That evening I carried the medicines to a druggist, requesting him to
inform me what they were. After examining them, he replied,--
"The liquid is simply sweet spirits of nitre, diluted," looking over his
glasses at me suspiciously, I thought. "These, I should say, are blue
pills, a mild preparation of mercury," returning me the pills. A second
druggist, to whom I applied, told me the same, and, knowing they were not
what I required for a scrofulous tumor, I threw them into the gutter.
_Ah!_
[Illustration]