortgaged the furniture, and finally sold it; then 
mortgaged the house, on the supposition that his father 
was dead, and finahy sold that. 
After many, years, his father finally returned home, 
having previously written to his son to meet him at the 
depot on his arrival. The happy father, forgetful of 
the past, embraced his son, imagined he saw regener- 
ation in his face, and rejoiced in the prospect of settling 
down in his old home with his dutiful and reformed son. 
The son, however, had very different feelings ; he was 
torturing himself with thoughts of how he could make 
known to his father that all was gone and he was a 
villain. As he looked into the beaming face of the old 
man, his heart sank, and he determined to use some 
stratagem, at least, to postpone an explanation of the 
true state of affairs. 
At the old gentleman’s suggestion that he was in a 
hurry to see again his old homestead, his sou, with a 
sudden thought, remarked: 
“I don’t think we had better go home now, for I 
have let the house, and the tenant, a lady, who has 
lately become crazy, imagines she owns the house, and 
talks all kinds of nonsense.” THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON’S FATHER. 
87 
“I am all the more anxious to go, so as to warn her 
out, and look out for my furniture,” returned the old 
miner, bristling up and setting off. 
Guy’s importunities being in vain, he observed, 
unconcernedly,— 
“ I guess I’ll run ahead, while you rest a moment, 
and inform the lady of your coming, so as not to 
frighten her, and bring out one of her terrible attacks 
of raving. You would sooner face a lioness than face 
her.” With these words he left his father, and hastened 
on and called upon the lady to whom he had sold the 
house. 
“Mrs. Bowes, said he, out of breath, and with great 
trepidation, “ my father, whom I supposed to be dead, 
has just returned home insane. He thinks he still 
owns the house, although he gave it to me prior to his 
departure ; but he talks at random, and you mustn’t 
mind what he says. Just side in with him, and all will 
go well. If you oppose him, you would sooner face a 
lion than face him. I shall ship him off to the asylum 
in a few days.” 
By this time Mr. Totters senior arrived. He kept a 
safe distance from the door, and eyed Mrs. Bowes 
curiously. He evidently did not feel as courageous 
as he had promised to be, but still he stood his 
ground. 
“lam Mr. Totters, the owner of this house,” said 
he, timidly, bowing to Mrs. Bowes. “ I have come to 88 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
take possession and give you notice to quit at once, as 
I wish to occupy it.” 
“Well, Mr. Totters,” retorted the lady,—who had 
likewise looked at her antagonist with a suspicious eye, 
expecting every moment to see him fly at her,— “ well, 
Mr. Totters, there must be two owners then, as this is 
my house, and I do not propose to get out nor to allow 
you to come in.” 
“ But }tou will have to, Mrs. Bowses.” 
“But I won’t, Mr. Totters.” 
“Don’t you think, Mrs. Bowes, yon had better go to 
some hospital, until your head is better ? ” 
“ Go to the hospital yourself, Mr. Totters, until your 
head gets level enough not to come here and endeavor 
to domineer over other people’s property.” 
At this Mr. Totters took his son aside, and whispered 
to him: 
“ Go, Guy, and get a physician at once, and we will 
get her off to the asylum.” 
During this time, Mrs. Bowes whispered to her 
daughter: 
“ Lucy, go for Dr. Crane, immediately, and he will 
make out a certificate of insanity of Mr. Totters, and 
we will get rid of him in that way.” 
The two messengers started off in different directions, 
but poor Guy was in a state of terrible excitement as 
to how he should get out of the scrape. He concluded 
he would call a physician and trust the good fortune THE RERURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON’S FATHER. 
89 
which had always befriended him. He accordingly 
called upon me, and stated that an insane woman was 
causing great trouble in his father’s house by claiming 
it as hers, and making great disturbance, and desired 
me to go with him and make out the papers for her 
removal. lat once went with the young man, and was 
introduced to Mrs. Bowes, whom I found in a great 
state of excitement. I began carefully by stating that 
her friend, feeling anxious about her health, had sent 
for me to see her, and relieve her if possible. 
“ I believe you do not feel well, Mrs. Bowes,” said I. 
“ Indeed I do,” she replied, stiffly. 
“ I mean your head troubles you; you feel confused 
and dizzy, and your memory is gone.” 
“Nothing of the sort, sir; my memory is good 
enough, and my head is all right. lam not in need 
of your services.” 
I felt a little staggered, but pursued: 
“ But perhaps you are low-spirited, and feel as if you 
wanted to make way with yourself or somebody else.” 
“I felt well enough until a crazy gentleman came 
here and pretended to own my house, and he nearly 
drove me distracted. I can show you my deed of the 
premises ; ” and she produced it, which I found to be 
correct. 
B}T this time, my friend Dr. Crane had arrived, to 
whom I related the state of things, when he remarked 
that I had made a mistake in the person, as he had 90 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
been sent for to examine a certain Mr. Totters, a 
raving maniac. 
I could do no otherwise than assent to his views, and 
we proceeded to interview the old gentleman, who was 
walking back and forth and talking to himself in an 
excited manner. 
“How long have you been troubled in your mind, 
Mr. Totters ? ” asked Dr. Crane. 
Mr. Totters stood still, brushed his hand across his 
forehead, as if to settle his thoughts, and stared at the 
doctor a moment, and then answered, excitedly: 
“ Troubled in my mind! I’ve been troubled all my 
lifetime, sir; I have a son who has been my ruin, and 
now a crazy woman has nearly upset me.” 
“A common thing,” whispered Dr. Crane to me, 
‘; that insane people imagine some one is persecuting 
them.” 
“ Did you ever feel, Mr. Totters,” continued the 
doctor, ‘ ‘ that life was a burden that you wanted to get 
rid of? Have you never tried to jump out of a window, 
or press jTour razor into the jugular in shaving, or tried 
to suspend yourself with a clothes-line, or made a 
target of your heart with a pistol ? ” 
“ Well, sir,” slowly said the old gentleman, “ I have 
been tired of other people a great many times, and have 
sometimes felt as if I would like to make way with the 
wickedest of them ; but I never yet was tired of myself.” 
The doctor looked at me triumphantly. THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON’S FATHER. 
91 
“ Do you ever feel confused in 3'our head, or at a 
loss for words to express yourself? ” 
“No, sir, I never felt confused until I came here 
to-day and found a woman occupying my house, and 
calling it hers. They say she is insane.” 
Dr. Crane looked at me, and I looked at him, in 
bewilderment. We retired together to talk over the 
case, and were soon rejoined by the mischief-making 
young scamp, who made a clean breast of the matter, 
and related the history of his transactions from the 
beginning. He had seen his father’s name in an 
obituary notice, and, on the strength of that, had sold 
the house. He seemed very penitent, and promised to 
turn over a new leaf; but whether he meant to turn 
over a new leaf of his deviltry or a new leaf of a better 
life was not made very clear to me. 
Dr. Crane and m3’self now came back to the bewil- 
dered pair, and we frankty told them the story of the 
mischief, and advised them to consult a law3’er to dis- 
entangle the web. We learned that the 
old gentleman took the conciliating plan of uniting the 
rival claims by marriage with Mrs. Bowes, and saving 
the expense of a lawsuit. 92 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER XII. 
THE FATAL HANDKERCHIEF. 
On my arrival at Paris to pursue my medical studies, 
in 1864, my first point was to look for suituable lodg- 
ings, which, after much searching, I found in the fourth 
story of a furnished hotel in the Ancienne Comedie, a 
street in the Latin quarter, as it is called. The Latin 
quarter is that part of Paris immediately surrounding 
the medical school, and made notorious by the presence 
and eccentric customs of a thousand medical students. 
It is so different from the rest of Paris, that it is 
almost a city within a city. The students, coming as 
they do from every country in Europe, speak every 
known language, observe every foreign custom ; and 
though they study the most serious of professions, 
manifest the rapid flash of passions and pleasure which 
belongs to youth. 
Notwithstanding I was in the gayest metropolis in 
the world, with everything around me to allure and 
captivate, with everything to draw me out of myself 
and dazzle me with the ever-moving panorama before 
my eyes, I became afflicted with that wretched disease, 
homesickness. A bustling crowd is not society, the THE FATAL HANDKERCHIEF. 
93 
merry laugh of strangers is not a solace if a man is a 
stranger in a strange land; the more people he sees the 
more he feels his isolated position, the more he sighs 
for only one heart to pour out all he feels and sees. A 
venerable head to which I had been accustomed to look 
for counsel would rise up in my mind, like Fingal from 
the mists, and younger hearts with sunny hair and 
loved voices would appear in the background. I spoke 
French, but imperfectly; I had no acquaintances; I 
stood alone in the midst of three million people. 
My landlord, M. De Brion, noticing my despond- 
ency, introduced me to a young girl named Marie, who 
lived on the same floor as nyself, and who earned her 
living by sewing shoes. She was about eighteen, full 
of vivachy, the caprice, the thoughtlessness, the pas- 
sions which mark French grisettes or shop-girls. She 
at once became interested in my welfare, aided me in 
my study of French, sang away m 3" melancholy, and 
gave me vivacious commentaries on all my experiences 
in the great city. Marie had a lover, likewise a medi- 
cal student, named Emil Pozzi, to whom she was very 
devoted, and who apparently was equally so to her. I 
noticed, soon, that he did not look with a kindly C}’e on 
my visits to Marie, and was evidently jealous of me, 
although I endeavored to visit her only in his presence. 
She was my only substitute for home, with all its life, 
and I was grateful to her for it, and esteemed her for her 
virtue and purity, which shone in eveiy word and act. 94 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
One day as I was reading Gray’s Anatomy in my 
room, I heard loud voices in the adjacent one, and soon 
Pozzi, without waiting to knock, bounded in, and 
exhibiting a handkerchief and pointing to my initials 
upon it, cried,— 
“ Whose is this?” 
“ It is mine,” I replied. 
4 ‘ And how came it in Marie’s chamber ? ” 
“ That I do not know,” I returned. 
By this time, Marie, attracted by the loud voices, 
had followed him, and with tears and entreaties 
asserted her innocence and ignorance of the fatal hand- 
kerchief. They then returned to her room, where the 
altercation continued for a long time, but finally ceased 
by his leaving the house, at the suggestion of the land- 
lord, who was passing by. In the evening I heard 
groans in her room, but on knocking heard no reply. 
I called up the landlord, who unlocked the door and 
found poor Marie stretched upon the floor, insensible 
and suffering. On her table was a tumbler, in which 
was a bunch of wet matches. I knew then what it all 
meant. It is a common method of suicide in Paris to 
soak matches in water and then drink it. Marie was 
of a very excitable temperament, and unreasonable in 
her caprices, and in the insanity of a lover’s quarrel 
had taken the phosphorus water. Her breath had a 
garlic odor, and when she vomited the vomita were 
luminous and phosphorescent, as if she were breathing THE FATAL HANDKERCHIEF. 
95 
out lurid flames. I recommended her to be taken to the 
hospital of Hotel Dieu, and an ambulance was at once 
sent for. The poor girl answered no questions, but kept 
her hand pressed over her stomach, and moaned. While 
we were preparing to get her removed, Pozzi came plung- 
ing into the room, and gazed at her with a look, half 
of disdain and half of tender emotion; but said noth- 
ing, Presently, in came Finette, her little black-and- 
tan dog, and happening to look at it, I saw one of my 
handkerchiefs in its mouth. It had been accustomed to 
run in and out of my room at will. 
“ There, sir,” said I, to the young student, “ there 
is the cause of all this mischief; there is the one that 
brought in here, unknown to myself, my handkerchief; 
and all this misery is brought about by so trifling a 
cause.” 
The young man looked at Finette, then at Marie, 
and with a groan rushed from the room. 
If you sink a pole in water, the part beneath the 
surface seems bent; and we are too apt to believe it is 
so, and take it for granted, because it looks so. The 
most miserable, the most deceitful habit in life is 
taking things for granted. In trifling, as well as 
important acts, the slothful reliance on circumstantial 
evidence recoils on one’s self. The whole structure 
which jealousy builds up is generally founded on the 
sandy foundation of trifles thin as air. In our eager- 
ness to leap to conclusions we, like Laodamia, believe a 
shadow and embrace a delusive phantom. 96 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
Marie was conveyed to the service of Prof. Grisolle, 
who did everything in his power for her. All my 
leisure time I passed at her bedside endeavoring to 
alleviate her sufferings. She became jaundiced, her 
pulse beat thready, she began to vomit dark blood, 
and gradually sank into convulsions and died. The 
only words she spoke during her two weeks’ sickness 
were “Emil Pozzi,” uttered faintly, and at long inter- 
vals. 
I was very much affected at this tragical affair. I 
had been the innocent cause of the most appalling 
misery and death. What could I do? I could do 
nothing but lament over her untimely fate. But I felt 
that I must distract myself. I must find some way of 
lifting the pall that was settling over me. And experi- 
ence has taught me that the best consoler after losses, 
the best reviver from mental trouble, the best confidant 
in distress, is work. If a man who has lost either 
friend or fortune, instead of settling down in gloom 
and discouragement, would again begin to work, he 
would find it the best comforter and best substitute for 
the dead, and the surest means to the resurrection of 
his lost fortune. Words of sympathy in bereavement 
bring nothing back again, and leave the heart as heavy 
as before ; but work lifts the curtain that was shutting 
out the vista of the future. 
I decided, therefore, to begin my dissections in the 
ecole pratique or students’ dissecting-room. Equipped THE FATAL HANDKERCHIEF. 
97 
•with 1113’ blouse, 1113" case of instruments, and GiTiy’s 
Anatomy, I for the first time entered the room and 
called for the prosector, or demonstrator of anatomy. 
The room was about twenty feet by thirty; at each 
end was a grim and white skeleton suspended within a 
wire casing, as if it had been a wild animal in its cage. 
On the walls were large anatomical plates, exhibiting 
the most important sections of the bod3r. There were 
about fifteen tables, and on each a dead bod3T, around 
which were four busy students, one to each limb. 
These students, wearing scarlet caps with tassels, and 
haying cigarettes in their mouths, were of nation, 
and of that jo3’ous age when trouble is quickly forgot- 
ten or ignored. Although laughing and jesting, they 
were diligent and enthusiastic in their work. I was 
riveted to the spot; a charnel-house smell almost 
stopped m3’ breath, and I gazed speechless at the mys- 
teries which were unfolding themselves under the 
scalpel of those dissectors. What before was a brain, 
bubbling with thought, was now a round heap of fatt3r 
convolutions with veins creeping around them in ser- 
pentine meanderings. An arm that once was round 
and beautiful, or strong to wield a sledge-hammer, -was 
here so opened that 3’ou could see the red muscles tying 
side b3’ side powerless forever. Within the chest 3’ou 
could see the cold heart that once moved in rliythm, the 
very poetiy of movement, now tying open and 3’awning 
with its bloodless cavities. What was wanting to set 98 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN 
chis machine in motion ? It was something that could 
not be dissected nor explored; it was intangible, im- 
mortal force called soul. 
I finalty was roused from my reverie by the demon- 
strator, who asked me for my student’s card, and then 
took me to an empty table, on which in a few moments 
the porters laid a new body. 
“ That’s Pozzi’s Marie,” said a student beside me. 
I looked up and saw the frozen body of the unfortu- 
nate girl. Poor little Marie ! willing to die because 
her lover said he loved her no longer. But could she 
have died if she had known what was to happen to her 
body? Would they not let her have that long, long 
rest that she wanted ? Denied a few feet of earth to 
shelter her desecrated body, denied the tears of father 
and mother at the last resting-place, denied the Chris- 
tian services of a simple burial, denied the footsteps 
of the few that would have witnessed her earth to 
earth, there she lay, beautiful in death, exposed to the 
gloating glances of wanton men, exposed to the mutila- 
tion of unfeeling hands. Poor Marie, have you come 
to this ? 
As I stood gazing at the still beautiful features, 
another student came forward. It was Emil Pozzi, her 
lover. When he saw me, his face darkened, his eyes 
flashed, and he said in sneering tones,— 
“ There, take your Marie now! ” 
I made no reply, but pointed to the left arm of 99 
THE FATAL HANDKERCHIEF. 
the corpse, on which, above the elbow, was tattooed 
the words, “ I swear to love Emil Pozzi until death.” 
He started, and fixed his glaring eyes on the arm, 
then bending down imprinted a kiss on her profaned 
lips, and fled from the room. 
I could not plunge my scalpel into that form. Those 
tattooed words in .red ink seemed like links of burning 
coals, and made me shudder. In the height of her 
love and enthusiasm Marie wished the oath of love to 
be always staring her in the face. I felt awe in the 
presence of the dead. To anatomize the body which 
once was the delight of many, seemed sacrilege. The 
soul which once animated this statue carved in flesh, the 
wit which flowed from those lips, the voice which once 
thrilled every listening ear, were hushed forever; but 
still the remains which could not defend themselves 
from the knife filled me with a dread solemnity. A 
fellow student boldly plunged in his scalpel and began 
to uncover the long muscles. With the excuse that I 
preferred to dissect at home, I begged my comrade to 
disjoint the left arm, allotted to me, and I would carry 
it home. He did so, and I bore away the fearful bundle 
to my room. My first intentions were not clear, even 
to myself, but I wished to save from desecration all I 
could of the body. feut what could Ido with my arm? 
I was not superstitious ; but the presence of that arm, 
with its red tattooed letters, in my room at night, made 
me uneasy. I tried a cigar, a book, a glass of wine, 100 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
but in vain. At length the air of the room seemed 
stifling, and I went out and strolled at random until 
midnight, when I returned with the determination to 
preserve the arm until the rest of the body was fully 
dissected, and then, procuring the bones from my fellow 
students, give them a decent burial. I shuddered as I 
entered. I could not go to bed with that ghastly arm 
in my room ; but with a sudden thought I took up the 
bundle and carried it to a little closet I had seen, open- 
ing into the corridor, and laid it upon an upper shelf. 
The following day I went to the dissecting-rooms and 
made arrangements with the students at my table to 
have the bones as they were ready. In about a week or 
ten days the bones were ready for me, and when night 
came I went to the closet for the arm, reached up for 
the package, put it under my cloak and was about to 
go, when a policeman tapped me on the shoulder, who, 
concealed in an opposite room, had been waiting to see 
who should come for the package. Without any cere- 
mony or conversation he took me to the Conciergerie 
or station, and kept me until morning, and had an inter- 
view with Pietri, chief of the police. I found out that 
a woman had been murdered a few days before in some 
part of Paris, and her body had disappeared. The 
odor of decay of the arm had attracted the attention 
of the landlord, who, on opening the bundle and dis- 
covering the arm, had informed Pietri. Although 
medical students keep a skeleton, they never have THE FATAL HANDKERCHIEF. 
101 
entire sections of the body, and therefore this was an 
unusual and suspicious case. 
I produced my medical card and related the circum- 
stances of my obtaining the arm, which, on examina- 
tion, were verified, and I was set at liberty. 
I had the remains put into a box and taken to Meu- 
don, a little village near Paris, where I had often been 
for recreation, and got a laborer to dig a grave under a 
favorite tree of the forest near the village, and laid the 
box in it. Poor Marie ! I was the only mourner; but I 
felt a sincere satisfaction in laying away those remains, 
and I believed I had done all in my power to make 
compensation for the tragedy of the fatal but innocent 
handkerchief. 102 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER XIII. 
THE MAN WHO DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO BE SICK. 
Mr. Daddy was a chubby little man, with a large 
face and a stubby blunt nose perforated with huge 
nostrils, and, having a nasal catarrh, had acquired a 
habit of snuffing up ; and so powerful was the suction 
that one felt uncertain whether he ate like other people 
or suutfed up his drink like an elephant. When he was 
not snuffing up he was sneezing. Whether the sneez- 
ing was owing to a morbid sensitiveness of the Schnei- 
derian membrane of the nose, or an effect of the 
catarrh, or whether it had become a habit, the result 
W'as the same, and he all day long was making the 
same noise as a steam-engine just getting under way 
Cheeough ! Cheeough! Cheeough! Ke-chu ! He had 
never been sick, and never had a doctor in his life ; but 
now was taken with quinsy and severe cold in his 
head, and sneezed worse than ever; in fact, he was up 
to his knees in trouble. 
Mr. Daddy was a single gentleman, as far as a wife 
was concerned, but had a double in the shape of an 
intimate friend, named Popp, who occupied the same 
apartments. Popp was a thin man, with a dash of THE MAN WHO DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO BE SICK. 
103 
baldness on his head, but a holder dash in it; for, with the 
best intentions, he was always uttering the most stupid 
remarks, getting into trouble from his innocence and 
want of practical knowledge; but, withal, he was very 
devoted to his friend Daddy. In the present emer- 
gency Popp voluntarily offered his services as nurse, 
and proceeded to enter upon its duties. His first move 
was to go and get a bottle of Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral, 
a bottle of Schenck’s Pulmonic Syrup, and Nature’s 
Universal Catarrh Remedy. He felt proud of his 
position of nurse, and determined his friend should not 
die for want of care. He accordingly administered these 
remedies, one after the other, in promiscuous confusion, 
until there appeared to be something brewing or ferment- 
ing in poor Daddy’s stomach, or rather an intestine tear 
of opposing elements. Having now set the medicines 
in active circulation, Popp went out and ordered in a 
most epicurean dinner of fowl, roast meat, vegetables, 
and ale. “There,” thought he, “if that does not 
tempt his appetite, nothing can.” Popp evidently 
meant well enough, but the very sight of food made 
Daddy sicker than ever, and the smell of it made him 
start his engine Cheeough ! Cheeough ! Cheeough ! 
Ke-chu! Ke-choo-oo! The more he did the more 
Daddy complained, and, beginning to feel discouraged, 
he thought of his flute, which had always awakened 
such response in the soul of his friend Daddy. His 
flute was made of horn, and he used to call it, jocosely, 104 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
his hornpipe ; hut by the way he blew, and the breeze 
he set up in his blowing, he ought to have called it his 
windpipe. He pursed up his lips and polkaed his 
fingers over the holes, and blew as if he was blowing 
out an obstinate candle. He started off with “ Money 
Musk” and “Life let us Cherish,” dodged off into 
“ Billy Barlow,” and wound up with “Polly Hopkins,” 
and at the end of each asked, in triumphant tones,— 
Poor Daddy made a wry face and shook his head, 
but could only articulate Cheeough ! Cheeough ! Chee- 
ough! Ke-chu ! Ke-choo-oo ! At length, Popp being 
really frightened, and being at his wit’s end (if there 
was ever any beginning of it), held a council of war 
with the patient, in which it was determined to send for 
a physician, and I was accordingly summoned. 
“ There, doesn’t your throat feel better now? ” 
Mr. Daddy sat in an arm-chair, with night-cap and 
dressing-gown on, and his feet plunged in a pail of hot 
water. His throat was swaddled in flannel, soaked in 
vinegar, and his neck had soaked in it till it had a 
pickled look. I asked him to let me examine his throat, 
with a spoon. He opened his mouth a sixteenth of an 
inch, and made a horrible grimace, but I could not coax 
the spoon in. 
“ He doesn’t know how to be sick,” whispered Popp5 
sympathetically. “He was never sick before in his 
life;” and then raising his voice, he added, “Do, 
Alonzo, open your mouth for the doctor.” THE MAN WHO DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO BE SICK. 
105 
“ I can’t,” he squeezed out, in gutteral tones, through 
his teeth. 
“You see, doctor,” whispered Popp, affectionately, 
“ he can’t.” 
Popp did all his conversing to me in a whisper. 
Whether he thought that talking out loud would hurt 
the patient’s throat, or whether he wished to be confi- 
dential, I did not know. He then added,— 
“You see, doctor, he doesn’t know how to be sick; 
and he can’t even talk, his nose is so stopped up.” 
“When a man with a cold in his head wishes to 
talk,” said I, “ he should remember that it is a word and 
a blow, and the blow should come first. His nose may 
be sore, and he may dread it, but the first blow is half 
the battle.” 
Daddy did not smile at my remark, but looked more 
miserable than ever, and after several skirmishes made 
out to explode his usual Cheeough ! Cheeough ! 
Cheeough! Ke-chu! Ke-choo-oo ! and then worried out 
in sepulchural tone,— 
“ Do you think I am dying? ” 
“ There, you see, doctor,” whispered Popp, “he 
doesn’t know how to be sick. He imagines all the time 
that he is dying, because a man in this house died 
lately ; but dying isn’t catching, is it ? ” 
The next morning I came, and found him no better. 
“ Did you take the gargle as I directed?” I inquired. 
Daddy now found so much difficulty in talking that REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
he called for pen and ink, and wrote down his re- 
plies. 
