Addison Darre Crabtre

ECCENTRICITIES.

“They’ll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.” “Democritus, dear droll, revisit earth, And with our follies glut thy heightened mirth.”—Prior.

A ONE-EYED DOCTOR AND HIS HORSE.—A NEW EDIBLE.—“HAVE THEM BOILED.”—“BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.”—A LOVELY STAMPEDE.—AN ECCENTRIC PHILADELPHIAN.—THE POODLES, DRS. HUNTER AND SCIPIO.—SILENT ELOQUENCE.—CONSISTENT TO THE END.—WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE.—FOUR BLIND MEN.—DIET AND SLEEP.—SAXE AND SANCHO PANZA.—MOTHER GOOSE AS A DOCTOR’S BOOK.—THE TABLES TURNED ON THE DOCTORS.

We love to see an eccentric individual—something out of the common routine of every-day, humdrum life. But what is often taken for an eccentricity is sometimes put on for an advertisement.

Nearly all great men have their oddities or peculiarities. I might give many little interesting sketches of some physicians’ oddities right among us, but for too great personality. I may, however, work in a few.

The eccentricities of some doctors lie in their dress. Of this, I shall speak under the head of “Dress and Address.” Others lie in personal acts, in their walk, manners, and conversation.

I know of one physician who delights in the worst looking old horse he can obtain. The doctor himself has but one eye. His old donkey-like beast corresponded. Report said that he cut out the left eye of the horse to gain that desired end, which, however, is discredited. The beast was also lame, which defect the doctor would never admit.

“What you ignorantly term ‘limping’ is only an expression of good breeding—which I cannot attach to all whom I meet on the road. It’s bowing,—merely bowing. You never see him do it unless somebody is in sight. Gid-dap!” And so delivering himself, the old doctor would drive on, chuckling softly to himself. When his old horse died, he was presented with a fine young beast, which he declined to accept, but scoured the country till he found a high-boned, rib-bared, foundered, and half-blind old roadster.

A new Dish.

Dr. James Wood was an oddity. He was a bachelor, between thirty and forty, large and attractive. He was remarkably neat in dress and person, but delighted in “an old rip of a horse.”

Once he was on a tour through New Brunswick, and, in company with a friend, drove up to a tavern at evening, and called for the landlord.

“He ain’t t’ home, but I’m the horse-slayer,” replied a voice, followed by the person of a tall, lean Yankee, who issued from the smoke of the bar-room, and approached our friends, still sitting in the open buggy.

“Here, put up my horse; take good care of him, and feed him well.”

“Hoss?” said the impudent fellow. “O, yes, I see him now; he’s inside that ere frame, I s’pose. Climb down, gentlemen, and go inter the house. Landlord and the Santipede (Xantippe?) has gone to St. Johns; but I guess Dolly in the kitchin, and me in the bar-room, can eat and drink yer, though you’re two putty big fellows, well’s myself.” So saying, the gentlemen having alighted, he drove the animal to the stable.

A “HORSE-SLAYER” INDULGING HIS OPINION.At supper, the doctor and his friend and two ladies were the only guests. Just what part the “horse-slayer” had had in its preparation was not obvious, since he had, after caring for the horse, only sat with a pipe in his mouth and his heels elevated on the bar-room stove, or following to the sitting-room, and continually plied the doctor with questions. However, the supper was ample, thanks to “Dolly.”

“Is there anything more wanted?” inquired the table girl,—a round-faced, round-headed country specimen in neat calico.

“Yes,” replied the doctor, “we would like some napkins, seeing there are none on the table.”

Away hastened the girl, who, quickly returning, asked in very primitive simplicity,—

“How will you have them cooked?”

“O, boiled, if you please,” replied the doctor, without changing a muscle about his sober-looking face.

The girl disappeared at full trot, followed by jeers of laughter from the gentlemen present, and suppressed titters from the ladies.

In a few moments “Dolly” made her appearance, and after searching in vain through the side-table drawer and a cupboard in the dining-room, she said they had none in the house, and intimated that the table girl could not be induced to return, after being laughed at for her ignorance of what a napkin was, and that “herself would wait upon the guests.”

When the doctor returned, the “horse-slayer” called out that the napkin doctor was coming, upon which the terrified table-girl ran away and hid.

