9Aavaaii#' -^ MllBRARY^r ^TOIWDJO^ %J11V3J0'^ %a.3AINf);3# ,^,0FCAIIF0%. ^ \/ / I *^ ^,Of'CAllF0%, "^omm^ '^omimv^" ,MllBRARY(9,r .^WEUNIVERy/A 1^ ^^ \^myi^ Mvmm^ ^lOSANCElfjv o %a3AINn3WV^ ^.OFCALIFO^^^ AWEUNIVERS/a ^lOSANCElfj>. -^^AHvaaii^ ^riiaoNvsoi^"^ %a3AlNn3WV^ ,v>:lOSANCElfX;> .nMUBRARYOc. ^>NllIBRARYac. ^I Q - I ft { NIVERV^ vK:lOSANCElfj> =■ <: "^aaMNn-^ft^ ^lllBRARYQ^ -^^IIIBR ^OJUVD-JO"^ ^tfOJlT NIVER% ^lOSANCElfj-^ o %a3MNn3WV ^^ AWEUNIVER5/A ' last he had in the world, and a keen recollection of similar scenes in my own histor}', almost brought the tears into my eyes. I refused the fee, of course; and prevailed on him to let me set him down, as I was driving close past his residence. He seemed over- whelmed with gratitude ; and with a blush hinted that he was " not quite in carriage costume." He lived in one of the small streets leading from May- fair ; and after having made a note in my tablets of his name and number, I set him down, promising him an early call. The clammy pressure of his wasted fingers, as I shook his hand at parting, remained with me all that day. I could not dismiss from m}' mind the wild and sorrowful countenance of this young man, go where I would; and I was on the point of mention- ing the incident to a most excellent and generous nobleman, whom I was then attending, and solicit- ing' his assistance, but the thought that it was pre- E2 54 PASSAGES FROM THE mature checked me. There might be something unworthy in the young man ; he might possibly be an — impostor. These were hard thoughts — chiUing and unworthy suspicions, but I could not resist them ; alas ! an eighteen years' intercourse with a deceitful world has alone taught me how to entertain them ! As my wife dined a little out of town that evening, I hastily swallowed a solitary meal, and set out in quest of my morning patient. With some difficulty I found the house ; it was the meanest and in the meanest street I had visited for months. I knocked at the door, which was open, and surromided by a babbling throng of dirty children. A slatternly woman, with a child in her arms, answered my sum- mons. Mr. , she said, lived there, in the top floor ; but he was just gone out for a few moments, she supposed, " to get a mouthful of victuals, but I was w^elcome to go up and wait for him, since there was not much to make away with, howsoever," said the rude and vulgar creature. One of her children led me up the narrow dirty staircase, and having ushered me into the room, left me to my meditations. A wretched hole it was in which I was sitting ! The evening sun streamed in discoloured rays through the unwashed panes, here and there mended with brown paper, and sufficed to show me that the only furniture consisted of a miserable, curtainless bed (the disordered clothes showing that t!ie weary limbs of the wretched occupant had but recently left it) — three old rush-bottomed chairs — and a rickety deal table, on which were scattered several pages of manuscript — a letter or two— pens, ink, and a few books. There was no chest of drawers — nor did I see any thing likely to serve as a substitute. Poor Mr. probably carried about with him all he had in the world ! There was a small sheet of writing paper pinned over the mantelpiece (if such it de- served to be called), which I gazed at with a sigh ; it bore simply the outline of a coffin, with Mr. - — *s DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 55 initials, and " obiit , 18—," evidently in his own handwriting. Curious to see the kind of books he pre- ferred, I took them up and examined them. There were — if I recollect right — a small Amsterdam edition " of Plautus — a Horace — a much befingered copy of Aristophanes — a neat pocket edition of ^Eschylus — a small copy of the works of Lactantius — and two odd volumes of English books. I had no intention of being impertinently inquisitive, but my eye acci- dentally lit on the uppermost manuscript, and seeing it to be in the Greek character, I took it up, and found a few verses of Greek sapphics, entitled — 'EnriivrvKTa TE'XcvTaiav — evidently the recent composi- tion of Mr. . He entered the room as I was lajing dowTi the paper, and started at seeing a stranger, for it seems the people of the house had not taken the trouble to inform him I was waiting. On discovering who it was, he bowed politely, and gave me his hand ; but the sudden agitation my presence had occasioned deprived him of utterance. I thought I could almost hear the palpitation of his heart. T brought him to a chair, and begged him to be calm. " You are not worse, Mr. , I hope, since I saw you this morning T" I inquired. He whispered almost inarticulately, holding his hand to his left side, that he was always worse in the evenings. I felt his pulse ; it beat 130 ! I discovered that he had gone out for the purpose of trying to get employment in a neighbouring printing-office, but having failed, was returned in a state of deeper depression than usual. The perspiration rolled from his brow almost faster than he could wipe it away. I sat by him for nearly two minutes, holding his hand, without utter- ing a word, for I was deeply affected. At length I begged he would forgive my inquiring how it wis that a young man of talent and education like him- self could be reduced to a state of such utter destitu- tion? WTiile I was waiting for an answer, he sud- denly fell from his chair in a swoon. The exertion 56 PASSAGES FROM THE of walking, the pressure of disappointment, and, I fear, the almost unbroken fast of the day, had com- pletely prostrated the small remains of his strength. Wlien he had a little revived, I succeeded in laying him on the bed, and instantly summoned the woman of the house. After some time, she sauntered lazily to the door, and asked me what I wanted. " Are you the person that attends on this gentleman, my good woman ]" I inquired. " Marry come up, sir !" she replied in a loud tone. " I've no manner of cause for attending on him, not I ; he ought to attend on himself; and as for his being a gentleman^'''' she continued, with an insolent sneer, for which I felt inclined to throw her down stairs, " not a stiver of his money have I seen for this three weeks for his rent, and" Seeing the fluent virago was warming, and approaching close to my unfortunate patient's bedside, I stopped her short by putting half-a-guinea into her hand, and directing her to purchase a bottle of port wine ; at the same time hinting, that if she conducted herself properly I would see her rent paid myself. I then shut the door, and resumed my seat by Mr. , who was trembling violently all over with agitation, and en- deavoured to soothe him. The more I said, how- ever, and the kinder were my tones, the more was he affected. At length he burst into a flood of tears, and continued weeping for some time like a child. T saw it was hysterical, and that it was best to let his feelings have their full course. His nervous ex- citement at last gradually subsided, and he began to converse with tolerable coolness. " Doctor," he faltered, " your conduct is very — very noble — it must be disinterested," pointing, with a bitter air, to the wretched room in which we were sitting. " I feel sure, Mr. - -, that you have done nothing to merit your present misfortunes," I replied, with a serious and inquiring air. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 57 " Yes — yes, 1 have ! — I have indulged in wild am- bitious hopes,— lived in absurd dreams of future great- ness, — been educated beyond my fortunes, — and formed tastes, and cherished feelings, incompatible with the station it seems I was born to — beggary or daily labour !" was his answer, with as much vehe- mence as his weakness would allow. " But, Mr. , your friends — your relatives — they cannot be apprized of your situation." "Alas, doctor, friends I have none — unless you will permit me to name the last and noblest, your- self; relatives, several." " And they, of course, do not know of your illness and straitened circumstances 1" " They do, doctor, and kindly assure me I brought it on myself. To do them justice, however, they could not, I believe, efficiently help me, if they would." " Why, have you offended them, Mr. 1 Have they cast you off?" "Not avowedly — not in so many words. They have simply refused to receive or answer any more of my letters. Possibly I may have offended them, but am content to meet them hereafter, and try the justice of the case — there" said Mr. , solemnly pointing upwards. " Well I know, and so do you, doctor, that my days on earth are very few, and likely to be very bitter also." It was in vain I pressed him to tell me who his relatives were, and suffer me to solicit their personal attendance on his last moments. " It is altogether useless, doctor, to ask me further," said he, raising himself a little in bed ; " my father and mother are both dead, and no power on earth shall extract from rfte a syllable further. It is hard," he continued, bursting again into tears, " if I must die amid their taunts and reproaches." I felt quite at a loss what to say to all this. There was something very singular, if not reprehensible, in this manner of alluding to his rela- 58 PASSAGES FROM THE tives, which led me to fear that he was by no means free from blame. Had I not felt myself very deli- cately situated, and dreaded even the possibility of hurting his morbidly irritable feelings, I felt inclined to have asked him how he thought of existing with- out their aid, especially in his forlorn and helpless state ; having- neither friends nor the means of obtaining them. 1 thought, also, that short as had been my intimacy with him, I had discerned symp- toms of a certain obstinacy and haughty imperious- ness of temper which would sufficiently account, if not for occasioning, at least for widening, any un- happy breach which might have occurred in his family. But Avhat was to be done 1 I could not let him starve ; as I had voluntarily stepped in to his assistance, I determined to make his last moments easy — at least as far as lay in my power. A little to anticipate the course of my narrative, I may here state what little information concerning him was elicited in the course of our various inter- views. His father and mother had left Ireland, their native place, early, and gone to Jamaica, where they lived as slave-superintendents. They left their only son to the care of the wife's brother-in-law, who put him to school, where he much distinguished himself. On the faith of it he contrived to get to the college in Dublin, where he stayed two years : and then, in a confident reliance on his own talents, and the sum of 50/. which was sent him from Jamaica, with the intelligence of the death of both his parents in im- poverished circumstances, he had come up to London, it seems, with no definite end in view. Here he had continued for about two years; but in addition to the failure uf his health, all his eiforts to establish himself proved abortive. He contrived to glean a scanty sum, God knows how, which was gradually lessening at a time when his impaired health rather required that his resources should be augmented. He had no friends in respectable life, whose influence DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 59 or wealth might have been serviceable ; and at the time he called on me, he had not more in the world than the solitary half-guinea he proffered to me as a fee. I never learned the names of any of his rela- tives ; but from several things occasionally dropped in the heat of conversation, it was clear there must have been unhappy differences. To return, however. As the evening was far ad- vancing, and I had one or two patients yet to visit, I began to think of taking my departure. 1 enjoined him strictly to keep his bed till I saw him again, to preserve as calm and equable a frame of mind as possible, and to dismiss all anxiety for the future, as I would gladly supply his present necessities, and send him a civil and attentive nurse. He tried to thank me, but his emotions choked his utterance. He grasped my hand with convulsive energ>\ His eye spoke eloquently — but, alas ! it shone with the fierce and unnatural lustre of consumption, as though, I have often thought in such cases, the conscious soul was glowing with the reflected light of its kindred element — eternity. I knew it was im- possible for him to survive many days, from several unequivocal symptoms of what is called, in common language, a galloping consumption. I was as good as my word, and sent him a nurse (the mother of one of my servants), who was charged to pay him the utmost attention in her power. My wife also sent him a little bed-furniture, linen, preserves, jel- lies, and other small matters of that sort. I visited him every evening, and found liim on each occasion verifying my apprehensions, for he was sinking rapidly. His mental energies, however, seemed to increase in an inverse ratio with the decline of his physical powers. His conversation was animated, various, and, at times, enchainingly interesting. I have sometimes sat at his bedside for several hours together, wondering how one so young (he w^as not more than two or three-and-twenty) could have ac- 60 PASSAGES FROM THE quired so much information. He spoke with spirit and justness on the leading pohtical topics of the day ; and I particularly recollect his making- some very noble reflections on the character and exploits of Buonaparte, who was then blazing in the zenith of his glory. Still, however, the current of his thoughts and language was frequently tinged with the enthu- siasm and extravagance of delirium. Of this he seemed himself conscious ; for he would sometimes suddenly stop, and pressing his hand to his forehead, exclaim, "Doctor, doctor, I am failing here — hereP^ He acknowledged that he had from his childhood given himself up to the dominion of ambition ; and that his whole life had been spent in the most extravagant and visionary expectations. He would smile bitterly when he recounted some of what he justly stigma- tized as his insane projects. " The objects of my ambition," he said, " have been vague and general ; I never knew exactly where or what I would be. Had my powers, such as they are, been concentrated on one point — had I formed a more just and modest estimate of my abilities, I might possibly have be- come something.* * * Besides, doctor, I had no money — no solid substratum to build upon — there was the rotten • point ! — Oh, doctor," he continued, with a deep sigh, " if I could but have seen these things three years ago as I see them now, I might at tliis moment have been a sober and respectable member of society ; but now I am dying a hanger-on — a fool — a beggar!" and he burst into tears. " You, doctor," he presently continued, " are accustomed, I suppose, to listen to these death-bed repinings — these soul- scourgings — these wailings over a badly-spent life ! — Oh, yes — as I am nearing eternity, I seem to look at things — at my own mind and heart especially — tlirough the medium of a strange, searching, un- couthly light. Oh, how many, many things it makes distinct, whicli I would fain have forgotten for ever! Do you recollect the terrible language of Scripture, DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 61 doctor, which compares the human breast to a cage of unclean birds T — I left him that evening deeply convinced of the compulsory truths he had uttered; I never thought so seriously before. It is some Scotch divine who has said, that one death-bed preaches a more startling sermon than a bench of bishops. ******** Mr. was an excellent and thorough Greek scholar, perfectly well versed in the Greek dramatists, and passionately fond, in particular, of Sophocles. 