YOU have one, of course; and of course he never opens his mouth without dropping pearls. (I hope the printer will not print this last word pills.) Your doctor believes in flannel next the skin, all the year round. Mrs. Jones' doctor, who "knows much more than your doctor," thinks that a person of discretion may occasionally, in the dog-days, lay flannel on the shelf and no coffin be imminent. Your doctor says that young children's necks and shoulders should always be covered, even in warm weather. Mrs. Smith's doctor, who, she says, "stands at the head of his profession" says that is all nonsense, and that children should go through a toughening process, which will render changes of temperature harmless. Your doctor advises you never to cross the street, or go down-stairs, unless accompanied by quinine. Mrs. Smith's doctor tells her if she wants poison she had better get ratsbane, and then she will know what she is swallowing.
Now each of you believe that "my doctor" is infallible; that is a great comfort to you, and very satisfactory to them, especially pocket-wise. "My doctor" hasn't dealt with women so long, and failed to see their blind side. He knows what "brutes" husbands are, and how like flints they will oppose the sea-shore, merely because their wives want to go there. What is the use of "my doctor," unless he comforts you under this affliction, and declares that to be the only place where you can regain your lost appetite? No wonder you like him; no wonder life is a blank to you when his carriage is not before your door. There is healing in the very sight of his beard and moustache; and how much handsomer they are than the "brute's." Ah! had you met "my doctor" years ago, you say; not stopping to reflect, that in that case he would have been attending women who paid fees, and left you, his wife, to some medical friend for pills and consolation. It is better as it is, you see. Well, it is comforting "that he understands you better than anybody else, and seems to know just what you want." And then he shows such an absorbing interest in your symptoms, that you almost feel cured by his sympathy alone, before you swallow a single powder; and, since my ears are out of your reach, I will remark, that well you may, when, half the time, nothing in the world ails you but the want of some absorbing occupation or interest. Colored water and bread pills are safe prescriptions for that complaint; meantime it wont hurt the "brute" to pay for the wear and tear of the doctor's carriage in coming and going. If "my doctor" laughs in his sleeve, occasionally, when he thinks what funny creatures women are, you are none the wiser or the angrier for it. He don't dislike, after all, their little cuddlesome, trusting, confiding ways; possibly not so much as his wife does, whose acquaintance you had better not make. As I before remarked, his medical friends can take care of her; it is no business of yours, her disgusting ails and aches.
But what a thing it is when "my doctor" was also "ma's doctor"! If he don't know all the ins and outs, then "may the divel fly away wid—him!"
The moral of all this is, that "my doctor's" life is not without its consolations, and the most astonishing part of it is, that husbands are so blear-eyed to this subject. It wont harm them to hint that in sympathy and courteousness they had better not present too sharp a contrast to "my doctor."