My informant says, “You’re only to say, any time, ‘Here comes that napkin doctor,’ and the table girl nearly goes wild, dropping everything, and hiding away in her chamber till assured it is only a false alarm.”

The writer is well acquainted with W., who assured him this was true.

Beauty and the Beast.

I heard, while in the South, of a doctor, a little, short man, who rode a Canadian horse, a scraggy little specimen, and who, in yellow fever time, used to ride right straight into a drug store, and order his prescription, catch it up, wheel his pony round on his hind legs, stick in the spurs into the flanks of the animal, and go out in a clean gallop.

NO TIME TO LOSE.

Though the writer never saw this remarkable feat, there is one more ludicrous, to which he was an eye-witness.

One fine day, while in Charleston, sitting musing in the window of the Victoria Hotel, I saw an African, with bare feet and legs, his whole attire consisting of a coarse shirt and brief trousers, drive a mule attached to a dray, on which was a box, up towards a milliner’s store, opposite. The negro jumped from the dray, and, with whip in hand, ran into the store to ascertain if that was the place to leave the box.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.The faithful donkey followed his master directly into the store, nor stopped till the wheels of the cart brought up against the door-jambs. The ladies, with whom the front store was crowded, screamed with terror, and fled towards the back room, where the pretty milliner girls were sewing. They caught the panic and sight of the donkey’s head and ears in the front shop, and screeched in chorus. A more lively and lovely stampede I never witnessed. It was “Beauty and the Beast,” and the beast stood pulling his best to get the cart through; but since a six-foot cart never could go through a four foot doorway, he backed out with the negro’s assistance, and Beauty was rescued from the perilous situation.

“Golly!” exclaimed the Buckee, when himself, mule and cart were back into the street. “I fought de ladies were scared ob dis chile, first sight; but I never knowed de ladies to be scared ob a hansum darky like me; and when I looked round an’ see dat ar’ mules coming into der mill’ner’s store—O, yah, yah, yah! I shall die—O, yah, yah, yah!—de Lor’—to only fink ob it, a mule in a mill’ner’s shop—he wants muslin—O, yah, yah! I shall die, sure.” Then, after a few more outbursts, he stopped short—for the milliner was looking after the box—he rolled up his eyes very solemnly, and said to the donkey,—

“Yer ought to be ’shamed ob yerself to go into dat yer store—dar, take dat!” levelling a blow at the donkey’s head with the whip. Then taking the box into the store, he returned, gave the donkey another solemn lecture on his impropriety, and mounted the dray and drove away.

The consulting Poodles.

A gentleman well known to the writer assured me that he once had occasion to repeatedly consult a physician in Philadelphia, a most excellent practitioner, who owned two pet poodle dogs. They were pure white, and occupied a portion of his office. When I first entered the doctor’s presence, I was quite astonished to see, sitting on a corner of his desk, at his left, a beautiful poodle. I thought, at first sight, it was a stuffed specimen; but after inquiring the nature of my visit, the doctor said, “You can retire, sir.”

“What!” said I, in surprise at this summary dismissal, when I was startled to see the manikin jump from the desk and run away to a crib beside a book-case.

DR. HUNTER IN CONSULTATION.

“I was speaking to Dr. Scipio,” the doctor quietly remarked. Then adding, “Dr. Hunter, you can come instead,” when another like poodle came and leaped upon the desk, and sat looking very wisely at his master.While examining my case, he occasionally cast a glance at “Dr. Hunter,” sitting as quiet as a marble dog might, but seeming to understand the look which his master gave him, acknowledging it by a pricking up of the ears.

I received my prescription, and what proved to be most excellent advice, and retired. The next time I visited the eccentric doctor, both Drs. Scipio and Hunter were in full consultation, sitting side by side on the desk.

“Now, sirs,” said the doctor, after motioning me to a seat near him, “sirs Scipio and Hunter, keep very still, and give attention.”

A yawning noise and expression was their simultaneous reply.

“What is the object of the two canine specimens being always present when I have consulted you?” I ventured to inquire, on my last visit to the doctor.

“Some physicians consult two-legged pups, in complicated cases. I prefer quadrupeds. Have we not been very successful—myself, Drs. Hunter and Scipio—in your case, sir?”

This he said with a pleasant, half-serious countenance.

“Indeed, you have, sir,” I replied, to which the dogs gave a gap! (a smile?)

