QUACKS.

“Verily, I swear, ’tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistening grief And wear a golden sorrow.”—King Henry VIII.

On looking over my “collection” on quacks and charlatans, I am so strongly reminded of a little anecdote which you may have already seen in print, but which so well illustrates painfully the facts to be adduced in this chapter, that I must appropriate the story, which story a western engineer tells of himself.

“One day our train stopped at a new watering-place, being a small station in Indiana, where I observed two green-looking countrymen in ‘homespun’ curiously inspecting the locomotive, occasionally giving vent to expressions of astonishment.

“Finally one of them approached and said,—

“‘Stranger, are this ’ere a injine?’

“‘Certainly. Did you ever see one before?’“‘No, never seen one o’ the critters afore. Me an’ Bill here comed down t’ the station purpose to see one. Them’s the biler—ain’t it?’

“‘Yes, that is the boiler,’ I answered.

“‘What you call that place you’re in?’

“‘This we call a cab.’

“‘An’ this big wheel, what’s this fur?’

“‘That’s the driving wheel.’

“‘That big, black thing on top I s’pose is the chimley.’

“‘Precisely.’

“‘Be you the engineer what runs the machine?’

“‘I am,’ I replied, with the least bit of self-complacency.

“He eyed me closely for a moment; then, turning to his companion, he remarked,—

“‘Bill, it don’t take much of a man to be a engineer—do it?’”

The reader will perceive the distinction which we make between humbugs, quacks, and charlatans, though one individual may comprehend the whole.

“Quacks comprehend not only those who enact the absurd impositions of ignorant pretenders, but also of unbecoming acts of professional men themselves.”—Thomas’ Medical Dictionary.

This is the view we propose to take of it in this chapter, in connection with the derivation of the word.

The word quack is derived from the German “quack salber,” or mercury, which metal was introduced into the Materia Medica by Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Paracelsus Bombast ab Hohenhein!

“So extensively was quicksilver used by Paracelsus and his followers that they received the stigma of ‘quacks.’”—See Parr’s Medical Dictionary.

There is some controversy respecting the date of birth of Paracelsus, but probably it was in the year 1493. He was born in Switzerland.

THE INQUISITIVE COUNTRYMEN.Professor Waterhouse (1835) says, “He was learned in Greek, Latin, and several other languages. That he introduced quicksilver,” etc., “and was a vain, arrogant profligate, and died a confirmed sot.”

“Paracelsus was a man of most dissolute habits and unprincipled character, and his works are filled with the highest flights of unintelligible bombastic jargon, unworthy of perusal, but such as might be expected from one who united in his person the qualities of a fanatic and a drunkard.”—R. D. T.

Mercury was known to the early Greek and Roman physicians, who regarded it as a dangerous poison. They, however, used it externally in curing the itch, and John de Vigo employed it to cure the plague. Paracelsus used it internally first for lues venerea, which appeared in Naples the year of his birth, though doubtless that disease reached far back, even into the camp of Israel. The heroic doses of Paracelsus either destroyed the disease at once, or the patient. Paracelsus proclaimed to the world that there was no further need of the Materia Medica, especially the writings of Galen, and burned them in public; his “Elixir VitÆ” would cure all diseases. But in spite of his wonderful knowledge and his life-saving elixir, he died of the diseases he professed to cure, at the early age of forty-eight, while Galen lived to the age of seventy.

So much for the “father of quacks.”

For nearly four centuries mercury has been exhibited in the Materia Medica to a greater extent than any other remedy. Doubtless it possesses great medicinal virtues, but its abuse—the “heroic doses” used by the ignorant and brainless quacks, both graduates of some medical college, and soi-disant physicians—has made its name a terror to the people and a reproach to the profession. To assail it is to tread on dangerous ground; to invade the “rights” of a numerous host of worshippers; to uncover an ulcer, whose rottenness, though smelling to heaven, is protracted for the pecuniary advantage of the prescriber.