1 recollect his reciting, one evening, wdth great force and feeling, the touching exclamation of the chorus in the CEdipus Tyraimus — SI -OTTOi — dvapl&fia yap (Pipu) Tzfjuara, vocei Of /iot TodTrajffrdXof, qy6' evi (poovriooi eyx'^i &c. &;c., 167-171. — which, he said, was never absent from his mind, sleeping or waking. I once asked him if he did not regret having devoted his life almost exclusively to the study of the classics. He replied, with enthu- siasm, " No, doctor — no, no ! I should be an mgrate if I did. How can I regret having lived in constant converse, through their works, with the gieatest and noblest men that ever breathed ! I have lived in Ely- sium — have breathed the celestial air of those hal- lowed plains, while engaged in the study of the phi- losophy and poetry' of Greece and Rome. Yes, it is a consolation even for my bitter and premature death-bed, to think that my mind will quit this wTetched, diseased, unworthy body, imbued with the refinement — redolent of the eternal freshness and beauty of the most exquisite poetry and philosophy * Ah me ! I groan beneath the press'ire of innumerable sorrows ; truly my substance is languishing away, nor can I devise any means of bettering my condition, or discover any source of consolation. F 62 PASSAGES FROM THE the world ever saw ! With my faculties quickened and strengthened, I shall go confidently, and claim kindred with the great ones of Eternity. They know I love their works — have consumed all the oil of my life in their study, and they will welcome their son — their disciple !" Ill as he was, Mr. uttered these sentiments (as nearly as 1 can recollect, in the very words I have given) with an energy, an enthusiasm, and an eloquence which I never saw surpassed. He faltered suddenly, however, from this lofty pitch of excitement, and complained bitterly that his devotion to ancient literature had engendered a morbid sensibility, which had rendered him totally unfit for the ordinary business of life or intermixture with society. * # * Often I found him sitting up in bed, and read- ing his favourite play, the Prometheus Vinctus of -^schylus, while his pale and wasted features glowed with delighted enthusiasm. He told me that in his estimation there was an air of grandeur and romance about that play, such as was not equalled by any of the productions of the other Greek dramatists ; and that the opening dialogue was peculiarly impressive and affecting. He had committed to memory nearl}'- three-fourths of the whole play! I on one occasion asked him, how it came to pass that a person of his superior classical attainments had not obtained some tolerably lucrative engagements as an usher or tutor % He answered, with rather a haughty air, that he would rather have broken stones on the highway. "To hear," said he, " the mxagnificent language of Greece — the harmonious cadences of the Romans, mangled and disfigured by stupid lads and duller ushers — oh, it would have been such a profanation as the sacred groves of old suffered, when their solemn silence was disturbed by a rude unhallowed throng of Bacchanalians. I should have expired, doctor !" I told him, I could not help lamenting such an absurd and morbid sensitiveness — iat which he DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 63 seemed exceedingly piqued. He possibly thought I should rather have admired than reprobated the lofty tone he assumed ! I asked him if the stations of which he spoke with such supercilious contempt had not been joyfully occupied by some of the greatest scholars that had ever lived? He replied simply, with a cold air, that it was his misfortune — not his fault. He told me, however, that his classical ac- quirements had certainly been capable of something like a profitable emplo^nnent; for that about two months before he had called on me, he had nearly come to terms with a bookseller for publishing a poetical version of the comedies of Aristophanes; that he had nearly completed one — the neeaai, if I recollect right— when the great difficulty of the task, and the wretched remuneration offered, so dispirited him, that he threw it aside in disgust.* His only means of subsistence had been the sorry pay of an occasional reader for the press, as -well as a contri- butor to the columns of a daily paper. He had parted with aljpiost the whole of his slender stock of books, his watch, and all his clothes, except what he wore when he called on me. " And you never try any of * Among his papers I found the following spirited and close version of one of the choral odes in the Nubes, commencing, 'Afi(pi (101 aire 'iol(? ava^ ArjXeL, &c. " Thee, too, great Phnebus, I invoke, Thou Delian King, Who dwell'st on Cynthia's lofty rock! Thy passage hither wing, Blest Goddess I whom Ephesian splendours hold In temple bright with gold. Mid Lydian maidens nobly worshipping ! And thee, our native deity, Pallas, our city's guardian, thou I Who wield'st the dreadful ^gis. Thee, Thee, too, gay Bacchus, from Parnassian height, Ruddy with festive torches' glow — To crown the sacred choir, I thee invite I" Those who are conversant with the original will perceive that many of the difQcolt Greek expressions are rendered into literal English. 64 PASSAGES FROM THE the magazines?" I inquired; "for they afford to many young men of talent a fair livelihood." He said he had indeed struggled hard to gain a footing in one of the popular periodicals, but that his com- munications were invariably returned, " with polite acknowledgments." One of these notes I saw, and have now in my possession. It was thus : — "Mr. M' begs to re turn, the enclosed, ^Re- marks on English Versions oj" Euripides,'' with many thanks for the writer's polite offer of it to the E M ; but fears that, though an able perform- ance, it is not exactly suited for the readers of the E M ." To A. A. A series of siniilar disappointments, and the con- sequent poverty and embarrassment into which he sunk, had gradually undermined a constitution natu- rally feeble ; and he told me, with much agitation, that had it not been for the trifling but timely assist- ance of myself and family, he saw no means of escaping literal starvation! Could I help .sympa- thizing deeply with him? Alas! his misfortunes were very nearly paralleled by my own. While listening to his melancholy details, I seemed living over again the first four wretched years of my pro- fessional career. ******** I must hasten, however, to the closing scene. I had left word with the nurse that when Mr. appeared dying, I should be instantly summoned. About five o'clock in the evening of the 6th of July, 18 — , I received a message from Mr. himself, saying that he wished to breathe his last in my pre- sence, as the only friend he had on earth. Unavoid- able and pressing professional engagements detained me until half-past six; and it was seven o'clock before I reached his bedside. " Lord, Lord, doctor, poor Mr. is dying, sure !" exclaimed the woman of the house, as she opened DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 65 the door. " Mrs. Jones says he has been picking and clearing the bedclothes awfully, so he must be dying!"* On entering the room, I found he had dropped asleep. The nurse told me he had been wandering a good deal in his mind. I asked what he had talked about T ^'•Laming, doctor," she re- plied, "and a proud young lady." I sat down by his bedside. I saw the dews of death were stealing rapidly over him. His eyes, which were naturally veiy dark and piercing, were now far sunk into their sockets ; his cheeks were hollow, and his hair matted with perspiration over his damp and palhd forehead. While I was gazing silently on the melancholy spec- tacle, and reflecting what great but undisciplined powers of mind were about soon to be disunited from the body, Mr. opened his eyes, and seeing me, said, in a low, but clear and steady tone of voice, " Doctor— the last act of the tragedy !" He gave me his hand. It was all he could do to lift it into mine. I could not speak — the tears w^ere nearly gushing forth. I felt as if I were gazing on my dying son. "I have been dreaming, doctor, since you" went," said he ; " and what do you think about ? I thought I had squared the circle, and was to perish for ever for my discover>\" * This verj' prevalent but absurd no: ion is not confined to the vulgar ; and as I have in the course of my practice met with hundreds of re- spectable and intelligent people, who have held that a patient's ^'picking and clearing the bedclothes" is a symptom of death, and who conse- quently view it with a kind of superstitious horror, I cannot refrain from explaining the philosophy of it to the unprotessional readers of this volume in the simple and satisfactory words of Mr. C. Bell : — "It is ver}- common," he says, "to see the patient picking the bed- clothes, or catching at the empty air. This proceeds from an appearance of motes OT^fties passinghtfore the eyes, and is occasioned by an affection of the retina producing in it a sensation similar to that produced by the impression ot images ; and what is deficient in sensation the hnagina- tion supplies: for although the resemblance between those diseased affections of the retina and the idea conveyed to the brain may be very remote, yet by that sUght resemblance the idea usually associated with the sensation' will be excited in the mind."— BfZZ's Jnatomy, vol. iii. p. 57, 58. The secret lies in a disordered circulation of the blood forcing the red globules into the minute vessels of the retina. F2 66 PASSAGES FROM THE " I hope, Mr. ," I replied, in a serious tone, and with something of displeasure in my manner—" I hope tliat at this awful moment, you have more suitable and consolatory thoughts to occupy your mind with than those ?" He sighed. " The clergyman you were so good as to send me," he said, after a pause, " was here this afternoon. He is a good man, I dare say, but weak, and has his head stuffed with the quibbles of the schools. He wanted to discuss the question of free will with a dying man, doctor !" " I hope he did not leave without administering the ordinances of religion ?" I inquired. " He read me some of the church prayers, which were exquisitely touching and beautiful, and the fif- teenth chapter of Corinthians, which is very sublime. He could not help giving me a rehearsal of w^hat he was shortly to repeat over my grave !" exclaimed the dying man, with a melancholy smile. I felt some irritation at the light tone of his remarks, but con- cealed it. "You received the sacrament, I hope, Mr. ?" He paused a few moments, and his brow was clouded. " No, doctor, to tell the truth, I declined it"— " Declined the sacrament !" I exclaimed with sur- prise. " Yes — but, dear doctor, I beg — I entreat you not to ask me about it any further," replied Mr. , gloomily, and lapsed into a fit of abstraction for some moments. Unnoticed by him, I despatched the nurse for another clergyman, an excellent and learned man, who was my intimate friend. I was gazing earnestly on Mr. , as he lay with closed eyes ; and was surprised to see the tears trickling from them. " Mr. , you have nothing, I hope, on your mind, to render your last moments unhappy?" I asked, in a gentle tone. DIARY OF A LATE PHYsICIaN. 67 " No — nothing material," he replied, with a deep si^h ; continuing, with his eyes closed, " I was only- thinking w*hat a bitter thing it is to be struck down so soon from among the bright throng of the living — to leave this fair, tliis beautiful world, after so short and sorrowful a sojourn. Oh, it is hard !" He shortly opened his eyes. His agitation had appa- rently passed away, and delirium was hovering over and disarranging his thoughts. " Doctor, doctor, what a strange passage that is," said he suddenly, startling me with his altered voice, and the dreamy, thoughtful expression of his eyes, "in the chorus of the Medea — 'Avoj -orafidv kpuiv xajpoyct -a/at Kal SiKa Kui Tzdvra TrdAtv a~pi;e not, yet me consumes !" ***** " Ay, I would have thee all my own, Thy love, thy life, mine, mine alone ; See nothing in the world but me, Since nought I know, or love, but thee ! " The eyes that on a thousand fall, I would collect their glances all, And fling their lustre on my soul. Till it imbibed, absorb'd the whole." These are followed by several lines more; but these will suffice. This insane attachment was exactly what I might have expected from one of his ardent and enthusiastic temperament. To return, however, once more. Towards eleven o'clock, he began to fail rapidly. I had my fingers on his pulse, which beat very feebly, almost imperceptibly. He opened his eyes slowly, and gazed upwards with a vacant air. " Why are you taking the candles away, nurse 1" he inquired, feebly. They had not been touched. His cold fingers gently compressed my hand — they were stiffening with death. " Don't, don't put the candles out, doctor," he commenced again, looking at me with an eye on which the thick mists and shadows of the grave were settling fast — they were filmy and glazed. " Don't blow them out — don't — don't !" he ag|iin exclaimed, almost inaudibly. " No, we will not ! — My dear Mr. , both candles are burning brightly beside you, on the table," I re- plied tremulously, — for I saw the senses were for- getting their functions — that life and consciousness were fast retiring ! " Well," he murmured, almost inarticulately, " I am now quite in darkness ! — Oh, there is something at my heart — cold, cold! — Doctor, keep them off!* — ♦ I once before heard these strange words fall from the lips of a dying patient— a lady. To me they suggest very unpleasant, I may say fearftU thoughts. What is to be kept off? DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 71 "Why — oh, death — " He ceased. He had spoken his last on earth. The intervals of respiration be- came gradually longer and longer ; and the precise moment when he ceased to breathe at all could not be ascertained. Yes ; it was all over. Poor i\Ir. was dead. I shall never forget him. Preparing for the House. " Do, dear doctor, be so good p to drop in at Place, in the course of the mornnig, by accident; for I want you to see Mr. . He has, I verily beheve, bid adieu to his senses ; for he is conducting himself very strangely. To tell you the truth, he is resolved on going down to the House this evening, for the purpose of speaking on the bill, and will, I fear, act so absurdly as to make himself the laugh- ing-stock of the whole country; at least I suspect as much, from what I have heard of his preparations. Ask to be shown up at once to Mr. , when you arrive, and gradually direct the conversation to poli- tics — when you will soon see what is the matter. But mind, doctor, not a word of this note ! Your ■ visit will be quite accidental, you know. Believe me, my dear doctor, yours, &c. &c." — Such \vas the note put into my hands by a servant, as my carriage was driving oh" on my first morning round. I knew Mrs. , the fair writer of it, verj'- intimately — as, indeed, the familiar and confidential strain of her note will suffice to show. She was a very amiable and clever woman — and would not have complained, I was sure, without reason. Wishing, therefore, to oblige her by a prompt attention to her request, and in the full expectation, from what I knew of the worthy member's eccentricities, of encountering some singular scene, I directed the horses' heads to be turned towards Place. I reached the house about twelve o'clock, and went up stairs at once to the drawing-room, where I understood Mr. had 72 PASSAGES FROM THE taken up quarters for the day. The servant opened the door and announced me. " Oh — show Dr. in." I entered. The object of my visit, I may just say, was the very beau ideal of a county member; somewhat inclined to corpu- lency, with a fine, fresh, rubicund, good-natured face — and that bluff old English frankness of manner which flings you back into the age of Sir Roger De Coverley. He was dressed in a long gray woollen morning-gown ; and, with his hands crammed into the hind pockets, was pacing rapidly to and fro from one end of the spacious room to the other. At one extremity was a table, on which lay a sheet of fools- cap, closely written, and crumpled as if with con- stant handling — his gold repeater, and a half-emptied decanter of sherry, with a wineglass. A glance at all these paraphernalia convinced me of the nature of Mr. 's occupation ; he was committing his speech to memory ! "How d'ye do — how d'ye do, doctor!" he ex- claimed, in a hearty but hurried tone; "you must not keep me long: busy — very busy indeed, doctor." I had looked in by accident, I assured him, and did not intend to detain him an instant. I remarked that I supposed he was busy preparing for the House. "Ah, right, doctor — right! Ay, a d d good hit, too ! I shall peg it into them to-night, doctor ! — I'll let them know what an English county mem- ber is ! I'll make the House too hot to hold them !" said Mr. , walking to and fro, at an accelerated pace. He was evidently boiling over with excite- ment. "You are going to speak to-night, then, on the great question, I suppose V said I, hardly able to repress a smile. " Speak, doctor 1 I'll burst on them with such a view-halloo as shall startle the whole pack ! Pll show my Lord wliat kind of stufl^ I'm made of— I will, by ! He was pleased to tell the House, the DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 73 otlier evening — curse his impudence ! — that the two members for shire were a mere couple of dumb- bells — he did, by ! But PU show him whether or not I, for one of them, am to be jeered and flammed with impunity! Ha, doctor — what d'ye think of this ]" said he, hurrying to the table, and taking up the manuscript I have mentioned. He was going to read it to me, but suddenly stopped short and laid it down again on the table, exclaiming, " Nay, d e, I know it off by this time — so listen I Have at ye, doctor !" After a pompous hem ! hem ! he commenced, and with infinite energy and boisterousness of manner, recited the whole oration. It was certainly a won- derful — a matchless performance — parcelled out with ■a rigid adherence to the rules of ancient rhetoric. As he proceeded, he recited such astounding absurdi- ties — such preposterous, high-flewn Bombastes-fu- rioso declamations ; as, had it but been uttered in the House, would assuredly have procured the tri- umphant speaker six or seven distinct rounds of con- vulsive laughter ! Had I not known well the sim- plicity and sincerity — the perfect hcnhcwJe — of Mr , I should have supposed he was hoaxing me — but I assuredly suspected he was himself the hoaxed party — the joking-post of some -witty wag who had determined to aftbrd the House a night's sport at poor Mr. 