_A charming theme--The new tints--An almost perfect descriptive
system--An unassailable position--The silver mounting of the newspaper
staff--An unfair correspondcnt--A lady journalist face to face--The
play-hawkers Only in two acts--An earnest correspondent--A haven
at last--Well-earned repose--The “health columns”--Answers to
correspondents--Other medical advisers--The annual meeting--The largest
consultation on record over one patient--He recovers!--A garden-party--A
congenial locale--The distinguished Teuton--The local medico--Brain
“sells”--A great physician--Advice to a special correspondent--Change
of air--The advantages of travel--The divergence of opinion among
medical men--It is due to their conscientiousness._
AS this rambling volume does not profess to be a guide to the
newspaper press, I have not felt bound to follow any beaten track in its
compilation. But I must confess that at the outset it was my intention
to deal with that agreeable phase known as the Lady Journalist.
Unhappily (or perhaps I should say, happily), “the extreme pressure on
our space” will not permit of my giving more than a line or two to a
theme which could only be adequately treated in a large volume. It has
been my privilege to meet with three lady journalists, and I am bound to
say that every one of the three seemed to me to combine in herself all
the judgment of the trained journalist (male) with the lightness of
touch which one associates with the doings of the opposite sex. All were
able to describe garments in picturesque phrases, frequently producing
by the employment of a single word an effect that a “gentleman
journalist”--this is, I suppose, the male equivalent to a lady
journalist--could not achieve at any price. They wrote of ladies being
“gowned,” and they described the exact tint of the gowns by an admirable
process of comparison with the hue of certain familiar things. They
rightly considered that the mere statement that somebody came to
somebody else’s “At Home” in brown, conveys an inadequate idea of the
colour of a costume: “postman’s bag brown,” however, brings the dress
before one’s eye in a moment. To say that somebody’s daughter appeared
in a grey wrap would sound weak-kneed, but a wrap of _eau de Tamise_ is
something stimulating. A scarlet tea-jacket merely suggests the Book of
Revelation, but a Clark-Russell-sunset jacket is altogether different.
They also wrote of “picture hats,” and “smart frocks,” and many other
matters which they understood thoroughly. I do not think that any
newspaper staff that does not include a lady journalist can hope for
popularity, or for the respect of those who read what is written by the
lady journalist, which is much better than popularity. I have got good
reason to know that in every newspaper with which I was associated, the
weekly column contributed by the lady journalist was much more earnestly
read than any that came from another source.
Yes, I feel that the position of the lady in modern journalism is
unassailable; and the lady journalists always speak pleasantly about one
another, and occasionally describe each other’s “picture hats.”
In brief, the lady journalist is the silver mounting of the newspaper
_staff_.
*****
I once, however, received an application from a lady, offering a weekly
letter on a topic already, I considered, ably dealt with by another
lady in the columns of the newspaper with which I was connected. I wrote
explaining this to my correspondent, and by the next post I got a
letter from her telling me that of course she was aware that a letter
purporting to be on this topic was in the habit of appearing in the
paper, but expressing the hope that I did not fancy that she would
contribute “stuff of that character.”
I did not have the faintest hope on the subject.
Now it so happened that the lady who wrote to me had some months before
gone to the lady whose weekly letters she had derided, and had begged
from her some suggestions as to the topics most suitable to be dealt
with by a lady journalist, and whatever further hints she might be
pleased to offer on the general subject of lady journalism. In short,
all that she had learned of the profession--it may be acquired in three
lessons, most young women think--she had learned from the lady at whom
she pointed a finger of scorn.
This I did not consider either ladylike or journalist-like, so that I
can hardly consider it lady-journalist-like.
Lady journalists have recently taken to photographing each other and
publishing the results.
This is another step in the right direction.
*****
Once I had an opportunity of talking face to face with a lady
journalist. It happened at the house of a distinguished actress in
London. By the merest chance I had a play which I felt certain would
suit the actress, and I went to make her acquainted with the joyful
news. To my great chagrin I found that I had arrived on a day when she
was “receiving.” Several literary men were present, and on some of their
faces.