Eminent physicians in every age since its introduction, and in every enlightened country, have protested against its abuse; yea, even its use! They have called its users “quacks,” the most contemptible epithet ever introduced into medical nomenclature,—the “Samson” of the profession, because through the instrumentality of an ass and his adherents, “it has slain its thousands.”

I need not quote those distinguished practitioners who have recorded their testimony against its general and indiscriminate use. Their name is legion, and every well-informed physician is aware of the fact.

Do not “well-informed physicians” prescribe calomel?

Certainly; but cautiously, and often under protest.

It is recorded of Sir Astley Cooper that he made serious objections to its free use in the wards of the Borough Hospitals, and forthwith the “smaller fry” made such a breeze about his ears that he seemed called upon to defend, and even palliate, his offence. Dr. Macilwain says that Sir Astley is reported to have said in reply to those who demurred,—

“Why, gentlemen, was it likely that I should say anything unkind towards those gentlemen? Is not Mr. Green (surgeon of St. Thomas) my godson, Mr. Tusell my nephew, Mr. Travers my apprentice (surgeon of St. Thomas), Mr. Key and Mr. Cooper (surgeons of Guy’s Hospital) my nephews?”

This was very naÏve, and as good illustration of the value of evidence in relation to one thing (his provision for his relatives) which is stated in relation to another.

Herein Sir Astley exposed a weakness with which the democratic opponents of President Grant have accused him, viz., of furnishing comfortable positions for his relatives.

Sir John Forbes, when at the head of the medical profession of England in 1846, wrote an earnest appeal to his brethren to rescue their art from the ruin into which it was falling, saying in relation to modes of curing diseases, “Things have become so bad that they must mend or end.” This was “dangerous ground,” and some physicians of the day feared Dr. Forbes had done an immense mischief. After his death, be it remembered, some of the “medical magnates” of this country virtuously refused to subscribe to his monument fund, saying, “it was a misfortune to mankind (?) that he had ever lived.”

Dr. W. A. Hammond, surgeon general of the United States, also blundered when, by an order dated at Washington, May 4, 1863, he struck calomel from the supply table of the army. This proscription was on the ground that “it has so frequently been pushed to excess by military surgeons, as to call for prompt steps to correct its abuse.... This is done with the more confidence, as modern pathology has proved the impropriety of the use of mercury in very many of those diseases in which it was formerly unfailingly administered.”

The American Medical Times (regular) said, “The order appeared not only expedient, but judicious and necessary, under the circumstances.” What circumstances? Read on further, and the Times editor explains: “No evil can result to the sick soldier from the absence of calomel, however much he may need mercurialization, when such preparations as blue pill, bichloride and iodide of mercury, etc., remain. But, in prescribing these latter remedies, the practitioner generally has a very definite idea of the object he wishes to attain, which is not always the case in the use of calomel.”

By this timely order it was estimated that ten thousand soldiers were released from a morning dose of calomel!

Was this a blow aimed at “quackery”? Was Dr. Hammond, “a member of the medical profession highly esteemed for scientific attainments,” attempting a reform in medicine? Any way, Dr. Hammond shared the fate of all medical reformers. He was suspended. He was disgraced.The American Medical Association met at Chicago, and set up a strong opposition to the “order.” Certain persons brought charges against the surgeon general. A commission was appointed. The Times said, “The whole affair has the appearance of a secret and deliberate conspiracy against the surgeon general.... The commission is, in the first place, headed by a person known to be hostile to the surgeon general. This fact throws suspicion upon the object of the investigation.” Just so. The “object” was to appoint some one instead of Dr. Hammond, who would repeal the obnoxious order. No matter what pretence was set up beside, this is the fact of the case, and the people and the profession know this to be true.

But how shall we judge of the motives of Dr. Hammond but by appearances? Who so well knew the value, or injury, of calomel, as he who had used it for twenty odd years? Admitting Professor Chapman, of Philadelphia, was within twenty years of right when he said, “He who resigns the fate of his patient to calomel, ... if he has a tolerable practice, will, in a single season, lay the foundation of a good business for life,” did not Dr. H. exhibit a little selfishness in attempting to deprive young practitioners of the opportunity of laying for themselves a foundation for a prosperous future?