's expense ! Indeed, I never in my life listened to such pitifully puerile, such almost idiotic, gallimatia. I felt certain it could never have been the composition of fox-hunting Mv. ! There was a hackneyed quotation from Horace — from the Septuagint (!), and from Locke; and then a scampering through the Avhole flowery realms of rhetorical ornament — and a glancing at every topic of foreign or domestic policy that could conceivably attract the attention of the most erratic fancy. In short, there never before was such a speech composed since the world began ! And tills was the sort o£ G 74 PASSAGES FROM THE thing that poor Mr. actually intended to deliver that memorable evening in the House of Commons ! As for myself, I could not control my risible facul- ties ; but accompanied the peroration with a perfect shout of laughter ! Mr. laid down the paper (which he had twisted into a sort of scroll) in an ecstasy, and joined me in full chorus, slapping me on the shoulder, and exclaiming — "Ah! d e, doctor, I k7iew you would like it ! It's just the thing — isn't it ? There will be no standing me at the next ■* election for shire, if I can only deliver all this in the House to-night ! Old Turnpenny, that's going to start against me, backed by the manufacturing interest — won't come up — and you see if he does ! — Curse it ! I thought it was in me ; and would come out, some of these days. — They shall have it all to- night — they shall, by ! Only be on the look- out for the morning papers, doctor — that's all !" and he set off, walking rapidly, with long strides, from one end of the room to the other. I began to be apprehensive that there was too much ground for Mrs. 's suspicions, that he had literally " taken leave of his senses." Recollecting, at length the object of my visit, which the amusing exhibition I have been attempting to describe had almost driven from my memory, I endeavoured to think, on the spur of the moment, of some scheme for diverting him from his purpose, and preventing the lamentable exposure he was preparing for himself. I coidd think of nothing else than attacking him on a sore point — one on which he had been hipped for years, and not without reason — an hereditary tendency to apoplexy. " But, my dear sir," said I, " this excitement will destroy you — you Avill bring on a fit of apoplexy, if you go on for an hour longer, in this way — you will indeed!" He stood still, changed colour a little, and stammered, " What ! eh, d e, apoplexy! You don't say so, doctor? Hem ! how is my pulse?" ex- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 75 fending his wrist. 1 felt it— looked at my watch, and shook my head. "Eh — what, doctor! JVewmarket, eh?" said he, with an alarmed air ; meaning to ask me whether his pulse was beating rapidly. " It is, indeed, Mr. . It beats upwards of one hundred and fifteen a minute," I replied, still keeping my fingers at his wrist, and my eyes riveted on my watch — for I dared not trust myself with looking in his countenance. He started from me without utter- ing a syllable; hurried to the table, poured out a glass of wine, and gulped it down instantly. I sup- pose he caught an unfortunate smile or a smirk on my face — for he came up to me, and in a coaxing but disturbed manner, said — " Now, come, come, doctor — doctor, no humbug ! I feel well enough all over! D e, I zvill speak in the House to-night, come what may, that's flat ! Why, there'll be a general election in a few months, and it's of conse- quence for me to do something — to make a figure in the House. Besides — it is a great constitu- tional" "Well, well, Mr. , imdoubtedly you must please yourself," said I, seriously; "but if a fit should — you'll remember I did my duty, and warned you how to avert it !" — " Hem, ahem !" he ejaculated, with a somewhat puzzled air. I thought I had suc- ceeded in shaking liis purpose. I was, however, too sanguuie in my expectations. " I must bid you good morning, doctor. I must speak ! I ziill try it, to- night, at all events ; but I'll be calm — I will ! And if I should die — but d — it, that's impossible, you know ! But if I should — why, it will be a martyr's death ; I shall die a patriot — ha, ha, ha! Good morning, doctor." He led me to the door, laughing as he went, but not so heartily or boisterously as formerly. I was hurrying down stairs, when ]Mr. reopened the drawing-room door, and called out, "Doctor, doctor, just be so good as to look in on my good lady 75 PASSAGES FROM THE before you go. She's somewhere about the house — in her boudoir, I dare say. She's not quite well this morning- — a fit of the vapours — hem ! You understand me, doctor?" putting his finger to the side of his nose, with a wise air. I could not help smiling at the reciprocal anxiety for each other's health simultaneously manifested by this worthy couple. " Well, doctor, am not I right ?" exclaimed Mrs. , in a low tone, opening the dining-room door^ and beckoning me in. " Yes, indeed, madam. My interview was little else than a running commentary on your note to me.'* " How did you find him engaged, doctor 1 — Learn- ing his speech, as he calls it — eh ?" inquired the lady with a chagrined air, which was heightened when I recounted what had passed up-stairs. "Oh, absurd! monstrous! doctor, 1 am ready to expire with vexation to see Mr. acting so fool- ishly. But it is all owing to that odious Dr. , the village rector, who is up in town now, and an im- mense crony of Mr. 's. I suspected there was something brewing between them; for they have been laying their wise heads together for a week past. Did not he repeat the speech to you, doctor 1 — the whole of it ?" " Yes, indeed, madam, he did," I replied, smiling at the recollection. "Ah — hideous rant it was, I dare say! — I'll tell you a secret, doctor. I know it was every word composed by that abominable old addle-head. Dr. , a noodle that he is ! — (I wonder what brought him up from his parish !)— And it is he that has in- flamed Mr. 's fancy with making a great hit in the House, as they call it. That precious piece of stuflT which they call a speech, poor Mr. has been learning for this week past ; and has several times woke me in the night with ranting snatches of it»" I begged Mrs. not to take it so seriously. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 77 " Now, tell me candidly, Dr. , did you ever hear such nonsense in your life ? It is all that coun- try parson's small-beer trash ! I'm sure our name will run the gauntlet of all the papers in England, for a fortnight to come !" I said, I was sorry to be compelled to acquiesce in the truth of what she was saying. ^ " Really," she continued, pressing her hand to her forehead, " I feel quite poorly myself, with agitation at the thought of to-night's farce. Did you attempt to dissuade hirh 1 You might have frightened him with a hint or two about his tendency to apoplexy, you know." " I did my utmost, madam, I assure you ; and cer- tainly startled him not a little. But, alas ! he ralHed, and good-humouredly sent me from the room, telling me, that if the effort of speaking killed him he should share the fate of Lord Chatham, or something of that sort." " Preposterous !" exclaimed Mrs. , almost shedding tears with vexation. "But, entre nouSf doctor, coidd you not think of any thing — hem ! — something in the medical way — to prevent his going to the House to-night ] — A — a sleeping draught — eh, doctor ?" " Really, my dear madam," said I, seriously, "I should not feel justified in going so far as that." " Oh, dear, dear doctor, what possible harm can there be in it ? Do consent to my wishes for once, and I shall be eternally obhged to you. Do order a simple sleeping draught — strong enough to keep him in bed till five or six o'clock in the morning — and I will myself slip it into his wine at dinner." — In short, there was no resisting the importunities and distress of so fine a woman as Mrs. ; so I ordered about five-and-thirty drops of laudanum, in a little sirup and water. But, alas ! this scheme was frus- trated by Mr. 's, two hours afterward, unexpect- edly ordering the carriage (while Mrs. was her- G2 78 PASSAGES FROM THE self gone to procure his quietus j, ana leaving word he should dine with some members that evening at Brook es's. After all, however, a lucky accident ac- complished Mrs. 's wishes, though it deprived her husband of that opportunity of wearing the laurels of parliamentary eloquence ; for the ministry, finding the measure against which Mr. had in- tended to level his oration to be extremely unpopu- lar, and anticipating that they should be dead beat, wisely postponed it sine die. Duelling* I had been invited by young Lord , the noble- man mentioned in my former chapter, to spend the latter part of my last college vacation with his lord- ship at his shooting-box in shire. As his des- tined profession was the army, he had already a tolerably numerous retinue of military friends, several of whom were engaged to join us on our arrival at ; so that we anticipated a very gay and jovial season. Our expectations were not disappointed. What with fishing, shooting, and riding abroad — billiards, songs, and \\\^ feeding at home — our days and nights glided as merrily away as fun and frolic would make them. One of the many schemes of amusement devised by our party was giving a sort of military subscription ball at the small toAvn of , from which we were distant not more than four or five miles. All my Lord 's party, of course, were to be 'there, as well as several others of his friends scattered at a little distance from him in the country. On the appointed day all went oflT admira- bly. The little town of — ^absolutely reeled be- neath the unusual excitenrent of music, dancing, and universal feting. It was, in short, a sort of minia- * The melancholy facts on which the ensuing narrative is founded, I find entered in the Diary as far back as nearly twenty-five years ago ; and I am convinced, after some little inquiry, that there is no one aow iiviog whose feelings could be sliocked at reading it. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 79 ture carnival, which the inhabitants, for several rea- sons, but more especially the melancholy one I am going- to mention, have not yet forgotten. It is not very wonderful that all the rustic beauty of the place was there. Many a village belle v\'as there, in truth, panting and fluttering with delighted agitation at the unusual attentions of their handsome and agreeable partners ; for there was not a young military mem- ber of our party but merited the epithets. As for myself, being cursed, as I once before hinted, with a very insig- nificant person, and not the most attractive or commu- nicative manners, being utterly incapable of pouring that soft, delicious nonsense, that fascinating, search- ing small-talk, which has stolen so often right through a lady's ear into the very centre of her heart, — being no hand, I say, at this, I contented myself with danc- ing a set or two witli a young woman whom nobody else seemed inclined to lead out ; and continued for the rest of the evening more a spectator than a par- taker of the gayeties of the scene. There was one girl there — the daughter of a reputable, retired trades- man — of singular beauty, and known in the neigh- bourhood by the name of " The Blue Bell of ." Of course she was the object of universal admira- tion, and literally besieged the whole evening with applications for the " honour of her hand." I do not exaggerate, when I say that, in my opinion, this young woman was perfectly beautiful. Her com- plexion was of dazzling purity and transparence; her symmetrical features of a placid bustlike char- acter, which, however, would perhaps have been considered insipid had it not been for a brilliant pair of large, languishing, soft blue eyes, resembling " blue water-lilies, -whcrrthe breeze Maketh the crj-stal waters round them tremble," which it Avas almost madness to look upon. And then her light auburn hair, which hung in loose and easy curls, and settled on each cheek like a soft 80 PASSAGES FROM THE golden cloud flitting past the moon ! Her figure was in keeping with her countenance — slender, graceful, and delicate — with a most exquisitely turned foot and ankle. I have spent so many words about her descrip- tion, because I have never since seen any woman that I thought equalled her, and because her beauty was the cause of what I am about to relate. She riveted the attention of all our party except my young host, Lord , v/ho adhered all the evening to a sweet creature he had selected on first entering the room. 1 observed, however, one of our party, a dashing young captain in the Guards, highly connected, and of handsome and prepossessing person and manners, and a gentleman of nearly equal personal pretensions, who had been invited from Hall, his father's seat, to exceed every one present in their attentions to sweet Mary ; and as she occasionally smiled on one or the other of the rivals, I saw the counte- nance of either alternately clouded with displeasure. Captain was soliciting her hand for the last set — a country dance — when his rival (whom for dis- tinction's sake I shall call Trevor, though that, of course, is very far from his real name), stepping up to her, seized her hand, and said, in rather a sharp and quick tone, " Captain , she has promised me the last set ; I beg, therefore, you will resign her. I am right. Miss V he inquired of the girl, who blushingly replied, " I think I did promise Mr. Trevor, but I would dance with both if I could. Captain, you are not angry with me, are you V she smiled, appealingly. " Certainly not, madam," he replied, with a peculiar emphasis ; and after directing an eye which kindled like a star to his more successful rival, retired haugh- tily a few paces, and soon afterward left the room. A strong conviction seized me that, even this small and trifling incident would be attended with mischief between those two haughty and undisciplined spirits ; for I occasionally saw Mr, Trevor turn a moment DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN'. 82 from his beautiful partner, and cast a stem, inquiring glance round the room, as if in search of Captain . I saw he had noticed the haughty frown with which the captain had retired. Most of the gentlemen who had accompanied Lord to this ball were engaged to dine with him on the next Sunday evening. Mr. Trevor and the captain (who, I think, I mentioned was staying a few days with his lordship) would meet at this party, and I determined to watch their demeanour. Captain was at the window, when Mr. Trevor, on horseback, attended by his groom, alighted at the door, and on seeing who it was, walked away to another part of the room with an air of assumed indifference ; but I caught his quick and restless glance invarialDly di- rected at the door through which Mr. Trevor would enter. They saluted each other with civility — rather coldly I thought — but there was nothing particularly marked in the manner of either. About twenty sat down to dinner. All promised to go off well ; for the cooking was admirable, the wines first rate, and conversation brisk and various. Captain and Mr. Trevor were seated at some distance from each other; the former was my next neighbour. The cloth was not removed till a few minutes after eight, when a dessert and a fresh and large supply of wine were introduced. The late ball, of course, was a pro- minent topic of conversation ; and after a few of the usual bachelor toasts had been drunk with noisy en- thusiasm, and we all felt the elevating influence of the wine we had been drinking, Lord stood up, and said, " Now, my dear fellows, I have a toast in my eye that will delight you all ; so bumpers, gen- tlemen—bumpers ! — up to the very brim. So make sure your glasses are full, while I propose to you the health of a beautiful — nay, by ! the most beau- tiful girl we have any of us seen for this year ! Ha ! I see all anticipate me, so to be short — here is the health of Mary , the Blue Bell of !" It was 82 PASSAGES FROM THE drunk with acclamation. I thought I perceived Cap- tain — — 's hand, however, shake a little as he lifted his glass to his mouth. " Who is to return thanks for her ?" — " Her favour- ite beau, to be sure." — " Who is he V — " Legs — rise — legs — whoever he is!" was shouted, asked, and answered in a breath. " Oh, Trevor is the happy man, there's no doubt of that ; he monopolized her all the evening — / could not get her hand once," exclaimed one near Mr. Trevor. " Nor I" — " Nor I," echoed several. Mr. Trevor looked with a delighted and triumphant air round the room, and seemed about to rise, but there was a cry — " No — Trevor is not the man — / say captain is the favourite !" — " Ay, ten to one on the captain !" roared a young hero of Ascot. " Stuff — stuff!" muttered the captain, cut- ting an apple to fritters, and now and then casting a fierce glance towards Mr. Trevor. There were many noisy maintainers of both Trevor and the cap- tain. " Come, come, gentlemen," said a young Cornish baronet, good-humouredly, seeing the two young men appeared to view the affair very seriously, " the best way, since I dare be sworn the girl herself does not know which she likes best, will be to toss up who shall be given the credit of her beau !" A loud laugh followed this droll proposal, in which all joined ex- cept Trevor and the captain. The latter had poured out some claret while Sir was speaking, and sipped it with an air of assumed carelessness. I ob- served, however, that he never removed his eye from his glass, and that his face was pale, as if from some strong internal emotion. Mr. Trevor's demeanour, however, also indicated considerable embarrassment, but he was older than the captain, and had much more command of manner. I was amazed, for my own part, to see them take up such an insignificant affair so seriously ; but these things generally involve go much of the strong passions of our youthful DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 83 nature, especially our vanity and jealousy, that on second thoughts my surprise abated. " I certainly fancied you were the favourite, cap- tain ; for I saw her blush with satisfaction when you squeezed her hand," I whispered. " You are right, ," he answered, with a forced smile ; " I don't think Trevor can have any preten- sions to her favour." The noisiness of the party- was now subsiding, and, nobody knew why, an air of blank emban-assment seemed to pervade all present. " Upon my honour, gentlemen, this is a vastly silly affair altogether, and quite unworthy such a stir as it has excited," said Mr. Trevor ; " but as so much notice has been taken of it, I caimot help saving, though it is monstrously absurd, perhaps, that I think the beautiful ' Blue Bell of ' is mine — mine alone. I believe I have good ground for saying I am the sole wiimer of the prize, and have distanced my military competitor," continued Mr. Trevor, turning to Cap- tain with a grim air, which was very foreign to his real feelings, " though his bright eyes, his debo- nair demeanour, that fascinating je ne sais quoi of his" . " Trevor, don't be insolent !" exclaimed the captain sternly, reddening with passion. '^Insolent! captain? What the dense do you mean? I'm sure you don't want to quarrel with me — oh, it's impossible ! If I have said what was offensive, by I did not mean it ; and, as we said at Rugby, indictum puta, and there's an end of it. But as for my smart little Blue Bell, I know — am perfectly cer- tain — ay, spite of the captain's dark looks— that I am the happy man. So, gentlemen, de jure and de facto — for her I return you thanks." He sat down. There w^s so much kindness in his maimer, and he had so handsomely disavowed any intentions of hurt- ing Captain — ^'s feelings, that I hoped the young Hotspur beside me was quieted. Not so, however. 