“Yes, I did take it, and I thought it would almost 
kill me. It was horrible to swallow, and I could not 
gargle. I don’t know how. When I try it almost 
suffocates me, and the gargle flies out of my nose and 
mouth and eyes. Now just see me try,” and taking a 
teaspoonful of water he made a gutteral noise of Geugh ! 
Geugh! Geugh-rr! Gur-gur! Gur-rrr! and then, with 
horrible contortions, water seemed to shoot out of every 
opening in his head. It seemed as if he could not get 
his breath, when Popp seized the tumbler of water and 
dashed it full in his face. Daddy came to with a gasp, 
followed by Cheeough ! Cheeough ! Cheeough ! After 
he was a little rested, he continued his written remarks. 
“ As I couldn’t gargle, Popp suggested that it would 
save time and trouble to take it all at once, instead 
of a spoonful every hour, as you ordered, so I did 
so.” 
“ You see,” said Popp, “ he doesn’t know how to be 
sick,” 
Daddy now wrote that he was strangling to death 
and could not survive two hours unless something were 
done to relieve him. I pacified him by telling him that 
I would leave a remedy that would make him all right 
in a few hours. I then took Popp aside, so as not to 
frighten Daddy, and said;— THE MAN WHO DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO BE SICK, 
107 
“There is only one way to relieve your friend, and 
that is with leeches. Get half a dozen for him and let 
him try them. Be sure and get fresh ones. After they 
are all done, put a little salt on them and put them in 
water. You can get them of the apothecary.” 
“ All right,” he whispered, “ I’ll follow }rour orders.” 
The next da}7 I found Daddy much worse, and no 
sign of leech marks. I was enraged at Popp’s stupid- 
ity. He was well-meaning enough, but entirely igno- 
rant of all nursing, and I regretted I had let him go 
on. 
“ You did not put the leeches on, Popp,” cried I, 
savagely. “ What did you do with them?” 
“Do with them? Why, I gave them to Daddy, to be 
sure. I made a soup of them, as you directed, and he 
drank the broth, and worried down the pieces cut up 
fine.” 
“Was that leeches you gave me ? ” wrote the patient, 
with horror in his countenance. 
“Why, yes,” replied Popp, innocently. “ The 
doctor ordered you half a dozen leeches, good and 
fresh, done in water, with a little salt added after the}7 
were done.” 
Daddy raved on paper, and swore like a pirate, with 
his pen. Popp looked aghast and speechless, while I 
burst out laughing. 
I told Popp, gently, that we must have another REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
nurse, and sent him off for one, and as he went off I 
said to Daddy,— 
“ There, you’ll get better now. That little weasel 
of a Popp didn’t work to your advantage, so I’m glad 
he’s going away, and when he goes —4 Pop goes the 
weasel! ’ ” THE OLD PIANO. 
109 
CHAPTER XIY. 
THE OLD PIANO. 
Many years ago I attended a sick child named 
Merry Morris. Her real name was Mary ; but the uni- 
form gayety of her disposition had won for her the 
appropriate epithet of Merry. She was the only 
daughter of wealthy parents, and surrounded by every 
luxury. The child, who was sick with pneumonia, 
suffered very much, and only one thing could soothe 
and make her sleep. It was not medicine, nor kind 
words, nor playthings, nor promises, nor confectionery, 
all of which made no sensible impression upon her; but 
it Avas the lullaby of soft melodies played on the piano. 
When her mother sat down to phi}', the child would 
cease her moaning, open her dark eyes in ecstasy, and 
clasp her tiny hands together; and then, soon after, 
close her eyelids and fall into a gentle slumber. 
Whenever the mother stopped her playing before the 
child was ready to sleep, she would say, artlessly: 
“ Mamma, it isn’t time to play amen yet.” 
She had noticed that when her mother prayed she 
said “ amen” at its close. And when her intoxicated 
father came in and annoyed her with his abuse and 110 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
loquacity, she would say : ‘4 Mamma, isn’t it time for 
papa to say amen? ” 
This lovely and innocent child got well, and I heard 
no more from her for ten years, when I was one da}’- 
summoned to a dilapidated hovel near the city dumps. 
Creaky steps led up to the tenement, and through a 
broken doorway I passed to the bedside of a woman 
in consumption, I was about to examine her when 
she whispered her name. It was Mrs. Morris. 
“It is not medicine that I want,” said she, in the 
hoarse voice of the last stages of this wasting disease ; 
“it is not for myself I call yon; it is only to make a 
request, a dying request, about the disposal of ray 
daughter. We prospered until my husband began to 
drink, and perhaps gamble, and then all was rapidly 
swept away, until finally he was convicted of arson and 
now lies in prison. He had set fire to a block of mox*t- 
gaged houses belonging to him, for the insurance. 
After paying all his debts I found myself penniless, and 
finally drifted to this awful place.” 
She paused a moment to cough and drink a little cold 
tea. I saw that she was too exhausted to continue her 
story, and therefore, in order to give her time to recover 
herself, told her I would go into the other room a 
moment and see her daughter. I had to cross an entry 
to enter the room, and hearing voices as I opened the 
door, I stopped a moment on the threshold to see what 
it meant. In the middle of the room, with his back to- THE OLD PIANO. 
wards me, stood a coarse-looking man, with his hat on 
his head and a pipe in his mouth. His clothes were 
dirty and oil}’, and he held a written paper, which he 
seemed studying. Near him stood a young girl of 
about thirteen. Her eyes were black and lustrous, her 
form slender and graceful, and her features regular but 
very pale. She was leaning upon a piano, a beautiful 
rosewood, which contrasted strangely with the other- 
wise poor and deserted appearance of the room. 
“But I must take it away to-day,” growled the 
stranger, looking up from his paper, and blowing out a 
whiff from his stubby, strong pipe. 
“ Mr. Biggs,” implored the young girl, “that piano 
is all that is left me of my old home. I have played on 
it since I was six years old, and mother played on it 
before me. Every key has a sound as familiar as her 
voice, and it is the only thing that eases her when she 
is suffering. I have no friends nor amusements, and 
my only comfort is to sit down to it and talk to it with 
my fingers, and it knows me well, it understands my 
touch and makes the sweetest music I ever heard. 
Mother will soon be gone, and then this will be all I 
have left.” 
The poor girl, having spoken with the natural elo- 
quence which only distress and innocence can give, 
covered up her wet eyes with her apron and endeavored 
to smother her sobs. 
The man looked at the child a few moments in silence, 112 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
and then, as if trying to give himself courage, said in 
a loud voice : 
“I loaned your mother money on that piano, and she 
gave me a mortgage on it, and now the time is expired, 
I am going to foreclose and sell it, that’s all. She’s 
paid me no interest nor anything, nor never can, and I 
must have what belongs to me. Business is business, 
little girl. I’d sooner talked with your mother, if she 
wasn’t so low ; but I must have the money or the piano, 
an}7how ; it’s my duty to my family.” 
“ But I will pay it, Mr. Biggs ! ” cried the girl sud- 
denly, uncovering her dripping eyes and looking fixedly 
at the man. 
“ You will pay it! ” he sneered, with a laugh, “ and 
how will you do it ? ” 
“ I will sing and play the piano, and earn money, if 
}Oii will only wait.” 
4 4 A little thing like you sing ! ” he muttered in deri- 
sion. 
The child reddened and then paled, but without say- 
ing more sat down on the piano-stool, and after striking 
a few chords sang “The Old Oaken Bucket.” The 
dear child put into this sweet melody a pathos which 
made a thrill pass over me. Her voice was high, quite 
powerful, and very tender, and she seemed hefself to 
tremble with her own feeling. 
The man gazed upon her in silence. Soon he took 
off his hat and put his pipe into his pocket, and when 
she ended he said, simply : THE OLD PIANO. 
113 
“ You may keep it, little girl; I will wait.” His voice 
trembled and he abruptly left the room without appear- 
ing to notice me. I followed him down stairs and asked 
him the amount of the mortgage, which, as I supposed, 
was a trifling sum. I went with him to his second- 
hand furniture store and took up the mortgage. 
The next day I had the mother removed to the hos- 
pital, and taking the girl to a distinguished music- 
teacher, he at once pronounced her a child of unmis- 
takable talent and offered to educate her, and receive 
his remuneration from her in the future. 
Ten years more passed away and I was a listener in 
a concert at Music Hall, to a debutante who had just 
returned from Italy, whither she had been sent to per- 
fect herself in opera singing. The prima donna re- 
ceived an ovation, a perfect triumph. It was Merry 
Morris. The promise, the foretaste, the bud of youth, 
had been realized. She was a queen of womahood and 
a queen of song. 
After the concert I entered the retiring-room to pay 
my respects to her. The songstress welcomed me 
heartily. 
“You are an assured success,” said I, “ and will be 
flattered and feted as is your due ; but I want to give 
you a little talisman which shall shield you from the 
effects of too much adulation, and which will be a pre- 
cious memento of other and different da}Ts,” and I 114 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
handed her Biggs’ old mortgage on her mother’s piano* 
She took it and read it, while her eyes filled with 
I 
tears. 
“ It is precious,” she murmured, very softly and ten- 
derly, “ and I thank you very much. I still possess that 
old piano, and shall keep it as long as I live. It is the 
only one I play on when alone at home. The opportu- 
nities for all I have enjoyed I ascribe to that old mort- 
gage. It was a hateful paper once, but now I see it 
was the means of lifting me up to what I was aspiring. 
I shall preserve it with my jewels and my mother’s por- 
trait.” 
The beautiful woman, now taking up her bouquets, 
passed out to her carriage and disappeared. A NEW WAY OF TAMING A SHREW. 
115 
CHAPTER XV. 
A NEW WAY OE TAMING A SHREW. 
Of the persons whom I have seen hanged —on 
their own hook I mean one was dead before I got to 
his house, the other was a little man named John Mac- 
aroon. He was an insignificant little man, only half a 
man, or as his wife derisively called him, a demi-john. 
His face had every possible expression but an intellect- 
ual one ; but the predominant expression was one of 
fear and cowardice, as if he wanted to get into some 
comer and stay there until he was wanted, and he would 
have preferred not to be wanted at all at home. As a 
child he was stubby, with considerable development 
backwards ; and as he grew up received more kicks than 
compliments, and hence was more ‘ ‘ honored in the 
breech than ” anywhere else. His wife, on the con- 
trary, suggested the idea of immensity ; she weighed three 
hundred and fifty pounds, and had to be looked at from 
four points of view to be seen all around. Her rotund 
face had no expression at all except in her eyes, which had 
a look of moral obliquity, and at the same time a cast of 
physical obliquity; in other words, she squinted, morally 
and physically. She used to lead her husband a dog’s 116 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
life ; that is, she gave him cuffs for want of better argu- 
ment in their domestic disputes, and found it the most 
agreeable way of keeping down her fat. Being cross 
and ill-natured herself, she had the singular habit of 
blaming him for what she did herself, and exacted of 
him more than he was able to perform. 
I was once called there by her little boy, who said 
that his mother had killed his father. I hurried down 
and found the little man bleeding from his scalp, where 
she had struck him with a chair. 
“What does all this mean?” I demanded, indig- 
nantly. 
“ Oh, nothing at all,” answered the shrew; “I’ve 
only been thrashing my husband to get the chaff out of 
him. The fact is, doctor, he’s cross, he’s alius cross, 
and came likely by it. His mother, a little wizzen, 
like himself, was a German, and his father was an 
Englishman, and so he was a cross-breed, and what 
is bred in the bone can’t come out of the flesh. He 
can’t do anything like anybody else ; he can’t even sit 
straight like a Christian, but sits cross-legged like a 
tailor, or Turk ; in fact he’s criss-cross, or cross through 
and through and through. I wish he’d take up his cross 
and leave me.” 
The poor fellow looked disconsolate enough, and per- 
haps ashamed, at being beaten by his wife. The only 
reason I could ever ascertain for her brutality, was the 
fact that her first husband had acted to her as she was A NEW WAY OF TAMING A SHREW. 
now doing towards her second ; in other words, she was 
flogging her second for the blows she had received from 
her first, and apparently had married the little fellow be- 
cause he could not defend himself. He was weak-bodied 
and weak-minded, and naturally good-natured ; but had 
become soured through his wife’s beating propensities. 
I dressed the man’s wounds and gave his wife a little 
gratuitous advice, spiced with allusions to imprisonment, 
hanging, etc. I heard nothing of them for several 
weeks, when I was again sent for, the boy declaring 
that John had hanged himself. I was not surprised at 
it; he was predestined to be hanged, for he was born 
hanged; that is, he came into the world with a cord 
coiled around his neck, which had nearly been the death 
of him, and had been cut down just in time to save his 
life. 
I was shown into an upper empty room or garret, 
used for storage, and discovered Mr. Macaroon sus- 
pended by a clothes-line from the hook on which they 
had been accustomed to hang their meat. Mrs. Maca- 
roon was pulling her hair and declaring that her husband 
was the best of men, and she should never get another 
half as good. She had not offered to cut him down, nor 
do anything but rant and look on. I hurried to the 
man, when my attention was caught by the singularity 
of his position. He evidently had had no experience in 
the art of hanging, but may have studied it as a fine art, 
and had discovered a way of making it easy and com- 118 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
fortable. The noose around his neck was not a slip- 
knot, and was so large that the compression must have 
been slight. He was on his knees with his head bent 
forward, and apparently supporting himself from falling 
forwards by one hand resting on the floor. I conceived 
the idea that it was only sham suspension for effect, but 
said nothing. I cut him down and laid him on the floor, 
where he laid motionless and appeared not to breathe. 
There Avas a purple hue on his neck, Avhich seemed 
swollen with the distension of the veins. 
“I thought he’d come to this,” sobbed Mrs. Maca- 
roon ; “Itold John last summer, when we went out in 
a boat, and a squall came on which nearly upset us, 
that there was no danger of him, for he that’s born to 
be hanged will never be drowned, and it’s proved just 
just as I said. Poor John, if he’d only come back to 
life again I’d never call him demi-john any more ; but 
I’d be so kind to him; I’m sure I would. But I’m 
sorry he didn’t Avait till Saturday night when his Aveek’s 
work was done.” 
“Well, Mrs. Macaroon, I will do what I can for 
your husband. Send for my electric battery.” 
They sent for it, and as soon as it began to buzz I 
requested Mrs. Macaroon to take hold of one sponge of 
the electrode, as it was too powerful for such a little 
man, and its current must be mitigated through a large 
person. She reluctant!}7 consented, as she seemed to 
look at the machine as if it were a rattlesnake, with 119 
A NEW WAY OP TAMING A SHREW. 
venomous fangs. After some dodging about, she shut 
her eyes and took hold, and I applied the other electrode 
to her husband. I began with a mild current, but sud- 
denly and maliciously put on the strongest, which so 
cramped her hands that she could not let go. She 
screamed and begged for deliverance, when I finally 
stopped the current, having punished the woman and 
restored the hangee. 
Some time after this I met Mr. Macaroon alone, and 
asked him how he got along, when he brightened up 
and said he was very happy. As he appeared to have 
benefited by his curious way of trying to tame a shrew, 
I determined to keep my suspicions to myself. 
About six months later I was again called to him, 
and found him hanging on his own hook. His wife had 
probably forgotten her promises, and the poor man, 
elated with the temporary success of the first experi- 
ment, wished to try it again. He had a hang-dog 
expression, as if he had been beaten from pillar to post, 
and this time was either really or nearly dead. He had 
on this occasion made a slip-knot, but the knot had taken 
advantage of the situation and slipped up to his jugulars, 
and he had become unconscious. It is true that ‘ ‘ there’s 
many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.” His wife, as 
on the previous occasion, pretended she was too fright- 
ened to touch him, and there he hanged. I ordered my 
batteiy brought and hastened towards the unfortunate 
hangee, when his wife suddenly placed herself between 
her husband and myself. 120 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
‘ ‘ Let him hang, doctor ; I can’t let that battery go 
through me again, even to save John,” she screamed. 
“ Very well, Mrs. Macaroon,” said I; “ then I will let 
it pass through myself. lam not afraid of a battery.” 
Mrs. Macaroon was now pacified; but she kept at 
more than a respectable distance from the battery while 
I was applying it to her husband. It was with the 
greatest difficulty that the foolish man was brought back 
to life. Respiration had ceased, but the faithful heart 
had continued to beat very feebly. 
“He hasn’t got the hang of himself yet,” muttered 
Mrs. Macaroon, with arms akimbo, when John opened 
his eyes. “So I guess he’d better try again. Third 
time never fails.” 
“ No, Jane,” drawled the little man, solemnly; “ I 
guess I won’t try hanging again. I’d rather be thrashed 
occasionally.” ONLY A PICTURE. 
121 
CHAPTER XVI. 
ONLY A PICTURE. 
Some eight years ago I was called to see a woman 
of some twenty-five, in the gabled attic of a poor tene- 
ment house. Although young, she appeared old; her 
cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken, and her black hair 
lay like a twilight shadow along her white low brow. 
She was very thin and dejected, and appeared fading 
away. She seemed indifferent to life, and had not ever 
been willing to see a physician. It was with reluctance 
that she allowed me to examine her, and answered my 
questions. I could not make out any special disease ; 
her lungs were sound, her heart normal, and the func- 
tions of her digestive organs regular. Nothing could 
account for this progressive wasting. All my medicines 
were unavailing, and nothing could give her hope, which 
is the most powerful remedy we possess. lat length 
announced to the young lady that my resources were 
exhausted ; that 1 could not discover her malady, and 
unless she could put me on the track, I must leave her. 
I suspected that it was disappointment in a love affair, 
but kept my views to myself. 
‘‘You can do nothing for me, doctor,” said she, list- 122 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
lessly. “I shall not live long, nor do I desire to; I 
have no object to live for. lam an orphan, with no 
ties to bind me to life; but I am not unwilling to 
explain to you the cause of my despair, and you will 
see that you can do nothing for me. My mother, when 
a young girl, showing a taste for ch’awing and painting, 
was taken by her father to Florence, Italy, to study 
art. She was rather wild in her nature, and had been 
accustomed to have her own way, as her mother died 
when my mother was only six years old. She was 
likewise of a romantic turn and fond of reverie. At 
the age of seventeen she became attached to a Neapol- 
itan minstrel-boy of fifteen, living a vagrant life in 
Florence. In the ardor of her affection she made a 
pastel portrait of her lover, who was allowed to come 
to her rooms on pretence of being a model which she 
wished to study for expression. They were married by 
an old friar whom they bribed, and the marriage was 
kept secret until a short time before I was born, when 
her father, learning the state of things, immediately 
left Florence, and soon after returned to America. 
My grandfather, who was wealthy, became a bankrupt 
soon after his return, and my mother was left penniless 
and alone. She had brought with her from Italy the 
portrait of her young husband, and it was her sole 
solace. She eked out a scant living by selling little 
pictures she made, but finally fell into consumption and 
died, leaving me this picture as the only relic of father ONLY A PICTURE. 
123 
and mother. This portrait has bridged me over a dozen 
bad turns. When I get overtired or sick, having no 
one to go to, I pawn this picture and can then live 
along a few weeks until I get rested or restored to my 
usual health, and then I return to work and redeem 
my picture. Nothing could tempt me to sell it, but 
it is always pawned easily, and has been my best 
friend for years. When I have it here it is my happi- 
ness to look at it, when I am sick it supports me, and 
when I get well it stimulates me to work and redeem it. 
It is my bank, my friend, my consoler, and my com- 
panion. Every night when I retire I place this picture 
at the foot of the bed and then a change seems to come 
over it, as if life came into it. The eyes become 
endowed with sight, and they look pityingly down upon 
me; the lips become redder and murmur consolation 
and courage, and the whole face changes to a mourn- 
ful but tender smile. You may call it dreaming, or 
delirium, or a flight of my imagination, which is heated 
by long gazing at the picture ; but to me it is a glorious 
reality, and I feel the nearness of father and mother. 
If spirits ever come back, I am sure my mother, or my 
father, if he is dead, will surely animate the cold can- 
vas, and let me feel their presence. And in the morn- 
ing, when I first awake, the first object that meets my 
eyes is the portrait, which gives me hope and patience 
for the day. 
“On one occasion I was burned out. It was a 124 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
winter’s night, and snow was falling heavily. I was 
poorly, but not confined to my bed. The excitement of 
the alarm, the noise of bells and firemen aroused me, 
and gave me temporary strength. I hurriedly dressed 
myself in my scant clothes; but only one thought en- 
tered my head, and that was my picture, which I took as 
if it had been my child, and carried it with me, without 
thinking of any other object. Through the flames and 
the snow and the crowd I fled, and escaped safely with 
my treasure to a neighbor’s. To save that picture I 
made an effort that I could not for myself. 
“ On another occasion my landlord demanded it, as 
I was then several months in arrears, and had no 
money. He offered to give me the rent in exchange 
for my picture, which he seemed to fancy. He had 
several times tried to induce me to part with it, but all 
in vain. He then gave me a written notice to quit the 
premises. I told him he could put me out, but I would 
not part with what I valued more than life. At this he 
softened, and gave me a receipted bill for what I owed, 
and told me to stay as long as I liked. Well, this 
picture has been stolen from me. I have lost all that 
I valued in life; in fact, I could not exist without it. 
You see, therefore, that you can do nothing for me.” 
“Have you any clew to the miserable thief?” I 
inquired. 
“ No ; but I suspect a drunken young man who lives 
in this house. He has been in prison once for larceny.” ONLY A PICTURE. 
125 
I gave her encouragement, and withdrew, with the 
intention to make a thorough search. The only points 
by which I could recognize the picture wrere, that the 
frame was gilt and studded with shells, and the picture 
was the portrait of a young man wearing a Neapolitans 
hat. I began my search by visiting the pawn-shops. I 
had begun to despair, when, one day, after several 
days’ useless inquiry, I stopped at the sign of the 
three golden balls before a suspicious shop in the 
North End. A crowd of sailors and ragged boys stood 
gazing into the window, and among these was a well- 
dressed, dark-featured gentleman of about forty. His 
features at once fascinated me, and I watched him a 
moment. He seemed to be peering into the window 
with great attention, and talking to himself in a foreign 
language. I finally looked in and there stood 
a shell-studded frame surrounding a Neapolitan boy 
with feathered hat. The boy strikingly resembled the 
foreigner, and the foreigner resembled Miss Fabian 
my patient. I at once entered the shop, and the 
stranger entered at the same time. 
“ Where did you get that portrait?” I demanded. 
‘‘ It was pawned here by a young man who limps 
with his left foot, and bears a scar upon his right 
cheek,” said the accurate observer. 
“ That portrait is myself,” stumbled the foreigner, in 
broken English. “It was made by my wife twenty- 
live years ago. Do you know anything about her ?” he 
added, turning to me. 126 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN 
“Yes,” said I, touched at his emotion. “I have 
come to hunt up that picture in behalf of your daugh- 
ter.” 
The stranger folded me in his arms with rapture. 
“That is a stolen picture,” said I, to the pawn- 
broker, “ as I shall give you proof.” 
The pawnbroker saw the resemblance, and, probably 
actuated by a guilty conscience in receiving goods 
which he must have supposed stolen, bade me take 
away the portrait, as he was satisfied. 
This pawn-shop was a curious place. It would be 
easier to say what there was not, than what there was 
here. Every trade and occupation, every sphere in 
life was represented here. I lingered here a moment to 
look round upon the curious collection. 
‘ ‘ Who are your greatest patrons ? ” I inquired of the 
broker. 
“Everybody,” he replied, smiling; “but I divide 
them all into two classes: the poor and the prodigal. 
The poor make this a bank, to draw out temporary aid 
by leaving a deposit of something they can hardly do 
without; the prodigal, when their money is gone in 
debauch, bring here some superfluity. Just look around 
you and see every-day life in its hidden aspects open to 
read on those shelves. That kit of carpenter’s tools 
will save him from being turned out of doors, while he 
is out of work ; that finely-colored meerschaum belongs 
to a college student, who is learning bad habits; that ONLY A PICTURE. 
127 
flute is a musician’s, who has lost his place in the band 
from drink ; that diamond pin was left by a lady who is 
living beyond her means, and is too fond of champagne ; 
that is a wedding-ring from the finger of a widow who 
saves herself by it from starvation; that gold watch, 
set in diamonds, belongs to a foreigner, who paid with 
it his passage back to Europe, after squandering all he 
had ; that bracelet was left by an orphan girl, who can’t 
find work, and who pawned her mother’s small legacy 
to get bread with. You see, gentlemen, every article 
in this shop has been baptized with the tears of miser}" 
and want, or stained with the dye of dissipation. But 
you hint that I may still have a third class of patrons ; 
namely, thieves. That may occasionally be true, with 
the best intentions and precautions. A pawn-shop is a 
convenient place of sale or deposit of stolen goods, 
and I cannot always tell the honest poor from that 
counterfeit of honesty, a thief. There is nothing so 
like a simple poor man as an arrant knave. I listen to 
their stories, for they all make confidants of me and tell 
me the whole history of what they bring, and how they 
came to be so reduced; but I pay no attention to their 
story, no attention to their dress, no attention to their 
words. I judge every man by his eye. The eye does 
not lie ; the eye that looks you calmly and squarely in 
the face without faltering, is the messenger of the 
heart.” 