I thought I detected the hang-dog look of the man who carries a play
about with him without a muzzle. I regret to say that they nearly all
looked at me with distrust.
I came by chance upon one of them speaking to our charming hostess
behind a _portiere_.
“I think the part would suit you down to the ground.” he was saying.
“Yes, six changes of dress in the four acts, and one of them a ballroom
scene.”
I walked on.
Ten minutes afterwards I overheard a second, who was having a romp with
our hostess’s little girl, say to that lady,--
“Oh, yes, I am very fond of children, when they are as pretty as Pansy
here. By the way, that reminds me that I have in my overcoat pocket a
comedy that I think will give you a chance at last. If you will allow me
when those people go....”
I passed on.
“The piece I brought with me is very strong. You were always best at
tragedy, and I have frequently said that you are the only woman in
London who can speak blank verse,” were the words that I heard spoken by
the third literary gentleman at the further side of a group of palms on
a pedestal.
I thought it better not to say anything about my having a play concealed
about my person. It occurred to me that it might be well to withhold my
good news for a day or two. Meantime I had a delightful chat with the
lady journalist, and confided in her my belief that some of the
literary men present had not come for the sake of the intellectual treat
available at every reception of our hostess’s, but solely to try and
palm off on her some rubbish in the way of a play.
She replied that she could scarcely believe that any man could be so
base, and that she feared I was something of a cynic.
When she was bidding good-bye to our hostess I distinctly heard the
latter say,--
“I am sorry that you have only made it in two acts; however, you may
depend on my reading it carefully, and doing what I can with it for
you.”
The above story might be looked on as telling against myself in some
measure, so I hasten to obviate its effect by mentioning that the play
which I had in my pocket was acted by the accomplished lady for whom I
designed it, and that it occupied a dignified place among the failures
of the year.
*****
There was a lady journalist--at least a lady so describing herself--who
sent me long accounts of the picture shows three days after I had
received the telegraphed accounts from the art correspondent employed by
the newspaper. She wanted to get a start, she said; and it was in vain
that I tried to point out to her that it was the other writers who got
the start of her, and that so long as she allowed this to happen she
could not expect anything that she wrote to be inserted.
It so happened, however, that her art criticisms were about on a level
with those that a child might pass upon a procession of animals to or
from a Noah’s Ark. Then the lady forwarded me criticisms of books that
had not been sent to me for review, and afterwards an interview or two
with unknown poets. Nothing that she wrote was worth the space it would
have occupied.
Only last year I learned with sincere pleasure that this energetic lady
had obtained a permanent place on the staff of a lady’s halfpenny weekly
paper. I could not help wondering on what department she could have been
allowed to work, and made some inquiry on the subject. Then it was
I learned that she had been appointed superintendent of the health
columns. It seems that the readers of this paper are sanguine enough to
expect to get medical advice of the highest order in respect of their
ailments for the comparatively trilling expenditure of one halfpenny
weekly. By forwarding a coupon to show that they have not been mean
enough to try and shirk payment of the legitimate fee, they are entitled
to obtain in the health columns a complete reply as to the treatment of
whatever symptoms they may describe. As this reply is seldom printed in
the health columns until more than a month or six weeks after the coupon
has been sent in to the newspaper, addressed “M.D.,” the extent of the
boon that it confers upon the suffering--the long-suffering--subscribers
can easily be estimated.
As the superintendent of the column signed “M.D.,” the lady who had
failed as an art critic, as a reviewer, and as an interviewer, had at
last found a haven of rest. Of course, when she undertook the duties
incidental to the post she knew nothing whatever of medicine. But since
then, my informant assured me that she had been gradually “feeling her
way,” and now, by the aid of a half-crown handbook, she can give the
best medical advice that can be secured in all London for a halfpenny
fee.
I had the curiosity to glance down one of her columns the other day. It
ran something like this:--
“Gladys.--Delighted to hear that you like your new mistress, and that
the cook is not the tyrant that your last was. As scullery-maid I
believe you are entitled to every second evening out. But better apply
(enclosing coupon) to the Superintendent of the Domestic Department.