“You’ll find every successful man with some seeming useless habit or appendage, which, nevertheless, is essential to his success, in absorbing or distracting the superfluities of his nature. A sing-song, every-day man, whom you can see right through, and understand all his moves, seldom amounts to anything. I ape nobody, however, but I feel almost lost, in my examinations, without my dogs.”

Well, there may be much to this, after all. A good singer will seldom go forward to master a difficult piece of music without something in his hand. Eccentricities in some persons take the place of a vile, injurious habit, as the eccentric man is usually free from debasing habits.I am particularly reminded of Suwaroff, the great Russian general, who was so remarkable for his energy, valor, and headlong fighting propensities. This wonderful man was very small in stature, being only five feet and a half inch in height, miserably thin in flesh, with an aquiline nose, a wide mouth, wrinkled brow, and bald head—an eagle look and character. “His contempt of dress could only be equalled by his disregard of every form of politeness, and some idea may be formed of both from the fact that he was washed mornings by several buckets of water thrown over him, and that he drilled his men in his shirt sleeves, with his stockings hanging down about his heels, and proudly dispensing with the use of a pocket handkerchief.”

THE RUSSIAN GENERAL’S DRILL.

His favorite signal of attack was a shrill “cock-a-doodle-doo!” “To-morrow”—this was his harangue to his men before a great battle—“to-morrow morning I mean to be up one hour before daybreak. I shall wash and dress myself, then say my prayers, give one good cock-crow, and capture Ismail!” Which he did to the letter. After Catharine’s death, Paul, her son and successor, could not brook the eccentric habits of “Old Forward and Strike,” whose personal appearance was ill suited to court, and when compelled to “change or retire,” Suwaroff chose the latter. Again in 1799 he was given a command, but would not change his principles, and was dismissed; and died in 1800, neglected by the imperial Paul, who was assassinated the same year.

Silent Eloquence.

There is a physician doing an office practice in Boston, who, when you enter his office, by one gesture and movement of his head, with the accompanying expression of his countenance, says to you, as plainly as words, “Take a seat; how do you do? State your case.” He is a man of few words, professionally. Through with his business, he becomes one of the most sociable men with whom one need wish to meet.

John Abernethy was remarkable for his eccentricity, and brevity in his dealings with patients. Sometimes he met his match. The following has been told about him often enough to be true. On one occasion a lady, who doubtless had heard of his brusque characteristic, entered his consulting-room, at Bedford Row, and silently presented a sore finger. As silently the doctor examined and dressed the wound. In the same manner the lady deposited the accustomed fee upon the table, and withdrew.

Again she presented the finger for inspection.

“Better?” grunted the great surgeon.

“Better,” quietly answered the lady, deposited the fee, and left, without saying another word. Several visits were thus made, when, on presenting it for the last time, Abernethy said,—

“Well?”“Well,” was the lady’s only answer, and deposited her last fee.

“Well, madam, upon my soul, you are the most sensible lady with whom I ever met,” he exclaimed, and very politely bowed her out.

Consistent to the End.

The most eccentric physician who ever lived, and the only one I have read of who carried his odd notions beyond this life, was Messenger Monsey, of whom I have before written in this book. He died at the age of ninety-five. He wrote his own will,—having eighty thousand dollars to dispose of,—and his epitaph. The will was remarkable, and is still preserved. “To a beautiful young lady, named ——,” he gave an old battered snuff-box, not containing a shilling, lavishing upon her, at the same time, the most extravagant encomiums on her wit, taste, and elegance; and to another, whom he says he intends to enrich with a handsome legacy, he leaves the gratifying assurance that he changed his mind on finding her “a pert, conceited minx.” After railing at bishops, deans, and clergymen, he left an annuity to two of the latter, who did not preach.

“My body shall not be insulted with any funeral ceremonies, but after being dissected in the theatre of Guy’s Hospital, by the surgeons, for the benefit of themselves and students, the remainder of my carcass may be put into a hole, or crammed into a box with holes, and thrown into the Thames.”

The main part of his property went to his only daughter.

WHAT THE ELEPHANT IS LIKE.

A DOCTOR’S SOLACE.This is a true copy of his epitaph:—

“Here lie my old bones; my vexation now ends;
I have lived much too long for myself and my friends.
As to churches and churchyards, which men may call holy,
’Tis a rank piece of priestcraft, and founded on folly.
What the next world may be never troubled my pate;
And, be what it may, I beseech you, O Fate,
When the bodies of millions rise up in a riot,
To let the old carcase of Monsey lie quiet.”