84 PASSAGES PROM THE " Trevor," said he, in a hurried tone, " you are mis* t^ken — you are, by ! You don't know what passed between JNIarj'- and myself that evening. On my word and honour, she told me she wished she could be Off her engagement with you." " Nonsense ! nonsense ! She must have said it to amuse you, captain — she could have had no other intention. The very next morning she told me" — " The ^'ery next morning !" shouted Captain ; " why, what the could you have M^anted with Mary the next morning?" " That is my affair, captain, not yours. And since you will have it out, I tell you for your consolation, that Maiy and I have met every day since !" said Mr. Trevor, loudly, even vehemently. He was get- ting a \ilX\e Jiustered^ as the phrase is, with wine, which he was pouring down glass after glass, or of course he could never have made such an absurd, such an unusual disclosure. " Trevor, 1 must say you act very meanly in telhng us, if it really is so," said the captain, with an in- tensely chagrined and mortified air; "and if you intend tC> ruin that sweet and innocent creature, I shall take leave to say that you are a — a — a — curse on it, it WILL out — a villain !" continued the captain, slowly and deliberately. My heart flew up to my throat, where it fluttered as though it would have choked me. There was an instant and dead si- lence. " A villam! did you say, cajDtain? and accuse me of meanness ?" inquired Mr. Trevor, cooll}^, while the colour suddenly faded from his darkening features ; and rising from his chair, he stepped forward and stood nearly opposite to the captain, with his half- emptied glass in his hand, which, however, M'as not observed by him he addressed. " Yes, sir, I did say so," replied the captain, firmly, " and Avhat then ?" " Then of course you will see the necessity of apolo- gizing for it instantly," rejoined Mr. Trevor. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 85 " As I am not in the habit, Mr. Trevor, of saying what requires an apology, I have none to offer," said Captain , drawing himself up in his chair, and eying Mr. Trevor with a steady look of composed intrepidity. " Then, captain, don't expect me to apologize for this /" thundered Mr. Trevor, at the same time hurl- ing his glass, wine and all, at the captain's head. Part of the wine fell on me, but the glass glanced at the ear of Captain , and cut it shghtly ; for he had started aside on seeing Mr. Trevor's intention. A mist seemed to cover my eyes as I saw every one present rising from his chair. The room was, of course, in an uproar. The two who had quarrelled were the only calm persons present. INIr. Trevor re- mained standing on the same spot, with his arms folded on his breast, while Captain calmly wiped off the stains of wine from his shirt-ruffles and white waistcoat, walked up to Lord , who was at but a yard or two's distance, and inquired, in a low tone of voice, " Your lordship has pistols here, of course ? We had better settle this little matter now and here. Captain V , you will kindly do what is necessary for me ?" " My dear fellow, be calm ! This is really a very absurd quarrel, — likely to be a dreadful business though !" replied his lordship, with great agitation ; " come, shake hands and be friends ! — come, don't let a trumpery dinner brawl lead to bloodshed — and in my house, too ! — make it up like men of sense" — " That your lordship, of course, knows as well as I do is impossible. Will you, Captain V , be good enough to bring the pistols ] You will find them in his lordship's shooting gallery — we had better ad- journ there, by the way, eh ]" inquired the captain, coolly. He had seen many of these affairs ! " Then bring them — bring them, by all means," — " In God's name, let this quarrel be settled on the spot !" exclaimed , and , and . H 86 PASSAGES FROM THE " We all know they must fight — that's as clear as the sun — so the sooner the better!" exclaimed the honourable Mr. , a hot-headed cousin of Lord "Eternal curses on the silly slut!" groaned his lordship ; " here will be bloodshed for her ! My dear Trevor !" said he, hurrying to that gentleman, who, wiih seven or eight people round him, was convers- ing on the affair with perfect composure ; " do, I im- plore — I beg — I supplicate that you would leave my house ! Oh, don't let it be said I ask people here to kill one another ! Why may not this wretched busi- ness be made up 1 By it shall be," said he, vehe- mently ; and putting his arm into that of Mr. Trevor, he endeavoured to draw him towards the spot where Captain was standing. " Your lordship is very good, but it's useless," re- plied ]Mr. Trevor, struggling to disengage his arm from that of Lord . " Your lordship knows the business must be settled, and the sooner the better. My friend Sir has undertaken to do what is cor- rect on the occasion. Come," addressing the young baronet, " away ! and join Captain Y ." All this was uttered M'ith real nonchalance. Somebody pre- sent told him that the captain was one of the best shots in England — could hit a sixpence at ten yards' distance. " Can he, by ?" said he, with a smile, without evincing the slightest symptoms of trepida- tion ; " why, then, I may as well make my will, for I'm as blind as a mole ! — Ha ! I have it." He walked out from among those who were standing round him, and strode up to Captain , who was con- versing earnestly with one or two of his brother officers. " Captain ,'" said Mr. Trevor, firmly, extending his right hand with his glove half drawn on. The captain turned suddenly towards him with a furious scowl. — " I am told you are a dead shot, eh ?" " Well, sir, and what of tliat V inquired the cap- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAX. 87 tain, haughtily, and with some curiosity in his coun- tenance. " You know I am short-sighted, blind as a beetle, and not very well used in shooting matters." Every one present started, and looked with surprise and dis- pleasure at the speaker ; and one muttered in my ear — " Eh ! d ! Trevor showing the white fea- ther? 1 aw astonished!" " WTiy, what do you mean by all this, sir]" inquired the captain, with a contemptuous sneer. " Oh, merely that we ought not to fight on unequal terms. Do you think, my good sir, I will stand to be shot at without having a chance of returning the favour] I have to say, therefore, merely, that since this quarrel is of your own seeking, and your own d d folly only has brought it about, I shall insist on our fighting breast lo breast — muzzle to muzzle — and across a table. Yes," he continued, elevating his voice to nearly a shout ; " we will go down to hell together, if we go at all — that is some consolation." " Infamous !" — " Monstrous !" was echoed from all present. They would not, they said, hear of such a thing — they would not stand to see such butchery I Eight or ten left the room abruptly, and did not return. Captain made no reply to Trevor's proposal, but was conversing anxiously with his friends. " JVozc, sir, who is the coward!" inquired Mr. Tre- vor, sarcastically. " A few moments will show," replied the captain, stepping forward, with no sign of agitation except a countenance of an ashy hue ; '* for I accede to your terms, ruihanly — murderous as they are ; and may the curse of a ruined house overwhelm you and your family for ever !" faltered Captain , who saw, of course, that certain death was before both. "Are the pistols preparing ]" inquired Mr. Trevor, without regarding the exclamation of Captain . He Was answered in the affirmative, that Captain V and Sir were both absent on that errand. It was 88 PASSAGES FROM THE agreed that the distressing aflfair should take place in the shooting gallery, where their noise would be less likely to alarm the servants. It is hardly necessary to repeat the exclamations of " Murder ! — downright, savage, deliberate murder!" which burst from all around. Two gentlemen left abruptly, saddled their horses, and galloped after peace-officers ; while Lord , who was almost distracted, hurried, accompa- nied by several gentlemen and myself, to the shoot- ing gallery, leaving the captain and a friend in the dining-room, while Mr. Trevor with another betook themselves to the shrubbery walk. His lordship in- formed Captain V and the baronet of the dread- ful nature of the combat that had been determined on since they had left the room. They both threw down the pistols they were in the act of loading, and, horror-struck, swore they would have no concern whatever in such a barbarous and bloody transaction. A sudden suggestion of Lord 's, however, was adopted. They agreed, after much hesitation and doubt as to the success of the project, to charge the pistols with powder only, and put them into the hands of the captain and Mr. Trevor as though they were loaded with ball. Lord was sanguine enough to suppose, that when they had both stood fire, and indisputably proved their courage, the affair might be settled amicably. As soon as the necessary prepara- tions were completed, and two dreary lights were placed in the shooting gallery, both the hostile parties were summoned. As it was well known that I was preparing for the medical profession, my services were put into requisition for both. "But have you any instruments or bandages?" inquired some one. " It is of little consequence ; we are not likely to want them, I think, if our pistols do their duty," said Mr. Trevor. - But a servant was mounted on the fleetest horse in Lord 's stable, and despatched for the surgeon. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 89 "who resided at not more than half a mile's distance, with a note requesting him to come furnished with the necessary instruments for a gun-shot wound. As the principals were impatient, and the seconds as well as the others present were in the secret of the blank charge in the pistols, and anticipated nothing like bloodshed, the pistols were placed in the hands of each in dead silence, and the tAVO parties, with their respective friends, retired to a little distance from each other. " Are you prepared, Mr. Trevor ?" inquired one of Captain 's party; and being answered in the affirmative, in a moment after the two principals, pistol in hand, approached one another. Though I was almost blinded with agitation, and was, in com- mon with those around, quaking for the success of our scheme, my eyes were riveted on their every movement. There was something solemn and im- pressive in their demeanour. Though stepping to certain death, as they supposed, there was not the slightest symptom of terror or agitation visible— no swaggering — no affectation of a calmness they did m)t feel. The countenance of each was deadly pale and damp ; *but not a muscle trembled. " Who is to give us the word ]" asked the captain in a whisper, which, though low, was heard all over the room ; " for in this sort of affair, if one fires a second before the other he is a murderer." At that moment there was a noise heard ; it was the surgeon who had arrived, and now entered breathless. " Step out, and give the word at once," said Mr. Trevor, impatiently. Both the captain and Mr. Trevor re- turned and shook hands, with a melancholy smile, with their friends, and then retook their places. The gentleman who was to give the signal then stepped towards them, and closing his eyes with his hands, said, in a tremulous tone, " Raise your pistols !" — the muzzles were instantly touching one another's breasts — " and when I have counted three, fire. One H2 90 PASSAGES FROM THE — ^two — three !" They fired — both recoiled with the shock several paces, and their friends rushed for- ward. " Why, what is the meaning of this !" exclaimed both in a breath. " Who has dared to mock us in this way 1 — there were no balls in the pistols !" ex- claimed Trevor, fiercely. Lord and the seconds explained th^ well-meant artifice, and received an indignant curse for their pains. It was in vain we all implored them to be reconciled, as each had done am- ply sufficient to vindicate his honour. Trevor almost gnashed his teeth with fury. There was something fiendish, I thought, in the expression of his counte- nance. " It is easily remedied," said Captain , as his eye caught several small-swords hanging up. He took down two, measured them, and proffered one to his antagonist, who clutched it eagerly. " There can be no deception here, however," said he ; " and now" — each put himself into posture — "stand off there !" We fell back horror-struck at the relentless and revengeful spirit with which they seemed animated. I do not know which was the better swordsman ; I recollect only seeing a rapid glancing of their wea- pons flashing about like sparks of fire, and a hurrying about in all directions, which lasted for several mo- ments, when one of them fell. It was the captain ; for the strong and skilful arm of Mr. Trevor had thrust his sword nearly up to the hilt in the side of his antagonist. His very heart was cloven ! The un- fortunate young man fell without uttering a groan — his sword dropped from his grasp— he pressed his right hand to his heart — and with a quivering motion of the lips,' as if struggling to speak, expired ! " Oh, my great God !" exclaimed Trevor, in a broken and hollow tone, with a face so blanched and horror- stricken that it froze my very blood to look upon ; "what have I done? Can all this be real?" He continued on his knees by the side of his fallen an- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 91 tagonist, with his hands'clasped convulsively, and his eyes glaring upwards for several moments. *** ***** A haze of horror is spread over that black transac- tion; and if it is dissipated for an instant when my mind's eye suddenly looks back through the vista of years, the scene seems rather the gloomy representa- tion or picture of some occurrence which I cannot persuade myself that I actually zvitnessed. To this hour, when I advert to it I am not free from firs of incredulousness. The affair created a great ferment at the time. The unhappy survivor (who in this nar- rative has passed under the name of Trevor) instantly left England, and died in the south of France about five years afterward, in truth, broken-hearted. In a word, since that day I have never seen men entering into discussion, when warming with wine, and ap- proaching never so slowly towards the confines of formality, without reverting with a shudder to the trifling, tlie utterly insignificant circumstances Avhich wine and the hot passions of youth kindled into the fatal brawl which cost poor Captain his life, and drove Mr. abroad to die a broken-hearted exile. CHAPTER III. THE BROKEN HEART. Intriguing and Madness. When I have seen a beautiful and popular actress, I have often thought how many young play-goers these women must intoxicate — how many even sen- sible and otherwise sober heads they must turn upside down ! Some years ago, a case came under 93 PASSAGES FROM THE itiy care which showed fully the justness of this're- ilection ; and I now relate it, as I consider it pregnant both with interest and instruction. It will show how the energies of even a powerful and well-informed mind may be prostrated by the indulgence of un- bridled passions. Late one evening in November, I was summoned in haste to visit a gentleman who was staying at one of the hotels in Covent Garden, and informed in a note that he had manifested symptoms of insanity. As there is no time to be lost in such cases, I hurried to the hotel, which I reached about nine o'clock. The proprietor gave me some preliminary information about the patient to whom I was summoned, which, with what I subsequenlly gleaned from the party himself, and other quarters, I shall present connectedly to the reader, before intro- ducing him to the sick man's chamber. Mr. Warningham — for that name may serve to indicate him through this narrative — was a young man of considerable fortune, some family, and a member of College, Cambridge. His person and manners were gentlemanly ; and his countenance, without possessing any claims to the character of handsome, faithfully indicated a powerful and culti- vated mind. He had mingled largely in college gayeties and dissipations, but knew little or nothing of what is called " town-life;" which may, in a great measure, account for much of the simplicity and ex- travagance of the conduct I am about to relate. Having from his youth upwards been accustomed to the instant gratification of almost every wish he could form, the slightest obstacle in his way was suf- ficient to irritate him almost to phrensy. His tem- perament was very ardent, his imagination lively and active. In short, he passed every where for what he really was — a veiy clever man — extensively read in elegant literature, and particularly intimate with the dramatic writers. About a fortnight before the day on which I was summoned to him, he had come up DIARY of' A LATE PHYSICIAN. 