“Doubtless,” said a medical journal of the day, “all quacks and irregulars are congratulating themselves upon the appearance of this ‘order.’” This leads us to ask, “Who are the quacks?”

The governor of Ohio, in 1861, made inquiry of the United States surgeon general, to know if the regiments of that state could be allowed to choose between allopathic and homeopathic surgeons.

“No: I’ll see them damned to hell first,” was the gracious reply.

The resolutions drawn up and adopted by the New York Academy of Medicine as an offset against the appeal for admission of homeopathic surgeons into the army (1862), contained the following:—

“3d. That it (homeopathy) is no more worthy of such introduction than other kindred methods of practice as closely allied to quackery.”

There were then some thirty-five hundred of that sort of “quacks” practising under diplomas—mostly obtained from regular colleges—in the United States. Shame!

The Royal College, Dublin, the same year, in a resolution passed, called Mesmerism and homeopathy quackery.

In an article in the “Scalpel,” from the able pen of Dr. Richmond,—about the time that the “swarm of vampires that was the first fruits of the tribe of rooters that swarmed the State of New York under the teachings of T. and B.” (Thompson and Beach),—he calls botanics and eclectics quacks and Paracelsuses! Clear as—mud!

So! The calomel practitioners are quacks. The homeopathics are quacks. The eclectics, and botanics, and Mesmerics, are all quacks! Any more, gentlemen? This is getting things somewhat mixed, and I rush to Dunglison’s Medical Dictionary for explanation. Why, a quack is a charlatan! I turn to “Charlatan.” Lo, it is quack! Clear as mud, again.

In my perplexity I consult Webster. He refers me to a goose! So I rush to Worcester, and he implies it is a duck! Perhaps the bill has something to do with the name; especially as I am reminded of a suit brought by a Boston M. D. to recover the exorbitant sum of three hundred dollars for reducing a dislocation.

Therefore, summing up this “uncertainty,” it seems to be a convenient word, expressive of contempt, which any professional man may hurl at any other whom he dislikes, or with whom he is not in fellowship.

In its general use it is the thief calling, “Stop thief.”It was no unusual practice for physicians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to use calomel in scruple, and even drachm doses. Mazerne “habitually administered calomel in scruple doses.” Yandal gave it by the table-spoonful. I knew a physician in Maine who usually administered it by the tea-spoonful, and I saw a woman at Deer Isle, Me., suffering from true anchylosis of the jaw, in consequence of thus taking his prescription. In the same town was a man who was made completely imbecile by overdoses of mercury. In the town of B——l, same county and state, once lived an old quack, for convenience sake, near a large graveyard. He “owned” it. That is, he is said to have more victims laid away therein than all the other doctors who ever practised in town. “I knew him well.” Once he sent to Boston for two ounces of calomel. There was no steam conveyance in those days, and a sea captain took the order. By some mistake, two pounds were sent. It was not returned. “O, never mind,” said the doctor; “I shall use it all some time.”

Every state, county, yes, every town, in the Union has its victims to this quackery. In Rochelle, Ill., is a remarkable case, a merchant. Almost every joint in his frame is rendered useless. He can speak, and his brain is active. He has a large store, and he is carried to it every day, and there, stretched upon a counter, he gives directions to his employÉs. Though comparatively young, his hair is blanched like the snow-drift, falling upon his shoulders, and he is hopelessly crippled for life. “He does not speak in very flattering terms of the calomel doctors,” said my informant. Neither do the thousands of diseased and mutilated soldiers, the victims to quackery while in the army.

“Speaking Facts.—A little boy, ten years of age, and having a paralyzed right leg, may be seen occasionally among his more able-bodied companions, the newsboys, unsuccessfully striving to ‘hoe his row’ with his rougher and more vigorous fellows. The limb is wholly dead, so far as its usefulness is concerned and it was caused by giving the little fellow overdoses of calomel, when he was an infant.

