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.
[Illustration: 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."
[Illustration: 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.