The pawnbroker’s remarks showed him to have a 128 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
profound insight into human nature, and so raised him 
in my eyes that I gave him the benefit of the doubt as 
to whether he was in collusion with the thief of the 
picture. 
“For once, at least,” said I, “you have been de- 
ceived by a knave, as this picture was stolen goods.” 
“That picture was taken by my clerk, during my 
absence,” he replied. 
I felt satisfied, and bade the pawnbroker good morn- 
ing. 
We took a hack and carried the precious relic to the 
miserable attic of the forlorn young woman; and the 
father and daughter were soon in each other’s arms. 
Miss Fabian hardly knew which to look upon and caress 
the most, her father or his portrait. After their mutual 
enthusiasm was somewhat abated, Signor Rossi, the 
father, related his adventures from the time of his 
marriage. After he had been deprived of his girl-wife, 
because he was a poor wanderer, he entered the Con- 
servatory of Music, through the advice and aid of a 
wealthy man who admired his voice, and finally became 
an opera tenor, leading the migratory life of public 
singers. He had been successful, but his youthful 
attachment had not died out. He still longed to see 
his wife, and although having no direct clew, had been 
on the lookout for years. The accidental sight of the 
picture had accomplished his most cherished hopes. 
He now inquired the particulars of his wife’s life and ONLY A PICTURE. 
129 
death, and wept manful tears at the rehearsal of her 
griefs and misfortunes. 
The next day the portrait was sent to my house in 
recognition of endeavors to regain it, and I have it still. 
Signor Rossi removed his daughter to a hotel in Boston, 
where I visited them once, hut soon lost sight of them, 
as his engagement led him to follow the fortunes of the. 
opera company to which he belonged. 130 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER XVII. 
A CASE OF POISONING. 
Aaron Boggs, a young man of two-and-twenty, 
apple-cheeked and pleasant-mannered, was a clerk in a 
wholesale drug-store in Boston. He had everything to 
make him happy but one ; he was not happy in his love 
affairs. He had not been jilted by a flirt nor outrivalled 
by another man; he had not found the prospective 
father of his lady fair to be stern and hard-hearted, nor 
her mother an ambitious, designing duenna, who dis- 
covering him to be poor, secluded her daughter under 
lock and key and forbade him the house. The fact 
is, his lady had no father, and her mother would have 
been very glad to secure him as an appendage to her 
house ; and yet he was not happy in his love affairs. 
The truth of this mystery is that he did not love at all, 
but was intensely loved by one Maria Cess, the daughter 
of a boarding-house keeper. The young lady had 
hitherto been hard as Horeb’s rock to all admirers ; but 
when she saw this rosy clerk she was smitten, as it were, 
by Aaron’s rod, and then she gushed. From that 
moment she saw an imaginary Aaron in the stars, in 
the trees, in the street, in her books, in the air like a A CASE OF POISONING. 
131 
mirage. But although only his ghost seemed to follow 
her, yet she pursued him in real flesh and blood. While 
in the house he was never out of her sight, and when he 
went out she wished to know his destination ; in short, 
he was a persecuted man. It was a case of dunning 
for love. He finally changed his boarding-house with- 
out leaving his new address ; but she, by following him 
home from the store, found out his new domicile, and 
now it was worse than ever. It has been said that 
anger is a short madness, and it is as true to say that 
love is a short madness; it is a temporary insanity’, if 
insanity means that during its continuance people act 
differently from what the}' do in their normal condition. 
You may expect any dispute or extraordinary act 
from one afflicted with the insanity of love. And it is 
a disease very difficult to cure. You may immure the 
patient within stone walls, but the disease will only take 
deeper root; you may carry the patient to foreign lands, 
but the heart does not travel, it remains at home with 
the object of its adoration ; you may defame and calum- 
niate the loved one, but it only causes a smile of 
incredulity and a firmer determination to faithfulness. 
Every evening Miss Cess would meet him at his store 
and accompany him home, and every time would give 
him an effusive letter which she had composed, or rather 
copied out of “ The Art of Epistolary Correspondence, 
or the Ready Letter-writer.” At first he read them ; 
but finally, as their monotony began to pall upon him, 132 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
and they began to accumulate, he threw them into the 
fire without reading them. It would have saved him 
and her a great deal of trouble if, instead of sending 
him these copies from the “Ready Letter-writer,” she 
had sent the book itself, and then he would have read 
until he got tired and thrown the insipid book into the 
fire. He tried to put on a cold look and an indifferent 
air, but she was so good-natured that he had not the 
heart to be unkind to her. What was to be done ? He 
did not love her, and seemed to be merely a prisoner at 
large on parole. 
At this stage of affairs I was one evening sent for by 
Maria’s mother, in great haste, and on arriving was in- 
formed that the infatuated girl had taken poison and 
was dying. They showed me on her bureau an empty 
bottle, labelled laudanum. The girl lay motionless on 
her bed and made no reply to questions. She was not 
beautiful, but had that prettiness which consists in 
having no particular features, and the charm which 
consists in continual good-nature. If you saw her face 
once you would not remember it any more than a com- 
mon cloud, or rose, or tree; in other words, she was 
everything in general, but nothing in particular. The 
pupils of her eyes were not contracted, her pulse and 
respiration were not slowed, and her temperature was 
normal. She was indifferent to my examination and 
appeared unconscious. Her poor mother, who idolized 
her only child, was pacing the room with heart-rending 133 
A CASE OF POISONING. 
cries; but when she saw me, she beckoned me into an 
adjoining room, and told me the simple story of un- 
requited affection, and the fearful resolution of suicide. 
When I came back to the sick-chamber, Mr. Boggs, 
who had been sent for, opened the door and came in. 
He looked excited and horror-stricken, and, approaching 
the bed, sat down and grasped one of Maria’s hands. 
If I had applied an electric battery I could not expect 
better and prompter results. She started ; a shiver ran 
over her; she opened her eyes and fixed them on the 
countenance of Boggs. It was a touching moment. 
“ I expected you,” said she, slowly ; and, putting her 
hand under her pillow, drew forth a letter and a gilt- 
edged pocket Testament, which she gave him, adding : 
“ Here is my last will and testament. They will 
make you think of me when I am under the willows.” 
Mr. Boggs put them into his pocket and wiped away 
some tears. The Testament made him feel solemn. 
He stooped down and kissed her for the first time in his 
life, while a radiant smile dimpled over her countenance. 
“You make me feel awful,” said he, with choking 
voice. “If I thought I was the cause of your death I 
should never sleep again. If I could bring you back to 
life I should be so happy. In fact, Maria, if you love 
me so much as this, and get well, I will be as faithful 
to you as you have been to me.” 
It was a moment of moral heroism on his part. 
I now came forward with an emetic which I had sent 134 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
for, and requested her to swallow it She refused. Her 
mother urged her, but she declined. “ Take it,” im- 
plored Boggs, “ for my sake, Maria.” 
“Yes, Aaron, for your sake,” she said, and drank 
it. 
I now requested all the mourning friends to leave the 
room, that I might see the patient privately. There was 
something in her physical condition and the whole trans- 
action which made me suspicious. 
“Miss Cess,” said I, sternty, “if you have taken 
poison this dose will cure you ; if you have not taken it, 
it will kill _you.” 
She started up with a frightened expression, and 
grasping my hand, said : 
“Save me, doctor; I did not take poison. It was 
only a farce. Mr. Boggs had broken m3’ heart by his 
coldness, and I thought this would touch his feelings 
and make him think more of me. Save me, doctor, and 
keep all this a secret.” 
I promised secrec3’, and, after the emetic had operated, 
gave her a bread pill and told her she was saved. The 
famity now came back, and I told them she was all right. 
I thought, now that her living was a certainty, that I 
did not see so much moral heroism on Mr. Boggs face ; 
but still he behaved nobly. He congratulated the girl 
on her recoveiy, and promised to call and see her again ; 
but whether he ever married her I never learnt. THE TWO MASQUERADES. 
135 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
THE TWO MASQUERADES. 
The most intense form of jealousy is a species of 
insanity, a monomania, and the man who is actuated 
by it is hardly responsible for his acts, which are often 
so absurd and violent that they seem the wild freaks of 
a madman. I remember a curious case in point. A 
certain beautiful lady, endowed with every grace and 
virtue, had the misfortune to have a husband whose 
jealousy was so unreasonable and morbid, that he 
embittered his own and her existence. He would 
return home at unexpected hours, follow his wife when- 
ever he knew of her going out for a visit or promenade, 
open her letters if they came into his hands, and rum- 
mage drawers for concealed letters or photographs. 
If by chance the}" went to an evening party, and his 
wife was addressed by a gentleman, or asked to sing a 
duet with one, this green-eyed husband would scowl 
and frown until he looked a very Caliban ; so that this 
miserable woman was glad enough to return from the 
mockery of pleasure, and seek her couch in tears. If a 
gentleman called of an evening, he was sure of so icy a 
reception that his home, which was once the centre of 
delightful reunions, became almost a cloister to his 136 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
persecuted wife. And to make himself ridiculous as 
well as malicious, after each act of rudeness and 
unworthy jealousy, he would ask his wife’s forgiveness 
with tears of contrition, and be ready the next morning 
or the next week to re-enact the same painful comedy. 
The poor wife had forgiven him until seveuty-and-seven 
times. It was impossible to say which was more 
absurd, his stupid acts of jealousy, or his stupid 
repentance which brought no amendment. 
On one occasion his wife desired to go to a masked 
ball. She had visited no place of amusement for a 
long time, and thought this diversion might raise her 
drooping spirits. While at breakfast she assaulted 
him with her most pleasant smile, and begged him to 
take her to the masquerade ball. 
“ A masked ball, indeed ! ” he muttered, with a cyni- 
cal look. “ The world has to-day arrived to such a 
pitch of perfection in masking themselves, that there is 
no need of anything further. You will find conjugal 
infidelity masked under smiles; dissoluteness and im- 
modesty concealed under blushes ; oppression disguised 
under the name of justice ; fraud and cheating hidden 
under the veil of prudence. The fool affects the 
gravity and silence of wisdom; the hypocrite appears 
with the self-assertion of sincerity; the flatterer, who 
is trying to get the best of you, calls himself your 
friend; and the one who warmly wrings your hand, 
would like at the same time to strangle you. Calumny THE TWO MASQUERADES. 
137 
and slander pass in the world for smartness and 
pleasantry; derision is considered as wit; humility is 
reproached with springing from pride; knavery and 
villainy are often covered with fine clothes and jewels ; 
while merit and honesty are patched with rags and 
misery. Every one wears a mask, and you cannot tell 
from the exterior what lies at the bottom of the heart 
and mind.” 
The face of the abused wife, that was brimming over 
with the pleasure of anticipation, was drenched with the 
tears of chagrin and disappointment; but she said 
nothing. The husband moodily looked at her for some 
time, and then reluctantly consented to go with her. 
She proposed to represent “ Margaret,” and wished him 
to figure as “ Mephistopheles.” Everything was duly 
prepared, and they arrived at the hall in high glee. 
Unfortunately, the crowd of promenaders was so great 
that the two became separated; but the husband 
immediate!}7 began to look about for her. This was 
no easy matter; and the longer he was in finding her, 
the more enraged he became. His representation of 
the devil became reality; he was like a roaring lion. 
He fiuall}7, however, caught a glimpse of her lovely 
form, and, at the same time, had the chagrin to see a 
bold masquerader, arrayed as “ Faust,” gallantly 
approach her, and, taking her arm, begin to address 
her. The excited husband drew near the pair, and 
keeping behind them so as not to be observed, listened 
to their conversation. 138 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ Lovely Margarita,” said Faust, “ I am charmed to 
meet an old friend so dear as you are to me. We have 
spent many a happy hour together.” 
“ Not so fast,” interrupted the lady. “ I think you 
are mistaken in your charmer, for I am sure I never 
met you before.” 
“ Do you suppose,” he continued, “ that I could for 
a moment forget that form, that voice, that carriage, 
those eyes? No; I have held you too many times in 
my arms.” 
“For heaven’s sake,” cried she, “say no more; it 
is false. Leave me, I implore you.” 
“ It is not false,” he persisted. 
“I tell you it is false,” she urged, in great excite- 
ment. “ I dare you to give me proof of that.” 
“ The proof is easy,” said he ; “ there is a mother’s 
mark on your right foot.” 
At these words the lady fell back fainting, while the 
bold mask hurried away to escape in the crowd. The 
husband, who had not lost a word of this conversation, 
left his wife to the care of bystanders, and started off 
after his rival, elbowing his way right and left, swearing 
at this one and that who stood in his way, and treading 
upon and tearing many a brilliant train of a fair 
masquerader. But what did he care ? He was thirst- 
ing for revenge. The room was in an uproar, and 
every one was wondering whether the man was mad. 
But on he rushed after the hated Faust. At last he THE TWO MASQUERADES. 
139 
reached and seized by the arm, with iron grasp, the 
flying and breathless rival. 
“ It means that you have insulted my wife, and I 
mean to punish you.” 
4 ‘ What does this mean ? ” cried Faust. 
‘4 Ah, was the fair Margarita your wife ? Fortunate 
man; but my acquaintance with her dates long before 
you knew her. We are old friends.” 
44 You are a liar ! ” shouted the husband, beside him- 
self ; and suddenly drawing a revolver, he hurriedly shot 
the lively Faust, who, with a groan, fell to the floor. 
The husband now snatched off1 the mask of his antago- 
nist, and, behold, it was Ms wife’s father, who, entering 
into the spirit of the evening, had desired to complete 
the actors of Goethe’s play, by taking the role of Faust. 
He was a very slender man, of a gay and lively disposi- 
tion, and capitally represented his part. His daughter 
had secretly informed him of her little plot, and he had 
thought to amuse himself by unexpectedly appearing 
before her in an appropriate part. The wretched assas- 
sin now ordered his victim to be conveyed home in a 
carriage, while he himself came for me to look after the 
wound. The ball had entered his thigh, and just 
grazed the femoral artery. I was fortunate enough to 
remove it, and the gentleman did well. 
Some years after this, the unhappy wife related to me 
the sequel of this event. 140 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“After the scene of the masquerade,” said she, 
sadly, “ my husband for some time remained subdued 
and very kind; but at the end of two years, the smoul- 
dering embers of jealousy burned up as bright as ever, 
and he fancied me inconstant to him.” 
“ Yes, he was constant —in his indifference; con- 
stant in opposing my wishes; constant in seeking 
others’ society in preference to mine ; constant in inci- 
vility ; constant in everything but love ; constant to 
every one but me. Again I became wretched. A wife 
may love her husband devotedly, be faithful in her obli- 
gations to him and her children, and find the centre of 
her comfort at home ; but still she needs the mental 
friction of conversing with others, and needs the love 
and outward manifestations of affection which were 
freely bestowed during courtship. As commonly prac- 
tised, courtship is a comedy in which each party is try- 
ing to play an acted part very different from themselves. 
If there must be courtship, let it last as long as married 
life. A husband should still use after marriage the 
same endearing epithets, practise the same politeness, 
and conceal those vulgarisms which he did before mar- 
riage. He ought likewise to give his wife the same 
pleasures which he himself enjoys; for no husband 
should frequent places where he would be ashamed to 
appear with his wife. By this course both would 
remain lovers, and life would be a long courtship. But 
1 am wandering from my story.” 
‘ ‘ But was he constant to you ? ” I inquired. THE TWO MASQUERADES. 
141 
After a long silence, she continued her narrative by 
saying, that, after much meditation, she hinted to her 
husband that she should like to attend another masked 
ball, which was shortly to take place. At first he 
stoutly refused ; but a look at her unhappy countenance 
melted him down, and he consented, especially as he 
promised himself this time not to leave her side. She 
desired to appear as a shepherdess, and he as a shep- 
herd. She prepared her costume; but on the very 
night of the ball she feigned a slight illness, and refused 
to go ; but urged her husband to attend without her, as 
they had been at considerable expense in the costumes 
and tickets. He consented. 
No sooner had he left the house than she put on the 
costume of a gypsy, which she had secretly prepared, 
and betook herself to the ball. Her elegant form, 
graceful manners, and pertness, made her the cynosure 
of every eye. She was alone, and carried in her hand 
a pack of cards, with which she offered to tell fortunes. 
The shepherd husband was in excellent spirits at the 
thought of this opportunity for coquetry. No sooner 
had he espied the gypsy than he approached her and 
remarked, gallantly: 
“ Allow me to accompany you, fair gypsy.” 
“ With much pleasure,” she rejoined, in a soft voice. 
“Thanks for preferring my side to so many belles of 
the ball. Do you know me ? ” 
“No; but what of that? We can begin to-night 142 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
to get acquainted, and enjoy a little chit-chat, if you are 
■willing. Acquaintances formed at a masked ball are 
not the worst in the world.” 
“ But they sometimes give terrible disappoint- 
ments.” 
“ Thanks to my intuition, I feel no hesitation in say- 
ing, that I am sure your face is as fair as your form, 
and I feel a burning desire to see that face.” 
4 ‘ And what pleasure could you expect from viewing 
my features ? ” 
44 Admiring their beauty, and adoring you for your 
wit and loveliness.” 
“You men always have adoration in your mouth. 
I have no doubt you have many objects of adoration 
beside a wife at home.” 
“ Cruel gypsy, how could you think that I would 
come here and leave a wife at home ? I assure you we 
men are not so dissembling as your sex.” 
‘4 Are women so dissembling ? ” 
44 Yes, certainty; but Ido not blame the gentler sex 
for it. Your artifices are worthy of indulgence, because 
the desire of pleasing us lords of creation obliges you to 
make them. Milton’s beauty unadorned was all very 
well as applied to Eve, because there were no eyes to 
admire her but her husband’s, and he had no one to 
compare her with, and because she had no dress- 
maker.” 
44 You saucy wretch! a good, loving wife is satisfied THE TWO MASQUERADES. 
143 
with the admiration of her husband. She, like a flower, 
unfolds all her beaut}" when watered by his approbation 
and kindness ; but, like the same flower, if deprived of 
this, she pines, withers, dies.” 
“ Come, come, little gypsy, you are too sentimental. 
It doesn’t become a wild bird of the forest. Come and 
tell my fortune ; ” and taking her arm, he led her to a 
secluded alcove. 
The gypsy paraded her cards a few moments, and 
then said, solemnly, looking him full in the face : 
“You have left at home a devoted wife, who is 
pining for your presence, and you are undeserving so 
faithful a companion. Remember that ‘ Love, and love 
only, is the only loan for love.”’ 
The husband blushed and stammered, but finally 
said: 
“ That is untrue. lam single, and feel at this 
moment a warmth I never before experienced ; ” and he 
took her hand in his, and pressed it tenderly, which she 
gentl}' returned. 
“ Come, lovely gypsy,” he continued, after a moment, 
‘ ‘ lift that mask that I may see the sun that is shining 
behind a cloud.” 
“ But I have no faith in you. You are probably as 
inconstant as the wind. I must test you. I will 
believe in you if you will give me that ring on your 
finger.” It was a present to him from his wife. 
He hesitated. 144 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ Ha, ha, ha; the men are all alike. It must be a 
keepsake from some fair sweetheart,” laughed she. 
He drew off the ring, and put it on her finger. 
“ Now,” he breathed, in a whisper, “ will you give 
me a rendezvous ? ” 
“ To-morrow afternoon, in the Tremont Street Mall 
of the Common,” she returned; and, skipping away, 
disappeared in the crowd. 
The next morning, at breakfast, his wife said, care- 
lessly : 
“I I lost it last night at the ball,” stammered he, 
blushing, and dropping his eyes. 
“ George, what has become of your ring? ” 
“ How singular,” said she, archly. “ There’s where 
I found it; but it is so cold to-day, I guess we won’t 
take our walk at three on the Tremont Street Mall.” 145 
WHY I NEVER GO TO A PARTY. 
CHAPTER XIX. 
WHY I NEVER GO TO A PARTY. 
I have often been asked why I lead such a hermit 
life as never to go into society, nor pay any but profes- 
sional visits. It is not that lam unsocial in my nature, 
but that my experience in pleasure reunions has been 
of an unfortunate kind. If I could go there incognito, 
or in masquerade, I should be very happy indeed. It 
would be such a relief to forget for a moment the sor- 
rows, the pain, the sufferings of humanity, and to chat 
on the scientific, or even light topics of the day. But 
to go to a conversazione and find I could not lay aside 
my professional vocation, even in drawing-rooms, with 
dancing and card-tables around me, has given me 
such an aversion to evening parties that I now never 
make any but strictly professional visits. This aver- 
sion was first instilled into my mind in the early period 
of my practice, at a arge and fashionable part}' given 
by the Hon. Theodorus Tinker. I certainly was 
delighted, and no little flattered at receiving the hand- 
some note of invitation. I should pass a pleasant 
evening, turn my thoughts away from business, and 
enlarge my circle of acquaintances. These acquaint- 
ances would subsequently become patients, and I should 146 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
at once sail into a large, aristocratic practice. With 
these pleasant visions, I hired a hack and drove in 
style to the Hon. T. Tinker’s. When the servant came 
to the door, and I announced my name, he seemed to 
have a frightened look, as if he saw arsenic or strych- 
nine in my very breath, ready to deal destruction right 
and left like the fiery breath of the fabled Chimera. 
He asked me to follow him ; and leading the way to an 
upper story, ushered me into a bedroom, where sat a 
venerable old lady, and then disappeared. The ser- 
vant had undoubtedly made a mistake. I stammered 
an apology, and was about to retrace my steps, when 
the old lady, putting an immense ear-trumpet to her 
ear, screamed: 
‘ ‘ Speak louder, lam hard o’ hearing. Are you the 
young doctor ? ” 
I bowed, and still tried to go, when she sidled up to 
me, and holding her trumpet up to my mouth, so as 
nearly to suffocate me, piped out: 
“ Sit down, doctor. I am Mrs. Mary Nurr, the 
mother of Mrs. Tinker.” 
I heard the distant swell of music, and the laughter 
of young voices, but could not do otherwise than sit 
down. She then requested me to examine her hips, 
knees, and ankles, which were affected with rheumatic 
pains. I had to remove my tight and spotless white 
gloves, and handle her feet. Then, at her request, I 
wrote a recipe, and edged toward the door, when she WHY 1 NEVER GO TO A PARTY. 
147 
shouted she was terribly afflicted with ‘ ‘ dyspepsy and 
kidney difficulty.” I answered all her questions grimly 
enough for about half an hour, until my voice became 
hoarse from shouting in her trumpet. At length she 
seemed satisfied, and I arose, with a sigh of relief, 
when the venerable dame asked me to walk into the 
adjoining room and sec two children sick with the 
measles. 
“Mrs. Tinker would just like your opinion, seeing 
as you are here,” said she. “You are not her physi- 
cian, but then you can give your opinion just the 
same.” 
I again took off my white kids, tearing them a little 
more than on the first occasion, and proceeded to 
examine the children, and give my opinion. 
“ I suppose you won’t have time to stop long in the 
parlor, as you are so busy,” remarked the ancient Mary 
Nurr. “My darter told me I was too deaf to go down 
to the party, but if I would remain here, and mind the 
children, she would send me the young doctor to keep 
me company.” 
With an inward groan, and disdaining any reply, I 
bolted through the door, and down stairs. I was met 
in the hall by Mrs. Tinker, whose face was radiant with 
a bewitching smile. She had ill-used me, and I would 
treat her haughtily and scornfully. I was not going to 
be the pastime of a deaf old lady, under pretence of 
going to a party. No, I would silently leave the house, 148 
WHY I NEVER GO TO A PARTY. 
and never tread its floors again. Mrs. Tinker extended 
her little hand, hade me cordially welcome, as if I had 
just arrived, and desired me to enter her drawing-room 
and he presented to her guests. What irresistible 
power lurks in a fair woman’s smile ! Physiologically 
it is only the contraction of a few facial muscles 
attached to a circular muscle, called the lips; hut 
socially, it is a magnet that draws toward it the will of 
the beholder. It disarms malice, it soothes anger, it 
sweetens trouble, it repays services, it encourages to 
action, it transforms, it elevates, it conquers. Under 
the benign influence of Mrs. Tinker’s smile, I forgot my 
grievances, and gladly became the Laocoon willing to 
be crushed by the fold of a fascinating serpent. She 
conducted me to a Miss Edwards, and introducing me to 
her, withdrew. Miss Edwards was a maid of four-and- 
forty, well known for her artificiality, and her morbid 
desire to appear young. I bowed, and sat down beside 
her. 