“Another victim to calomel lives in the city of Hartford, in the person of a young lady of sixteen, who would be handsome but for deformities of face and mouth, occasioned by calomel given to her when a little child. She cannot open her mouth, and her food is always gruel, etc., introduced through the teeth. But the doctors stick to calomel as the sheet anchor of their faith.”

Behold Washington, who had passed through the battles of his country unharmed, and who in his last illness had, in the brief space of twelve hours, ninety ounces of blood drawn from his veins, and in the same space of time taken sixty grains of calomel!

Who wonders that he should request his physician to allow him to “die in peace”?

Andrew Jackson was another victim to calomel, as well as to the lancet, as the following letter shows:—

Was not this double quackery? First, it was the Similia similibus curantur (like cures like), of the homeopathists, which the Academy of Medicine has termed quackery. Second, it was exhibiting calomel to the injury (debilitating) of the patient.

President Harrison was another victim.

Are not these historical facts? Nevertheless, it is treason to mention them. “And why should any truth be counted as treasonable?” the honest and intelligent reader is led to inquire. “For truth is mighty, and must prevail,” eventually.Yes, yes, truth will prevail. When bigotry and old-fogy notions are uprooted from the profession, and all educated and benevolent physicians strike hands and join fortunes to eradicate and discountenance all forms of quackery amongst themselves, they will then possess the power to suppress outside quackery. Far too many make a trade of the profession; and just so long as educated physicians countenance or practise any one form of quackery, so long will they be powerless to check the abominations of charlatans and impostors outside of the profession.

We have not introduced the foregoing facts in the interest of any persuasion. With the bickerings of the various schools of medicine we propose to have nothing to do, except to seize upon such truths as those otherwise useless quarrels are continually revealing. Opposition will not weaken a truth, nor strengthen a falsehood. You who are in the right need, therefore, have no fear as to final results.

It is hard to kick against the pricks of custom, and custom has perverted the word which is the text of this chapter, and it is now more commonly applied to the ignorant, boastful pretender to the science of medicine.

Now we will introduce a few facts obtained from without the profession.

The Country Quack.

In the town of P——, Conn., there resided two doctors. One, old Dr. B., a regular, and the other, Dr. S—h, an irregular. It was in the autumn, and a fever was prevailing at this time, of a very malignant character. From over-exertion and exposure Dr. B. was taken sick, and in a few days fever supervened. This news spread terror over the immediate community, and the old doctor becoming delirious, his wife and family soon partook of the terror. A neighboring physician was sent for, but being absent, he did not at once respond; and the invalid becoming, as they feared, rapidly worse, Dr. S. was reluctantly called. He was known to be an ignoramus, formerly a peddler, a farmer, horse-jockey, a fifth-rate country lawyer, and, lastly, a doctor. Had Dr. B. retained his senses, he would have sooner died than have admitted his enemy, this “rooter,” into his house. He came, however, with great pomposity, examined the patient, whose delirium prevented resistance, and ordered an immediate application of the juice of poke-berries rubbed over the entire skin of the old doctor, as a febrifuge.

“But,” inquired the wife, timidly, “is not this an unusual prescription, Dr. S.?” The doctor replied that it was a new remedy, but very efficacious. “You see,” he added, with many a hem and haw, “it will out-herod the blush of the skin, put to shame the fever, which retires in disgust, and so relieves the patient.”

“And won’t he die, if we follow this strange prescription?” asked a friend, while the doctor was proceeding to deal out a large powder.

“No, no; ahem! You do the dyeing, to prevent the dying. Haw, haw!” roared the vulgar old wretch, convulsed by his own pun, and the anticipation of the ludicrous corpse that he expected to see within a few days.

There was no alternative. The prescription must be followed, and the children were sent to the woods to gather the ripe berries. The quack next proceeded to deal out a dose of lobelia and blood-root, which he left on the desk where Dr. B. prepared medicines when in health, giving directions for its administration, and in high glee took his departure. The inspissated juice of the highly-colored berries was applied over the face, arms, and body of the unconscious doctor, the remarkable appearance of whom we leave the reader to imagine.