Regarding the eruptions on the forehead, they may have been caused by
the use of too hot curling tongs on your fringe. Why not try the new
magnetic curlers? (see advertisement, p. 9). It would be hard to be
compelled to abandon so luxurious a fringe for the sake of a pimple or
two. Thanks for your kind wishes. Your handwriting is striking, but
I must have an impression of your palm in wax, or on a piece of paper
rubbed with lamp-black, before I can predict anything certain regarding
your chances of a brilliant marriage.”
“Airy Fairy Lilian.--What a pretty pseudonym! Where did you contrive to
find it? Yes, I think that perhaps the doctor who visited you was right
after all. The symptoms were certainly those of typhoid. Have you tried
the new Omniherbal Typhoid Tablets (see advertisement, p. 8). If not too
late they might be of real service to you.”
“Harebell.--I should say that if your waist is now forty-two inches, it
would be extremely imprudent for you to try and reduce it by more than
ten or eleven inches. Besides, there is no beauty in a wasp-like waist.
The slight redness on the outside tegument of the nose probably proceeds
from cold, or most likely heat. Try a little _poudre des fées_ (see
advertisement, p. 9).”
“Shy Susy.--It is impossible to answer inquiries in this column in less
than a month. (1) If your tooth continues to ache, why not go to Mr.
Hiram P. Prosser, American Dental Surgeon (see advertisement, p. 8), and
have it out. (2) The best volume on Etiquette is by the Countess of D.
It is entitled ‘How to Behave’ (see advertisement outside cover).
(3) No; to change hats in the train does not imply a promise to marry.
It would, however, tell against the defendant in the witness-box.
(4) Decidedly not; you should not allow a complete stranger to see you
to your door, unless he is exceptionally good-looking. (5) Patchouli is
the most fashionable scent.”
*****
I do not suppose that this enterprising young woman is an honoured guest
at the annual meeting of the British Medical Association. Certainly no
lady superintendent of the health columns of a halfpenny weekly paper
was pointed out to me at the one meeting of this body which I had the
privilege of attending, and at which, by the way, some rather amusing
incidents occurred.
An annual, meeting of the British Medical Association seemed to me to
be a delightful function. For some days there were _fêtes_ (with
fireworks), receptions (with military bands playing), dances (with that
exhilarating champagne that comes from the Saumur districts),
excursions to neighbouring ruins of historic interest, and the common
or garden-party in abundance. In addition to all these, a rumour was
circulated that papers were being read in some out-of-the-way hall--no
one seemed to know where it was situated, and the report was generally
regarded as a hoax--on modern therapeutics, for the entertainment of
such visitors as might be interested in the progress of medical science.
No one seemed interested in that particular line.
A concert took place one evening, and was largely attended, every seat
in the building being occupied. The local amateur tenor--the microbe
of this malady has not yet been discovered--sang with his accustomed
throaty incorrectness, and immediately afterwards there was a
considerable interval. Then the conductor appeared upon the platform and
said that an unfortunate accident had happened to the gentleman who had
just sung, and he should feel greatly obliged if any medical gentleman
who might chance to be present would kindly come round to the retiring
room.
It seemed to me that the audience rose _en masse_ and trooped round
to the retiring room. I was one of the few persons who remained in the
hall.
“Say, why didn’t some strong man throw himself between the audience
and the door?” a stranger shouted across the hall to me in an American
accent.
“With what object?” I shouted back.
“Wal,” said the stranger, “I opine that if this community is subject to
such visitations as we have just had from that gentleman who sang last,
his destruction should be made a municipal affair.”
“We know what we’re about,” said I. “How would you like to look up and
find two hundred and forty-seven fully qualified medical men standing by
your bed-side.”
“Not much,” said he.
“I wonder if the story of the opossum that was up a gum tree, and begged
a military man beneath not to fire, as he would come down, had reached
the States before you left,” said I.
