It had not a very imposing appearance; for, to tell a truth, the
doctor's circumstances were by no means in a palmy state. The shop,
therefore, was decidedly a shabby one. It was very small and very
dirty, with a little projecting bow window, the lower panes of which
were mystified with some sort of light green substance--paint or paper,
we don't know which--in order to baffle the curiosity of the prying
urchins who used to congregate about it. Not that they were attracted by
anything in the window itself, but that it happened to be a favourite
station of the boys in the neighbourhood,--a sort of mustering place, or
place of call, where they could at any time find each other. The typical
display in the doctor's window consisted of a blue bottle, a pound of
salts, and a serpent; the second being made up into labelled packages of
about an ounce weight each, and built up with nice skill against one of
the panes, so as to make as much show as possible. The serpent was a
native of the Lammermoor Hills, which a boy, who drove a buttermilk
cart, brought in one morning, and sold to the doctor for a shilling.
The inside of the doctor's shop, which besides being very dirty was very
dark, had a strange, mysterious, equivocal sort of character about it.
Everything was dingy, and greasy, and battered, and mutilated. Dirty
broken glasses stood in dark and dirty corners; rows of dirty bottles,
some without stoppers, and some with the necks chipped off, and
containing drops of black, villanous-looking liquids, stood on dirty
shelves; rows of battered, unctuous-looking drawers, rising tier above
tier, lined one side of the shop, most of which were handled with bits
of greasy cord, the brass handles with which they had been originally
furnished having long since disappeared, and never having been replaced.
What these drawers contained, no human being but the doctor himself
could tell. In truth, few of them contained anything at all. Those that
did, could be described only as holding mysterious, dirty-looking
powders, lumps of incomprehensible substances, or masses of desiccated
vegetable matter of powerful and most abominable flavour.
For all these, the doctor had, doubtless, very learned names; but such
as we have described them was their appearance to the eye of the
uninitiated.
To complete the charms of the doctor's medical establishment, it was
constantly pervaded by a heavy, unearthly smell, that, we verily
believe, no man but himself could have inhaled for an hour and lived.
Notwithstanding the unpretending and homely character of the doctor's
establishment, it boasted a sounding name. The doctor himself called it,
and so did the signboard over the door, "The ---- Medical Hall,"--a
title which the envious thought absurd enough for a place whose proudest
show was a blue bottle, a pound of salts, and a serpent. But these
people did not recollect, or did not choose to recollect, the high
pretensions of the doctor himself. They did not advert to the numerous
degrees, honorary titles, fellowships, etc., which he had acquired,
otherwise they would have looked to the man, not to the shop. Probably,
however, few of them were aware of the number of these which he boasted;
but it is a fact, nevertheless, that the doctor could, and did on
particular occasions, sign himself thus:--"David Dobbie, M.D.; E.F.;
M.N.O.; U.V.; Z.Y.X.; W.V.U.;" nor did he hesitate sometimes to alter
the letters according to the inspiration of the happy moment.
Now, had the doctor's right to all these titles been taken into account,
and, so taken, been appreciated as it ought, there would have been fewer
sneers at his Medical Hall than there was as matters stood.