By mistake, a large dose of camphorated dover’s powders which lay on the table was substituted for the lobelia of Dr. S., which with the warm liquid applied to the skin, checked the fever, and, contrary to the hope and expectation of Dr. S., the following morning found his patient in a fine perspiration, and the neighboring physician arriving, he was soon placed in a condition of safety.

Notwithstanding Dr. S. told some friends of the joke,—for the worst have their friends, you know,—he was known to have prescribed for Dr. B., his sworn enemy; and as the patient was pronounced convalescent, S. received all the credit, and forthwith his services were in great demand. Day and night he rode, till, by the time Dr. B. got out, he was completely exhausted! He became alarmed lest he should take the fever. Such fellows are ever cowards when anything ails their precious selves. He actually became feverish with fear and excitement, and took his bed—and his emetic. He took either an overdose, or not enough, and for hours remained in the greatest distress. Finally, as a dernier resort, his wife sent for Dr. B.! Now came his turn to avenge the insult of the painting by poke-berries, which stain was yet scarcely removed from the skin of the old doctor.

“I’ll give him a dose; I’ll put my mark on him—one that milk and water, or soap, cannot remove. O, I’ll be avenged!” exclaimed Dr. B., as he mounted his gig, and drove to Dr. S.

“O doctor, doctor! I am in fearful distress. Can you help me? Will I die?” whined S., on beholding his opponent.

“No; not such good news. Those born to hang don’t die in their beds. But you are very sick, and must abide my directions.”

“Yes, yes. Thanks, doctor. This blamed lobelia is killing me, though.”

“Then take this.” And Dr. B. administered a half tea-spoonful of ipecac, to bring up the lobelia. So far was good.

“Now a basin of water and a sponge,” said Dr. B., which being procured, he seemed to examine for a moment very curiously; then ordered the face, neck, arms, and hands of the patient bathed well with the fluid.

On the following morning Dr. B. was sent for, post haste, with the cheering message that “mortification had set in, and his patient was dying.”

Off posted the doctor, calling several neighbors, en route, who thronged the apartment of the invalid doctor in speechless astonishment.

CURIOUS EFFECT OF A FEVER.

“I’m dying, Dr. B.; O, I’m dying,” groaned S., rolling to and fro on his bed.

“No, you are not. I told you before, no such good news. Your fever is all gone. You are scared—that’s what’s the matter,” replied Dr. B.

“But look, just look at the color of my skin,—all mortifying,” said S.

“O, no; that is merely dyed with nitrate of silver. It’s much better than poke-berries—much better,” repeated Dr. B.The recovered patient leaped from his bed, and, with an oath, made straight for the doctor; but the bystanders, though convulsed with laughter, caught the enraged victim, while, amid the cheers and laughter of the crowd, Dr. B. made his escape, saying to himself,—

“The nitrate of silver I put in the basin worked like a charm.”

The story soon circulated, and Dr. S., being unable to remove the deep stain from his skin, and the curious rabble from his door, left for parts unknown. Dr. B., on revisiting his patients, who now rejoiced in his recovery, found that S. had not only dispensed lobelia and blood-root, but had bled and mercurialized several.

Remarkable Dropsy.

The writer was acquainted with a young physician who was unceremoniously discharged by the family of a beautiful young lady to whom he had been called to prescribe, in a country village, his offence being the discovery of the true source of the patient’s (?) indisposition, which fact he dared to intimate to the mother. “An older and more experienced physician” succeeded him, who reversed the diagnosis, and pronounced it “a clear case of dropsy,” and the young M. D. went into disrepute. During the entire winter the old doctor made daily visits to his patient. Daily had the old ladies of the neighborhood adjusted their “specs,” smoothed down their aprons, and, watching the doctor’s return, run out to the gate to inquire after the health of the lady, the belle of the town.

“O, she’s convalescent,” was his usual reply, with due professional dignity; and thus the matter stood till a crisis came.

MARRYING A FAMILY.