The above reminds me of another epitaph in Greenwood:

“Underneath this turf do lie,
Back to back, my wife and I.
Generous stranger, spare the tear,
For could she speak, I cannot hear.
Happier far than when in life,
Free from noise and free from strife,
When the last trump the air shall fill,
If she gets up, I’ll just lie still!”

“When Doctors disagree.”

The eccentricities of some doctors lie in their abuse of their brothers; especially those of a different school, of which they necessarily know little or nothing.

There is a Hindoo story illustrative of the folly of this ex parte decision.

Four blind men went to examine an elephant, to ascertain what it was like. One felt of its foot, the second its trunk, the third its ear, and the last felt of its tail. Then they held a consultation, and began to talk it up.

“The elephant is very much like a mortar,” said the one who had felt of the foot.

“It is like a pestle,” said the one who had felt of its trunk.

“No; you are both wrong. It’s like a fan,” said he who had felt of the ears.

“You are all mistaken; it is like a broom,” vehemently exclaimed the man who had felt of the tail. The dispute grew warm. Each was sure he was right, because he had personally examined for himself. Then they waxed angry, and a lasting quarrel grew out of it; so, in the end, they were all as ignorant of the truth as when they began the investigation.The diversity of medical opinion on diet is equally as great as on prescription, and often partakes largely of the notion or eccentricity of the individual physician, rather than the requirements of the patient.

One is an advocate of animal diet; another is a strict Grahamite, or vegetarian, and a third is an animo-vegetarian, which, according to the two kinds of teeth given to man,—the tearing, or canine, and the grinding teeth,—seems to be the most rational decision. Then there is the slop-doctor. I know of one in Connecticut. He weighs about two hundred and fifty pounds. He breakfasts on the richest steak, dines on roast beef, and sups on a fowl. Every patient he has is a victim to “typhoid fever: the result is inflammation of the glands of the stomach, and induced by too hearty food;” hence the patient is starved a month on slop or gruel.

This doctor was formerly a Methodist preacher, and—

“Exhausting all persuasive means to light
Our fallen race to Virtue’s glorious height,
To Medicine gives his comprehensive mind,
And fills his pockets while he cures mankind.
He scorns M. D.’s, at all hard study sneers,
And soon the science of its mystery clears.
His knowledge springs intuitive and plain,
As Pallas issued from the Thunderer’s brain.
He takes a patent for some potent pill
Whose cure is certain—for it cures to kill.
Such mighty powers in its materials lurk,
It grows, like Gibbon’s Rome, a standard work!
Pill-militant, he storms the forts of pain,
Where grim Disease has long entrenchÉd lain,
Routs fevers, agues, colics, colds, and gouts,
Nor ends the war till life itself he routs.
If of his skill you wish some pregnant hints,
Peruse the gravestones, not the public prints!
To aid his work, and fame immortal win,
Brings steam from physics into medicine;
From speeding packets o’er th’ Atlantic waste,
O’er Styx’s stream old Charon’s boat to haste,
Proving that steam for double use is fit—
To whirl men through the world, and out of it!”The difference in the item of sleep is amusing. I know a poor, worn-out doctor who finds all health in early rising. Let us refer him to the following, by John G. Saxe:—

EARLY RISING.
“God bless the man who first invented sleep!”
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I:
And bless him also that he didn’t keep
His great discovery to himself, nor try
To make it—as the lucky fellow might—
A close monopoly by patent right.
Yes, bless the man who first invented sleep
(I really can’t avoid the iteration);
But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,
Whate’er the rascal’s name, or age, or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising,
That artificial cut-off—early rising.
“Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,”
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl:
Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
But ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray, just inquire about his rise and fall,
And whether larks have any beds at all.
The time for honest folks to be abed
Is in the morning, if I reason right;
And he who cannot keep his precious head
Upon his pillow till it’s fairly light,
And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
Is up to knavery; or else—he drinks.
Thomson, who sung about the “Seasons,” said
It was a glorious thing to rise in season;
But then he said it—lying—in his bed,
At ten o’clock A. M.,—the very reason
He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is,
His preaching wasn’t sanctioned by his practice.
’Tis doubtless well to be sometimes awake,—
Awake to duty and awake to truth,—
But when, alas! a nice review we take
Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep
Are those we passed in childhood, or asleep!
’Tis beautiful to leave the world a while
For the soft visions of the gentle night;
And free at last from mortal care or guile,
To live as only in the angels’ sight,
In sleep’s sweet realm so cosily shut in,
Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin.
So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise.
I like the lad who, when his father thought
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase
Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
Cried, “Served him right!—it’s not at all surprising;
The worm was punished, sir, for early rising.”

