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Calomel was our favorite, I must ad- don't hold with givin' no such doses to mit; but we had others. I think jalap no child, 80 there!” stood next highest in our estimation. We “Well," said the Doctor slowly, “I've gave it once with curious results. As I seen a heap of rheumatism in my time, have retired from practice, I am happy and the best thing for it is exercise. to share the results of my experience with That child could n't exercise, and that my confrères.
little jalap just stretched all his muscles We were called to see a little boy a bit when it was acting, and now he's suffering with inflammatory rheumatism. going to get well. He don't need any Poor little chap, when asked what the more medicine, but keep those wet bandtrouble was, he said he had “ a short leg.” ages on his leg.” We cut long strips of linen, and having We
bushels of quinine, in tea to steeped them in a cold solution of bicar women, in whiskey, more plentiful than bonate of soda, wrapped the limb firmly, tea, to the men. I have spoken of caland gave directions to have them changed omel as the trump card which we played frequently. I dare say we left a little in the game with death, but I am not paregoric to ease the pain at night, and sure that we did not oftener take the started to go. But before we reached trick with the lancet. We were hamthe door, the Doctor paused and rubbed pered by no modern septicæmic fears. his chin thoughtfully. It was unusual, The little instrument, arranged with an for, as a rule, he was quick in his deci- ingenious spring to prevent its opening, sions. Then he drew forth a bottle of was carried in the vest pocket along jalap and returned to the bed. “Which with a plug of tobacco, a toothpick, and do you like best, scraped apple or currant odds and ends of every sort. I doubt if jelly ?”
there was a day we did not find use for “I hate 'em both!” cried the poor it. We bled for headaches and fevers; little mite, who knew what was coming. we bled for congestion of the lungs; we Perhaps we decided on scraped apple. bled the negroes for their ills, generally This was my department. I scraped out designated by the generic term “misery." a little and spread it in a spoon, then The first day there was bloodletting the powder was poured on, and after that I was given a basin, and told if I dropped there was a covering of apple, but the it I should be bled. I did not drop it, weight would cause the powder to ooze but had I been bled, I doubt if blood out on the sides, so that an idiot would could have been found in my scared not have been deceived. The child, little body! Once we bled a negro woman small blame, would not open his mouth. who must have weighed nearly three The Doctor held the nose, compressing hundred pounds. I can see now her the nostrils so that the lips must open great arm like polished ebony! The
then the spoon was slipped in, Doctor asked me if I knew what blue and being deftly turned upside down and blood was. I said I did. slowly withdrawn, not a particle of this suppose you
you have it?" precious dose was lost.
With dignity, I answered, “Yes." When we paid our next morning He laughed and said, “Well, I'm visit, the child looked to me as one dead, going to show you real blue blood.” And but the Doctor felt his pulse and skin he did ! and said he was better. But the mother I squatted on the floor, caught the was angry. She said suddenly: “That blood in a yellow earthen dish, while the child liked to died in the night. He Doctor - his back to the patient — benigh had a spasm. He was that sick to gan one of his marvelous stories to an his stomach he could n't speak, and I admiring group collected on the back
porch. I caught, “ We've got the clear- “Tell your mother the reason I'm est air in the world right here in this rich is because I never receive partial county. Why, last October I was on the payments.” Blue Ridge, and, standing on Black Rock, I repeated the message, not underI looked to the town, ten miles away as standing one word of it, but it was the the crow flies, and on the roof of the Lu- end of my career as a gambler! theran Church I saw two pigeons, and Of course we talked politics, and I the air was so clear I could make out understood the Doctor to say that he was which was white and which was purple !” an old “Lion Whig.” So that I soon - A delighted murmur of “Oh, Doc- announced that I, too, belonged to that tor!” – “It's the truth ; I'll explain royal party. When the great election it.” But he never did.
the most momentous of all elections — The poor soul I was watching had was held, I repaired to the stable of the by this time lost so much blood that the Washington House, where the embryonic ebony had become like ashes, her head statesmen, from ten years old to fifteen, lolled from side to side, and I heard her had decided to vote. There was only one murmur, “I'se going, honey, for shore.” question asked by the tellers :I burst into tears, the Doctor turned “Breckinridge or Douglas?” quickly, called for whiskey, bound up I answered, “Bell and Everett." the arm, and the danger was over. May “Are you crazy or sassy? " they cried. I never come so near to murder again. “I'm an old Lion Whig !” I roared.
It was a strenuous life the old man “Oh, you are, are you? Well, we 'll led. I shared only the forenoon practice, Lion Whig you.” And they did! but often I saw him pale and heavy-eyed When I recounted with tears my exin the morning, and learned that he had perience to the Doctor, he shook his driven twenty miles in the night. Yet head. he was always cheerful.
