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.
[Illustration: 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.