“Oh, doctor,” said she, sinking behind her be- 
spangled fan, on which Cupids were painted, “ I am so 
glad to meet you. You have no engagements now, and 
have nothing else to do than to listen to my complaints. 
You must know that I am troubled with liver com- 
plaint, and displacement of the kidneys, owing, as my 
physician insinuates, to tight lacing,— and if Ido say it, 
no lady ever measured less around the waist than I did 
a few years ago,— but it was not tight lacing, it was the 149 
WHY I NEVER GO TO A PARTY. 
gift of nature, If you could only see my face in the 
daytime, it would appear as yellow as a saffron, it is 
so jaundiced, owing to a stoppage of the bile.” 
“I see,” said I, “you are like the night-blooming 
cereus ; you are in flour only at night.” 
She took this as a compliment, and proceeded: 
“Now, doctor, of course you can give me your opinion, 
even if 3’ou are not my physician.” 
“It is against medical etiquette, madame, to pre- 
scribe for other physicians’ patients,” said I, stiflty, and 
bowing, I rose, and once more caught the basilisk eyes 
of m3T charming hostess with her everlasting smile. 
“ I see you, doctor,” said Mrs. Tinker, blaudl3'; “I 
must keep 3rou busy’, or you will find parties tedious. 
You professional men alwa3rs love to talk about 3*our 
special science.” 
I was about to protest against this assertion, when 
she took me across the room, and presented me to a 
Mr. Grigg. Thank Heaven, I thought to myself, that I 
can get away from that sickly sex, which is always 
brooding over its maladies. Now I can have a little 
political, or literary conversation, with our sterner and 
more hardy sex, and make amends for my annoymnees. 
Thank 3Tou, Mrs Tinker, and I pardon you. 
I sat down beside Mr. Grigg, a wealthy and elderly 
retired gentleman. I made a leading remark about a 
recent scientific discovery. 
“ For all the world,” remarked Mr. Grigg, without 150 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
apparently noticing my observation, “you are the very 
man I wish to see. In my younger days, I was a 
painter by trade, and got my system full of lead, and 
still suffer occasional attacks from lead poisoning. My 
physician is an excellent man, but as long as you are 
here, I would like to get your opinion.” 
“Good heavens!” cried I, out of patience, “am I 
at a party, or in a hospital? I came here to get rid of 
patients for a few hours, and have done nothing but 
consult, and prescribe, and give opinions since I came 
here. I expected to find some specimens of youth and 
health, but meet nothing but invalids and cripples of 
all sorts. Oh, for the sight of a good, sound, healthy 
person. The next time I have a desire to go to a 
party, I will go at once to a hospital, and then there 
will be no deception. Confound your lead poisoning; 
go and get a sailor, and he will heave the lead for 
you!” 
1 waited for no reply, but pushed through the crowd, 
and unceremoniously departed in the very face of Mrs. 
Tinker’s smile. A FEARFUL NIGHT. 
151 
CHAPTER XX. 
A FEARFUL NIGHT. 
Perhaps the saddest scene which I have seen in 
my practice was the following : I was summoned, in 
the middle of a nipping winter’s night, by a ragged 
child, to go and see his mother. The lad led me 
down a narrow lane in the most wretched part of 
the city, to a large, dilapidated old house, which 
appeared empty. There was no light visible, and no 
sound but a distant groan. The wind sharply blew 
a gust through the doorway, which was blocked up by 
a snowdrift. The boy went ahead, and I followed 
him as best I could up the broken, dark stairway, 
which creaked under my footsteps. He clambered up 
to the upper story, into the attic, and there, in an 
almost empty room, was a desolate picture. There 
was no stove, no table, and only one crazy chair. The 
frost, with its weird fingers, had wrought its quaint 
pictures on the sound panes of glass, and the snow 
came into the room an unwelcome guest, through 
the broken ones. A few rags, like signals of distress, 
hung on a clothes-line stretched across the room, and 
a tallow candle, “the light of other days,” was smok- 
ing. half burnt out, on the mantel, casting ghostly 152 
REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
silhouettes on the dim walls. The woman herself, 
who could not be over thirty, was lying, scantily 
covered, on a straw pallet upon the floor, as there 
was no bedstead. Beside her lay a sick child, with 
red cheeks and hot skin, who, from time to time, 
muttered some delirious word, and moaned with every 
breath, interrupted by a dry, rapid cough ; its chest 
rose and fell in rapid succession, its nostrils fanned, 
and its dry red lips parted and trembled. Pneumonia 
was burning up its lungs. At the feet of the mother 
and sick child, lay two other half-naked children, 
cuddled up to each other to keep warm. 
The mother, a thin, wan, haggard creature, looking 
half-starved, appeared suffering very much, and was 
about to give birth to a child. In a short time the 
puny little blue babe was born; but there was no one 
present to do the kind offices so much needed. I 
called for water; but there was no sink, and a pail 
with ice in it was pointed out to me. I called for the 
infant’s clothes; but was told there were none, and 
the exhausted mother pointed her thin fingers at a 
heap of rags. I found a piece of cotton cloth, and, 
tearing it up, extemporized a little chemise. 
“That will do for a makeshift,” said I, cheerfully; 
but the shivering creature made no reply. I smeared 
the little one with the melted tallow that dripped 
down from the forlorn candle, and, covering it up 
as well as I could, laid it down beside its mother, A FEARFUL NIGHT. 
153 
who was immediately taken with a violent chill. I 
had nothing to warm the poor thing with, so I 
took my overcoat and spread it over her and the 
little ones. I asked her the cause of so much misery, 
when she told me that her husband, a hostler and 
a very capable man, had become a great drunkard, 
and then reformed and was doing nicely, when his 
weak will led him again to yield to bad compan- 
ions, and backslide. He lost his emplojunent, became 
a confirmed sot, and sold for liquor every article in 
the house; and when there was no more, beat and 
abused the weak and meek wife. The scanty food 
which she gave the children, was obtained partly by 
her washing and partly by the children’s begging. 
For the past few days, being unable to leave the 
house, and the child being sick, they had scarcely 
eaten a morsel but some dry crumbs and a little cold 
water. 
As she finished her pathetic story, the wizened 
candle sputtered and went out, with a nauseous smell, 
and we were left in total darkness. At the same time 
the sick child moaned : 
“ I’ll be good, mamma ; give me some water ; a 
good big drink of cold water, I’m so sick, mamma; 
so sick. Will papa whip me because I’m sick, and 
can’t go out begging, mamma ? ” 
A. sob and a shiver were the mother’s only reply. I 
was on the point of rushing out of this wretched place 154 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
to get something to relieve their wants, when I heard a 
noise in the passage-way, down-stairs. 
“ That’s my husband,” half whispered the woman ; 
“ho is coming home drunk. What shall I do ? I’m 
afraid of him. For God’s sake, don’t leave me, 
doctor.” 
The noise increased. It appeared as if he were 
staggering up the stairs, and falling against the walls 
of the stairway, as he stumbled along. The noise was 
heightened by execrations and vociferations for his 
wife to come with a light, and vows of vengeance. 
Presently a great din was heard, as of a falling 
body, and the old house trembled,— bump, bump, 
bump. 
At this I went out into the entry, after encouraging 
the poor woman, and was groping my way down stairs 
when a policeman appeared, with a dark lantern. He 
threw a bright light into the passage and entered. We 
bent over the prostrate man. He had fallen backward 
down the steep stairway, and then slid down to the 
bottom. I shook him ; but he la}' motionless, and 
blood poured from his nose and cars. On examining 
more carefully, I found his skull fractured, and he was 
dead. 
“ Ho has stabbed a man in a drunken melee,” said 
the burly policeman, “ and I followed him home, for 
he got away from me. So much,” he continued, with 
a grim smile that made me shudder; “so much as A FEARFUL NIGHT. 
155 
the results of backsliding. He has taken his last 
bumper.” 
We brought him up and laid him down on the floor, 
in his room. In the morning, when I returned, there 
la}' three dead bodies the miserable father, the little 
blue baby, and the sick child. In twenty-four hours, 
through the kindness of charitable people, the mother 
was comfortably surrounded by decent furniture and a 
cheerful fire. 156 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER XXL 
A CASE OF SMALL-POX 
During the epidemic of 1872 I was called to see a 
young lady named Pippig, said to be sick with the 
small-pox. The house was decorated with a red flag, 
at sight of which pedestrians quickly took the opposite 
side of the street, and held a bottle of carbolic acid to 
to their noses until safely out of sight. As I entered 
the house, a blended smell of burning sulphur, carbolic 
acid, and chloride of lime almost suffocated me, and 
plates of these disinfecting drugs were placed in eveiy 
conceivable nook. A servant, looking very pale and 
holding under her nose a handkerchief wet with cam- 
phor, showed me to the room, and then hastened away. 
I had no idea how Miss Pippig looked, for her face 
was so red and swollen that she did not appear to have 
any particular features. After examining her I re- 
marked that it was not a case of small-pox, but onh* 
erysipelas of the face. 
“ Yes, it is small-pox,” said she, firmly. 
I looked at her inquiringly. 
“ The fact is,” she continued, “ I want it to be called 
small-pox, whether or no, and as a doctor and a minis- 
ter are confidential advisers, I shall let 3*oll into m}r A CASE OF SMALL-POX. 
157 
little secret, and then you will decide I’ve got the 
small-pox. This house belongs to my brother-in-law, 
Mr. Petty, a widower; and he has two sons, Oscar, the 
elder, and Herbert. On the death of my sister I was 
asked to become temporary housekeeper, which I have 
now done for a year, and during this time have received 
marked attention from Mr. Petty and his two sons, 
each unbeknown to the other. All three have lately 
proposed to me, and I have felt some hesitation about 
what course to take. Mr. Petty is well off, but too old 
to suit me. He was an excellent husband to my sister, 
and well he might be, he had so much practice, for my 
sister was his third wife. Yon see he is rich and good ; 
but then he is a grandfather to one of his daughter’s 
children, and I should feel so funny in calling my hus- 
band grandpa. So you see I’m in a dilemma. Oscar 
is about twenty-eight,—very homely, very abrupt, very 
decided, and very obstinate; but, in compensation for 
all that, very honorable and kind. Here is another di- 
lemma. As for Herbert, the younger, he is very hand- 
some and smart, and a good talker, very polite, and 
well dressed, but I am afraid he has an unfeeling heart 
at the bottom. So you see I don’t know what to do. 
I have felt so much embarrassment in choosing between 
the rivals, that I have decided to have the small-pox, 
and accept the one who remains faithful and devoted to 
me during its course. The family, supposing I have 
the small-pox, are thoroughly frightened, and after you 158 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
are gone I shall say to them that you corroborate their 
supposition, and shall beg their help and sympathy. 
All I ask of you is reticence.” 
I hesitated for some time ; but the woman was so 
serious that I was curious to see the result, and deter- 
mined to keep her secret. Miss Pippig was one of 
those ladies who have no mind of their own, and can 
never come to a conclusion. If she listened to an ar- 
gument between two persons, she was on the side of the 
first, and then as readily on that of the second ; in fact 
she was on both sides at the same time without know- 
ing it. Such instability made her regret every act of 
her life, and wish that she had done differently. She 
had read a good many novels, and had some romantic 
ideas which she wished to carry out in real life. 
On the following day she handed me the following 
letter from Mr. Petty : 
My bear Miss Pippig, I regret to say that busi- 
ness compels me to absent myself in New York for 
two or three weeks, and on my return I hope to find 
you restored to health, and the house well fumigated- 
Take good care of yourself, and be ready on my return 
to give me an answer to my proposal. 
“There! You see what he is, doctor,— a selfish 
cow’ard. I would not marry him if he rolled in gold ; 
but here is a note from Herbert; read that.” 
Dear Little Pet, I am so sorry you are sick, and A CASE OF SMALL-POX. 
159 
would gladly sacrifice myself for your sake. How 
dearly I love you nobody knows. I dream of you by 
night and da}’, I send you a bouquet of roses as a 
little memento of my affection. Now, if I can do any- 
thing for you, say it, as I would gladly brave suffering 
or death itself to release you. 
Yours, very affectionately, 
Herbert. 
P.S. Since writing the above I have been invited 
to go hunting for a few weeks, and shall reluctantly 
yield to the urgent wishes of some of my friends, who 
say I look pale and need country air. I could not tear 
myself away without seeing you, so I took a farewell 
look at you through the key-hole of your door. Don’t 
let that frighten you, for I held a bottle of carbolic acid 
under my nose while I was there, and fumigated my- 
self with sulphur before leaving the house. 
2d P.S. Does the doctor think you will be pitted. 
ii. p. 
“There, doctor, all my fondest anticipations are 
shattered. On the whole, he was the one I preferred to 
all, and see how he deserts me in an hour of supposed 
danger. Well, let him go. I know somebody who 
will make me happier than he could. Just read the 
last letter, and she handed me a scrawling note on a 
soiled sheet. 
Dear Miss Pippig. I am at your door, and shall 
remain there until you get well. You can command me 
in anything. Oscar Petty. 160 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ That, doctor, is a man. To be sure he has not got 
the money of his father, nor the beauty of Herbert; 
but he is a man, and I shall marry him.” 
Notwithstanding her eccentric manner of finding out 
her true admirer, I could not but approve of her con- 
clusion. Her plot was working well. Her head had 
swollen so much as to be almost unrecognizable, and 
little blisters appeared over her face, so that her un- 
trained nurse was easily deceived. 
A few days after this I met on the street old Mr. 
Petty, who saw me, but looked another way and tried 
to pass on ; but I button-holed him. 
“ Miss Pippig told me you had gone to New York,” 
said I to him, with a spark of malice aforethought. 
“ True, true, I ought to be away, but hang business ! 
I decided to stay in Boston so as to get news from Miss 
Pippig. It is probable she will become my wife. I 
have proposed to her, and have offered her a good 
home and eveiy comfort. In fact it is a settled thing.” 
“You stayed so as to get news from Miss Pippig ! ” 
repeated I, with more malice ; “ but you never come to 
get it.” 
“ No, not exactly into the house,” drawled the mer- 
chant, biting his lips and coloring; ‘ ‘ but Igo down 
in the evening and look at the door from the corner, 
to see if any crape is on it. You see I worship 
that girl, fairly worship her; but you know self- 
preservation is the first law of nature, and I feel it a A CASE OF SMALL-POX. 
161 
duty I owe my children to preserve my life. It is not 
cowardice, it is duty; and duty shall ever be my guide. 
Send me up a bulletin every day, doctor, and I will foot 
her bills.” At this he handed me the card of a promi- 
nent hotel. 
Not far from this spot I saw Herbert come out of 
some billiard-rooms in Court Street. Those must have 
been the hunting-grounds to which he referred, as they 
are well known to be full of game. But I took no 
notice of him, nor did I communicate to Miss Pippig 
my meeting with those gentlemen. 
At the expiration of three weeks I sent word to Mr. 
Petty that his housekeeper was convalescent and ready 
to receive him. He sent down painters, whitewashers, 
paper-hangers, disinfectors, and upholsterers, who reno- 
vated and cleansed the house. Miss Pippig appointed 
a certain day and hour to receive Mr. Petty and Her- 
bert, and invited me to be present. I entered the par- 
lor and found the father and son in lively conversation, 
the old gentleman dandling a plain gold ring, trying 
to break the ice to his son of his intended marriage, 
and Herbert holding a dainty bouquet of roses endeav- 
oring to make some allusion to his burning affection for 
Miss Pippig. We heard talking in the adjacent room, 
and wondered what it meant, as we were getting impa- 
tient. Mr. Petty, senior, finally rose and opened the 
door, when a living tableau presented itself to us. 
Miss Pippig, dressed in white muslin and covered with 162 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
orange blossoms and looking quite lovely, stood bold- 
ing the band of Oscar, while a minister in front of 
them said distinctly, “ I pronounce you man and wife.” 
Mr. Petty and Herbert were thunderstruck ; but there 
was the living fact before us. They stood silent a mo- 
ment, and then advanced towards the married couple, 
when the roguish lady remarked to Herbert: 
“Now, Herbert, I will answer one of the questions 
of 3rour letter. The small-pox has not pitted me, but 
Oscar has; ” and then turning to Mr. Petty contin- 
ued : 
“ And as for you, Mr. Petty, I have carried out your 
instructions and had the house well fumigated.” TEN YE AES OF WAITING. 
163 
CHAPTER XXII. 
TEN YEARS OF WAITING. 
I was sitting one evening in my office, when the hell 
rang vigorously, and a man came in hastily and sat 
down near me. He was about thirty-five, dresesd 
neatly and plainly but rather threadbare, while his fine 
countenance wore an expression of earnest excitement. 
“In order that you may know what to do/’ he began, 
unceremoniously, “ and how to understand the scene 
to which I shall call you, I will in a few words relate 
an episode in my life. My name is Warkus. Ten 
years ago I graduated at college, with nothing as capi- 
tal but my education and willingness to work. I had a 
literary ambition, and wrote occasional papers for re- 
views, and earned by them a scanty living. In the 
house in Avhieh I lodged lived a poor young shop-girl, 
with her widowed mother, whose beauty, modesty, and 
chastity grafted themselves into my life, until I felt that 
immutable love which time can never efface. My best 
inspirations, my purest aspirations, my firmest resolu- 
tions came from her presence and love. My evenings 
I spent with her and her mother. What little services 
I could do for her, I did with eagerness; \vhat little 
services she could do for me fell like a blessing upon 164 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
me. What she once touched seemed sacred to me, and 
her words were like a prayer, or a blessing, or rather 
like a voice of inspiration. We never spoke of love ; 
but love went from each of us in a silent way, like a 
galvanic current, which is silent, but warms and works. 
I was sure she loved me, and I was sure I worshipped 
her ; but our lips were closed on the subject. 
“ On one occasion I had to go to New York to make 
arrangements with a publisher, about a book of poems 
I wished to bring out, and when I returned Bertha and 
her mother had gone. Their rooms were empty. The 
neighbors told me that a rich uncle had just died, and 
left the young lad}' an immense fortune, and she had 
gone to take possession of a Beacon-street house. I 
flew to the house. A liveried servant came to the door, 
took up my card, and then ushered me into a palatial 
drawing-room. I waited a few moments ; I looked at 
myself, and then at the luxury around me. A deep 
chasm had suddenly opened between us. She was rich 
and I poor. She might possibly no longer look with 
favor on her poor friend, and even if she remembered 
me in her affluence, I could not be dependent on her 
and eat her bread. I rushed from the house without 
waiting for her arrival, and wandered around the city 
till evening, and then again ran to her house. It was 
brilliantly lighted, and carriage after carriage came up, 
and rich people entered to congratulate the now rich 
lady. I hurried back to my cold lodgings, and passed TEN YEARS OF WAITING. 
165 
a sleepless night, struggling with myself between what 
I wished and what I ought to do. I conquered. I was 
no longer a suitable man to be the husband of a million- 
aire. My pride would not allow of it. The next day 
I returned to New York and obtained the position of 
European correspondent for a newspaper. I did not 
see her again until to-day, when, on my arriving from 
abroad, I ran impetuously to her house, and was with 
difficulty admitted to her presence ; but what a presence ! 
She lay on her dying bed in the last breath of consump- 
tion, and has refused all medical aid. Her last request 
is that we be married. What I want of you is to rally 
her, if possible, and keep her alive as long as you can. 
Come immediately: She mentioned your name because 
you once attended her when she was a poor girl.” 
I at once accompanied my visitor, whose tears had 
frequently interrupted his narrative, and hurried to the 
expiring woman. She lay exhausted, propped up with 
pillows, and coughing almost incessantly. Her lips 
were purple, her breathing labored and gasping, and 
cold, wet pearls of sweat formed death’s diadem around 
her forehead. It seemed as if there was nothing alive 
about her but those burning orbs which had sunken 
almost into her brain, as if to shun the light and objects 
of da}’. A dark red spot flickered on her projecting 
cheek-bones, and her transparent nostrils fanned quickly, 
Her long raven hair, unbound, streamed around her as 
if it were her winding-sheet, while, her eyebrows were 166 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
like folds of crape hung over the windows of the de- 
parting soul. There was something ethereal about her, 
as if the spirit was about to burst forth from its 
chrysalis. 
As soon as we entered, her eyes met those of my 
visitor, and she said in a hoarse voice : 
“ Thank God, Walter, I see you once again.” 
I at once perceived her condition, and administered 
brandy and ammonia; which I continued to do at fre- 
quent intervals as long as she lasted. 
“ Bertha! ” sobbed her friend, tenderly. 
“ That,” said she, “ sounds like the voice I loved ten 
years ago. Have you thought of me, Walter, all these 
long ten years that you have lived in self-exile? I 
believed I was something to you. Was I deceived, 
Walter?” 
Mr. Warkus knelt by her side, seized her two hands, 
and pressed them upon his heart. 
“ Bertha,” he murmured, “if you knew what I have 
suffered during this time, you would pity me.” 
“ But you abandoned me, Walter.” 
“ I flew from you because I loved you so. I did not 
propose for your hand when you were poor ; could I do 
so only when you were rich? Would I not seem mer- 
cenary and interested only for your fortune? I fled 
from your presence ; but my love for you followed me in 
all my wanderings, A happy day I have not seen, until 
at last desperation drove me again to your side. Oh, I 
have suffered! ” TEN YEARS OF WAITING. 
167 
“ And do you think, Walter,” said she, softly, “ that 
I have not suffered? I have remained true to my love. 
When I inherited that fortune, I rejoiced for your sake 
that I might aid you in your lofty aims and ambition, 
and I dreamed of sharing your glory ; but you left me, 
and I knew it was on account of your pride, and yet I 
hoped some day to see you again. Many men offered 
themselves to me, but in vain. I was waiting for you. 
You in the busy whirl of life could distract youself; 
but I, a weak woman, what could I do but wait, and 
weep? Which of us, Walter, has most suffered? ” 
“ Oh, you thought I was only a woman, and would 
soon forget.” 
“ I did not dream of that, Bertha.” 
“ No, Bertha, not forget; but I did not imagine you 
loved me so deeply. Oh, Bertha, what have I lost in 
you?” 
“ Walter, I shall be happier in heaven for having seen 
you.” 
At this moment the door opened, and in came the 
minister who had been summoned to many them. He 
at once joined the hands of the pair and married death 
to life. It was difficult to say whether a funeral or a 
wedding ceremony was taking place. No orange blos- 
soms flung their sweet breath from her head; no jewels 
like crystallized sunbeams nestled on her neck; no 
laughing felicitations cheered her spirits; no presents 
of affection and friendliness sparkled from her tables; 168 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
no wedding march enlivened the trembling heart of a 
bride. No, no, no. The benediction was a prayer and 
a farewell; the congratulation was metamorphosed into 
a sigh, a smothered cry of affectionate anguish ; and 
the voices that would have breathed music broke out 
into a low wail. The flowers that ought to be so bright 
were soon to be the smilax and the pale rose, and the 
journey that should have been a tour of pleasure was to 
be the slow march to the grave. 
Mrs. Markus had a happy, transfigured expression, 
that seemed to say, ‘ ‘ This moment repays me for all I 
have suffered.” Her husband was still kneeling at her 
feet and kissing her hands wet with his tears. But 
neither spoke again. There seemed to be a spiritual 
communion going on between them. She appeared 
much exhausted, and though I increased the brandy and 
ammonia, she lay back, with short breath and rattling 
chest, and seemed to fall asleep with eyes rolled up- 
wards. She then struggled and we knew she was no 
more. 
I inquired more of her mother the circum- 
stances of her life, and learned that her father had died 
of consumption, leaving them destitute, and that for 
several years they were in a state of great distress from 
actual deprivation of the necessaries of life. After the 
inheritance, the daughter, although surrounded by 
luxury, was unhappy and seemed to feast on her sacred 
grief. She finally refused all society and lived in seclu- TEN YEARS OF WAITING. 
sion, feeding on her own unnatural imagination. From 
this course resulted the consumption of which she had 
inherited the seeds. Her marriage was partly to gratify 
her caprice, and partly to give a protector to her aged 
mother. 170 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
SWALLOWING A FROG. 
On one of my summer vacations I boarded at a 
farm-house in an obscure town of New Hampshire, 
where, much against m3’ inclination, it became known 
that I was a physician from Boston. I stoutly insisted 
that I should refuse all medical conversations and 
consultations ; but, at the urgent entreaties of a neigh- 
boring farmer, I consented to meet his medical attend- 
ant, a certain Dr. Brims, to investigate the case of his 
wife, who was said to be in consumption. 