“I reckon, sonny, now they've elected He was fond of betting, and he intro that Black Republican Abe Lincoln, you duced me to that fascinating pastime. I and I are the last of the old Lion only remember my first bet, — but it was Whigs.'” And as usual he was right. a sample of them all. We saw a field of Soon after this there was a bitter potatoes which the farmer had gathered storm of sleet, and there was a case that in heaps, and the Doctor said,
kept us till late in the afternoon. We “I suppose nothing sees so much as a had dinner at the farmhouse. I was potato."
kept in the kitchen with the men, while “Why, Doctor, a potato can't see.” the women and the Doctor stayed up“Why not?”
stairs. All was very still, and later “ It has no eyes."
moaning and words of cheer, - then, a “Why, it has more eyes than you great cry that made my heart stand have, and if you don't believe me, I'll still. Finally the Doctor came. bet you a 'fip and a bit,' and leave it to “Is it over?” said a man who had your mother.”
not spoken all day. This seemed easy. My mother looked “Yes, she 'll pull through. It was startled, but made no criticism, and the twins, and the chloroform gave out." fascinating sport continued till I owed But there was no buoyancy in his sixty-five cents. I saved with great diffi- voice, and as he drove home he shivered culty seventeen cents, and was then com- more than once. The next morning he pelled by my mother to offer it as an was too ill to move, and Lucy was led installment. The dear old man looked at back to the stable. me a moment with shining eyes, and said, It was etiquette with us that when a
doctor fell ill, the oldest physician in the All the old fun flushed his face as he town should have charge of the case, while said, – all the others came in in consultation. "Doctor, it would n't be etiquette There were thirteen in this town of less without Dr. Ireland. Besides, dear little than three thousand inhabitants, and they boy, burnt brandy would n't help me all went through that sickroom, follow. now.” The next day he died. ing Dr. Ireland, the dean, and looked The town was as full of spring carts wise. Then the Doctor sent for me. He and buggies and saddle horses the day said there was no luck in odd numbers, he was buried as if it had been the day and, more than that, I understood his of the county fair. The negroes, breakconstitution! I spent many hours with ing the bonds of their Protestantism, him, and we talked of everything except prayed aloud in the streets for his soul, medicine.
and the clergyman said :But he did not get well.
“ This man sought neither riches nor “I think some men have to get sick honor, but gave himself for others. to get rested,” he said one day, when my Fifty years from now his name may be face must have showed what I feared, a faint memory, but I think he was one for indeed I feared greatly, most of all of those whom God depends upon to because he took no medicine. So at last keep the world good, and to bless little I spoke.
children by his gentleness and purity Doctor,” I said, “would calomel or and cheerfulness." jalap do? Or, I know how to bleed.” And all the people said, " Amen."
BOOKS NEW AND OLD.
BYWAYS OF LITERATURE.
MR. HENRY JAMES once said of issue, is quite equal to that of a New Thoreau, “He was more than provin- England villager.
But local preoccucial; he was parochial.” The remark pation is not the point; to be provinhas so much the air of finality, it is cial is to be in a sense unpresentable, so obviously a statement of fact, that to hail patently, as we may fancy Mr. one's first instinct is to bolt it without James saying, from an ineligible someado. Presently, it may be, that mild where. inward monitor which does so much to The cosmopolitan idea has apparently conserve the eupeptic mind suggests given us a new standard of eligibility. that fact is not truth, and that the People used to take the grand tour for morsel will bear reconsideration. What their souls' good; but they “dragged is it to be provincial? and what is it at each remove a lengthening chain." supposed to do or undo for a man or They traveled to become more worthy his work? One has heard it said that of staying at home. They did not London itself is provincial. Certainly dream that absenteeism would come to Mr. James's cosmopolitanism has not be held actually a state of grace. They kept him from dwelling among and would hardly have seen the point of upon a class of Londoners whose local that witty comment upon Mr. James, preoccupation, if this were the point at "To be truly cosmopolitan a man must
be at home even in his own country.” amiable Letters. They enshrine for It is something, after all, to be indige us in miniature the daily life of an
Thoreau had his own simple pbi. amateur naturalist in the days when losophy as to home-staying. “There is the positions of parson, sportsman, no more tempting novelty," he writes, country gentleman and man of science “than this new November.
were not yet incongruous.' Mr. Alto Europe or to another world is to be len has treated the text successfully named with it. Give me the old fa from this point of view, marking here miliar walk, post-office and all, with and there a point of error, but for the this ever new self, with this infinite ex most part confining his notes to the pectation and faith which does not know suggestion of additional facts about the when it is beaten. We'll go nutting man or the place.
We'll pluck the nut of Richard Jefferies was White's most the world and crack it in the winter notable English successor.