He said he hadn’t heard tell of it.
“Well,” said I, “there was an opossum----”
But here the hall began to refill, and the concert was proceeded with.
The sufferer had recovered, we heard, in spite of all that was against
him. A humorist said that he had merely slipped from a ladder in
endeavouring to reach down his high C.
When he was told that he had to pay two hundred and forty-seven guineas
for medical attendance he nearly had a relapse.
*****
It was at the same meeting of the Medical Association that a
garden-party was given by the Superintendent of the District Lunatic
Asylum. This was a very pleasant affair, and was attended by about five
hundred persons. A detestable man who was present, however, thought
fit to make an effort to give additional spirit to the entertainment
by pointing out to some of his friends the short, ungainly figure of a
German _savant_, who was wandering about the grounds in a condition
of loneliness, and by telling a story of a homicide of a bloodcurdling
type, to account for the gentleman’s presence at the institution.
The jester gave free expression to his doubts as to the wisdom of the
course adopted by the medical superintendent in permitting such
freedom to a man who was supposed to be confined during Her Majesty’s
pleasure,--this was, he said, because of the merciful view taken by the
jury before whom he had been tried. He added, however, that he supposed
the superintendent knew his own business.
As this story circulated freely, the German doctor, whose appearance and
dress undoubtedly lent it a certain plausibility, became easily the most
attractive person in view. Young men and maidens paused in the act of
“service” over the lawn tennis nets, to watch the little man whose large
eyes stared at them from beneath a pair of shaggy eyebrows, and whose
ill-cut grey frieze coat suggested the uniform of the Hospital for
the Insane. Strong men grasped their walking sticks more firmly as he
passed, and women, well gowned, and wearing picture hats--I trust I
am not infringing the copyright of the lady journalist--drew back, but
still gazed at him with all the interest that attaches itself to a great
criminal in the eyes of women.
The little man could not but feel that he was attracting a great deal of
attention; but being probably well aware of his own attainments, he did
not shrink from any gaze, but smiled complacently on every side. Then
a local medical man, whose self-confidence had never been known to fail
him in an emergency, thought that the moment was an auspicious one for
exhibiting the extent of his researches in cerebral phenomena, beckoned
the German to his side, and, removing the man’s hat, began to prove
to the bystanders that the shape of his head was such as precluded the
possibility of his playing any other part in the world but that of a
distinguished homicide. But the German, who understood English very
well, as he did everything else, turned at this point upon the local
practitioner and asked him what the teuffil he meant.
“Don’t be alarmed, ladies,” said the practitioner assuringly, as there
was a movement among his audience. “I know how to treat this form of
aberration. Now then, my good man----”
But at this moment a late arrival in the form of a great London surgeon
strolled up accompanied by the medical superintendent of the Asylum,
and with an exclamation of pleasure, pounced upon the subject of the
discourse and shook him warmly by the hand. The Teuton was, however, by
no means disposed to overlook the insult offered to him. He explained
in the expressive German tongue what had occurred, and any one could see
that he was greatly excited.
But Sir Gregory, the English surgeon, had probably some experience of
cases like this. He put his hand through the arm of the German, and then
giving a laugh that in an emergency might obviate the use of a lancet,
he said loudly enough to be heard over a considerable area,--
“Come along, my dear friend; there is no visiting an hospital for the
insane without coming across a lunatic,--a medical practitioner without
discretion is worse.”
The local physician was left standing alone on the lawn.
He shortly afterwards went home.
If you wish to anger him now you need only talk about brain “sells.”
*****
At the same meeting it was my privilege to be presented to a really
great London physician. He was the medical gentleman who was consulted
by a special correspondent on his return from making a tour with the
Marquis of Lome, when the latter became Viceroy of Canada. The special
correspondent had left for Canada on the very day that he arrived in
England from the Cape, having gone through the Zulu campaign, and he had
reached the Cape direct from the Afghan war. After about two years of
these experiences he felt run down, and acting on the suggestion of a
friend, lost no time in consulting the great physician.