Dr. Brims arrived in a chaise well plastered with 
mud, and laid down his whip, which he always used 
with the butt-end, as his obdurate horse seemed indif- 
ferent to the admonitions of the other. He took out 
a little yellow trunk containing his medicines, and 
saluted me somewhat stiffly. He was a dried-up old 
man, a burnt-out clinker, with very bushy eyebrows 
hanging down over his eyes, which were so lively that 
they had a continual up and down movement; in fact, 
his eyebrows appeared to be the only lively part in 
him, for every other part acted only by compulsion, or 
as if it had been wound up and set going. His neck 
was at right angles to his bod}7, and seemed on the SWALLOWING A FROG. 
171 
point of shooting forwards at a tangent to get some- 
where or something. This shooting forwards gave him 
the appearance of being hump-backed, but it was a 
mere illusion, for his hump was really in front, in the 
form of a capacious abdomen, which had been enlarged 
to meet the growing wants of his stomach in the cider 
business. His teeth were all gone, and his lower jaws, 
when his mouth was closed, shot upwards, and entirely 
disappeared under his upper lip. Two fleshy bags 
hung down under his eyes : what they contained I know 
not; but between the bushy brows above and these 
eye-bags below, all you could see were two small gray 
marbles endowed with sight. He was withal a fra- 
grant man, fragrant with emanations of rhubarb and 
ipecac from his pockets, and exhalations of tobacco 
from his mouth and every part of him, as if he had 
been baptized in it. 
We thought best to begin with a physical examina- 
tion of the lungs of the patient. He seemed very 
anxious to do it himself, possibly to show me that 
science had penetrated into his mountainous home. He 
began to percuss on the right side, as if his hand was 
a sledge-hammer and her chest an anvil. 
“You see,” he cried, exultantly, “here is perfect 
dullness of the lung. The right lung has gone to 
thunder, and she is living on the other.” 
“ Dullness ! ” I protested ; “ why, you were percuss- 
ing over the liver when you found that dullness.” 172 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ Was it? ” he asked, musingly ; “let me see, how 
high does the liver rise in the chest ? This liver seems 
rather high.” 
“You’re right, Dr. Brims,” observed Mrs. Mull; 
“I’ve had the liver complaint a good many years. 
My liver seems too high up in my stomach.” 
“ I don’t blame it then for complaining,” I remarked ; 
“ high livers are alwa}7s complaining live lower and 
it will go down.” 
Mrs. Mull was a portly woman, who lived well; but 
she did not seem to understand m37 remark. 
“ Well, doctor,” said Dr. Brims, continuing our dis- 
cussion, “where is the line of separation between the 
liver and lung ? ” 
“The liver rises to the upper border of the sixth 
rib,” I answered. 
“Does it?” he queried, incredulously; “ mebbe it 
do down to Boston, but it don’t up here.” 
I let him have his own way, and we differed still 
further by his calling the case consumption, and I 
chronic bronchitis. We then retired into the sitting- 
room to talk over the case, and as we went he whis- 
pered the word cider to the ruddy farmer, who brought 
in a large pitcher of hard cider, two pewter mugs and 
a plate of apples. 
“ O’ny two things can cure that ’oman,” began the 
doctor, setting down his empty mug and wiping his SWALLOWING A FROG. 
173 
mouth with his red bandana. ‘ ‘ Doctors nowadays 
give too much medicine, ’specially powders and pills. 
The stores are filled with pills of every possible name 
there’s Ayer’s, Herrick’s, Down’s, Harrison’s, 
Schenck’s, and those whose other name is Legion; in 
fact, this might be called the pill age.” 
“It certainly is on the part of the vendors of those 
who pillage the consumers,” I laughed. 
“As I was saying,” he pursued, after making a fly- 
ing visit to the pewter mug, “ doctors give too much 
medicine, and between you and me there is more dies 
from the effect of the medicines than the disease. 
Don’t you know all medicines are poison, and it’s a 
mere question how much poison a person can stand 
without dying. Diseases themselves are poison ;as for 
instance, small-pox, diphtheria, scarlet fever, cholera, 
etc., and it all depends whether the poison of the 
disease is stronger than the medicine, or the medicine 
stronger than the disease, or whether the patient is 
stronger than either of them. If the disease don’t 
floor him, it is pretty sartin the medicine will. If I 
was sick, I would sooner trust natur and natur’s God 
than all the poisons in my trunk, but of course we 
doctors must get a living out of other people’s misfor- 
tins. When I open my trunk and see all the pretty 
names my poisons bear, and see the pretty colors and 
shapes they take, I say to myself those poisons are 
little devils disguised as ministering angels.” 174 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
Dr. Brims stopped a moment to rest and empty his 
pewter mug, and then continued : 
“ The longer I practice the less and the simpler 
medicines I prescribe, and I now prefer what natur 
provides ready made before me in the fields, before it 
has been distilled down to strong poisons. Ever}' 
herb that grows is a medicine if you only knew its 
qualities. It is cheaper for m<?, safer for the patient, 
and it is •taking things as I find ’em in God Almighty’s 
apothecaiy shop, out doors. 
“Now to come down to the present case; it will 
take two things to cure that ’oman. The first is a cat 
poultice, or, in medical language, a cataplasm. My 
poultice is made of live black kittens. I put a litter of 
’em over the lungs, and the old she will stay where 
they do. Their warmth, which never cools like any 
other poultice, the vapor-bath of their warm breath, 
and the electricity given off their fur will cure any 
lung difficulty that isn’t too far gone.” 
“I see,” I laughed, derisively, “ if Mrs. Mull makes 
a pillow of herself for her cats, she turns herself into a 
caterpillar.” 
“The other remedy I mentioned,” he said, solemnly, 
without noticing my interruption, “is frog beer.” 
“ Frog beer! ” I repeated in amazement; “ what is 
that?” 
“ Very simple. You take yaller dock, rock poly pod, 
plantain, wild celandine, sassyparilla, sassyfras, dande- SWALLOWING A FROG. 
175 
lion-root, violet-root, pipsissewa, garden rhubarb and 
gill-go-over-the-ground, a pound of each to four gal- 
lons of water, and finally add twenty-four live frogs. 
It seemed to me that the doctor was going.to inflict 
Mrs. Mull with the frog plague which Aaron brought 
upon Pharaoh ; but I made no objection, provided she 
would go to the seaside for a month. The doctor 
wrote down a formidable prescription and 
handed it to Mr. Mull, and soon went off with consid- 
erable hard cider in his legs, which seemed to have the 
rising and falling inflection, as he swayed to and fro in 
getting to his chaise. 
I saw no more of Mrs. Mull until my next summer 
vacation, when she came over to see me, saying that 
the frog beer had cured her of the consumption, but 
that she was now worse than ever, owing to swallow- 
ing in the beer a live tadpole which had grown in her 
stomach to a big frog, and now, like another Pharaoh, 
she wanted me to take away the frogs from her. She 
was very nervous and low-spirited, and had become 
very thin, for she ate almost nothing so as to starve 
out the intruding batrachian. She had become a mono- 
maniac on the subject, and imagined she heard it croak, 
felt it jump up in her stomach and then fall back with 
a splash. All night long she fancied she heard the 
croaking in the pond of her stomach, and its ineffectual 
efforts to get out. She almost never closed her eyes, 
and if she did it was only for a moment when she 176 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
would awake with a start and a jump. Occasionally 
she perceived the monster crawling up into her throat, 
when she was sure there was a lump there and she 
began to strangle and gasp for breath and scream. 
She sometimes too believed she could feel with her 
hand in her abdomen a lump of something which 
moved with a gurgling sound when she pressed upon 
it. And her horror was increased by imagining that 
this frog might spawn and a hideous group of tad- 
poles come forth which might chase each other down 
the thirty feet of her intestines. Just think of her 
whole bowels becoming an immense frog-pond! She 
never dared approach a marsh for fear that her frogs 
calling out responsive to the croaks of their marsh rel- 
atives might induce them to come out and endeavor to 
release the pining prisoners in the dungeon of her 
stomach. 
She had appealed to Dr. Brims, but alas ! he had no 
Aaron’s rod to stretch forth, and could only propose a 
fishing-rod with baited hook ; but she felt suspicious of 
him and refused to try the experiment. I saw that 
nothing but ocular demonstration could satisfy Mrs. 
Mull. I accordingly made an appointment for the next 
day at her house, and in the meantime hunted up a 
small frog which I concealed under my coat-sleeve. I 
first ordered her to drink a large quantity of water, and 
then administered a powerful emetic. I called for a 
pail to catch the upheaval, and in the midst of her SWALLOWING A FROG. 
177 
vomiting let the frog fall from my sleeve into the pail, 
at the same time pounding her strongly on the hack. 
“There,” cried I, “you’re all right now; its horn ; 
the frog is thrown up ! ” 
44 Didn’t I tell you truly ? ” gasped the exhausted 
woman. 441 knew it was there, for I felt it jump and 
croak.” 
An explanation of Mrs. Mull’s symptoms is very 
easy. She was afflicted with a rare form of flatulent 
dyspepsia of such a nature that gas accumulates in the 
stomach, and hy pressing upon it the gas changes posi- 
tion and causes a peculiar noise with splash of the 
liquid in the stomach. At the same time she suffered 
from hysteria, in which there is the sensation of a ball 
or lump in the throat, with suffocation. Having once 
got it into her head that she had swallowed a tadpole, it 
was very easy and natural to attribute to the frog the 
subjective symptoms arising from the hysteria and dys- 
pepsia. After the supposed expulsion of her croaking 
enemy she resumed her appetite and sleep, and became 
a healthy and sane woman. 178 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER XXIV . 
THE RAGPICKER’S DEATH. 
The oldest citizens in this city may remember a trial 
for poisoning in a Spanish family named Rosa. The 
family consisted, of a beautiful young wife and her hus- 
band, who was a confectioner, and a young Spaniard 
named Fernandez, who boarded with them and worked 
in their shop. It was noticed that Fernandez was 
infatuated with the lovety Senora, and was very much 
in her company in her husband’s absence. At length 
Don Rosa was suddenly taken very sick, with symp- 
toms of cholera morbus, and was treated for it by an 
eminent physician, but notwithstanding every effort he 
died in great distress. Young Fernandez now showed 
the greatest affection for the widow, which she did not 
seem to reciprocate ; for, while he was gay and atten- 
tive to her, she remained silent and thoughtful. She 
seemed changed since her husband’s death. She had 
permitted certain gallantries in Fernandez which were 
now distasteful to her. The sufferings and death of 
her husband had awakened her better nature, and her 
self-reproach had culminated in vows of faithfulness to 
his memory. It was not long before the neighbors 
began to hear noises of angry voices spoken in a THE RAGPICKER’S DEATH. 
179 
foreign language, and soon afterwards the widow her- 
self was taken sick in the same manner as her husband, 
and my father was called to attend her. Her vomit- 
ing was incessant, her eyelids swollen, her cheeks 
sunken and pale and terrible cramps incessantly 
tortured her. One whole night my father remained at 
her bedside and by morning she was much better, but 
as soon as he left her she immediately relapsed and 
died. An inquest being called for, the two bodies 
were exhumed and examined, when large quantities 
of arsenic were found in them. Don Fernandez was 
arrested on suspicion, as an apothecary testified that 
the accused had bought arsenic of him on several 
occasions ; but after keeping him a year in jail, and no 
positive evidence against him being found, the culprit 
was acquitted. 
Many years after the events above mentioned, I was 
one morning called to see a man said to be dying. I 
hurried to the house with the messenger, and found that 
the sick man lived alone in a dilapidated house on the 
borders of Miller’s River. The house was propped up 
on crutches, as it were, to prevent its falling down; 
the windows were broken and were covered with paper 
panes, the door-steps were gone, so we had to climb up 
into the desolate shelter. The interior had a musty, 
damp smell and chilly feeling. On opening the 
patient’s room I found myself in a ragpicker’s quarters. 
The floor was strewn with rags sorted out in heaps 180 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
according to their material and color, which emitted 
a noisome stench. On a filthy table was a bottle of 
whiskey, a few crusts of bread and a black pipe filled 
with ashes. A chair with no bottom to it stood at the 
table. The only bed was a mattress filled with sea- 
weed lying on some boards. At one end of this lay a 
very thin dog with an ugly-looking face, and at the 
other lay a man all dressed, but he himself looked little 
different from any other heap of rags in the room. He 
was perhaps sixty, with gray hair, thin lips and hag- 
gard cheeks. There were the ruins of regular feat- 
ures fissured and thinned by want and worriment. 
Some neighbors, who stooped over him rubbing his 
hands and arms, said that on coming in, in the morn- 
ing, to see him, he was not to be seen; but, attracted 
by feeble groans, they descended into the cellar and 
discovered him lying on a heap of coke, unable to 
move. 
On examination I perceived the side on which he fell 
very bruised, discolored and paralyzed. His mouth 
was drawn to one side, one cheek was immovable and 
one eyelid closed and the corresponding brow hung 
down lower than the other, and he was heavily breath- 
ing with a puffing sound. The ragpicker had had an 
attack of apoplexy, but was still conscious and could 
still talk, although slowly, and with great difficulty. I 
bathed his head with cold water and gave him a spoon- 
ful of whiskey, which seemed to revive him a little. THE RAGPICKER’S DEATH. 
181 
“It is very uncertain,” said I to him, while feeling 
his feeble pulse, “whether you can live more than a few 
hours ; and if you have any last wishes, make them 
known and I will do what I can for you.” 
The paralytic feebly requested the neighbors to with- 
draw and then related to me in a slow, staccato man- 
ner, his story. 
“ I went down cellar to fetch up some coke, and 
while stooping over to shovel it up fell upon it and was 
unable to move or speak, but still had my senses. It 
was a cold, gusty night, and the wind which entered 
the broken windows blew out my candle. I was very 
cold, very stiff and numb, but could do nothing. I 
occasionally heard some one go by whistling or talking, 
but could not make myself known. When all was still 
and the night far advanced, I noticed light noises 
of gnawing and creeping, and knew that rats were sur- 
rounding me. They ran over my body and I felt their 
cold fur and claws upon me. Some of them bit me 
fiercely and you can see their marks here on my limbs, 
God! what a fearful night that was. I was freezing to 
death on a pile of coke, with no companions but vora- 
cious rats! I felt other things crawl over me, some- 
thing slimy and cold, but slow and dragging. Whether 
it was toads or slugs, or a snake, I don’t know. I was 
not in liquor; would to God I had been! It would 
have warmed me and kept up my courage. No, it was 
all real and true. I have lived here alone a good many 182 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
years, because nobody will live with me and I will live 
with nobody. During the whole night my mind suf- 
fered more than my body. As I felt death coming 
into my bones, and my wretched body freezing in the 
draught, and heard the rats running over me, there in 
the darkness, on a rough heap of coke, with no one to 
hear me or to save me I saw two ghosts come out of 
the darkness and bend over me. They were living 
ghosts, but their breath was icy.” 
The man shuddered and closed his eye, but was una- 
ble to proceed for some time. 
“Doctor,” he resumed at length, “my real name is 
Fernandez, and I was the poisoner of Mr. and Mrs. 
Rosa! and the two ghosts were them. They had a 
package of white powder in their hands, and threw it 
in my face and over me. I felt it showering down 
upon me and knew it was arsenic. I could taste it as 
it fell on my lips ; it was acid and strong enough to 
burn holes into my flesh. God ! how do you think I 
felt at that moment, in that black, fearful cellar? Hell 
would be welcome to get release from such torments. 
I know I’m going to die, and I want to unburden the 
secret that has been like a red-hot iron in my mind for 
nearly thirty years. I poisoned Mr. Rosa because I 
loved his wife, and I poisoned her because she would 
not marry me nor let mo have a share in the property. 
She even hinted that I had a hand in the death of her 
husband. She would finally have testified against me. THE RAGPICKER’S DEATH. 
183 
But she, though giddy, was innocent; the crime was all 
my own. I put arsenic in their tea, their food and 
their medicine, and when Mr. Rosa died I expected to 
marry his wife and be happy; but I was not so a 
moment. I was tortured with remorse, and Mrs. Rosa 
and I disputed and quarrelled. She threatened me and 
I poisoned her. It seemed happiness for me to see her 
suffering. I don’t know whether I was crazy or not, 
but I felt happy in knowing I should have no one to 
rise up and testify against me. After she died I 
never knew a moment of rest or comfort. I could not 
work. I went away for some years into another State, 
but finally came back to visit their graves. I gradu- 
ally got lower and lower until I became a ragpicker 
there, do you see them ghosts there with their arsenic? 
they are throwing it at me ; that’s Rosa and his wife.” 
The man became so wrought up by his hallucina- 
tions that he was soon exhausted and unconscious, and 
died the following day. 184 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER XXY. 
A CHASE FOR A PATIENT. 
In the earlier years of my practice I was stationed 
in a small village in New Hampshire, where the people, 
from the purity of the air, the simplicity of their 
diet, the regularity of their lives and their abstinence 
from all alcoholic beverages, got into a way of being 
tremendously healthy; so much so, that every physi- 
cian who settled there was obliged either to turn farmer 
or move away to more unhealthy localities. I was 
one day at dinner ruminating on the fearfully good 
hygienic condition of the inhabitants of this Arcadia, 
when a gentleman came in, unceremoniously sat down 
at my table, and began to refresh himself with my 
fare. I at once recognized him as Dr. Pickles, the 
presiding medical elder of the adjacent town. His 
face was of a brownish hue, seamed with valleys and 
highlands ; his eyelids never separated more than one- 
sixteenth of an inch apart, so that all you could see 
was the equator of a pair of sea-green eyes. But his 
large, blunt nose with its large, almost round nostrils 
seemed, in a measure, to take the place of eyes, as he 
was accustomed to smell of everything before making 
use of it, probably from his habit of always smelling A CHASE FOR A PATIENT. 
185 
the medicines which he gave his patients. His cheek- 
bones were high, like headlands, and his mouth a mere 
horizontal opening in his head, as he had no lips that 
could be seen. The top of his cranium was a Sahara ; 
an immense desert, with an oasis here and there on the 
borders. His neck was a long isthmus, with large blue 
veins like rivers running over it. 
Dr. Pickles, who considered my presence an intru- 
sion in his circuit, had a quiet way of gobbling up my 
patients when he could. He seemed to be a kind of 
buccaneer; his saddle-bags were his black flag, his 
little black mare and chaise had a rakish, piratical look, 
and his little bottles were so many cannons loaded 
with pill-balls and rhubarb-gunpowder. Thus armed 
to the teeth he boldly sailed into my own harbor and 
declared war in an underhanded manner. Having a 
patient in my neighborhood, he embraced the opportu- 
nity to see how I was getting along and how my 
dinner tasted. 
“ How’s business?” he queried, without moving his 
invisible lips. 
“ No sickness,” said I, laconically. 
“ A doctor can’t judge of the amount of sickness by 
the amount of his practice,” he remarked, gloatingly, 
“ for in the case of a popular practitioner with a large 
practice there always seems to be a great deal of sick- 
ness, while at the same time another less popular might 
complain of it being a healthy season, so that you 186 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
can’t judge of the health of the town by one physi- 
cian’s business.” 
I felt annihilated by this undoubted truth, and was 
silenced. 
“For instance,” he continued, after doing considera- 
bly in the way of mastication, “ I consider this a very 
sickly town. There’s Mehitable Beggs down with the 
rheumatism, there’s Sam Bolster laid up with a felon, 
there’s old Mr. Small with a sprained wrist, and there’s 
Mrs. Picket with a ten-pounder of a boy. I call this a 
tremendous sickly town.” 
In the midst of this unanswerable speech my mortifi- 
cation was prevented by the sound of horse’s hoofs 
rapidly striking the ground. We both rose, and look- 
ing out of the window saw a man literally on horse- 
back (having left his saddle at home and his hat on the 
road, like another Gilpin), who galloped up to the door 
and begged me to hasten to his house, a distance of two 
miles, and reduce the dislocated jaw of his wife. That 
was a very happy moment for me, and I was glad to 
show signs of business to my jealous and overbearing 
acquaintance. Dr. Pickles looked chop-fallen and cha- 
grined, as his office was at least a quarter of a mile 
nearer the patient than mine. 
“Did you ever reduce a dislocated jaw?” malici- 
ously asked the doctor, looking hard at the farmer. 
I hesitated, but finally said, “ No, I never did, but I 
am ready to do it.” A CHASE FOE A PATIENT. 
187 
“ Well, doctor,” he remarked, in an apparently un- 
concerned manner, “ if you have any trouble or diffi- 
culty in getting that back, why, I am here, you know. 
I have reduced at least half a dozen in my life, but of 
course there is always a first time to a new beginner.” 
I made no reply, as I was anxious to set off, and har- 
nessing my horse and begging my wife to entertain 
our guest, followed briskly the hatless horseman. It 
\ 
was a pretty neat race down these two miles, but he 
came in first. We hastily alighted and Mr. Diggs, 
the farmer, ushered me into the sitting-room and said, 
“ Doctor, this is my ” 
He did not finish his sentence, as his wife was not 
there. He ran into every room, calling “ Oriander;” 
but Oriander was not there. Finally, his little child 
came running in and announced that her mother had 
started off with the white horse and buggy, to go to 
Dr. Pickles’ office, as she had in her impatience con- 
cluded that I was not at home, and could not come. 
There was no alternative. Mr. Diggs got in with me, 
and we ran down to Dr. Pickles’ in search of our escap- 
ist. What was our astonishment and vexation to learn 
from Mrs. Pickles that the chop-fallen Mrs. Diggs had 
arrived, and been directed to my office, where she said 
that her husband, who had not much to do, might be 
found. I must return then to my own office to find 
my patient; but then I should finally have the sat- 
isfaction of performing this reduction in the very face 188 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
of Dr. Pickles. Mr. Diggs and I jumped in again, and 
we proceeded with new zeal and fresh courage to my 
house. We entered the office ; it was empty! 
“Whera is Mrs. Diggs? ” I asked of my wife. 
“ Mrs. Diggs ! Why, I told her you had gone to her 
house and was there, and advised her to go home and 
have the operation done there. It is not long since 
she left.” 
“ And Dr. Pickles?” 
“ Oh, he left a little while before Mrs. Diggs came.” 
Although disappointed, obstacles only kindled m v 
zeal to a greater flame, and I longed to get at Mrs. 
Diggs, my only patient, and get hold of her jaw. 
I at once set out agam with Mr. Diggs, and got 
along swimmingly for about a half mile, when my horse, 
seeing some white object on the roadside, became balky. 
I whipped him until I was ashamed of myself, then 
repented and coaxed him, but all to no purpose. I 
suspected that an important factor in his balkiness was 
his unwillingness to be deprived of his oats, which he 
had not finished. He knew nothing about that unlucky 
jaw, and took no interest in the case ; all he wanted was 
oats. It was pure selfishness on his own part, but I 
could not help it. On one end of the road was a jaw 
calling me, and on the other were oats calling him; and 
oats conquered. Mr. Diggs, who had been to sea in his 
young days, burst out laughing and remarked: 
“ That’s what I call riding at anchor*' A CHASE FOR A PATIENT. 
189 
I then jumped out, determined to finish the chase on 
foot, telling Diggs to turn round and face towards the 
stable and he would have no further trouble. And it 
turned out as I said ; the balky animal trotted home all 
right. On other subsequent occasions I have noticed 
that if you turn a balky horse round and go the other 
direction he will go well enough. And just here it 
may not be out of place to draw a moral from this inci- 
dent, and recommend husbands who have balky wives, 
that will not always follow them, to turn them round 
occasionally and let them go their own way awhile, 
and afterwards they will probably return to the road of 
their husbands. It is more than possible that balky 
wives may be in the right, after all, and the husbands in 
the wrong, As an honest man I confess that my horse 
was not in the wrong, and I would have done the same 
thing in his place. In other words, balkiness is not 
always a sign of ill-temper nor mulishness ; but is per- 
haps more often a sign of resistance to tyranny and an 
insurrection on a small scale. 
It was a hot summer’s day and the heat and my ex- 
citement soon brought on one of my familiar sick-head- 
aches, so that I had to sit down a little while and hold 
my throbbing head, but visions of an “open counte- 
nance ” appeared before me, and I got up and pursued 
my way. I arrived at last and found Mrs. Diggs, with 
her face tied up and her mouth shut. 190 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“Why, doctor,” said she, “I’m sorry you came. 
I overtook Dr. Pickles and he put my jaw back.” 
I made no reply. That pirate of a doctor had cruised 
around in my waters and captured my only patient. I 
did nothing; I said nothing; but I thought over to 
myself some fearfully improper expressions, which all 
ended in smoke. But one thing I did do : I folded my 
tent and silently stole away to other fields more need- 
ful of my services. A DRY BIRTH. 
191 
CHAPTER XXYI. 
A DRY BIRTH. 