93 from college to visit a young lady whom he was addressing; but finding her unexpectedly gone to Paris, he resolved to continue in London the whole time he had proposed to himself, and enjoy all the amusements about town — particularly the theatres. The evening of the day on which he amved at the hotel, beheld him"^ at DrurjMane, witnessing a new and, as the event proved, a very powerful tra- gedy. In the afterpiece, Miss was a prominent performer ; and her beauty of person — her "madden- ing eyes," as Mr. AYarningham often called them — added to her fascinating naivete of manner, and the interesting character she sustained that evening — at once laid prostrate poor ]Mr. Warningham among the throng of worshippers at the feet of this " Diana of the Ephesians." As he found she played again the next evening, he took care to engage the stage-box; and fancied he had succeeded in attracting her attention. He thought her lustrous eyes fell on him several times during the evening, and that they were instantly withdrawn, with an air of conscious confusion and embarrass- ment, from the intense and passionate gaze which they encountered. This was sufficient to fire the train of Mr. Warningham's susceptible feelings ; and his whole heart was in a blaze instantly. Miss — :— sung that evening one of her favourite songs — an exquisitely pensive and beautiful air ; and ]Mr. Warn- ingham, almost frantic with excitement, applauded with such obstreperous vehemence, and continued shouting " encore — encore'''' — so long after the general calls of the house had ceased, as to attract all eyes for an instant to his box. Miss could not, of course, fail to observe his conduct; and present^ herself looked up with what he considered a gratified air. Quivering with excitement and nervous irrita- bility, Mr. Warningham could'scarcely sit out the rest. of the play; and the. moment the cmtain fell, he hurried round to the stage door, determined to wait 94 PASSAGES FROM THE and see her leave, for the purpose, if possible, of speaking to her. He presently saw her approach the door, closely muffled, veiled, and bonneted, leaning on the arm of a man of military appearance, who handed her into a very gay chariot. He perceived at once that it was the well-known Captain . "Will it be believed that this enthusiastic young man actually jumped up behind the carriage which con- tained the object of his idolatrous homage, and did not alight till it drew up opposite a large house in the western suburbs; and that this absurd feat, more- over, was performed amid an incessant shower of small searching rain 1 He was informed by the foot- man, whom he had bribed with five shillings, that Miss 's own house was in another part of the town, and that her stay at Captain 's was only for a day or two. He returned to his hotel in a state of tumultuous excitement, which can be better con- ceived than described. As may be supposed, he slept little that night ; and the first thing he did in the morning was to despatch his groom, with orders to establish him^self in some public-house which could command a view of Miss 's residence, and return to Covent Garden as soon as he had seen her or her maid enter. It was* not till seven o'clock that he brought word to his master, that no one had entered but Miss 's maid. The papers informed him that Miss played again that evening; and though he could not but be aware of the sort of intimacy which subsisted between Miss and the captain, his en- thusiastic passion only increased with increasing obstacles. Though seriously unwell with a determi- nation of blood to the head, induced by the perpetual excitement of his feelings, and a severe cold caught through exposure to the rain on the preceding eve- ning — he was dressing for the play, when, to his infinite mortification, his friendly medical attendant happening to step in positively forbade his leaving his room, and consigned him to bed and physic, DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 95 instead of the maddening scenes of the theatre. The next morning he felt reheved from the more urgent symptoms ; and his serv^ant having brought him word that he had at last watched Miss enter her house, unaccompanied, except by her maid, Mr. Waming- ham despatched him with a copy of passionate verses, enclosed in a blank envelope. He trusted that some adroit allusions in them, might possibly give her a clew to the discovery of the writer — especially if he could contrive to be seen by her that evening in the same box he had occupied formerly ; for to the play he was resolved to go, in defiance of the threats of his medical attendant. To his vexation he found the box in question pre-engaged for a family party : and — will it be credited? — he actually entertained the idea of discovering who they were, for the pur- pose of prevailing on them to vacate in his favour ! Finding that, however, of course out of the question, he was compelled to content himself with the corres- ponding box opposite, where he was didy ensconced the moment the doors were opened. Miss appeared that evening in only one piece, but in the course of it she had to sing some of her most admired songs. The character she played, also, was a favourite both with herself and the public. Her dress was exquisitely tasteful and picturesque, and calculated to set off her figure to the utmost advantage. \Yhen, at a particular crisis of the play, Mr. Warningham, by the softened lustre of the lowered foot-lights, beheld ^Nliss emerging from a romantic glen with a cloak thrown over her shoulders, her head covered with a velvet cap, over which drooped, in snowy pendency, an ostrich- feather, while her hair strayed from beneath the cincture of her cap in loose negligent curls, down her face and beautiful cheeks; when he saw the timid and alarmed air which her part required her to assume, and the sweet and sad expression of her eyes, while she stole about as if avoiding a pursuer ; 96 PASSAGES FROM THE — when, at length, as the raised foot-lights were re^ stored to their former glare, she let fall the cloak which had enveloped her, and, like a metamorphosed chrysalis, burst in beauty on the applauding house, habited in a costume, which, without being positively indeHcate, was calculated to excite the most volup- tuous thoughts ; — when, I say, poor Mr. Warningham saw all this he was almost overpowered, and leaned back in his box, breathless Avith agitation. A little before Miss quitted the stage for the last time that evening, the order of the play required that she should stand for some minutes on that part of the stage next to Mr. Warningham's box. While she was standing in a pensive attitude, with her face turned full towards Mr. Warningham, he whispered, in a quivering and under-tone, — " Oh, beautiful, beau- tiful creature !" Miss heard Mm, looked at him with a little surprise; her features relaxed into a smile, and, with a gentle shake of the head, as if hinting that he should not endeavour to distract her attention, she moved away to proceed with her part.. IMr. Warningham trembled violently ; he fancied she encouraged his attentions — and, God knows how — had recognised in him the writer of the verses she had received. When the play was over, he hurried as on a former occasion to the stage-door, where he mingled with the inquisitive little throng usually to be found there, and waited till she made her appear- ance, enveloped as before in a large shawl, but fol- lowed only by a maid-servant, carrying a bandbox. They stepped into a hackney-coach, and, though Mr. Warningham had gone there for the express purpose of speaking to her, his knees knocked together, and he felt so sick with agitation that he did not even attempt to hand her into the coach. He jumped into the one which drew up next, and ordered the coach- man to follow the preceding one wherever it went. When it approached the street where he knew she resided, he ordered it to stop, got out, and hurried on DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICLA.N. 97 foot towards the house, which he reached just as'she was alighting-. He offered her his arm. She looked at him with astonishment, and something like appre- hension. At length, she appeared to recognise in him the person who had attracted her attention by whispering when at the theatre, and seemed, he thought, a little discomposed. She declined his prof- fered assistance, said her maid was with her; and was going to knock at the door, when Mr. Warningham stammered, faintly, " Dear madam, do allow me the honour of calling in the morning, and inquiring how you are after the great exertions at the theatre this evening !" She replied, in a cold and discouraging manner; could not conceive to what she was in- debted for the honour of his particular attentions, and interest in her welfare, so suddenly felt by an utter stranger — unusual — singular — improper — mipleasant — &c. She said that as for his calling in the morn- ing, if he felt so inclined, she, of course, could not prevent him ; but if he expected to see her when he called, he would find himself " perfectly mistaken." The door that moment was opened, and closed upon her, as she made liim a cold bow, leaving Mr. Warn- ingham, what with chagrin and excessive passion for her, almost distracted. He seriously assured me that he M^alked to and fro before her door till nearly six o'clock in the morning; that he repeatedly ascended the steps, and endeavoured, as nearly as he could recollect, to stand on the very spot she had occupied while speaking to him, and would remain gazing at what he fancied was the window of her bedroom for ten minutes together ; and all this ex- travagance, to boot, Avas perpetrated amid an inces- sant fall of snow, and at a time — Heaven save the mark — when he was an accepted suitor of Miss , the young lady whom he had come to town for the express purpose of visiting ! I several times asked him how it was that he could bring himself to con- sider such conduct consistent with honoiur or delU I 98 PASSAGES FROM THE cacy, or feel a spark of real attachment for the lady to whom he was eng-aged, if it was not sufficient to steel his heart and close his eyes against the charms of any other woman in the world ? His only reply was, that he " really could not help it ;" — he felt " rather the patient, than agent." Miss took his heart, he said, by storm, and forcibly ejected, for a while, his love for any other woman breathing ! To return, however: About half past six, he jumped into a hackney-coach which happened to be passing through the street, drove home to the hotel in Covent Garden, and threw himself on the bed, in a state of utter exhaustion both of mind and body. He slept on heavily till twelve o'clock at noon, when he awoke seriously indisposed. In the first few mo- ments, he could not dispossess himself of the idea that Miss was standing by his bedside, in the dress she wore the preceding evening, and smiled encouragingly on him. So strong was the delusion, that he actually addressed several sentences to her ! About three o'clock he drove out, and called on one of his gay friends, who was perfectly aufait at mat- ters of this sort, and resolved to make him his con- fidant in the affair. Under the advice of this mentor, Mr. Warningham purchased a very beautiful emerald ring, v/hich he sent off" instantly to Miss , with a polite note, saying it was some slight acknowledg-. ment of the dehght with which he witnessed her ex- quisite acting, &c. &c. &c. This, his friend assured him, must call forth an answer of some sort or other, which would lead to another — and another — and another — and so on. He was right. A twopenny- post letter was put into Mr. Warningham's hands the next morning before he rose, which was from Miss , elegantly written, and thanked him for the " tasteful present" he had sent her, which she should, with great pleasure, take an early opportunity of gratifying him by wearing in public. There never yet lived an actress, I verily believe, who had forti- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 99 tude enoiigh to refuse a present of jewelry ! WTiat was to be done next? He did not exactly know. But having- succeeded at last in opening an avenue of communication with her, and induced her so easily to lie under an obligation to him, he felt con- vinced that his way Avas now clear. He determined, therefore, to call and see her that ver>^ afternoon ; but his medical friend, seeing the state of feverish excitement in which he continued, absolutely inter- dicted him from leaving the house. The next day he felt considerably better, but was not allowed to leave the house. He could, therefore, find no other means of consoling himself, than writing a note to Miss , saying he had " something important" to communicate to Tier, and begging to know when she would permit him to wait upon her for that purpose. What does the reader imagine this pretext of " some- thing important" was 1 To ask her to sit for her portrait to a young artist ! His stratagem succeeded ; for he received, in the course of the next day, a polite invitation to breakfast with INIiss on the next Sunday morning; with a hint that he might expect no other company, and that Miss was " curious" to know what his particular business with her was. Poor Mr. Warningham ! How was he to exist in the interval between this day and Sunday ? He would fain have annihilated it ! Sunday morning ai last arrived ; and about nine o'clock he sallied from his hotel, the first time he had left it for several days, and drove to the house. With a fluttering heart he knocked at the door, and a maid-servant ushered him into an elegant apart- ment, in which breakfast was laid. An elderly lady, some female relative of the actress, was reading a newspaper at the breakfast-table ; and Miss herself Avas seated at the piano, practising one of those exquisite songs which had been listened to with breathless rapture by thousands. She wore aa 100 PASSAGES FROM THE elegant morning dress; and though her infatuated visiter had come prepared to see her to great disad- vantage — divested of the dazzhng complexion she exhibited on the stage — her pale, and somewhat sallow features, which wore a pensive and fatigued expression, served to rivet the chains of his admira- tion still stronger, with the feelings of sympathy. H«r beautiful eyes beamed on him with sweetness and affability ; and there was an ease, a gentleness in her manners, and a soft animating tone in her voice, which filled Mr. Warningham with emotions of indescribable tenderness. A few moments beheld them seated at the breakfast-table ; and when Mr. Warningham gazed at his fair hostess, and reflected on his envied contiguity to one whose beauty and talents were the theme of universal admiration — listened to her lively and varied conversation, and perceived a faint crimson steal for an instant over her countenance, when he reminded her of his excla- mation at the theatre — he felt a swelling excitement which would barely suffer him to preserve an exterior calmness of demeanour. He felt, as he expressed it — (for he has often recounted these scenes to me) — that she was maddening' him ! Of course, he exerted him- self in conversation to the utmost ; and his observa- tions on almost every topic of polite literature were .met with equal spirit and sprightliness by Miss . He found her fully capable of appreciating the noblest passages from Shakspeare and some of the older Enghsh dramatists, and that was sufficient to lay enthusiastic