|WE have been carefully reading and investigating the report of Dr.
Lamb, relative to the anatomical condition of the late remnants of
Charles J. Gluiteau, and also a partial or minority report furnished by
the other two doctors, who got on their ear at the time of the autopsy.
We are permitted to print the fragment of a private letter addressed
personally to the editor from one of these gentlemen, whose name we are
not permitted to use. He says:
"We found the late lamented, and after looking him over thoroughly, and
removing what works he had inside of him, agreed, almost at once, that
he was dead. This was the only point upon which we agreed.
"Shortly after we began to remove the internal economy of the deceased,
some little discussion arose between Doc Lamb and myself about the
extravasation of blood in the right pectoralis and the peculiar position
of the dewflicker on the dome of the diaphragm. I made a suggestion
about the causes that had led to this, stating, in my opinion, the
pericarditis had crossed the median line and congested the dewdad.
"He said it was no such thing, and that I didn't know the difference
between a malpighian capsule and an abdominal viscera.
"That insulted me, but I held my temper, going on with my work, removing
the gall-bladder and other things, as though nothing had been said.
"By and by, Lamb said I'd better quit fooling with the pancreas, and
come and help him. Then he advanced a tom-fool theory about an adhesion
of the dura mater to the jib-boom, or some medical rot or other, and I
told him that I thought he was wrong, and I didn't believe deceased
had any dura mater. Lamb flared up then, and struck at me with a bloody
towel. I then grabbed a fragment of liver, and pasted him in the nose.
I don't allow any sawbone upstart to impose on me, if I know it. He then
called me a very opprobrious epithet, indeed, and struck me in the eye
with a kidney. Then the fight became disgraceful, and by the time we
got through, the late lamented was considerably scattered. Here lay
a second-hand lobe of liver, while over there was the apex of a lung
hanging on a gas fixture. It was a pretty lively scrimmage, and made
quite a feeling between us. I still think, however, that I was right in
standing up for my theory, and when an old pelican like Lamb thinks he
can scare me into St. Vitus' dance, he fools himself. The fact is,
he don't know a gall-bladder from the gout, and he couldn't tell a
lobulated tumor from the side of a house. I told him so, too, while I
was putting some court plaster on my nose, after he pasted me with an
old prison bedstead. Lamb would get along better with me if he would
curb his violent temper. I guess he thought so, too, when I broke his
false teeth and jammed them so far back into his oesophagus that he got
blue in the face. I never allow a secondhand horse doctor to impose on
me, if I know it, and it is time Doc Lamb took a grand aborescent tumble
to himself."