I was called in 18G4, one hot July night, about mid- 
night, to attend a lad}' in childbirth. I made all pos- 
sible haste, and, on arriving at an aristocratic house, 
was ushered into the sitting-room, where the husband 
was pacing the room and wringing his hands. 
“ My God, doctor,” cried he, abruptly, “I am afraid 
my wife will die. She can never live through this ; and 
if she does, it will kill me. Do the best you can, doc- 
tor, and I will pay you well. If you want another 
physician to consult with, say so, Do you want ether, 
or brandy, or rum, or spurred rye, or .” 
“ Nothing at all at present,” I objected, soothingly ; 
“ I will do all that is necessary, and ask help if I need 
it.” 
The husband burst into tears and covered up his face 
with his hands. 
On entering the sick-room, I found a lady of forty 
seated in an arm-chair and composedly fanning herself. 
“ Now, doctor,” began the lady in a low voice, offer- 
ing me a chair beside her, “ I want your assistance, for 
this is a very difficult case.” 
“ Don’t be alarmed, madam,” said I, encouragingly ; 192 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ I have had a large experience, and have brought ether 
and everything else that is needful; and if we need 
counsel, I will send for one at once.” 
The lady smiled faintly and then went on : 
“We have been married twelve years, and have 
never had a child. My husband worships children and 
has long wanted one ; in fact, that is the only desidera- 
tum to his happiness. For the last year or two he has 
not been so fond of me as before, and has been in the 
habit of being away a great deal, so I thought if I had 
a child it would reunite us more happily, and we should 
begin to live again as we once did.” 
Here she sighed and stopped a moment, then re- 
sumed : 
“Alas! I never had a child and never shall; but 
would give worlds to have one.” 
I looked upon her in amazement. She paid no 
attention to my astonishment, but calmly pursued : 
“ And so I have felt it necessary to have a supposi- 
titious child, and have made m 3' arrangements accord- 
ingl}T. I have pretended to be in that interesting way ; 
and, by a judicious use of cotton-batting and swathing, 
have deceived 1113’ husband, whom I have told the child 
will be born to-night. M3t nurse agreed to get me a 
foundling and bring it here to-night, and I shall pre- 
tend to be in labor.” 
“ But, madam,” I remonstrated, “ I can’t be a party 
to duplicity.” A DRY BIRTH. 
193 
“Would you prevent the happiness of ray life by 
refusing me simply your countenance and support ? ” 
That simple interrogatory silenced me. 
“ Oh, if this labor were real! ” she murmured. 
“ You seem,” said I, “to have a real love of labor, 
but no real labor of love.” 
She then retired to bed. In a few minutes more Hie 
nurse arrived with a bundle under her cloak, which was 
rapidly transferred to her side. The little waif was 
under the influence of paregoric and remained quiet. 
Mrs. Hancock now began to groan and then to scream. 
The husband rapped on the door, and asked if he might 
come in. 
“ No ! ” she thundered, but only screamed the louder. 
She was rapidly divested of her cotton-batting append- 
age, and soon the husband was admitted, who found a 
little babe in the nurse’s arms. She held it up to him, 
and asked him if it did not resemble its father. The 
happy man looked at it a moment tenderly, and said it 
was a perfect image of its mother. 
“ I will love it for its mother’s sake,” he said. 
Mrs. Hancock looked at me slyly, then at the nurse, 
and smiled and blushed, as much as to say, I hope not. 
A few years after this event I was called upon to 
attend this lady in her last sickness. She wanted to 
know if she had long to live, and I frankly disclosed 
the truth. She then beckoned her husband to her side 
and said, taking his hand : 194 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
‘‘ Tobias, I cannot die without a clear conscience. I 
have deceived you, and it has caused me many misgiv- 
ings and self-reproaches, and I feel as if I could not be 
forgiven in the other world, if I am not in this. Tobias, 
dear, Willie is not our child; it is a foundling that I 
smuggled in here to deceive you with. Can you for- 
give me, dear? I knew you could not be happy with- 
out a child, and so I thought to make 3*ou contented 
with another’s.” 
The husband looked at her, first with astonishment, 
and then, overcome at his wife’s tenderness and love, 
burst into tears. 
Ten years after the death of Mrs. Hancock her hus- 
band died intestate. His brother, appointed admin- 
istrator by the judge of probate, had already learned, 
in a confidential conversation with his brother, that the 
child was supposititious; and, as no papers could be 
found proving that he was legally adopted, the admin- 
istrator refused to acknowledge him as heir. This was 
a startling revelation to the young man, who had been 
educated in the best manner, and supposed himself the 
only child and heir. He was thus suddenly reduced to 
poverty, and thrown from the highest society to his 
own resources. 
At this state of affairs I was called upon by two 
elderly ladies, one of whom declared herself to have 
been the nurse of Mrs. Hancock on the occasion of the 
pretended birth. 195 
A DRY BIRTH. 
“Now,” continued the nurse, “I am prepared to 
prove that this woman is the real mother of that child, 
because I was present as nurse at the birth; and I my- 
self, when the babe was a week old, carried it to Mrs. 
Hancock, according to an agreement I had with her to 
furnish her one. Moreover, I can prove that Mr. Han- 
cock was the real father of the child. This woman, the 
real mother, was once servant in the family of Mr. 
Hancock; and, as at that time he was estranged from 
his wife’s affections, he became attached to this servant- 
girl, and this child was the result. He engaged me to 
nurse this woman, and said he would pa}* me well, as 
he was the father of the child. On the birth of the 
waif, this poor girl was unable to keep it, and Mr. 
Hancock was glad to get rid of it; so I proposed to 
get it adopted, to which both agreed; and when Mrs. 
Hancock desired me to get a foundling child for her, I 
gladly brought this one, without ever mentioning the 
parents of it. This young man, therefore, is the son 
of Mr. Hancock, and consequently sole heir to the 
whole proper!}' ; and as this poor woman, who has had, 
ever since the birth of the child, to work at washing 
for a living, is the young heir’s mother, she will be 
handsomely provided for in her old age.” 
All this astounded me; but the facts were well 
attested by living witnesses, so that I advised them 
both to be present in the court at the proving of the 
will, of which I would inform them. 196 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
At the appointed time, which I ascertained, all were 
present, and the administrator avowed himself sole heir 
as brother, as the intestate had left no family. The 
young man, who had come merely as spectator, hung 
his head and was silent. 
“ May it please your honor,” said the nurse, rising, 
“I object to these proceedings. The rightful heir to 
Mr. Hancock is his son William.” 
‘‘ He had no son; this young man was never 
adopted,” said the administrator, haughtily. 
“ True he has not been adopted, but he was the real 
son of Tobias Hancock; and this woman at my side 
was the mother of that child.” 
The young man and the administrator looked at her 
in amazement; but she calmly went on to state clearly 
the facts in the case, which were corroborated by the 
mother and myself, when the judge declared William 
Hancock the real heir. 
The young man, who seemed spell-bound in listening 
to these facts, now rushed forward and cried, “Mother,” 
and threw himself in her arms. The happy trio of 
mother, nurse, and child now withdrew together and 
formed an inseparable union. IT WAS THE OTHER MAN. 
197 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
IT WAS THE OTHER MAN. 
In September, 1868, I was one day called upon by a 
gentleman who desired me to go at once and see a 
madman. The gentleman, dressed in shabby black, 
wore round his neck a loosely-tied red handkerchief, 
but no collar. He had evidently not been shaved for a 
week, and his black hair, striped with white, was long 
and uncombed. His black eyes had a peculiar restless 
look, and his whole manner was uneasy and nervous. 
I went at once with the stranger, who, on arriving at his 
home, ushered me into a darkened room, with no furni- 
ture but a bed and chair. On the bed, apparently 
asleep, lay a stout, red-faced man, all dressed except his 
coat and vest. 
“He’s asleep,” whispered the stranger, “but has 
been raving all night and tearing everything to pieces. 
When he is awake it is impossible to hold him, and he 
howls like a wolf. If he should awake now he would 
tear us in pieces. I want you to secure him while he is 
quiet, for I don’t dare to meddle with him.” 
I immediately called for a clothes-line, and cautiously 
fastened the arms and legs to the four bed-posts; 
which I easily did, as the madman was sleeping very 
heavily. 198 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“ There,” chuckled the stranger, “ that’s jolly. That 
will calm him down. This is the scene of Delilah and 
Samson, and lam the Philistines; but let him sleep a 
little while longer, while I show you m 3' workshop.” 
The eccentric stranger took me into an adjoining 
room, which at first sight appeared to be a room for 
storage, but which on closer inspection seemed to be 
filled with models and machines of different kinds. 
■■‘Here,” began the stranger, with great animation 
and rapidity of speech, “is m 3' thinking shop. lam an 
inventor, and have spent my life in inventing useful 
objects. I began life with an inheritance of twent3' 
thousand dollars, and have spent all in experimenting 
upon and perfecting different models of public utility ; 
but for some reason have not been fortunate nor appre- 
ciated, and m 3' machines have not brought me any- 
thing. But that is an eveiy-day matter of knowledge, 
that men of genius are never appreciated until the3r are 
coffined down, and then the world shouts after them, 
and 1)113's their works. But lam not disheartened; I 
have got something better. I shall let the old inven- 
tions go, and bring out new ideas and projects, which 
within two 3rears will make me a millionaire. I have 
got underway discoveries in science which will aston- 
ish and electrif3r the world. Look at this plan ; that is 
a machine for grinding up fools and turning out sen- 
sible men. The world is overstocked with fools, and 
that’s the reason progress is so slow. The only prac- IT WAS THE OTHER MAX. 
199 
tical difficulty is with the soul; which is so light and 
volatile it would immediately rise during the process 
by having no specific gravity. I expect, even, by a 
peculiar form of eccentric pressure, to realize the theories 
of Gall, and develop any mental faculty, and extinguish 
vicious propensities by putting the head into an hydrau- 
lic press and elevating certain bumps and depressing- 
others ; for instance; by elevating the bumps of ven- 
eration, you have a minister; by enlarging philopro- 
genitiveness you generate a Mormon ; by diminishing 
conscientiousness you make a lawyer; by annihilating 
all the bumps but self-acquisitiveness you create a poli- 
tician ; by pressing up destructiveness until it is gigan- 
tic, you have a ready-made rumseller; by mingling 
benevolence and cautiousness you turn out a doctor; 
and so on. 
I looked at the inventor in blank astonishment, and 
expected to see a smile of satire ; but he remained seri- 
ous and enthusiastic, and continued : 
“Here is a machine for condensing sunbeams, and 
using them for cooking purposes, adapted particularly 
to seamen and soldiers.” 
“ How would you do on cloudy and wintry days?” 
said I, amused at this singular idea. 
“ Oh, that is easy ; the surplus of heat is boxed up in 
my absorber, and can be kept or shipped to any quar- 
ter, and renewed once a month ; in fact, a station could 
be established on the line of the equator, which could 200 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
run all the year round. But here is an invention I 
expect to sell to the government for one hundred thou- 
sand dollars ; it is used to draw down and concentrate 
lightning, to load bombshells with so as to form con- 
densed thunderbolts. One thunderbolt explosion is 
warranted to kill a regiment without the cruelty of 
wounds and mangling of bodies, and hence a philan- 
thropic way of fighting, suitable to this enlightened 
age.” 
The man’s black eyes fairly snapped, his face was 
red with excitement, and he gesticulated wildly. I made 
up my mind he was either a fool, or insane ; but said 
nothing. At this juncture we heard a loud noise and 
call for help. The inventor stood still and listened. 
“ That’s the madman,” said he “ let us go and see 
him howl.” 
We hastened into the other room, and found the 
patient struggling, writhing, groaning and cursing all 
at once. 
‘ ‘ What does this mean ? ” bellowed the man in bed. 
“It means,” answered the inventor with a chuckle, 
“that the doctor and Iliave secured the madman, and 
we are going to see whether you will be quiet or not. 
The Philistines be upon thee, Samson ! ” 
“ Madman ! I am not a madman ! ” cried the strug- 
gling man in bed, endeavoring to loosen his limbs from 
the cords. “You are the madman.” 
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the inventor. “I mad! IT WAS THE OTHER MAN. 
201 
Didn’t I invent the compass that Columbus used? 
Didn’t I make the telescope for Galileo? Fulton 
got his idea of steam propulsion for boats from me. 
Watt stole one of my models of a steam-engine. 
Morse never dreamed of the telegraph till he saw my 
batteries. I mad! Ha, ha, ha! He thinks every- 
body mad because he is. He’s as mad as a March 
hare.” 
“Loosen my arms, I’m smothering,” implored the 
prisoner, “I’m no more mad than you, doctor.” 
I began to unloose the cords. 
“Let that madman alone,” screamed the inventor. 
“ He will kill us ; he will cut our throats.” 
“Unbind me, or I will break every bone in your 
body,” yelled the stout man. “It isn’t me that’s mad; 
it is the other man.” 
I was in a quandary. Were there two madmen, or 
which was the lunatic ? Revolving this thought in my 
mind, I suddenty withdrew from the room, and hurried 
into another room where I found a frightened women, 
who called herself the inventor’s wife, and who told me 
her husband became insane from loss of fortune, and 
constant study to perfect impossible machines. He 
had labored a great many years on one labor-saving 
machine, spent thousands of dollars, and worked at 
night with exhausted brain, until finally his mind broke 
down from overstrain, when the invention appeared 
almost perfect. REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
Almost? The most discouraging, the most heart- 
rending word, expressing the failure of a life-time, the 
bursting of a long-cherished bubble, the thwarting of a 
hope on which the energies of life, soul, and bod}', have 
been concentrated that word is, almost. The brave 
ship that withstood the assaults of foreign storms, 
arrives in sight of her native land, to be foundered on 
hidden shoals. She was almost in port. The specu- 
lator who has risked his all, and expects to-morrow to 
be a millionaire, by a sudden change in the market 
becomes a beggar. Moses, after forty years’ wan- 
dering in the wilderness, climbed with painful steps to 
Pisgah’s top, and saw in the beautiful distance the land 
of Promise. He was almost there; but he had to lie 
down and die. Caesar, when he arrived at the dizzy 
height to which his ambition spurred him, and the 
imperial crown glittered in his hands, was smitten 
down, and all his dreams were over. As the woman 
told me her painful story, these thoughts came into my 
mind, and I felt great sympathy for her and her insane 
husband. After I had told her my adventure, she 
added that her husband had put on his attendant’s coat 
and vest and unexpectedly slipped out while the latter 
had fallen asleep, after a night’s watching and a possi- 
ble overdose of whiskey. 
At the instance of the family I made out the neces- 
sary papers, and the poor but brilliant inventor was 
committed to the insane asylum. THE CURE OF THE CANKER. 
203 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
THE CURE OF THE CANKER 
There are two persons to be pitied in a case of 
hypochondria : the doctor and the patient. The latter’s 
sufferings are in a measure imaginary, although they 
are to himself real and important; the former has to 
endure much importunity and annoyance, often without 
compensatory satisfaction. The hypochondriac’s whole 
business is physical introspection ; he passes in review 
every sensation, nonnal and abnormal, of every organ 
in the body, and keeps, as it were, a day-book and 
ledger account of all these feelings. He seems to enjoy 
his long catalogue of ailments, partly from constitu- 
tional mental weakness, and partly from an inordinate 
love of sympathy, and petting. He likes to be the 
centre of conversation, and compassion, and when cer- 
tain symptoms become trite, he sets his fertile imagina- 
tion to work and easily manufactures others to order. 
On the other hand, the doctor must make incessant 
visits, hear a tedious recital, give reasons where none 
are to be found, and have the miserable satisfaction 
of knowing that his patient is determined not to get 
better. 
My second patient in the beginning of my med- 204 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
ical practice was the Widow Pipes. I had been very 
strongly recommended to her by my first patient, Mr. 
Wormwood, and was very thankful to him for it; 
indeed, I was so thankful that I immediately went 
round with a basket of fruit, to the little Wormwoods, 
to show my gratitude substantially. 
Mrs. Pipes was a woman who had seen better times, 
but had degenerated after the decease of the late Mr. 
Pipes, who had left her two houses, ballasted with 
heavy mortgages, some railroad stock below par, and 
some stock in a mining company of an imaginary silver 
mine in Canaan, N. H. She could realize nothing out 
of this property; in fact, she could not move hand or 
foot in the stocks. It was all Mr. Pipes’ fault, who had 
been too late in looking after his shares. He was 
always too late from the time he came into the world, 
and came two weeks after he ought to. Late to his 
business, late to the cars, late to dinner, late in paying 
his dues to the bank, late to bed, and late to rise. His 
career proved the falsity of the adage, better late than 
never. After his death, his friends, in alluding to him 
and his career, always said the late Mr. Pipes. 
Mrs. Pipes sent me a note, requesting me to call 
upon her at precisely six o’clock, p. m. That was the 
longest day I had seen since I had put out my sign ; I 
was anxious to make a second charge in my day-book, 
for I had always entertained a veneration for dying 
words, and particularly those of Marmion, “Charge, THE CURE OF THE CANKER 
205 
Chester, charge; ” but I had nothing to charge. I 
found Mrs. Pipes a portly woman with a portly nose 
projecting from a very ordinary face. She had a very 
querulous voice, pitched on a high key, with a shade of 
nasal intonation. Her clothes seemed to slop over in 
their superabundance, and to have no lit at all, unless 
it was an hysteric fit. Bazar patterns had not been 
invented in her day, and her clothes were made so that 
she could move round under them with plenty of 
room for a poultice, or plaster, which she never went 
without. She sat in an arm-chair, with a shawl over 
her head and shoulders, and a blanket encasing her 
feet. 
“ I am so glad 3’ou have come, doctor,” she began, 
with her piping voice, “ because I have so much confi- 
dence in you, owing to your success with the Worm- 
woods. The reason I mentioned six, was that m3’ son 
returns from his work at six, and being a widow, I 
thought it best to have somebocty present. The Worm- 
woods was a feather in your cap, and if 3’ou will do so 
well ly me, I will advertise you over the whole world. 
I am a great sufferer with the canker ; it is in eveiy part 
of my S3’stem, eating me up b3T inches. I inherited it 
from m3’ mother, who died with it, and I am afraid I 
shall too.” 
Here there was an intermission of five minutes, while 
she bedewed her handkerchief with tears and bay rum. 
Mrs. Pipes had a great deal of humor about her, if she 206 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
did love crying ; but her humor was all in her eye —it 
was aqueous humor. 
“ Let me see, where did I leave off?” she continued, 
after she had got her breath, and bathed her face with 
her bay rum. 4 ‘ M3’ s3rmptoms change every hour in 
the da}’, so that I am obliged to pa}’ the strictest 
attention to keep the run of ’em all. I’ve got the can- 
ker in my stomach so bad that I cannot eat a morsel 
except the greatest delicacy, otherwise it gives me the 
heartburn, and water-brash, and stocks is so low that 
I can’t afford it, and there it is. And then my kidneys 
are all stopped up, and I’ve a backache that almost 
kills me. It’s the canker in the kidneys, doctor. 
Don’t you think I’ll die with the canker of the kidneys ? 
Just look at my tongue, it is coated all the time.” 
Another intermission for tears and bay rum. 
“ Let me see—where did I leave off? You see, doc- 
tor, I can’t keep the run of all my symptoms, and as 
for my lungs, they are almost gone with the canker; I 
believe I have only one left, and the canker is gnawing 
away at that, and my legs are beginning to swell; just 
look at them.” 
She showed me the biggest lower extremities that I 
ever saw. They must have resembled the Prodigal’s 
“fatted calf,” but the swelling was genuine hard fat, 
stowed away for further consumption. 
4 4 Oh, my poor memory ; I knew I should not remem- 
ber half of my diseases when you came. lam so nerv- THE CURE OF THE CANKER. 
207 
ous I forget everything when a doctor is present, and 
so I have written down the symptoms I felt j-esterday.” 
Here she presented me with a four-page history, 
which I put in my pocket, promising to read it at 
night. I then wrote a prescription, took my hat, and 
proceeded as far as the door, when she called after me : 
‘ ‘ Doctor ! doctor ! ” 
I reluctantly came back. 
“I forgot to mention about my heart. It seems to 
stop sometimes, and flutters, and then cold sweat breaks 
out over me. It must be the canker. Don’t you think 
I’ll die of the canker of the heart, doctor?” 
I consoled her, and started for the door, when again 
that dreadful call saluted me : 
‘ ‘ Doctor ! doctor ! ” 
I turned round and faced her, but did not let go of 
my grip on the knob. 
“ I forgot to speak of my liver. I’ve got the over- 
flow of the gall, and can feel it in my blood. Don’t 
you think it is the canker of the liver ? ” 
I bowed assent. 
‘ ‘ But the worst of all I’ve got the rheumatic rheumat- 
ism in all my bones, and can’t walk a step till I’ve 
stirred round some time, and got limbered out. Can’t 
you get the rheumatic canker out of nry bones, doc- 
tor ? ” 
I nodded my head, pointed to m 3' recipe, and flew 
from the house, with the word canker ringing in m 3' 
ears. 208 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
The next day I called again at her request, and 
found her all dressed for the street, with hat and shawl 
on. I was elated with the success of my prescription, 
and felt flushed like a soldier returning from victory. 
Perhaps the most coveted remuneration which a physi- 
cian receives, is the evidence before him of the success 
of his toilsome efforts ; and the appreciation of it, either 
verbally or pecuniarily, by the patient, is not nearly so 
dear to him, and this for two reasons : his humanity is 
gratified by the relief of suffering, and his pride is 
flattered by seeing the accuracy of his judgment in the 
management of the case. 
“Ah, madam,” said I, gleefully, “I am glad you 
are going out. I told you that you would soon be 
better.” 
“Going out,” she repeated, moodily. “I’m not 
going out at all.” 
“ Then what are you all dressed up for?” 
“ Why, I’m going across the hall to the next room, 
and I always have to cover up when I change rooms, for 
fear of taking cold. I keep a thermometer in every 
room, and find there is a difference of from one to two 
degrees in going from one to another.” 
She then rambled on in her usual way, at the end of 
which she handed me another letter for my evening’s 
entertainment. I made her daily or semi-weekly visits 
for several months, when finally my power of endur- 
ance gave way, and I resolved to go no more, even at THE CURE OF THE CANKER. 
209 
the peril of losing her patronage. On my last visit she 
said: 
“Doctor, I can’t keep my food down. It’s always 
coming up.” 
“ Can’t you keep your food down?” I echoed, “ then 
shut your mouth and bolt it, madam.” At this I with- 
drew. 
I lost sight of my hypochondriac patient for two 
3*ears, wheii I met her by chance on the street. She 
was dressed very nicely, had a good color, and was 
walking very fast. Perhaps her stocks are gone up, 
thought I, or she has found some weak-minded people 
to invest in her silver mine. 
“ I congratulate you,” said I, “on your good appear- 
ance and good health, and am glad that by following 
my advice and prescriptions 3*oll got along all right. 
B}' the way, I have a little bill against j*ou for medical 
services, which I have no doubt you will be glad to 
pay. I sent it once, but found you had moved to some 
unknown place.” 
“Didn’t I prescribe nearly every day, and faithfully 
attend you ? ” 
“ But you did me no good, doctor.” 
“ Yes, but I never took your medicine, or I should 
have been dead long ago. I went to the apothecary, 
and found 3’our recipes contained strychnine, and ar- 
senic, and morphine. I had a narrow escape, I can tell 
you. Besides, I don’t believe in medicines, and could 210 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
never bear them, my stomach is so weak. I was low- 
spirited and dyspeptic, and only wanted you for com- 
pany.” 
“ Then what did cure you, Mrs. Pipes?” 
“ My brother’s will.” 
“ What was that?” 
“ Oh, he willed me ten thousand dollars, provided I 
would walk two miles every day, and eat meat and 
potatoes.” 
With this she bade me good morning, and passed on. 
The next day I received a large package, on which I 
found a slip of paper with the compliments of Mrs. 
Pipes. 
“ Well,” thought I, delighted, 44 she is honest if not 
grateful, and I am sorry I misjudged her so. She is 
willing to pay for my attendance, if she did not take 
my medicines.” 
I opened the package with some eagerness, and dis- 
covered a magnificent book, which on opening proved 
to be a scrap book, on the leaves of which were pasted 
all my prescriptions, probably fifty, or more. On the 
fly leaf was the inscription: ‘4 Bills of Fare for a 
Weak Stomach.” 
I was not to be outdone, for on the following day I 
sent her a package of her abominable letters, with the 
label: 44 Memoirs of the Canker.” WHAT MY FIRST PATIENT COST ME. 
211 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
WHAT MY FIRST PATIENT COST ME. 