Mr. Warningham at the feet of any woman. He was reciting a passionate passage from Romeo and Juliet, to which Miss was listening with an apparent air of kindling enthusiasm, when a phaeton dashed up to the door, and an impetuous thundering of the knocker announced the arrival of some aristocratical visiter. The elderly lady, who was sitting with them, started, coloured, and ex- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 101 claimed — " Good God, will you receive the man this morning ?" " Oh, it's only Lord ," exclaimed Miss , with an air of indifference, after having examined the equipage through the window-blinds, " and I won't see the man — that's flat. He pesters me to death," she continued, turning to Mr. \Yamingham, with a pretty peevish air. It had its effect on him. — " What an enviable fellow I am to be received, when lords are refused !" thought ^Ir. Wanimgham. " Not at home !" drawled Miss , coldly, as the servant brought in Lord 's card. " You know one can't see e-cery body, Mr. Wamingham," she said, with a smile. " Oh, INIr. Warningham, — lud, lud ! — don't go to the window till the man's gone !" she exckimed ; and her small white hand, with his eme- rald ring glisteningonher second finger, was hurriedly laid on his shoulder, to prevent his going to the window. Mr. Wamingham declared to me he could that moment have settled his whole fortime on her ! After the breakfast things were removed, she sat dou'n, at his request, to the piano — a very magnifi- cent present from the Duke of , Mrs. as- sured him, — and sung and played whatever he asked. She played a certain well-known arch air, with the most bewitching simplicity ; iNIr. Warningham could only look his feelings. As she concluded it, and was dashing off the symphony in a careless, but rapid and brilliant style, Mrs. , the lady once or twice before mentioned, left the room; and IMr. Warnmg- ham, scarce knowing what he did, suddenly sunk on one knee, from the chair on which he was sitting by Miss , grasped her hand, and uttered some ex- clamation of passionate fondness. Miss turned to him a moment with a sui-prised air, her large, liquid blue eyes almost entirely hid beneath her half- closed lids, her features relaxed into a coquettish smile : she disengaged her hand, and went on playing 12 102 PASSAGES FROM THE " He sighs—' Beauty ! I adore thee, See me fainting thus before thee ;' But I say— Fal, lal, lal, la ! Fal, lal, lal, la ! Fal lal, &c.'' "Fascinating, nnorplic woman! glorious creature of intellect and ucciuty, I cannot live but in your presence !" gasped Mr. Warningham. " Oh, Lord, what an actor you would have made, Mr. Warningham — indeed you would ! Only think how it would sound — ' Romeo, Mr. Warningham .'' — Lud, lud — the man would almost persuade me that he was in earnest !" replied Miss , with the most enchanting air, and ceased playing. Mr. Warning- ham continued addressing her in the most extrava- gant manner ; indeed, he afterward told me, he felt "as though his wits were slipping from him every instant." " Why don't you go on the stage, Mr. Warning- ham V inquired Miss , with a more earnest and serious air than she had hitherto manifested, and gazing at him with an eye which expressed real ad- miration, — for she was touched by the winning, per- suasive, and passionate eloquence with which Mr. Warningham expi ^ssed himself. She had hardly uttered the words, when a loud and long knock was heard at the street door. Miss suddenly started from the piano; turned pale, and exclaimed in a hurried and agitated tone,—" Lord, Lord, what's to be done ! — Captain ! — whatever can have brought him up to town — oh, my " " Good God, madam, what can possibly alarm you in this manner V exclaimed Mr. Warningham, with a surprised air. " What in the earth can there be in this Captain to startle you in this manner T What can the man want here if his presence is disagree- able to you % Pray, madam, give him the same answer you gave Lord !" " Oh, Mr. Warn — dear, dear ! the door is opened — what will become of me if Cap- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 103 lain sees you here 1 Ah ! I have it — you must — country manager — provincial enga — " hurriedly muttered Miss , as the room-door opened, and a gentleman of a lofty and military bearing, dressed in a blue surtout and Avhite trousers, with a slight •walking cane in his hand, entered, and without ob- serving Mr. Wamingham, who at the moment hap- pened to be standing rather behind the door, hurried towards Miss , exclaiming, with a gay and fond air, " Ha, my charming De Medici, how d'ye 1 — WTiy, who the have we here .^" he inquired, suddenly breaking off, and turning with an aston- ished air towards Mr. Wamingham. "What possible business can this person have here. Miss 1" inquired the captain, with a cold and angry air, letting fall her hand, which he had grasped on entering, and eying Mr. Wamingham with a furious scowl. Miss muttered something in- distinctly about business — a provincial engagement — and looked appealingly towards Mr. Wamingham, as if beseeching him to take the cue, and assume the character of a country manager. Mr. Wamingham, however, was not experienced enough in matters of this kind to take the hint. " My good sir — I beg pardon, captain" — said he, buttoning his coat, and speaking in a voice almost choked with fury — " Avhat is the meamng of all this 1 What do 3^ou mean, sir, by this insolent bearing to- wards me ?" " Good God ! Do you know, sir, whom you are speaking to V inquired the captain, with an air of wonder. " 1 care as little as I know, sir; but this I know — I shall give 3^ou to understand that, wlioever you are, I won't be hullied by you." " The devil !" exclaimed the captain, slowly, as if he hardly comprehended what M-as passing. Miss , pale as a statue, and trembling from head to foot, leaned speechless against the comer of the 104 PASSAGES FROM THE piano, apparently stupified by the scene that was passing. " Oh, by ! this will never do," at length ex- claimed the captain, as he rushed up to Mr. Warn- ingham, and struck him furiously over the shoulders with his cane. He was going to seize Mr. Warning- ham's collar with his left hand, as if for the purpose of inflicting further chastisement, when Mr. Warn- ingham, who was a very muscular man, shook him off, and dashed his right hand full into the face of the captain. Miss ■ shrieked for assistance — ^while the captain put himself instantly into attitude, and being a first-rate " miller," as the phrase is, before Mr. Warningham could prepare himself for the en- counter, planted a sudden shower of blows about Mr. Warningham's head and breast, that fell on him like the strokes of a sledge-hammer. He was of course instantly laid prostrate on the floor in a state of insensibility, and recollected nothing further till he found himself lying on his bed at the hotel, about the middle of the night, faint and weak with- the loss of blood, his head bandaged, and amid all the paraphernalia and attendance of a sick man's chamber. How or when he had been conveyed to the hotel he knew not, till he was informed some weeks after- ward that Captain , having learned his residence from Miss , had brought him in his carriage, in a state of stupor. All the circumstances above related combined to throw Mr. Warningham into a fever, which increased upon him ; the state of nervous ex- citement in which he had lived for the last few days aggravated the other symptoms — and delirium at last deepened into downriglit madness. The medical man, who has been several times before mentioned as a friendly attendant of Mr. Warningham, finding that matters grew so serious, and being unwilling any longer to bear the sole responsibility of the case, advised Mr. Warningham's friends, who had been summoned from a distant county to his bedside, to DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 105 call me in ; and this was the statu quo of affairs when I paid him my first visit. On entering the room, I found a keeper sitting on each side of the bed on which lay Mr. Warningham, who was raving frightfully, gnashing his teeth, and imprecating the most fearful cmses upon Captain . It was with the utmost difficulty that the keepers could hold him down, even though my un- fortunate patient was suffering under the restraint of a strait waistcoat. His coimtenance, which I think I mentioned was naturally very expressive, if not handsome, exhibited the most ghastly contor- tions. His eyes glared into every corner of the room, and seemed about to start from their sockets. After standing for some moments a silent spectator of this painful scene, endeavouring to watch the current of his malady, and at the same time soothe the affliction of his uncle, who was standing by my side dreadfully agitated, I ventured to approach nearer, observing him nearly exhausted, and relapsing into silence — undisturbed but by heavy and stertorous breathing. He lay with his face buried in the pillow ; and on my putting my fingers to his temples, he suddenly turned his face towards me. " God bless me — Mr. Kean !" said he, in an altered tone, "this is really a very unexpected honour!" He seemed embarrassed at seeing me. I determined to humour his fancy,^the only rational method of dealing with such patients. J may as well say, in passing, that some persons have not unfrequently found a resemblance — faint and slight, if any at all — between my features and those of the celebrated tragedian for whom I was on the present occasion mistaken. " Oh, yours are terrible eyes, Mr. Kean — very, very terrible ! Where did you get them 1 What fiend touched them with such unnatural lustre ? These are not human — no, no ! What do you think I have often fancied they resembled ?" 106 PASSAGES FROM THE " Really, I can't pretend to say, sir," I replied, -with some curiosity. " Wl^y, one of the damned inmates of hell— glaring through the fiery bars of their prison," replied Mr. Wamingham, with a shudder. " Isn't that a ghastly fancy 1" he inquired. " 'Tis horrible enough, indeed," said I, determined to humour him. " Ha, ha, ha ! — Ha, ha, ha !" roared the wretched maniac, with a laugh which made us all quake round his bedside. " I can say better things than that, — though it is d d good ; it's nothing like the way in "Which I shall talk to-morrow morning — ha, ha, ha I — for I am going down to hell, to learn some of the fiends' talk ; and wlien I come back, I'll give you a lesson, Mr. Kean, shall be worth two thousand a-year to you — ha, ha, ha ! What d'ye say to that, Othello ?" He paused, and continued mumbling something to himself in a strangely different tone of voice from that in which he had just addressed me. " Mr. Kean, IMr. Kean," said he, suddenly, " you're the very man I want ; I suppose they had told you I had been asking for you, eh ]" " Yes, certainly, I heard" — " Very good — 'twas civil of them ; but, now you are here, just shade those basilisk eyes of yours, for they blight my soul within me." I did as he di- rected — " Now, I'll tell you w^hat I've been thinking — I've got a tragedy ready, very nearly at least, and there's a magnificent cliaracter for you in it, — ex- pressly written for you — a compound of Richard, Shylock, and Sir Giles — your masterpieces — a sort of quartum quiddam — eh — you hear me, Mr. Kean 1" "Ay, and mark thee, too, Hal," thinking a quota- tion from his favourite Shakspeare would soothe and flatter his inflamed fancy. " Ah — aptly quoted — happy, happy ! By-the-way, talking of that, I don't at all admire your personation of Macbeth — by , Mr. Kean, I don't. 'Tis ut- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 107 terly misconceived — wrong from beginning to end ; it is, really. You see what an independent, straight- forward critic I am — ha, ha, ha !" accompanying the words with a laugh, if not as loud, as fearful as his fonner ones. I told him I bowed to his judgment. " Good," he answered ; " genius should always be candid. Macready has a single whisper, when he inquires, ' Is it the King ?'' which is worth all your fiendish mutterings and gaspings — ha, ha I ' Does the galled jade wince ? Her withers are unwrung.' Mr. Kean, how absurd you are, ill-mannered, pardon me for saying it, for interrupting me," he said, after a pause ; adding, with a puzzled air, " What was it I was talking about when you inteiTupted me V " Do you mean the tragedy ?" — (I had not opened my lips to interrupt him.) " Ha ! the tragedy ! ' The play, the play's the thing, Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.' — Ah — the tragedy was it I was mentioning 1 Rem acu — acu tetigisti — that's Latin, Mr. Kean ! Did you ever learn Latin and Greek, eh V I told him I had studied it a little. " What can you mean by interrupting me thus un- mannerly ? Mr. Kean, I won't stand it — once more, zn'hat was it I was talking about a few minutes ago ]" He had again let slip the thread of his thoughts. "A digression this, ^Ir. Kean ; I must be mad — indeed I must !" he continued, wuth a shudder, and a look of sudden sanity ; " I must be mad, and I can't help thinking what a profound knowledge of human na- ture Shakspeare shows when he makes memory the test of sanity — a d — d depth of philosophy in it, eh ? d'ye recollect the passage — eh, Kean ?" I said I cer- tainly could not call it to mind. " Then it's infamous — a shame and a disgrace for you. It's quite true what people say of you — you are a mere tragedy hack ! Why won't you try to get out of that mill-horse round of your hackneyed characters ! Excuse me ; vou know I'm a vast ad- 108 PASSAGES FROM THE mirer of yours, but an honest one. Curse me," aftei a sudden pause, adding with a bewildered and angry air, ^^what was it I was going- to say? I've lost if again ! — oh, a passage from Shakspeare — memory — test of — Ah, 710W we have him ! 'Tis this : — mark and remember it — 'tis in King Lear — •Bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from.' Profoundly true ; isn't it, Kean ?" Of course I ac- quiesced. " Ah," he resumed, with a pleased smile, " nobody now can write like that except myself-^go it, Harry, ha, ha, ha! — Who — oo — o!" uttering the strangest kmd of revolting cry I ever heard. " Oh dear, dear me, what was it I was saying 1 The thought keeps slipping from me like a lithe eel; I can't hold it. Eels, by-the-way, are nothing but a sort of water- snake ; 'tis brutal to eat them ! What made me name eels, Mr. Kean V I reminded him. " Ah, there must be a screw loose — something wrong /tere," shaking his head ; " it's all upside down — ^ha ! what the d — 1 was it now ?" I once more recalled it to his mind, for I saw he was fretting himself with vexation at being unable to take up the chain of his thoughts. " Ah ! well now, once more — I said Fd a character for you — good ; do it justice, or d — me, I'll hiss you like a huge boa coiled in the middle of the pit ! — There's a thought— stay — ^he's losing the thought again — hold it — hold it." " The tragedy, sir." " Ah, to be sure ! I've another character for Miss (naming the actress before mentioned) — magni- ficent queen of beauty — nightingale of song — radiant, peerless — Ah, lady, look on me ! look on me !" and he suddenly burst into one of the most tigerlike howls T could conceive capable of being uttered by a human being. It must have been heard in the street and market without. We v/ho were round him stood DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 109 listenings chilled with horror. When he had ceased, I said, in a soothing whisper, " Compose yourself, Mr. Warningham, you'll see her by-and-by." He looked me full in the face, and uttered as shocking a yell as before. " Avaunt ! — out on ye ! — scoundrels ! — fiends !" he shouted, struggling with the men who were endea- vouring to hold him down ; " are you come to murder me ? Ha — a — a !" and he fell back as though he was in the act of being choked or throttled. " Where — where is the fiend who struck me ?" he groaned, in a fierce mider-tone ; " and in HER pre- sence, too; and she stood by looking on! — cruel, beautiful, deceitful woman ! Did she turn pale and tremble] Oh, Mdll not I have his blood — blood-^ blood !" and he clutched his fists with a savage and murderous force. " Ah ! you around me, say, does not blood cleanse the deepest, foulest stain, or hide it 1 Pour it on warm and reeking — a crimson flood — and never trust me if it does not wash out insult for ever ! Ha — ha — ha I Oh, let me loose ! Let me loose ! Let me but cast my eyes on the insolent ruf- fian — the brutal bully — let me but lay hands on him !" and he drew ui his breath with a long, fierce, and deep respiration. " Will I not shake liim out of his military trappings and fooleries ] Ha, devils ! mihand me, I say ; unhand me, and let me loose on this Cap- tain ." In this strain the unhappy young man continued raving for about ten minutes longer, till he utterly exhausted himself. The paroxysm was over for the present. The keepers, aware of this (for of course they were accustomed to such fearful scenes as these, and preserved the most cool and matter-of-fact de- meanour conceivable), relaxed their hold. Mr. Warn- ingham lay perfectly motionless, Avith his eyes closed, breaking slow and heavily, while the per- spiration burst from every pore. His pulse and other symptoms showed me that a few more snnilar par- K 110 