There was a ball in the village one night. About eleven o’clock a messenger appeared in the room, who hastily summoned a certain young gentleman, a scion of one of the “first families” in town. At the same time the minister was called, and the young man, standing by the bed, holding the invalid lady by the right hand, while on his left arm he supported a beautiful babe but an hour old, was married to the “convalescent” patient. The old doctor had run a beautiful “bill,” but it was his last in that village.

A Country Consultation.

The difficulty of obtaining competent counsel in the country can only be fully comprehended by the intelligent physician who has had experience therein.

From Dr. Richmond’s “Scenes in Western Practice,” I have selected the following lamentable incidents, which I have abbreviated as much as is consistent with the facts, related by the doctor, who in this case was called to a wealthy and influential family, two of whom, wife and child, were prostrated by epidemic dysentery.

“As my credit was at stake, an old and very grave man was, at my suggestion, added to the consultation, to guard our reputation from the usual visitation of gossiping slander that always follows a fatal result in the country. He examined the child, and gave his opinion that the symptoms resembled those of ipecac!... But death was ahead of the doctors, and the little sufferer passed quickly away to a better world.

“Another child had died in the vicinity, and the neighbors decided on a change of doctors for the lady. By my consent the inventor of the ‘Chingvang Pill’ was called, as I assured my friend his wife would now recover without either of us!

“He came, and readily detected the fact that he was in luck. His patient and fees were both safe, and I was floored.

“‘Of course, Dr. R., you will call when convenient,’ was a polite way of ‘letting me down easily,’ and I did call.

“Everything went on swimmingly for two days, when suddenly the scale turned; two other children were taken vomiting bile and blood. The doctor was in trouble, and on my friendly call his eye caught mine, and spoke plainly, ‘My credit, too, is gone,—the children will both die.’

“The children grew rapidly worse; the council of the neighborhood decided to call further aid. Another regular was called, and, being one of the heroes, he advised (it is solemn truth, dear reader) one hundred grains of calomel at a dose! His reason was, that he had given it to a child, and the patient recovered. His medical brother thought it a little too steep, and they compromised the matter by giving fifty grains! Copious quantities of fresh blood followed the operation, and the little victim of disease and quackery slipped from his suffering into the peaceful and quiet grave!

“One patient remained, and it was decided to call further counsel.

“A simple but shrewd old quack was curing cancers in the neighborhood, who sent word to the afflicted family that he ‘could cure the remaining child by cleansing the bowels with pills of butternut bark, aloes, camphor, and Cayenne pepper;’ he would feed the little fellow on twist-root tea that would at once stop the discharges. Strange as it may seem, the wily old fool was called into the august presence of three M. D.’s, and a score of other counsellors. He gave his pills; fresh blood followed the raking over the inflamed and sensitive membrane; the child screamed with torture, and was only relieved from its horrible agony by enemas of morphine. The celebrated ‘twist-root’ (an Indian remedy, whose virtues could not be appreciated by the educated physician) followed, and death closed the scene.

“The old cancer-killer escaped by saying the morphine given in his absence killed the child.”

’OPATHISTS IN CONSULTATION.

The following brief consultation occurred in Fulton, N. Y., recently:—Two physicians were called, of opposite schools. After shaking hands over the sick man’s bed, one said to the other,—

“I believe you are an —’opathist.”

“Yes, I am; and you are a —’pathist; are you not?”

“Yes; and I can’t break over the rules of my society by aiding or counselling with you —— for the sake of one patient. Good day!”

“Sir, I mistook you for a Christian, not a barbarian! Good day!”

A Jolly Trio of Doctors.

Before entering upon an exposition of the viler and more reprehensible sort of quacks,—the city charlatans and impostors,—I must relate a diverting scene, also from a country consultation that occurred in New York State some years since, from the perusal of which, if the reader cannot deduce a “moral,” he may derive some amusement.

Mr. H. was an invalid; he was the worst kind of an invalid—a hypochondriac. The visiting physician had made a pretty good thing of it, the neighbors affirmed, for “H. was in easy circumstances.” Finally he took to his bed, and declared he was about to shuffle off this mortal coil.