Mother Goose.

“Gabriel Betteredge,” in “Moonstone,” was doubtless a true character from life, picked up by the author, Wilkie Collins, somewhere in his travels. I think the best authors seldom have made up so good a character “out of whole cloth,” but have gone to the highways and byways for them. Betteredge’s forte lay in Robinson Crusoe. That book was his guidance and solace in all his trials and perplexities. But what would you think of a doctor, a respectable graduate of a medical college, who sought, if not advice, recreation and solace in Mother Goose?

This M. D. resided a few years ago in A., New York State. He owned a large library, enjoyed the confidence of a large list of friends and patrons, and was a man of education and refinement. His eccentricity lay in his love of Mother Goose’s Melodies. He kept a copy of these nursery rhymes at his very elbow, and often turned from a perplexing case, and sought solace in the jingling rhymes of old Mother Goose!

Well, that was certainly better than relieving his brain by the use of narcotic stimulants, as opium, tobacco, or ardent spirits, which use can only be followed at the expense of nerve, tissue, and membrane.

I have here before me an account of another physician, whose solace and relief from business cares were in his cats, of which he had several, all of which answered to their names. His attachment to these creatures was only equalled by theirs for him. Sometimes one or two perched on his shoulders and sang to him while he rested in his easy-chair. He seemed to drink in Lethean comforts, as thus he would remain for a half hour or more at a time, or till business broke the spell. When a patient came, or a servant announced a call, he would arise and say, “Pets, vamose!” and the cats would all scamper away to their nests, and the doctor, seemingly refreshed in body and mind, would return to the reality of life and its labors.

One’s solace is in his children, another’s in his wife, a third in his flower-garden; and others’ in opium, rum, or tobacco.

The Tables turned.

Sometimes the doctor’s oddity seemed to be in his silence, again in asking “outlandish” questions. Often they get a good return; for instance,—

Dr. G., of Sycamore, Ill., riding in the country one day, saw a sign upon a gate-post, reading thus: “This farm for sail.” Stopping his horse, he hailed a little old woman, who stood on tiptoe, hanging out clothes.

“I say, madam, when is this farm going to sail?”

“Just as soon, sir,” replied the old lady, placing her thumb to her nose, “as anybody comes along who can raise the wind.”

The doctor drove thoughtfully on.

The Difference.

“A priest who was jogging along on an ass was overtaken by a loquacious doctor, and, after some preliminary conversation as to the destination, etc., the doctor proposed that they each should ask a question, and the one who proposed the best should receive hospitality at the other’s expense at the next town. The priest agreed, for he was a fat, jolly little fellow, who could enjoy a laugh and “some bottles,” even at a doctor’s expense. So the doctor proposed the following:—

“What is the difference between a priest and a jackass?”

“That’s old,” replied the priest. “One wears his cross on his breast, the other on his back.—Now for my turn. What is the difference between the doctor and the ass?”

“I cannot tell,” replied the doctor; “what is the difference?”

“I see none,” quietly replied the priest.

“Not by Bread alone.”

A physician in P., who had the reputation of being a high liver, was quite publicly reprimanded for his gluttony by an advent preacher of some note, not a thousand miles from Boston. The doctor bore his abuse without flinching, though he believed the man a hypocrite. A long time afterwards, he met the Adventist in his town, and, after some conversation, invited him to dine at his own house. The hungry Grahamite accepted, and at an early moment found himself at the doctor’s board.

“Will you ask a blessing?” said the doctor; which request being complied with, he uncovered one of the only two dishes on the table, which contained nothing but bread. The preacher saw the point, and said, with a disappointed grin, “You shall not live by bread alone.”

“Yes; I know that much Scripture,” replied the doctor; “so I have provided some butter,” uncovering the other dish!