Every physician of long practice, as he looks back 
upon his first patient, will acknowledge his deficiencies 
and ignorance on that occasion. A recent graduate may 
be fluent in theoretical medical lore, but at the bedside 
that knowledge is not of very great value unless indorsed 
by experience. The best physicians and surgeons in 
Europe and America frequently make veiy false diag- 
noses. How much more is a beginner, with the symp- 
toms of a hundred diseases ringing in his oars, liable to 
be shipwrecked at the bedside of his first patient with- 
out the compass of experience to guide him ? 
After many a long year since the commencement of 
my medical practice, I still look back with a certain 
fondness and tenderness upon my first patient. It is 
somewhat the same feeling a lawyer has for his first 
client, a pastor for his first convert, a statesman for his 
maiden speech, a father for his first child. But though 
I look back upon him with so much interest, I am sure 
he has not looked back upon me with interest nor 
principal either. A doctor may be looked upon as a 
kind of lay preacher, whose business it is to lay and 
hatch out eggs of good health, good spirits, and con- 212 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
cord; but alas! how often it happens that the doctor, 
like the hen brooding over duck’s eggs, sees the cher- 
ished little ones, as soon as they are hatched, take to 
the water and abandon their fond parent. But I am 
anticipating. 
After four years of hard study, with a light purse, 
but lighter heart, I hired the front room of a respect- 
able house for an office, and then putting out an 
elegantly painted sign of physician and surgeon, sat 
down to wait for a patient. My professors in their 
valedictory advice had recommended me to seek every 
occasion to make examinations of those in good health, 
so -as to be able to judge of the sick. I therefore 
invited in my old school friends and relations to see 
me, and no sooner were they seated than I began to 
draw out my instruments to examine eyes, ears, lungs, 
and throat, and set to work in my capacity of investi- 
gating committee to overhaul my astonished visitors. 
My friends took this in bad part, from their want of 
sympathy with science, and finally ceased to call upon 
me. I pitied them for their narrow-mindedness. I 
was a burning star of enthusiasm, a star of the first 
magnitude, while they—well, they may have been 
stars, but they were of a diminutive kind, an asterisk. 
But there was one honorable exception in a buoyant 
old man named Sol Feggio, who was so willing that he 
wanted to come several times a day. He always 
wanted to borrow a few cents every time to buy tea, WHAT MY FIRST PATIENT COST ME. 
213 
though he smelt horribly of gin or turpentine; but I 
overlooked that on account of his devotion to science. 
This venerable man was so thin that I could make an 
excellent study of the skeleton on his bones, which 
creaked in the joints in every movement of his body ; 
in fact, he creaked ail over. He was so unused to smil- 
ing or laughing, it was so against his disposition, and 
his facial muscles were so little used to it, and so rigid, 
that when he smiled there was a creaking noise about 
his mouth, as if the muscles were out of practice ; and 
there was so much stiffness and awkwardness about it, 
that one did not know whether he was making an effort 
to grin or groan. But he was more lovely in my eyes 
than a Hebe, for I felt myself somewhat deficient in 
my knowledge of the joints, and was glad to take him 
in as a sort of joint stock company. By putting him in 
the sun I could see, by transparency, his stomach 
and liver, and the rolling movements of the bowels. 
Ho got so used to stripping for me, that on one occa- 
sion when I entered a prayer meeting where he was, he 
began to take off his coat and creak his joints when he 
saw me. 
Having now become familiar with man in a healthy 
state, and having seen my teachers diagnose diseases, 
I was anxious to put my knowledge to the test on a 
sick man, I was almost wicked enough to wish old 
Sol might get some disease, so that I might experiment 
on him. But whoever heard of parchment becoming 214 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
sick? I might give him a double dose of poison, but 
it would cause no excitement in his parchment organs. 
I could glibly repeat every symptom of every known 
disease, and the dose of every drug; but what avail 
was that to me if I had no one to experiment on ? I 
finally spoke to old Sol of my ardor for practice, and he 
recommended me to my first patient, who was a Mr. 
Wormwood, the father of ten children, a marble- 
worker, and a prominent man in the church. I mean 
he took a prominent pew ; that is, he paid for two sit- 
tings, and filled up the rest of the pew with his children. 
Old Sol, much elated, told me he was authorized to 
request me to visit Mr. Wormwood himself, and ad- 
vised me to go at once. In order to be prepared for 
an}7 emergency, I took with me my medical bag, con- 
taining my instruments of examination; my stetho- 
scope, my pleximeter, my opthalmoscope, my laryngo- 
scope, my otoscope, my dynamometer, my thermometer, 
sesthesiometer, my hypodermic syringe, my pocket-case 
of instruments, a bottle of ether, together with a book 
for taking notes of the case. With this bag, I bade 
defiance to every disease, real or imaginary. I wms 
almost a Don Quixote ; my bag was my shield, and my 
lance was ready for any giant windmills. 
I rang the bell boldly, and called for Mr. Worm- 
wood. His wife opened the door, and holding it about 
two inches ajar, so that only a flaijiiug nose anda 
fierce pair of eyes could be seen, looked at me sus- WHAT MY FIRST PATIENT COST ME. 
piciously, and seemed to think I was a travelling agent, 
armed with some patent inventions in m37 hag, and 
hinted that she was in need of nothing to-day. I said 
I called to see Mr. Wormwood himself, when she led 
the way to the presence-chamber. After making some 
allusions to the weather and politics, in order to turn 
him off the scent of my nervousness,— for I trembled 
all over with excitement,— I thought I would follow my 
teacher’s method of questioning in regular order, be- 
ginning with the head and proceeding downwards until I 
found out the disease. I opened my bag and emptied 
its contents on the table, to have them handy. 
“ I told you,” roared Mrs. Wormw'ood, fiercely, “I 
didn’t want no patent wares, nor nothing. I’ve seen 
travelling agents before. I don’t want none of your 
egg-beaters, nor knife-sharpeners, nor fluting-irons, 
nor corkscrews, nor glass-cutters, nor stove-polish, nor 
patent cement. I’ve been married twenty-five years, 
and have a perfect horror of all patent things and new- 
fangled inventions. What was good enough for ray 
mother is good enough for me.” 
“ I beg pardon,” interrupted I, suavely, “ I thought 
you expected me, as Mr. Sol Feggio told me you 
desired me to call and see Mr. Wormwood. I am the 
doctor, and these are my instruments of examination.” 
Mrs. Wormwood apologized handsomely, and begged 
me to proceed with my patient. I was born with a 
happy knack at asking questions, and as a boy had 216 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
put to silence everybody that visited my father, in- 
cluding the pastor and schoolmaster. I threw my 
questions at Mr. Wormwood in rapid succession, and 
followed him up with battering-rams, and stormed the 
city. Taking out my instruments, one by one, I meas- 
ured him all over. Sometimes I felt as if I were a sur- 
veyor, measuring out a house lot; sometimes as a 
tailor, getting him cut for a new suit. I examined his 
sight, his hearing, his throat, his brain, his heart, his 
lungs, his liver, his stomach, all the while taking notes, 
until I had written over ten pages about the condition 
of his internal and external organs. After I had got 
all through I wiped the perspiration from my brow, and 
Mr. Wormwood wiped the perspiration from his brow. 
It had been a pretty powerful wrestling match, and I 
felt myself beaten, for I had no idea what ailed the 
man ; but it would never do to hesitate, so I sat down 
and wrote a very complicated recipe, a kind of family 
recipe, suitable for any disorder. I then rose, and was 
about to go, when Mr. Wormwood said, coldly,— 
“ Hadn’t you better examine my foot? That’s what 
I called you for.” 
I felt mortified enough, for that was the only part of 
his body which had been neglected. I looked and 
found an inflamed bunion. I managed to conceal my 
ignorance under the plea of seeing if he were a good 
subject for life insurance. 
In a few days I was called again to see a sick child, WHAT MY FIRST PATIENT COST ME. 
217 
that was covered with a thick rash ; but what could it 
be? It might be scarlet fever, or measles, or acute 
eczema, or erythema, or varioloid, or nettle-rash. I 
began to run over the symptoms of these in my mind. 
I was capital at theory, but could not put my knowl- 
edge to practice. I was in despair, when it occurred to 
me that mothers are familiar with children’s diseases, 
and perhaps Mrs. Wormwood might enlighten me. 
“ Quite a sick child,” I remarked, sympathetically. 
“Yes, doctor, a very sick child, I call him.” 
“ Let me see your tongue, bubby.” 
“ Do, Freddy, darling; do put out your tongue for 
the doctor.” 
“Won’t! ” 
“Won’t!” 
“ Come, put it out, Freddy, and I’ll give you a cent.” 
‘4 Where’s the other one you promised me ? ” 
“You see, doctor, he’s too sick to put out his 
tongue.” 
“Yes, he’s a very sick child, Mrs. Wormwood; 
looks something like scarlet fever.” 
“Oh, no; it is not that. He had the canker-rash 
and scarlet fever when he was two years old.” 
“ Of course, it isn’t the scarlet fever, but I said it 
looks like it.” 
“ Oh, yes, it does look like it, of course.” 
“Perhaps he has been poisoned with lobster, and 
got the nettle-rash.” 218 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“Poisoned with lobster, doctor! why, the poor child 
never tasted a morsel in his life. Don’t j’xai see, doc- 
tor, he’s got the measles ? ” 
“Of course I do, Mrs. Wormwood; but that 
wouldn’t hinder him from having the nettle-rash, as I 
I can see the traces of wheals over his body.” 
‘ ‘ Traces of wheels over his body! he hasn’t been 
run over, doctor.” 
“Excuse me, madam, but I was using a medical 
term. lam always on the lookout for a complication 
of diseases, and nothing can escape me. This is a 
pretty severe case of measles, and is liable to go hard 
with the little fellow.” 
“For Heaven’s sake, doctor, you alarm me. Do 
your best; spare no expense.” 
I thought it was good policy to put the worst side 
out, so that if he got well I should get the credit of it; 
and if he died, I could say I told you so, madam, and 
would get credit for my foresight. I became very 
attentive. I went four or five tubes a day, and wrote 
a new recipe every time ; the apothecary 
to see that it was put up right. He asked me how 
business was, and I told him it was getting lively, as I 
was making not far from a doaen calls a day. He 
wanted to know the prevailing diseases, and I said 
measles were very thick in the neighborhood. 
Mr. Wormwood was a marble-worker, with a spe- 
cialty of gravestones, and said he patronized only WBAT MY FIRST PATIENT COST ME. 
219 
those who patronized him, “We have to work for each 
other in this world,” said he ; “ you work for me in your 
line, and I return the same.” I objected that I was a 
young man, had no lot to set one up, and no place to 
store it. “If that is all,” said he, “ I have a brilliant 
idea. I will make you a handsome headstone, with your 
name on it, and the neat epitaph of ‘ Beloved by all 
his patients.’ You can set this up in your office ;it 
will be an ornament to the room ; it will be something 
for your patients to gaze upon while waiting their turn ; 
it will give you the satisfaction of knowing that you 
are provided for after death; it will be convenient to 
offer as security, in case you want to raise a small 
sum ; and it will be an advertisement of my handi- 
work.” This speech convinced me, and I ordered one 
at once. 
Being now in full swing of practice in Wormwood’s 
family, I bought a day-book and ledger, and kept his 
account posted up to date, so as to be ready at a 
moment’s warning; in fact, I knew every visit by 
memory, and could tell the sum total backwards or 
forwards. Soon after this the scarlet fever broke out, 
and I had a very active campaign with the infantry. I 
I made three or four calls a day for three weeks, and 
then some of them had the scarlatinal dropsy, and I 
had more to do. My business here became now so 
incessant that I felt obliged to move nearer my patient, 
so as to be handy for night calls, and save time. I 220 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
therefore took an office on the same street, and moved 
bag and gravestone. Old Sol wanted to know if the 
resurrection was at hand, as the gravestones were 
moving. I soon found, however, that Mr. Wormwood 
had the whim of moving every time he had sickness in 
his family, as he thought the malady was owing to an 
unhealth}’ house, and imagined dampness to hover, like 
an invisible fiend, in every nook and corner, and espe- 
cially in the cellar. He used to invite his friends down 
cellar, to see if they could smell anything musty ; and I 
had to begin every visit with a subterranean inspection. 
I therefore had to give up the comfortable idea of being 
near my p-atient. I heard a terrible report afterwards, 
that Mr. Wormwood never paid any rent, on account 
of this übiquitous dampness ; and when his landlord 
presented his bill lie would say, “ Your house is damp 
and untenantable, sir, and it has cost me a fortune to 
pay doctor’s bills.” 
Mr. Wormwood was the only subject of my conver- 
sations. I conversed about his afflicted family with 
my landlady, with the minister, with the sexton, with 
the postman, with the apothecary, with the grocer 
round the corner, and modestly received their congratu- 
lations that I had not lost a patient in his multitudi- 
nous family. About this time my landlady called for 
her bill; but my money was all gone. I offered to sell 
or mortgage to her my gravestone ; but she was super- 
stitious and declined. I then told her I was about to WHAT MY FIRST PATIENT COST ME. 
221 
send in my bill to Mr. Wormwood, and should soon be 
flush. If she had looked in my face at that moment 
she would have seen the flush there. She was pacified 
until I had carried my patient’s family through the 
chicken-pox, pneumonia, whooping-cough, and croup 
in succession. Of course, as long as I was attending 
in sickness, I could not have the effrontery to send in 
my bill; but it did seem as if they were all born sick, 
and lived on sickness. 
Now, other bills began to pour in upon me ; the tail- 
or’s, the surgical-instrument maker’s, the shoemaker’s, 
etc. First I offered to surrender up my gravestone, as 
my only available assets, but it was declined ; then I 
exhibited Mr. Wormwood’s bill to the creditors, and 
they all decided to wait. I added up my patient’s bill 
every night, and found that it was getting up to three 
hundred dollars. In the latter part of October my 
landlady became more pressing, when I finally informed 
her I should send in my bill on the first of January. I 
sent it in, but I heard nothing from it. He had the 
reputation of being awful slow; in fact, he might be 
called the sloe plant. I was getting into a fearful situ- 
ation, when I reluctantly consulted a lawyer; but it 
was too late. The villain had become insolvent to the 
tune of ten cents on the dollar, and soon moved out 
West, where I hope he remains. I now, with a heavy 
heart, figured up my losses by Mr. Wormwood’s family, 
and found he had cost me,— REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
Pew rent, 
• 
. 
. $10 00 
Gravestone, . 
. 
. 
. 50 00 
Medical services, . 
. 
. 
. 300 00 
Lent money, . 
. 
. 
. 25 00 
Lawyer’s fee, . 
. 
• 
3 00 
Moving gravestone, 
• 
• 
5 00 
S393 00 ‘ ‘ IS THY SERVANT A DOG ? ” 
223 
CHAPTER XXX. 
“is thy servant a dog that he should do this 
THING ? ” 
In 1845, I moved into Charlestown from the little 
hilly town of Marlow, N. H., where I first began prac- 
tice after graduation. The inhabitants of that town 
were so healthy and so few, that a doctor, a lawyer, 
and a grave-digger were the only ones likely to become 
paupers, and hence they were obliged to seek other 
fields. I remember the first time I entered that town, 
that, ignorant of its population and area, I requested 
the stage-driver to put me down in the most thickly- 
settled part of the place. 
“No matter,” I returned, “put me down in the 
most thickly-settled part you know.” 
“ There is no thickly-settled part,” he remonstrated. 
“ Very well,” said he, dryly. 
It was towards evening, and I could not well make 
out the lay of the land ; but he finally put me down in a 
desolate spot, and set my trunk on the ground. 
“ What’s this? ” said I, expecting to see a town or a 
village. 
“This,” he remarked, with a scarcely perceptible 
smile, “ this is the graveyard, and is the most thickly- 
seltled ‘part of the town.” 224 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
I could not be angry with him, for he was too good- 
natured, but gave him an extra fare for loading on my 
baggage again, and taking me to the village tavern, 
where I remained until I could find a suitable home. 
There is no use to disguise it, I made a great sensa- 
tion. There was no doctor, and very little need of one ; 
but I thought I must begin where I had no rivals, and 
the kind villagers welcomed me. I saw very little 
money, but managed to live with the Homeric payment 
of cattle and produce. One visit, with medicines thrown 
in, would be worth a bushel of oats, or a peck of corn, 
or a half-peck of wheat. A long sickness would be 
settled by a cow or six sheep. Three or four visits 
would be worth a firkin of butter or a cheese, or a half- 
barrel of flour. In this way I eked out several years, 
when the dreary prospect before me, and my ambition, 
induced me to move down to Boston, as being the 
centre of the civilization of the globe. By taking this 
step I had assumed a great responsibility, as I now 
had a wife and four children, and was in straitened 
circumstances. I had been a hard student, and felt 
that I was perfect in my art, as far as my experience 
and knowledge went; but although practice makes per- 
fect, yet the contrary did not seem true that perfect 
makes practice. 
On a bitter December night I went to bed feeling 
disheartened. I covered myself up with my comfort- 
ers, but still I shivered and shivered, and could not ‘ ‘ IS TIIY SERVANT A DOG ? ” 
225 
help bursting out in the language of Job, “Miserable 
comforters are ye all.” But finally I fell asleep, and 
then began to dream of dwelling in marble halls. In 
the midst of this delightful vision, my door-bell rang 
with great violence. I went to the door and saw a 
burly somebody enveloped in a huge overcoat. 
“ Is this the doctor? ” said a gruff voice. 
“ It is,” I replied, blandly. 
“Well, doctor, I am Mr. Snow, and live opposite 
you.” 
He made a pause to give me time to digest that re- 
mark and its full import. I had often looked over to 
the grand mansion of the opulent Mr. Snow, and 
wished the family had need of my services. 
“ Charlie has been taken very sick,” continued the 
merchant, “ and as he has been a faithful servant to 
us, I feel as if I ought to look after him. I wish you 
would come over at once and do all you can to relieve 
the poor sufferer.” 
When I heard it was only a servant I felt rather 
taken aback, but consoled myself by thinking that if 
I were successful in treating a servant I might be called 
to the family, and their influence might be useful. 
Visions of aristocratic patients, fat fees, and two-horse 
carriages stopping at my door rapidly pictured them- 
selves on the panoramic canvas of my mind. While 
these castles were building in the air of my imagination, 
I was rapidly dressing, and was soon in the dwelling of REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN, 
the wealthy merchant. My dreams were becoming 
partly true already, for I was treading on marble halls, 
I was ushered by a servant with dripping eyes into a 
chamber of the upper story. The family were all 
assembled, and the younger members were weeping as 
if their hearts would break. 
u Do all you can,” said a little frizzle-headed boy, 
“ for he is so good we can’t spare him.” 
The light had been turned down to a dim bluish 
flame, which shed a lurid hue over the room, and a 
shade stood before it so as not to attract the eyes of the 
sufferer. The family were whispering to each other 
about the mournful event, and singing the praises of the 
virtues of the afflicted patient. Several bottles stood 
on a table at the headboard of the bed, which had 
already to no purpose been used on the sick one. I 
first approached the family to inquire into the history 
of the disease, and enlarged on the fraihy of mankind, 
the uncertain tenure of life, and the needfulness of re- 
signation. 
“ Poor fellow,” said one, “ he began with vomiting, 
refused everything but water, and appeared delirious. 
He was always so lively and wide-awake, and now he 
lies quietly in his bed and never makes a sound.” 
I now approached the bedside, and found the patient 
almost entirely covered up, and sleeping quietly. I 
took out my watch with m 3' right hand, and sought for 
the pulse under the bed-clothes with m37 left. I sud- ‘ 4 IS THY SERVANT A DOG ? ” 
227 
deni}- felt something so strange that it could belong to 
no human being. I jumped up in terror, and ex- 
claimed : 
4 4 Is this Esau ? ” and pulling down the bed-clothes, 
I perceived a dog. 
441 thought it was a servant,” I gasped. 
44 It is a servant, in the purest sense of the word,” 
said Mrs. Snow. 44 Charlie has saved our lives on sev- 
eral occasions ; he has been the inseparable companion 
of my children, their playmate and protector. He has 
grown up in my family since he was born. His parents 
likewise belonged to my family. He rejoices with us 
when we are gay, and lies down quietly when we are 
sad. We understand his mute language, and he under- 
stands all we say to him. Would we not be ungrateful 
to neglect or ignore him when he is sick ? He has that 
intelligence and instinct that make him equal to man’s 
better qualities, and superior to his worst. I feel the 
same for him as for m37 children, and should grieve 
nearly as badly to see him die. We are so used to 
consider him as a part of our family that perhaps my 
husband forgot to mention that it was a dog ; but that is 
nothing—he is sick, and we are deeply interested in his 
welfare, and should be glad to have you exercise your 
best skill in restoring him to health.” 
Mrs. Snow’s plea was so affectionate that my first 
feelings of indignation gave way to better ones, and I 
consented to prescribe, hoping she would remember me 228 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
when other members of the family were sick. The dog 
got well, and he proved a grateful friend, as well as the 
family. I never afterwards passed my shaggy patient 
without his running up tome, wagging his tail, and hold- 
ing up his head to me for caresses. Mr. Snow employed 
me a great deal subsequently, and was instrumental in 
increasing my practice. I have always since that time 
considered my momentary indignation at being called to 
a dog unworthy of me, and feel that beneficence to ani- 
mals is only one step inferior to humanity to man. 
The philozoic* society, if I may be allowed to coin a 
needed word, expresses the noblest aspirations of the 
human heart. A man who would not be kind to the 
dumb beast is one not to be trusted with the care of 
relieving suffering humanity. 
*Philozoic means loving animals, corresponding with philanthropic, 
aud philozoic society would be a proper phrase to replace the tedious 
circumlocution, The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. POST-MORTEM PHILOSOPHY. 
229 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
POST-MORTEM PHILOSOPHY. 
Mr. Appleby’s wife was dying of consumption. I 
had been up all night with her, and now was reclining 
on a sofa in the parlor, in the endeavor to get a little 
rest. The family were grouped round the dying bed, 
gazing at the snow-like face, and waiting for the last 
breath. Suddenly the door-bell was pulled, and I could 
hear a gentleman tell the servant that he wished to see 
Mr. Appleby. She informed him that her master’s wife 
was dying, and he could not be seen. The stranger 
replied that was the very reason he wished to see Mr. 
Appleby. At this the servant, asking the man to walk 
into the parlor, went up-stairs to inform her master 
of the visit. I felt awkward at being an involuntary 
listener, but could not do otherwise than keep my posi- 
tion at the end of the room. 
“I beg your pardon,” said the stranger, sympatheti- 
cally, “ for disturbing you at this unseasonable hour; 
but I have been informed by your physician that your 
wife is in a dying condition.” 
The stranger was dressed in black, and wore a clean- 
shaven face; but what attracted immediate attention 
was his mouth, which was very wide, and filled with 230 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
large, white, protruding teeth, so that it had the 
appearance of a cemetery full of gravestones ; and even 
when he shut his mouth, the gravestones still protruded, 
and gave him a dismal appearance. So natural was the 
resemblance, that one almost fancied he saw on these 
headstones an epitaph, with “Here lies” upon them. 
“ Yes, that is only too true,” observed Mr. Appleby, 
uneasily. 
‘ ‘ And if I can be of any service to you ” 
“ No, none at all,” interrupted Mr. Appleby, sharply; 
“ she is past hope, and nothing can help her.” 
“ But you will let me offer you my sympathy.” 
“No sympathy can recall her nor console me. No 
words can take her place. Sympathy is vanity.” 
‘ ‘ That depends on how you look at it,” persevered the 
stranger, with a compassionate smile, which fully dis- 
played his headstones. “ I have reflected a great deal 
on dying and death,— in fact, I never think of anything 
else,— and have arrived at some new trains of post- 
mortem philosophy, which puts dying in a different 
light; so that, instead of being something horrible and 
to be regretted, it is something to be longed for.” 
“ If that is so,” said Mr. Appleby, sitting down, and 
holding his handkerchief before his eyes, and drawing a 
long sigh, “ I will listen to yTour reasoning, if that will 
give me any comfort.” 
“ The advantages of dying,” began the stranger, with 
his gravestone smile, “are so striking and numerous, POST-MORTEM PHILOSOPHY. 
231 
that it is astonishing anybody desires to live. Sopho- 
cles, a Greek poet, has said, ‘ The best thing for a man 
is not to be born at all; or, being born, to die as soon 
as possible; ’ and an ancient Stoic impressed this so 
clearly on his disciples, that it was difficult to keep them 
from suicide. It may be that the Greeks, with their 
prodigious curiosity, were impatient to see that paradise 
inhabited by the gods and illustrious men; but my 
philosophy is not based so much on a desire for the bliss 
of the other world, as the advantage of escaping certain 
troubles in this. And it is remarkable, that the nearer 
you approach your end, the more important you become. 