PASSAGES FROM THE oxysms would destroy him ; and that, consequently, the most active remedies must be had recourse to immediately. I therefore directed what was to be done : his head to be shaved ; that he should be bled copiously ; kept perfectly cool and tranquil ; and pre- scribed such medicines as I conceived most calculated to effect this object. On my way down stairs I en- countered Mr. , the proprietor or landlord of the hotel, who, with a very agitated air, told me he must insist on having Mr. Warningham removed imme- diately from the hotel ; for that his ravings disturbed and agitated everybody in the place, and had been loudly complained of. Seeing the reasonableness of this, my patient was, with my sanction, conveyed that evening to airy and genteel lodgings in one of the adjoining streets. The three or four following visits I paid him presented scenes little varying from the one I have above been attempting to describe. They gradually, however, abated in violence. I shall not be guilty of extravagance or exaggeration if I protest that there was sometimes a vein of sublimity in his ravings. He really said some of the very finest things I ever heard. This need not occasion wonder, if it be recollected that " out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh;" and Mr. Warningham's naturally powerful mind was filled with accumulated stores, acquired from almost every region of litera- ture. His fancy was deeply tinged with Germanism, with diablerie; and some of liis ghostly images used to haunt and creep after me like spirits, gibbering and chattering the expressions Avith which the maniac had conjured them into being. To me nothing is so affecting, so terrible, so hu- mihating, as to see a powerful intellect, like that of Mr. Warningham, the prey of insanity, exhibiting glimpses of greatness and beauty amid all the cha- otic gloom and havoc of madness; reminding one of the mighty fragments of some dilapidated structure of- Greece or Rome, mouldering apart from one DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. Ill another, still displaying the exquisite moulding and chiselling of the artist, and enhancing the beholder's regret that so glorious a fabric should have been destroyed by the ruthless hand of time. Insanity, indeed, makes the most fearful inroads on an intellect distinguished by its activity; and the flame is fed rapidly by the fuel afforded from an excitable and vigorous fancy. A tremendous responsibility is in- curred, in such cases, by the medical attendants. Long experience has convinced me, that the only sensible way of dealing with such patients as Mr. Warningham is, chiming in readily with their various fancies, without seeming in the slightest degree shocked or alarmed by the most monstrous extrava- gances. The patient must never be startled by any appearance of surprise or apprehension from those around him ; never irritated by contradiction or indi- cations of impatience. Should this be done by some inexperienced attendant, the mischief may prove ir- remediable by any subsequent treatment ; the flame will blaze out with a fury which will consume in- stantly every vestige of the intellectual structure, leaving the body — the shell — bare, blackened walls alone, " A scoff, a jest, a by-word through the -world." Let the patient have sea-room ; allow him to dash about for a while in the tempest and whirlwind of his disordered faculties ; M-hile all that is necessary from those around is, to watch the critical moment, and pour the oil of soothing acquiescence on the foaming waters. Depend upon it, the uproar will subside when the winds of opposition cease. To return, however, to IMr. Warningham. The incubus which had brooded over liis intellects for more than a week at length disappeared, leaving its victim trembling on the very verge of the grave. In truth, I do not recollect ever seeing a patient whose energies, both physical and mental, were so dread- 112 PASSAGES FROM THE fully shattered. He had lost almost all muscular power. He could not raise his hand to his head, alter his position in the bed, or even masticate his food. For several days it could barely be said that he existed. He could utter nothing more than an almost inaudible whisper, and seemed utterly uncon- scious of Avhat was passing around him. His sister, a young and veiy interesting woman, had flown to his bedside immediately the family were acquainted with his illness, and had continued ever since in daily and nightly attendance on him, till she herself seemed almost worn out. How I loved her for her pallid, exhausted, anxious, yet affectionate looks ! Had not this illness intervened, she would have been before this time married to a rising young man at the bar ; yet her devoted sisterly sympathies attached her to her brother's bedside without repining, and she would never think of leaving him. Her feelings maybe conceived, when it is known that she was in a great measure acquainted with the cause of her brother's sudden illness ; and it was her painful duty to sit and listen to many unconscious disclosures of the most afflicting nature. This latter circumstance furnished the first source of uneasiness to Mr. Warningham on recovering the exercise of his rational faculties ; he was excessively agitated at the idea of his having alluded to and described the dissipated and profligate scenes of his college life ; and when he had once compelled me to acknowledge that his sister and other relations were apprized of the events which led to his illness, he sunk into moody silence for some time, evidently scourging himself with the heaviest self-reproaches, and presently exclaimed — " Well, doctor, thus you see has ' Even-handed justice . Compell'd the poisoa'd chalice to my lips,' and I have drunk the foul draught to the dregs ! Yet though I would at this moment lay down half my fortune to blot from their memories what they must DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 113 have heard me utter, I shall submit in silence — I have riclily earned it. I now, however, bid ''farewell for ever to debauchery, profligacy, dissipation, forever!" I interrupted him by saying-, I was not aware, nor were his relatives, that he had been publicly distin- guished as a debauchee. " Why, doctor," he replied, " possibly not ; there may be others who have ex- posed themselves more absurdly than I have — who have drunk and raked more — but mine has been the vile profligacy of the heart — the dissipation of the feelings. But it shall cease ! God knows I never thoroughly enjoyed it, though it has occasioned me a delicious sort of excitement which has at length nearly destroyed me. I have clambered out of the scorching crater of Etna, scathed, but not consumed. I will now descend into the tranquil vales of virtue, and never, never leave them !" He wept, for he had not yet recovered the tone or mastery of his feelings. These salutary thoughts led to a pennanent reforma- tion ; his illness had produced its eff*ect. One other thing there was which yet occasioned him disquiet- ude and imcertainty : he said he felt bound to seek the usual "satisfaction" from Captain ! I and all around him, to whom he hinted it, scouted the idea; and he himself relinquished it on hearing that Captain had called often during his illness, and left many cards, with the most anxious inquiries after his health; and in a day or two had a private inter- view with Mr. Warningham, when he apologized in the most prompt and handsome manner for his vio- lent conduct, and expressed the liveliest regrets at the serious consequences with which it had been at- tended. Mr. Warningham, to conclude, recovered but slowly ; and as soon as his weakness would admit of the jour- ney, removed to the family house in shire ; from thence he went to the seaside, and staid there till the close of the autumn, reading philosophy and some of the leading writers on morals. He was married K2 114 PASSAGES FROM THE in October, and set off for the continent in the spring". His constitution, however, had received a shock from which it never recovered ; and two years after Mr. Warningham died of a decline at Genoa. The Broken Heart. There was- a large and gay party assembled one evening, in the memorable month of June, 1815, at a house in the remote western suburbs of London. Throngs of handsome and well-dressed women — a large retinue of the leading men about Xovm — the dazzling light of chandeliers, blazing like three suns overhead — the charms of music and dancing — toge- ther with that tone of excitement then pervading so- ciety at large, owing to our successful continental campaigns which maddened England into almost daily annunciations of victory; — all these circum- stances, I say, combined to supply spirit to every party. In fact, England was almost turned upside down with universal feting! Mrs. , the lady whose party I have just iDcen mentioning, was in ecstasy at the eclat with which the whole was going off, and charmed with the buoyant animation with which all seemed inclined to contribute their quota to the evening's amusement. A young lady of some personal attractions, most amiable manners, and great accomplishments, particularly musical, had been re- peatedly solicited to sit down to the piano, for the purpose of favouring the companv with the favourite Scottish air " The Banks of Allan Waters For a long time, however, she steadfastly resisted their impor- tunities pn the plea of low spirits. There was evi- dently an air of deep pensiveness, if not melancholy, about her, which ought to have corroborated the truth of the plea she urged. She did not seem to gather excitement with the rest, and rather endured than shared the gayeties of the evening. Of course, the young folks around her of her own sex whispered DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 115 their suspicions that she was in love ; and in point of fact, it was well known by several present that Miss was eng-aged to a, young officer who had earned considerable distinction in the peninsular campaign, and to whom she was to be united on his return from the continent. It need not, therefore, be wondered at that a thought of the various casualties to which a soldier's life is exposed, — especially a bold and brave young soldier, such as her intended had proved himself — and the possibility, if not probability, that he might, alas ! never " Return to claim his blushing bride," — ^but be left behind among the glorious throng of the fallen, sufficed to overcast her mind with gloomy anx- ieties and apprehensions. It was, indeed, owing solely to the aftectionate importunities of her rela- tives that she was prevailed on to be seen in society at all. Had her own inclinations been consulted, she would have sought solitude, where she might, with weeping and trembling, commend her hopes to the hands of Him " who seeth in secret," and " whose are the issues" of battle. As, however, ^Nliss 's rich contralto voice and skilful powers of accompani- ment were much talked of, the company would listen to no excuses or apologies ; so the poor girl was ab- solutely baited into sitting down to the piano, when she ran over a few melancholy chords with an air of reluctance and displacency. Her sympathies were soon excited by the fine tones — the tumultuous m*e- lody of the keys she touched ; and she struck into the soft and soothing s\nnphony of " The Banks of Allan Water." The breathless silence of the by- standers (for nearly all the company was thronged around) Mas at length broken by her voice, stealing, *' like faint blue gushing streams," on the delighted ears of her auditors, as she commenced singing that exquisite little ballad with the most touching pathos and simplicity. She had just commenced tlie verse, 116 PASSAGES FROM THE " For his bride a soldier sought her, And a winning tongue had he !" when' to the surprise of everybody around her, she suddenly ceased playing and singing, without remov- ing her hands from the instrument, and gazed stead- fastly forward with a vacant air, while the colour faded from her cheeks, and left them pale as the lily. She continued thus for some moments, to the alarm and astonishment of the company — motionless, and apparently unconscious of any one's presence. Her elder sister, much agitated, stepped towards her, placed her hand on her shoulder, endeavoured gently to rouse her, and said hurriedly, " Anne, Anne ! what now is the matter 1" Miss made no answer ; but a few moments after, without moving her eyes, sud- denly burst into a piercing shriek ! Consternation seized all present. " Sister — sister ! — dear Anne, are you ill ?" again inquired her trembling sister, endeavouring to rouse her, but in vain. Miss did not seem either to see or hear her. Her eyes still gazed fixedly for- ward, till they seemed gradually to expand, as it were, with an expression of glassy horror. All pre- sent seemed utterly confounded and afraid to inter- fere with her. Whispers were heard, " She's ill — in a fit — run for some water. — Good God, how strange ! — what a piercing shriek !" &c. &c. At length Miss 's lips moved. She began to mutter inaudibly ; but by-and-by those immediately near her could dis- tinguish the words, " There ! — there they are with their lanterns ! — Oh ! they are looking out for the de — a — d> — They turn over the heaps. — Ah! — now — no !-^that little hill of slain — see, see ! — they are turning them over one by one. — Tliere ! — there he IS ! — Oh, horror ! horror ! horror ! — right through the HEART !" and with a long shuddering groan she fell senseless into the arms of her horror-struck sister. Of course all were in confusion and dismay ; not a face present but was blanched with agitation and affright on hearing the extraordinary words she ut- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 117 tered. With true delicacy and propriety of feeling, all those whose carriages had happened to have al- ready arrived instantly took their departure, t« pre- vent their presence embarrassing or interfering with the family, who were already sufficiently bewildered. The room was soon thmned of all except those who were immediately engaged in rendering their semces to the young lady, and the sen'ant was instantly despatched with a horse for me. On my arrival, I fomid her in bed, still at the house where the party M^as given, which was that of the young lady's sister- in-law. She had fallen into a succession of swoons ever since she had been carried up from the drawing- room, and was perfectly senseless when I entered the bedchamber where she lay. She had not spoken a syllable since utteruig the singular words just re- lated, and her whole frame was cold and rigid ; in fact, she seemed to have received some strange shock which had altogether paralyzed her. By the use, however, of strong stimulants, we succeeded in at length restoring her to something like consciousness, but I think it would have been better for her, judging from the event, never to have woke again from for- getfidness. She opened her eyes under the influence of the searching stimulants we applied, and stared vacantly for an instant on those standing round her bedside. Her countenance, of an ashy hue, was damp with clammy perspiration, and she lay perfectly motionless, except when her frame undulated with long, deep-drawn sighs. " Oh, A\Tetched, wretched, wretched girl !" she mur- mured at length, " why have I lived till now 1 \\]\y did you not suffer me to expire ? He called me to join him — I was going — and you will not let me — but I MUST go — yes, yes !" *' Anne, dearest ! why do you talk so 1 Charles is not gone. He will return soon; he will, indeed," sobbed her sister. " Oh, never, never ! You could not see what I ' 118 PASSAGES FROM THE saw, Jane," she shuddered ; " Oh, it was frightful ! How they tumbled about the heaps of the dead ! — How they stripped ! — oh, horror ! horror !" " My dear Miss , you are dreaming — raving — indeed you are," said I, holding her hand in mine ; " come, come, you must not give way to such gloomy, such nervous fancies ; you must not, indeed. You are frightening your friends to no purpose." " What do you mean 1" she replied, looking me suddenly full in the face ; " I tell you it is true ! Ah, me ! Charles is dead — I know it — I saw him ! — Shot right through the heart! They were stripping him, when — " and heaving three or four short, convulsive sobs, she again swooned. Mrs. , the lady of the house (the sister-in-law of Miss , as I think I have mentioned) could endure the distressing scene no longer, and was carried out of the room fainting in the arms of her husband. With great difficulty we succeeded in restoring Miss once more to con- sciousness ; but the frequency and duration of her relapses began seriously to alarm me. The spirit being brought so often to the brink, might at last suddenly flit off into eternity without any one's being aware of it. I of course did all that my profession^ knowledge and experience suggested ; and after ex- pressing my readiness to remain all night in the house, in the event of any sudden alteration in Miss for the worsje, I took my departure, promising to call very^B^y in the morning. Before leaving, Mr. had acquainted me with all the particulars above related ; and as I rode home, I could not help feeling the liveliest curiosity, mingled with the most intense sympathy for the unfortunate sufferer, to see whether the corroborating event would stamp the present as one of those extraordinary occurrences which occasionally " come o'er us like a summer cloud," astonishing and perplexing every one. The next morning, about nine o'clock, I was again at Miss 's bedside. She was nearly in the same DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICUN. 119 State as that in which I had left her the preceding evening, only feebler, and almost continually stupi- fied. She seemed, as it were, stuimed with some severe but invisible stroke. She said scarcely any thing, but often uttered a low, moaning, indistinct sound, and whispered at interv'als, " Yes — shortly, Charles, shortly — to-morrow." There was no rous- ing her by conversation ; she noticed no one, and would answer no questions. I suggested the pro- priety of calling in additional medical assistance ; and in the evening met two eminent brother physi- cians in consultation at her bedside. We came to the conclusion that she was sinking rapidly, and that, miless some miracle intervened to restore her ener- gies, she would continue with us but a very little longer. After my brother physicians had left, I re- turned to the sick chamber, and sat by Miss 's bedside for more than an hour. My feelings were much agitated at witnessing her singular and affect- ing situation. There was such a sweet and sorrow- ful expression about her pallid features, deepening occasionally into such hopelessness of heart-broken anguish, as no one could contemplate without deep emotion. There was besides something mysterious and awing — something of what in Scotland is called second sight — in the circumstances which had occa- sioned her illness. " Gone — gone !" she murmured, with closed eyes, while I was sitting and gazing in silence on her ; " gone — and in glory ! Ah ! I shall see the young conqueror — I shall! How he will love me! Ah! I recollect," she continued, after a*^ong interval, " it was the ' Banks of Allan Water' those cruel people made me sing — and my heart breaking the while! Wliat was the verse I was singing when I saw" — she shuddered — "oh! this — ' For his bride a soldier sought her, And a wnning tongue had he — On the banks of Allan water None so gay as she ! 