On learning that the man was suffering from a curious impression of
weariness for which he could not account, but which he had tried in vain
to shake off, the great physician asked him what was his profession. He
replied that he was a literary man--that he wrote for a newspaper.
“Ah, I thought so,” cried the great physician. “Your complaint is easily
accounted for. I perceived in a moment that you had been leading a
sedentary life. That is what plays havoc with literary men. What you
need just now is a complete change--no half measures, mind you--a
complete change--a sea voyage would brace you up, or,--let me see--ah,
yes, Margate might do. Try a fortnight at Margate.”
*****
I am bound to say that it was another doctor who, when a naval captain
who had been in charge of a corvette on the South Pacific station for
five years, went to him for advice, gravely remarked,--
“I wonder, sir, if at any time of your life you got a severe wetting?”
The modern physician is most earnest in recommending changes of air and
scene and employment. He is an enemy to the drug system. But the last
enemy that shall be destroyed is the drug system. The “masses” believe
in it as they believe no other system, whether in medicine, religion, or
even gambling.
I shall never forget the ring of contempt that there was in the voice of
a servant of mine at the Cape, when, on the army surgeon’s giving him
a prescription to be made up, he found that the whole thing only cost
fourpence, and he said,--
“That there coor can’t be much of a coor, sir; only corst fourpence, and
me ready to pay ‘arf-a-crown.”
In the smoking-room of an hotel in Liverpool some years ago a rather
self-assertive gentleman was dilating to a group in a cosy corner on the
advantages of travel, not merely as a physical, but as an intellectual
stimulant.
“Am I right, sir?” he cried, turning to me. “Have you ever travelled?”
I mentioned that I had done a little in that way.
“Where do you come from now, sir?” he asked.
“South America,” said I meekly.
“And you, sir,” he cried, turning to another stranger; “have you
travelled?”
“Well, a bit,” replied the man. “I was in ‘Frisco this day fortnight,
and I’ll be in Egypt on this day week.”
“I knew by the look of those gentlemen that they had travelled,” said
the loud man, turning to his group. “I believe in the value of travel.
I travel myself--just like those gentlemen. Yes; a week ago I was at
Bradford. Here I am at Liverpool to-day, and Heaven knows where I may be
next week--at Manchester, may be.”
*****
So far as I can gather, the impression seems to be pretty general that
some divergence of opinion is by no means impossible among physicians
in their diagnosis of a case. Doctors themselves seem to have at last
become aware of the fact that the possibility of a difference being
manifested in their views on some cases is now and again commented on
by the irresponsible layman. An eminent member of that profession which
makes a larger demand than any other upon the patience, the judgment,
and the self-sacrifice of those who practise it, defended, a short time
ago, in the course of a very witty speech, the apparent want of harmony
between the views of physicians on some technical points. He said that
perhaps he might not be going too far if he remarked that occasionally
in a court of law the technical evidence given by two doctors seemed
at first sight not to agree. This point was readily conceded by the
audience; and the professor then went on to say that surely the absence
of this mechanical agreement on all points should be accepted as
powerful testimony to the conscientiousness of the profession. One of
the rarest of charges brought against physicians was that of collusion.
In fact, while he believed that, if put to it, his memory would be
quite equal to recall some instances of a divergence of opinion between
doctors in a witness-box, he did not think that he could remember a
single case in which a charge of collusion against two members of the
profession had been brought home to them.
Most sensible people will, I am persuaded, take this view of a matter
which has called for comment in all ages. It is because doctors are so
singularly sensitive that, sooner than run the chance of being accused
of acting in collusion in any case, they now and again have been known
to express views that were--well, not absolutely in harmony the one with
the other.
The distinguished physician who made so reasonable a defence of the
profession which he adorns, told me that it was one of his early
instructors who made that excellent summary of the relative values of
medical attendance:--
“I have no hesitation in saying that it’s not better to be attended by a
good doctor than a bad doctor; but I won’t go the length of saying that
it’s not better to be attended by no doctor at all than by either.”