His work evenings. Theatres and all other sight- has not the background of a serene exseeing are puppet-shows in comparison. istence like White's. It is more tense, I will take another walk to the cliff, more imaginative, more consciously enanother row on the river, another skate dowed with the quality of literature. on the meadow, be out in the first snow, Wild Life in a Southern County, one and associate with the winter birds.” of the best of Jefferies's books, has just
been reprinted in Boston, — with an unfortunate change of title. As a
study of the author's native habitat it It is surprising how many books bears some analogy to Thoreau's Wal. which the world preserves are built den. Its range of subject is broader, upon local observation and anecdote. however, for Jefferies was as keen an Natural historians have not a few to observer of rustic human types and their credit; there seems to be some manners as of the objects more comproperty in this gentle trade which monly admitted to be within the progives especial kindliness to the pen. vince of the natural historian. He The printed word of a Thoreau, a Jef was the son of a Wiltshire farmer; feries, a John Muir, has a richness early proved himself unfit for farm and mellowness which seem to come life, read much, became a journalist, direct from soil and sun. Even when and wrote a series of worthless novels; a naturalist's facts are discredited by at last, as if by chance, hit upon
his later authority, his writing is likely right vein, produced the five or six to be cherished as literature. Gilbert books upon which his reputation rests, White was one of the few careful ob- and died at thirty-nine. His distinservers of his time, and is still much guishing trait is a sort of brooding more than a name to naturalists, his quietude, a gentle poignancy of attitude swallow speculations to the contrary. toward the visible world and its creaNevertheless, the editor of the latest tures. He is, it seems, never very far reprint' puts the case for White in a from the elegiac mood: “Just outside way which can hardly be disputed: the trench, almost within reach, there "'Tis as a literary monument, there lies a small white something, half hidfore, I hold, that we ought above all den by the grass. It is the skull of a things to regard these rambling and hare, bleached by the winds and the
1 The Natural History of Selborne. By GIL ? An English Village. By RICHARD JEFBERT WHITE. Edited by GRANT ALLEN, and FERIES. With Illustrations by CLIFTON JOHNillustrated by W. H. New. London and New BON, and an Introduction by HAMILTON W. York: John Lane. 1903.
MABIE. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1903. 36
dew and the heat of the summer sun. smaller landscape which he knows best. The skeleton has disappeared, nothing It may be the mosaic of an orchard but the bony casing of the head remains, with its many-tinted fruits; or the with its dim suggestiveness of life, pol- simpler chromatic scale of a ripenished and smooth from the friction of ing meadow: “All the summer through the elements. Holding it in the hand, fresh beauties, indeed, wait upon the the shadow falls into and darkens the owner's footsteps. In the spring the cavities once filled by the wistful eyes mowing-grass rises thick, strong, and which whilom glanced down from the richly green, or hidden by the clothsummit here upon the sweet clover- of-gold thrown over it by the butterfields beneath. Beasts of prey and cups.
He knows when it is ready for wandering dogs have carried away the the scythe without reference to the bones of the skeleton, dropping them almanac, because of the brown tint far apart; the crows and the ants doubt which spreads over it from the ripening less had their share of the carcass. seeds, sometimes tinged with a dull Alas, poor Yorick! Just here the red, when the stems of the sorrel are mourning note is obvious; elsewhere it plentiful. At first the aftermath has is a mere over-tone, as in this impres a trace of yellow, as if it were fading; sion of a moment in an old village bel- but a shower falls, and fresh green fry: "Against the wall up here are blades shoot up.” iron clamps to strengthen the ancient It is impossible, in short, to read fabric, settling somewhat in its latter this book without being conscious of days; and, opening the worm-eaten impact with a nature singularly suscepdoor of the clock-case - the key stands tible to impression and rich in expresin it -you may study the works of the
sion. It is to be hoped that many old clock for a full hour, if so it please American readers who may have reyou; for the clerk is away laboring in mained ignorant of Jefferies will make the field, and his aged wife, who pro
use of this volume to scrape acquainduced the key of the church and pointed tance with him. the way across the nearest meadow, has gone to the spring. The ancient building, standing lonely on the hill, is ut. terly deserted; the creak of the boards Within recent years several books under foot or the grate of the rusty have been produced in America which hinge sounds hollow and gloomy. But have done for one or another country. a streak of sunlight enters from the ar side much what Jefferies did for Wiltrow-slit, a bee comes in through the shire and Thoreau for Walden. Mr. larger open windows with a low inquir. Burroughs's A Year in the Fields, ing buzz; there is a chattering of spar- often reprinted, has been given another rows, the peculiar shrill screech of the form. It is a record of what the sea. swifts, and a' jack-daw-jack-daw '-ing sons bring to an acute and genial oboutside. The sweet scent of clover and server on the Hudson. The book has of mown grass comes upon the light the qualities of wholesomeness and simbreeze mayhap the laughter of hay- plicity which are so common in provinmakers passing through the churchyard cial writing, and which are not a little underneath to their work, and idling diverting to cosmopolitan critics. The by the way as haymakers can idle.” reader, if he gives himself a chance,
Another characteristic of Jefferies is carries away a grateful sense of conhis strongly developed sense of color,
1 A Year in the Fields. By JOHN BURwhich leads him to dwell often upon
Boston and New York: Houghton, the purely pictorial quality of the Mifflin & Co. 1903.