Friends, relatives, doctors, apothecaries, and nurses are 
constantly on the alert as to who shall do the most to 
ease your way out of the world; but when the last 
breath has quitted the body, you become still more 
important. Your name, and the history of your life, are 
paraded in the newspapers. All your faults and vices 
are at once obliterated, and all your real and imaginary 
virtues are carefully remembered and circulated among 
the people. Those, even, who had no interest in you 
before, are now anxious to catch ever}" item illustrating 
your course of life. You are driven to church, and 
your pastor delivers an address in your honor, which 
draws tears from every eye. They praise you ; they 
weep over you ; they bless you ; they point you out as 
an example to be followed by the young. But, apart 
from the honors attending you after death, think of the 232 
REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
troubles you so easily escape, that beset you in this 
thorny life. Those who moved every few months to 
get cheaper rent, or were put out because they did not 
pay any, have got a permanent home now on a lease 
that will never run out. For the future you are all pro- 
vided for. All your debts are cancelled at one stroke, 
if you left nothing. You have no more taxes to pay on 
the first of November; no more water-rates ; no more 
interest on mortgages; no more notes to meet in tb 
bank; no more grocery nor provision bills to face 
monthly when you are out of work ; no pew-rents nor 
society assessments ; no house-insurance to renew ever}) 
three years ; no doctor’s bills to stare at you ; no dress- 
maker’s figures to terrify you when you are short. All 
these bugbears have vanished ; and there you lie snugly 
in your lodgings of one room, with all the curtains 
drawn, and you can sleep on without fear of summons 
for any business or engagement; for death keeps no 
almanacs nor clocks; everything is run down and 
closed up. Those weary bones that have never known 
rest, will now rest forever. The sun will shine over 
you ; friends will stand over you and bring flowers, and 
you are everything now if you were nothing before.” 
I listened to the man writh astonishment. When he 
began, I took him for a home missionary of some new 
sect; but as he proceeded, I concluded that he must be 
some insane bankrupt who had gone through the horrors 
of poverty, and was looking forward with a grim satis- POST-MORTEM PHILOSOPHY. 
233 
faction at laying off this mortal coil. There was a 
mixture of sense and eccentricity in his remarks, that 
was almost incomprehensible. Mr. Appleby, himself, 
who appeared to be on the borders of financial ruin, and 
in great distress, was apparently interested in some of 
the reflections ; but, towards their close, he became 
impatient, and, bowing his thanks, started to return 
up-stairs ; when the stranger, taking him by the arm to 
detain him, said, quietly: 
“Have you selected an undertaker, Mr. Appleby?” 
“ No, I have not thought of that as yet.” 
“In that case, take my card. lam an undertaker, 
and if you want a genteel thing in rosewood, or an 
imitation of black-walnut to suit the times ” 
Mr. Appleby had disappeared before the sentence 
was finished ; and the undertaker, putting some of his 
cards on the table, solemnly withdrew. 
This undertaker was a very eccentric man; always 
looked upon everybody as a possible future customer, 
and always had an eye to business. He never thought 
of a man as Mr. So-and-So, but as a two by five or six 
pine, rosewood, or black-walnut coffin, and two, six, or 
twelve carriages; —in other words, he looked upon 
everybody boxed up, and not as living beings. 
Some months after this interview, I was called to 
attend this same undertaker for enteritis. When I 
entered the room, he was suffering very much, and 
looking very wild and excited. 234 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
4 4 Do you think I shall die, doctor ? ” was his first 
salutation. “If you can do anything for me, do it at 
once. I don’t feel as if I was ready to go yet.” 
‘4 But have you forgotten that post-mortem philoso- 
phy which puts dying in a different light, so that, 
instead of being something horrible and to be regretted, 
it is something to be longed for ? ” 
The undertaker looked at me in silence a moment, 
and his projecting gravestones were more dismal than 
ever. 441 tell you, doctor,” he observed at length, 
4 4 that it is very easy to point the way to other people, 
and say, 4 This is the way ; walk ye in it; ’ but when it 
comes to ourselves, we are cowards. We shrink from 
that awful leap into the unknown sea of eternity. 
I desire to live, if I have to endure every trouble under 
the sun.” 
The man was very sick, but he recovered, and I 
heard no more of his post-mortem philosophy. NOT WANTED. 
235 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
NOT WANTED. 
It occasionally happens to all medical gentlemen to go 
where they are not wanted, either because they delayed 
too long before starting, and the patient had to send 
for another physician; or because the patient, getting 
worse, and feeling dissatisfied, sends for another with- 
out notifying his first attendant; or when, from some 
eiTor in the address, they get into the wrong house ; or 
finally, when some friend sends for them for a patient 
who prefers else, or wants nobod}- at all. I 
have undoubtedly experienced all these supposed cases, 
but remember in particular one in which I was not 
wanted, but }ret became very useful. 
As I entered the hall of a Mrs. Matchett, who had 
sent for me, a woman stopped me and said she wished 
to speak a few words to me before I entered the sick- 
room. 
“ Mrs. Matchett,” said she, in a confidential way, and 
keeping her eye on the door of the sick-room, “Mrs. 
Matchett is in trouble. She is a young woman who 
started in life to be happy. She married a young 
mechanic that she loved, and the}' got along nicely in 236 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
their housekeeping, and were as happy as two canaries 
until one unlucky day,— it was of a Friday,— her 
sister Melinda came to board with her. Melinda, she 
was a shop-girl, and spent all her money on dress and 
finer}’. To tell the truth, Melinda was a pretty girl, if 
she had only behaved as she ought to, for handsome is 
that handsome does ; but she was a born coquet, and 
used all her arts on Mr. Matchett until he was com- 
pletely carried away, and began to neglect his wife and 
go out a promenading with Melinda. I smelt something, 
but held my tongue, for I never was a meddlesome 
woman, if I do say it,—I, that am the Widow Blodgett, 
and aunt to Mrs. Matchett. One evening Matchett 
and Melinda went out for a walk and never returned ; 
and that was two mouths ago. Just think of that, 
from your own sister! Oh, it’s breaking poor Jane’s 
heart. I can see it; she’s going into a decline. She’s 
only a shadder now. She’s crying and taking on half 
the time. What she needs is something to quiet her 
nerves and console her. Now, if you can learn her to 
be resigned, you may save the poor critter’s life.” 
1 was glad to get rid of the loquacious aunt and go 
into the forsaken woman’s room. I saw an interesting 
young woman, who was groaning bitterly. I judged 
by a hasty glance around the room that she was in 
straitened circumstances, and by an open sewing- 
machine, covered with incompleted work, that she got 
her living by it. NOT WANTED. 
237 
I have always held the opinion that, if a physician 
cannot cure, he should relieve ; and if he cannot relieve 
he should comfort and console. I have often seen 
patients look for their verdict in a doctor’s countenance. 
A word fitly spoken is to them as apples of gold in 
pictures of silver. A physician, then, should be ready 
with suitable words to lavish sympathy, induce hope, 
and encourage patience. In accordance with this I 
thought it my duty to pour out balm in the stricken 
one’s ear. 
“I have heard of your loss, madam, and know that 
the breaking up of your home, the sundering of conjugal 
ties, the desertion by sister and husband are above the 
reach of ordinary condolence ; but still I may be per- 
mitted to offer a word of hope that the erring ones may 
see the baseness of their actions and return again to your 
forgiving arms. To err is human, to forgive is divine.” 
The young woman by this time had turned round and 
looked up at me curiously. 
“ You’re the second minister that’s come here to talk 
with me since my husband eloped with my sister,” said 
she, spitefully. “ I don’t belong to your congregation, 
and I don’t go to your Sunday school. I didn’t send 
for you, and I don’t want to talk on the subject. It’s 
all very kind and good of you to come and talk with 
me ; but I never could bear home missionaries.” 
I took up a book lying on the table, out of curiosity, 
when she continued, in her sarcastic wav,— 238 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSIC LIN. 
“No, that isn't a hymn-book nor Bible; I haven't 
got one in the house, and you needn’t send round a 
Bible agent nor take tracts out of your pocket, for I 
have no time to read them, as I have to earn my living 
by work, and have no time to read tracts nor attend 
prayer-meetings. There’s where I got acquainted with 
husband, and I’ve hated prayer-meetings ever since.” 
At this point the bell rang, and she abruptly rose and 
went to the door, apparently glad to have an excuse to 
get awa}r from her supposed missionary. She remained 
in the hall conversing with the new-comer, evidently 
not caring to give him welcome to her rooms. I thus 
necessarily heard the conversation while awaiting her 
return. 
“ Good morning, doctor.” 
“ Good morning, madam. Are you Mrs. Hatchett ? ” 
“ Yes, sir; I am.” 
“ I believe you sent for me.” 
“ No, I did not send for you; but perhaps my aunt 
did " 
“ Well, somebody sent for me, and I am anxious to 
do you all the good I can. You have been suffering, I 
understand, both physically and mentally, and need all 
the sympathy you can get, and I am glad to administer 
all the consolation that lies in my power. You seem 
low-spirited, weak, and depressed, and no doubt need 
something to tone up your body and something to divert 
your mind.” NOT WANTED 
239 
“What yon say, doctor, is very true, in part; but 
you can do me no good. My mind is made up, lam 
resigned, and no medicine is needed. What I want is 
not medicine, but a divorce from my husband, with 
alimony ; I will accept of nothing less ; so you need not 
write any recipe, nor leave me any medicine, for I 
shan’t take it.” 
“ Of course I shan’t leave you any medicine, madam ; 
I leave that to the doctors of medicine.” 
“ But 1 thought you were a doctor.” 
“I am, madam, a doctor of divinity,— in other 
words, a minister of the gospel; but am always called 
doctor. Your aunt said you had met with trouble, and 
wished me to call and comfort you.” 
‘ ‘ That is unnecessary, for another minister is already 
in my room, who has been saying to me the same things 
you have ; but it isn’t a minister I want,— it is a law- 
yer.” 
At this point the Widow Blodgett came forward to 
have a little explanatory talk with the reverend gentle- 
man, and Mrs. Matchett returned to her own room. 
“Mrs. Matchett,” said I, smiling, “here is a mis- 
understanding. You are very much mistaken in your 
man, for I am the doctor of medicine your aunt sent 
for, and, judging by her story, I thought you needed 
consolation and sympathy in your troubles more than 
medicine. To be sure you are affected with a certain 
degree of nervous debility, brought on by your misfor- 240 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
tunes, but it is kind words and cheerful society that 
you need.” 
“You are quite right,” she returned, “and I am 
sorry for troubling }7ou; but the best medicine for me 
now is a divorce, with alimony.” 
It was evident enough that I was not wanted; and 
I was about to abandon the field in behalf of the legal 
gentleman, when the door opening into the yard was 
opened, and a man entered the room. He was good- 
looking, plainly dressed, and embarrassed in his man- 
ner. The opening of the door caught Mrs. Hatchett’s 
attention, and she turned round. There was instant 
recognition ; it was husband and wife. Mrs. Matchett 
fell at once into an hysteric fit of great violence, and 
her husband rushing forward caught her in his arms, 
and caressed her, with tender epithets. I requested him 
to lay her down, with a pillow under her head, and 
sent him off with a prescription. Her screeches, her 
tears, and her horrible laughter made every one shud- 
der. On her husband’s return I gave her a sedative, 
and she soon became quiet. The noise and excitement 
had brought into the room her aunt and the minister, 
who stood over the distressed woman. 
“ What are you back here for?” were the first words 
that she uttered. 
“ Because I am sorry I went away, and want to live 
with you again.” 
“ Live with me! go back to my sister. Where is 
she?” NOT WANTED 
241 
“ Your sister is a worthless woman, and I want 
nothing further to do with her. She tempted me, she 
suggested our flight, and I was weak enough to listen; 
hut I am Sony for it.” 
“ Oh, I suppose she has left you now for another 
man, and so you have come back to me for a home,” 
sneered his wife. “ I tell you I want nothing further 
to do with you ; I want a divorce.” 
At this the minister turned to Mrs. Matchett and put 
the question,— 
‘ ‘ Did you ever love your husband ? 
The interrogatory was a bombshell. To talk of love 
in her excited state of mind seemed absurd. There 
was a long silence, but finally she answered,— 
“ Why, certainly I did.” 
‘‘ Is there anything in the man himself, except the 
elopement, that would hinder your living with him ? ” 
“ No.” 
‘ ‘ Did you ever, by your behavior at home or abroad, 
give your husband cause to be estranged from you ? ” 
Another long silence, and finally she said,— 
“ I suppose I have.” 
“ According to your own acknowledgment, Mrs. 
Matchett, you have faults as well as he, and perhaps 
your conduct has had some influence in inducing him to 
listen to another. You should forget another’s faults 
by remembering your own. Your sister won your hus- 
band from you by means of the very arts by which you 242 
REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
first won him. When he came, as 3'our suitor, did you 
receive him in silence, or let him go without a kiss ? 
Did he find you with a soiled dress or disarranged hair? 
Did }’ou pout when he brought you no present? Did 
you scold when he came home tired, and unable to con- 
verse in a lively manner? Did you wear a long, sad 
face when he was yearning for and needing a smile and 
a cheer? Marriage is merely a civil ceremony to unite 
hands; and only love, enforced by the outward mani- 
festations of love, can unite and hold hearts united. 
To retain your husband’s affections you must still ply 
those arts which nature teaches you, in order to retain the 
once-coveted prize. Husbands are always in need of 
those little attentions which sweeten daily life, while a 
neglect of them brings estrangement. If your husband 
would now devote himself exclusively to you, and for- 
give you, would you not return to him and forgive 
him ? ” 
Dead silence. 
“Your present hesitation,” continued the minister, 
‘ ‘ may ruin the present and future of two hearts that 
Heaven has brought together. Will you make one 
more trial ? ” 
“Mr. Matchett,” pursued the minister, turning to 
the husband, “ what I have said to your wife of the 
importance of life-long courtship, applies equally to 
you. You owe her the same kind attentions that she 
A rain of tears was the answer. NOT WANTED. 
243 
does to you. Take her hand, and let me join you 
again as one heai’t. What God has joined together let 
no man put asunder. We can learn a lesson from the 
pearl oyster. The pearl hunters open the shell, put 
inside a shot or bead, and then having shut it up re- 
place it where it was. The irritation of the foreign sub- 
stance causes the o}Tster, as the best way of getting rid 
of the intruder, to cover it with pearl. Is it not well 
for man to cover up the disagreements and annoyances 
of life with the pearl of forbearance and love ? ” 
The kind words of the old minister struck deeply, 
and the wife fell upon her husband’s neck and forgave 
him. 244 
REVELATIONS OE A BOSTON BHYSICIAN. 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
THE WASHERWOMAN. 
At the lower end of Corey Street stood, some years 
ago, a two-story house back from the street, with a side 
entrance into the basement, over the door of which 
were the words, “Washing and ironing done here.” 
I was one day coming down from an upper tenement 
of the same house, when the washerwoman living in 
the basement, who had been waiting for me at the door, 
requested me to come down and see her child. I was 
struck with her language, her manners, and her car- 
riage. She had evidently been brought up in good 
society, and received a good education, but had drifted 
downward to the lowest haunts of poverty. On descend- 
ing a few steps, we entered a large kitchen, serving 
as laundry for the poor 'washerwoman. A large basket 
full of ironed clothes, stood ready to be sent off, and 
washtubs were set up for immediate use. The floor 
was clean, the tinware bright, and everything betokened 
poverty, but great neatness. What attracted my at- 
tention more than all was an odor of sewer-gas, which, 
from some defective opening in the house-drain, was 
flooding the house with its subtle poison. This invisi- 
ble fiend, this Lucretia Borgia, was holding out its THE WASHERWOMAN. 
245 
gaunt clutches to stifle the family. After pausing a 
moment, she led me through this to a back room, 
serving as sleeping-room for her family. It was dark 
and damp. The only light was admitted through a 
sash of three panes, and the sewer-gas made it still 
more dreadful. The floors were resting on the earth, 
and two sides of the room were encased by earth; 
in other words, it was a coffin, a mouldering, mephitic 
coffin, in which living beings were incarcerated for the 
crime of poverty. No sun ever penetrated that gloomy 
cellar, to cheer its desolate inmates. On a miserable 
bed lay a child about two years of age, suffering from 
the manifest signs of membranous croup. The poor 
thing, who was very thin, wan and scrofulous, had al- 
ready been very sick two days, and was vainly trying 
to get a quantity of air sufficient to oxygenate the 
blood, but the want of success was shown by the pur- 
ple tinge on her cheeks. Her head was thrown back, 
her respirations were hoarse and whistling, her cough 
muffled, her e}res bloodshot, and her hands wildly 
thrown about in her struggles to inhale a little air. 
Privation from the most common things of life, as air, 
water and fire, gives us the most distress ; and if to 
these be added bread, everything else may be con- 
sidered a luxury. 
In one corner of the room sat a girl about eighteen, 
holding a cat, and singing some wild, incomprehensible 
song. Her song, floating about the hissing breathing of 246 
REVELATIONS OE A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
the child, seemed a dirge. She was an idiot, who had 
lost her mind at the age of three, after an attack of 
scarlatinal brain fever. Her only occupation was to sing 
a monotonous song and rock her cat; sometimes she 
varied her tones by imitating the various sounds of a cat 
as mewing and purring ; and so perfectly could she do 
it, that it was inimitable. The child, the idiot and the 
cat were the closest of friends, and seemed bound up in 
and understood each other. And now that one of the 
trio was sick, the other two seemed conscious of it and 
dejected. 
“All this misery is not enough,” said the poor wo- 
man. “ Besides an idiot daughter and a sick child, I 
have lost my husband ; he is not dead, but he is dead 
to me. He was a drinking man, and when, two years 
ago, I reproached him for only bringing me four dol 
lars a week, while he earned ten, and spent the rest for 
drink, he left me without warning, joined the regular 
army, and I have not heard from him since. And now, 
to complete my wretchedness, the landlord is going to 
turn me out doors. Look at this and she handed me 
a paper reading as follows : 
Charlestown, July 10, 1869. 
To Mrs. Johanna Tabb : 
You will please take notice that John Ketchum, the 
owner of the premises now occupied by you, namely, 
two rooms in the basement of No. 57 Corey Street, has 
executed and delivered to me a written lease of said THE WASHERWOMAN. 
247 
premises for the term of one year from date. As I 
desire to take possession of the premises you will please 
vacate them within forty-eight hours. 
Joseph Stepper. 
“ Pay no attention to this, my good woman,” said I. 
“ The law will not justify any one in turning out doors 
a sick family.” 
I immediately sent home for my croup apparatus, 
consisting of a kerosene stove, and copper kettle with a 
very long nozzle, and having lighted the stove and 
filled the kettle with lime-water, placed its nozzle near 
the head of the child, that it might breathe the lime 
steam. Her mother was directed to feed the apparatus 
all night, as it needed, until I came. 
The next day I found, on arriving, two coarse-look- 
iug men in the kitchen, in the act of taking up some of 
her furniture, and putting it out doors. The washer- 
woman was sitting on a washtub crying bitterly. 
“What means this?” I demanded. 
“ It means,” returned one of them, bluffly, without 
removing his pipe, “that this woman here don’t pay 
no rent, and we’re going to obey orders and put her 
things out.” 
“ Touch not a pin belonging to this poor and dis- 
tressed mother,” I said, sternly, “for if you have no 
mercy on such misery, I forbid you to proceed.” 
“ And who may you be? ” asked the spokesman. 248 
REVELATIONS OP A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
“I am a physician ; just look in there,” and I opened 
the door of the dormitory. 
The two men looked in and seemed abashed. They 
muttered some apology, and slunk awa}r. 
On returning to the child, I found, although she had 
experienced considerable temporary relief, she was sink- 
ing. I now told the heart-broken mother, that there 
was only one more resource, and that wras tracheotomy, 
or an incision in the windpipe to insert a silver tube, 
through which the child might breathe. I could prom- 
ise relief, but no certain cure ; yet the poor woman, after 
long hesitation, consented. Placing the child on the 
kitchen table, with pillows under her shoulders, I ether- 
ized her, and then cut down to the windpipe. A 
whistling, bubbling sound, with diminution of hemor- 
rhage, showed that it was entered. I inserted and fast- 
ened in the tube, and soon after the little sufferer fell 
asleep. The idiot seemed somewhat interested and ex- 
cited, and looked on during the whole operation ; but 
still continued her monotonous singing. After enjoin- 
ing upon Mrs. Tabb the necessity of constant watch- 
ing and regular cleansing of the tube, I returned home 
for the night. 
About three in the morning, I was sent for in haste, 
and was pained to find the little one dead. The sob- 
bing mother told me that, finally, overcome with fatigue, 
she fell asleep, and on awakening found that her idiot 
daughter had risen and stealthity removed the tube. THE WASHERWOMAN. 
249 
It is probable’ that the idiot had supposed the tube in- 
serted into a cut wound was cruelty, and that she was 
doing her sister a kindness in removing it. After this 
she resumed her chair, and sang more cheerily than 
ever. 
In a few days I called again to see the family, and 
found Mrs. Tabb more distressed than ever. 
“Oh,” she burst out in heart-broken tones, “I 
could bear to see my darling child dead and out of her 
pain, if I could only have given her a Christian burial. 
I was obliged to call upon the city to bury her, and 
the undertaker without ceremony, put the little dear 
into a pine box, and taking it under his arm, carried her 
out, and rapidly drove off. I was denied the prayers 
and sympathy of a minister of God. I had no means 
to get a carriage to follow the coffin, and even if I had, 
the undertaker gave me no opportunity to get one. 
And now I know not where my little Ella is laid. If I 
could only have seen her laid away, and put even a few 
wild daisies or violets on her grave, and could have knelt 
down myself and prayed for the little one, I could have 
parted with her; but to let her go out of the house, 
and be buried, I know not where, I cannot endure it; it 
will torture me the rest of my days. And now all I 
have left is that poor idiot child.” 
To bestow our sympathy on others is a relief to our- 
selves ; we feel better for it; it is the heart’s benevo- 250 
REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
lence ; bat it is of very little value to a mother who has 
lost a child. Grief will not listen to reasoning; a 
broken heart prefers to revel in the very poignancy of 
sorrow ; and to pour out this sorrow in tears, in wails, 
and the wild gestures of despair, is the only satisfac- 
tion which the heart will accept. 
I could only deplore, and be silent; but I interested 
myself in behalf of this unfortunate woman, and got 
her comfortable rooms. The story of her calamities 
coming to the ears of the postmaster, he informed her 
that he had just sent on to the dead-letter office at 
Washington, an unclaimed registered letter for her. 
He immediately telegraphed to the capital, and was 
successful in getting back the letter. Mrs. Tahb found 
it was a letter from the executor of her uncle’s will in 
Liverpool, who had left her ten thousand pounds ster- 
ling, and the executor promised that if his letter 
arrived safely, and she would send her exact address, 
he would remit to her one hundred pounds, to bring her 
back to England. In another month, Mrs. Tabb, with 
her idiot daughter and the cat, set off for Europe. The 
cat, although fierce to strangers, was so friendly and 
sociable to the lonely idiot, that it was treated as one 
of the family. 
It was not more than a fortnight after the departure 
of the washerwoman, that a man with a wooden leg 
called upon me and stated that he was Mrs. Tabb’s 
husband. THE WASHERWOMAN. 
251 
‘c About a month ago,” he said, “I went one night 
to bed, the worse for liquor, fell into a heavy slumber, 
and soon had a frightful dream. I thought I saw my 
little child, that I have never seen, lying sick and 
wanting air. She was suffering intensely, and then I 
saw her die. Tell me, doctor, the date of my child’s 
death.” 
‘ ‘ Good God! that was the date of my dream; and so 
impressed was I with it, that I got my discharge, which 
I easily could on account of my amputated leg. On 
arriving here, I found some old neighbors, who told 
me my family had moved away, but they knew not 
where, and I came to you for information. To be sure 
I abandoned them on account of drink ; but from the 
date of that dream, not a drop has passed my lips. 
Her death has brought reform; and I pray God, that 
when my poor wife sees 1113" wooden leg and m3’ reform, 
she may have pity on me and forgive me.” 
“ It was the thirteenth of July.” 
I knew of but one wa.3’ of giving him a clew to her 
whereabouts, and told him to call again in a fortnight. 
In the meantime, I wrote to the postmaster of the 
dead-letter office, narrating the circumstances and in- 
quiring whether he remembered the letter, and could 
send me the name and address of the executor. I soon 
received an answer, stating that he was just writing a 
note to the executor that Mrs. Tabbs was not to be 
found, when he received word to the contrary; that he REVELATIONS OF A BOSTON PHYSICIAN. 
had found this note in his waste basket, and now 
enclosed it to me. This information I communicated 
to Mr. Tabb, who immediately wrote to his wife in 
Liverpool, in care of the executor, and by return of 
steamer he received his »assage-money to England.