Two eminent physicians were summoned from a distance to consult with the attending physician. They arrived by rail, examined the patient, looked wise, and the learned trio withdrew to consult upon so “complicated and important a case.” A tea-table had been set in an adjoining room, and to the abundance of eatables wherewith to refresh the distinguished professionals who were there to enter upon an “arbitrament of life or death,” were added sundry bottles yet uncorked.

A little son and daughter of Mr. H. were amusing themselves, meantime, by a game at “hide-and-seek,” and the former, having “played out” all the legitimate hiding-places, bethought himself of the top of a high secretary in the “banqueting-room.” Action followed thought, and, climbing upon a chair-back, he gained the dusty elevation, where he quietly seated himself just as the three wise Æsculapians entered the apartment. His only safety from discovery was to keep quiet.

Corks were drawn, supper was discussed, and conversation flowed merrily along. The weather, the news of the day, and the political crisis were discoursed, and the little fellow perched high on the secretary wondered when and what they would decide on his father’s case. Nearly an hour had passed, the doctors were merry, and the boy was tired; but still the little urchin kept his position.

“Well, Dr. A., how is practice here, in general?” inquired one of the counsel.

“Dull; distressingly healthy. Why, if there don’t come a windfall in shape of an epidemic this fall, I shall fall short for provender for my horse and bread for my family. How is it with you?”

“O, quite the reverse from you. I have alive twenty daily patients now.”

“Very sick, any of them?” asked the local physician.

“No, no,—a little more wine, doctor,—some old women, whom any smart man can make think they are sick; some stout men, whom medicine will keep as patients when once under the weather; and silly girls, whom flattery will always bring again,—ha! ha!” and so saying he gulped down the wine.

“Why, there goes nine o’clock.”

“What, so late!” exclaimed one counsellor, looking at his gold repeater.

“We must go or we’ll miss the return train,” remarked the other; “the doctor here will manage the patient H., who’s only got the hypo badly,” he added.

“Is that a bust of Pallas he has over his secretary yonder?” asked the first, discovering the boy for the first time.

“I’m afraid Dr. —— has got a little muddled over this excellent ‘Old Port,’ that he can’t see clearly. Why, that’s a bust of Cupid.”

“Well,” exclaimed the local physician, “I have been here a hundred times, and never before observed that statue; but,” eying the statue fixedly, he continued, “it looks neither like Pallas nor Cupid, but rather favors H., and I guess it is a cast he has had recently made of himself.”

Through all this comment and inspection the boy sat as mute as a post; but the moment the door closed on the retiring doctors, he clambered down and ran into the sick room.

A “HYPO” PATIENT DISCHARGING HIS PHYSICIAN.

The old doctor had slipped the customary fee into the hands of his brethren as he bade them good night, and entered the room of his patient. The latter instantly inquired as to the result of the consultation. The doctor entered into an elaborate account of the “diagnosis” and “prognosis” of the case, which was suddenly brought to a close by the little boy, who, climbing into a chair on the opposite side of the bed, asked his father what a “hypo” was.“You must ask the doctor, my son,” replied the father in a feeble voice.

“Hypo,” said the unsuspecting doctor, “is an imaginary disease,—the hypochondria, vapors, spleen; ha, ha, ha!”

“Well, papa, that’s what the doctors said you’ve got, ’cause I was on top of the book-case an’ heard all they said, an’ that’s all.”

The doctor looked blank. H. arose in his bed, trembling with rage.

“By the heavens above us, I do believe you, my son; and this fellow, this quack, has never had the manliness to tell me so;” and leaping to the floor in his brief single garment, he caught the dumb and astonished “M. D.” by the coat collar and another convenient portion of his wardrobe, and running him to the open door, through the hall, he pitched him out into the midnight darkness, saying, “There! I have demonstrated the truth of the assertion by pitching the doctor out of doors.” H. recovered his health. The doctor recovered damages for assault and battery.

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