120 PASSAGES FROM THE But the summer grief had brought her, And the soldier — false was he — ' Oh, 110, no, never, Charles ! my poor, murdered Charles — never !" she groaned, and spoke no more that night. She continued utterly deaf to all that was said in the way of sympathy or remonstrance ; and if her lips moved at all, it was only to utter faintly some such words as " Oh, let me — let me leave in peace !" Du- ring the next two days she continued drooping rapidly. The only circumstance about her demeanour particu- larly noticed was, that she once moved her hands for a moment over the counterpane, as though she were playing the piano ; a sudden flush overspread her fea- tures; her eyes stared, as though she were startled by the appearance of some phantom or other, and she gasped, "There — there!" after which she relapsed into her former state of stupor. How will it be credited, that on the fourth morning of Miss 's illness, a letter was received from Paris by her family, with a black seal, and franked by the noble colonel of the regiment in whi(;h Charles had served, communicating the melancholy intelli- gence that the young captain had fallen towards the close of the battle of Waterloo ; for while in the act of charging at the head of his corps, a French cavalry officer shot him with his pistol right through the heart! Thewiiole family, with all their acquaintance, were, unutterably shocked at the news — almost petri- fied with amazement at the strange corroboration of Miss 's prediction. How to communicate it to the poor sufferer was now a serious question, or whether to communicate it at all at present. The family, at last, considering that it would be.unjustifi- able in them any longer to withhold the intelligence, intrusted the painful duty to me. I therefore repaired to her bedside alone, in the evening of the day on which the letter had beer received : that evening was the last of her life ! I sat down in my usual place beside her, and her pulse, countenance, breathing, DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 121 cold extremities, together with the fact that she had taken no nourishment whatever since she had been laid on her bed, convinced me that the poor girl's sufferings were soon to terminate. I was at a loss for a length of time how to break the oppressive si- lence. Obsen'ing, however, her fading eyes fixed on me, I determined, as it were, accidentally, to attract them to the fatal letter which I then held in my hand. After a while she observed it ; her eye suddenly set- tled on the ample coroneted seal, and the sight ope- rated something hke an electric shock. She seemed struggling to speak, but in vain. I now wished to heaven I had never agreed to undertake the duty which had been imposed upon me. I opened the letter, and looking steadfastly at her, said, in as soothing tones as my agitation could command, " My dear girl, now don't be alarmed, or I shall not teU you what I am going to tell you." She trembled, and her sensibilities seemed suddenly restored ; for her eye assmned an expression of alarmed intelligence, and her lips moved about like those of a person who feels them parched with agitation, and endeavours to moisten them. " This letter has been received to- day from Paris," I continued ; " it is from Colonel Lord , and brings word that — that — that — " I felt suddenly choked, and could not bring out the words. " That my Charles is dead ! I know it. Did I not tell you so V said Miss , interrupting me, with as clear and distinct a tone of voice as she ever had in her life. I felt confounded. Had the unexpected operation of the news I brought been able to dis- solve the spell which had withered her mental ener- gies, and afford promise of her restoration to health ? Has the reader ever watched a candle which is flickering and expiring in its socket, suddenly shoot up into an instantaneous brilliance, and then be utterly extinguished ? 1 soon saw it was thus with poor Miss . All the expiring energies of her soul were L 122 PASSAGES FROM THE suddenly collected to receive this corroboration of her vision (if such it maybe called), and then she would, " Like a lily drooping, Bow her head, and die." To return. She begged me, in a faltering voice, to read her all the letter. She listened with closed eyes, and made no remark when I had concluded. After a long pause, I exclaimed, " God be praised, my dear Miss , that you have been able to receive this dreadful news so firmly !" " Doctor, tell me, have you no medicine that could make me weep 1 Oh, give it me, give it me ; it would relieve me, for I feel a mountain on my breast — it is pressing me," replied she, feebly, uttering the words at long intervals. Pressing her hand in mine, I begged her to be calm, and the oppression would soon dis- appear. " Oh — oh — oh, that I could weep, doctor !" She whispered something else, but in audibly. I put my ear close to her mouth, and distinguished something like the words, " I am — I am — call her — hush," ac- companied with a faint, fluttering, gurgling sound. Alas ! I too well understood it ! With much trepi- dation I ordered the nurse to summon the family into the room instantly. Her sister Jane was the first that entered, her eyes swollen with weeping, and seemingly half-suffocated with the effort to conceal her emotions. " Oh, my darling, precious, precious sister Anne !" she sobbed, and knelt down at the bedside, flinging her arms round her sister's neck, kissing the gentle sufferer's cheeks and mouth. " Anne ! — love ! — darling ! — Don't you know me ?" she groaned, kissing her forehead repeatedly. Could I help weeping 1 All who had entered were stand- mg around the bed, sobbmg, and in tears. I kept my fingers at the wrist of the dying sufferer, but could not feel whether or not the pulse beat; which, how- ever, I attributed to my own agitation. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 123 " Speak — speak — my darling Anne ! Speak to me — I am your poor sister Jane !" sobbed the agonized girl, continuing fondly kissing her sister's cold lips and forehead. She suddenly started, exclaimed " Oh God, she^s dead!" and sunk instantly senseless on the floor. Alas ! alas ! it was too true ; my sweet and broken-hearted patient was no more ! CHAPTER IV. CONSUMPTION — THE SPECTRAL DOG THE FORGER. Consumption, Consumption ! — Terrible, insatiable tyrant ! who can arrest thy progress, or number thy victims? why dost thou attack almost exclusively the fairest and loveliest of our species 1 why select blooming and beautiful youth instead of haggard and exhausted age 1 v/hy strike down those who are bounding blithely from the starting-post of life, rather than the decrepit beings tottering towards its goal 1 By what infernal subtlety hast thou contrived hitherto to baffle the profoundest skill of science, to fnistrate utterly the uses of experience, and disclose thyself only when thou hast irretrievably secured thy victim, and thy fangs are crimsoned with its blood 1 De- stroying angel ! — why art thou commissioned thus to smite down the first-born of agonized humanity ? What are the strange purposes of Providence, that thus letteth thee loose upon the objects of its infinite goodness 1 Alas ! how many aching hearts have been agitated with these unanswerable questions, and how many myriads are yet to be wrung and tortured by them ! 124 PASSAGES FROM THE — Let me proceed to lay before the reader a short and simple statement of one of the many cases of consumption, and all its attendant broken-hearted- ness, with which a tolerably extensive practice has, alas ! crowded my memory. The one immediately following has been selected, because it seemed to me, though destitute of varied and stirring incident, calculated on various accounts to excite peculiar interest and sympathy. Possibly there are a few who may consider the ensuing pages pervaded by a tone of exaggeration. It is not so. My heart has really ached under the task of recording the bitter premature fate of one of the most lovely and accom- plished young women I ever knew ; and the vivid recollection of her sufferings, as well as those of her anguished relations, may have led me to adopt strong language ; but not strong enough adequately to ex- press my feelings. Miss Herbert lost both her father and mother be- fore she had attained her tenth year, and was sol- emnly committed by each to the care of h'^r uncle, a baronet, who was unmarried, and, through disap- pointment in a first attachment, seemed likely to continue so to the end of his life. Two years after his brother's death, he was appointed to an eminent official situation in India, as the fortune attached to his baronetcy had suffered severely from the extra- vagance of his predecessors. He was for some time at a loss how to dispose of his little niece. Should he take her with him to India, accompanied by a first-rate governess, and have her carefully educated under his own eye ? or leave her behind in England, at one of the fashionable boarding-schools, and trust to the general surveillance of a distant female rela- tion ? He decided on the former course ; and ac- cordingly, very shortly after completing her twelfth year, this little blooming exotic W'as transplanted to the scorched soil, and destined to " waste its sweet- ness" on the sultry air of India. A more delicate DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 125 and lovely little creature than was Eliza Herbert at this period cannot be conceived. She was the only bud from a parent stem of remarkable beauty ; but, alas ! that stem was suddenly withered by consump- tion! Her father, also, fell a victim to the fierce typhus fever only half a year after the death of his wife. Little Eliza Herbert inherited, with her mo- ther's beauty, her constitutional delicacy. Her figure was so slight, that it almost suggested to the beholder the idea of transparency ; and there was a softness and languor in her azure eyes, beaming through .their long silken lashes, which told of something too refined for humanity. Her disposition fully comported with her person and habits — arch, mild, and intelligent, with a little dash of pensiveness. She loved the shade of retirement. If she occasionally flitted for a moment into the world, its glare and uproar seemed almost to stun her gentle spirit. She was, almost from infancy, devotedly fond of reading ; and sought with peculiar avidity books of sentiment. Her gifted- preceptress, one of the most amiable and refined of women, soon won her entire confidence, and found little difficulty in imparting to her apt pupil all the stores of her own superior and extensive accomplish- ments. Not a day passed over that did not find Eliza Herbert riveted more firmly in the hearts of all who came near her, from her doting uncle down to the most distant domestic. Eveiy luxury that wealth and power could procure was, of course, always at her command; her own innate propriety and just taste prompted her to prefer simplicity in all things. Flatteiy of all kinds she abhorred ; and forsook the house of a rich old English lady, who once told her to her face she was a beautiful little angel! In short, a more sweet, lovely, and amiable being than Eliza Herbert never adorned the ranks of humanity. The only fear which incessantly haunted those around her, and kept Sir in a feverish flutter of appre- liension every day of his life, M^as, that his niece L2 126 PASSAGES FROM THE was, ill his own words, "too good — loo beautiful, for this world ;" and that unseen messengers from above were already flitting around her, ready to claim her suddenly for the skies. He has often de- scribed to me his feelings on this subject. He seemed conscious that he had no right to reckon on the continuance of her life; he felt, whenever he thought of her, an involuntary appreliension that she would, at no distant period, suddenly fade from his sight ; he was afraid, he said, to let out the whole of his heart's affections on her. Like the oriental merchant, who shudders while freighting " one bark — one little, fragile bark," with the dazzling stores of his immense all, and committing it to the capri- cious dominion of wind and waves, — so Sir often declared, that at the period I am alluding to he experienced cruel misgivings, that if he embarked the whole of his soul's loves on little Eliza Herbert, they were fated to be shipwrecked. Yet he regarded her every day with feelings which soon heightened into absolute idolatry. His fond anxieties soon suggested to him that so delicate and fragile a being as his niece, supposing for a moment the existence of any real grounds of apprehension that her constitution bore an hereditary taint, could not be thrown into a directer path for her grave than in India; that any latent, lurking tendency to consumption would be quickened and developed with fatal rapidity in the burning atmos- phere she was then breathing. His mind, once thoroughly suifused with alarms of this sort, could not ever afterward be dispossessed of them ; and he accordingly determined to relinquish his situation in India the instant he should have realized, from one quarter or another, sufficient to enable him to return to England, and support an establishment suitable to his station in society. About five years had elapsed since his arrival in India, during which he had contrived to save a large portion of his very DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 127 ample income, when news reached him that a con- siderable fortune had fallen to him, from the sudden death of a remote relation. The intelligence made him comparatively a happy man. He instantly set on foot arrangements for returning to England, and procuring the immediate appointment of his suc- cessor. Unknown to his niece, about a year after his arrival in India, Sir had confidentially consulted the most eminent physician on the spot. In obedience to the injunctions of the baronet. Dr. C was in the habit of dropping in frequently, as if accidentally, to dinner, for the purpose of marking Miss Herbert's demeanour, and ascertaining whether there was, so to speak, the very faintest adumbration of any con- sumptive tendency. But no — his quick and prac- tised eye detected no morbid indications ; and he reiteratedly gladdened the baronet's heart, by as- suring him that, in any present evidence to the con- trary, little Miss Herbert bade as fair for long and healthy hfe as any Avoman breathing, especially if she soon returned to the more salubrious climate of England. Though Dr. C had never spoken professionally to her, Eliza Herbert was too quick and shrewd an observer to continue unapprized of the object of his frequent visits to her uncle's house. She had not failed to notice his searching glances; and knew well that he watched almost everj^ mouth- ful of food she eat, and scrutinized all her movements. He had once also ventured to feel her pulse, in a half-in-earnest, half-in-joke manner, and put one or two questions to the governess about ^liss Herbert's general habits, which that good, easy, communicative creature unfortunately told her inquisitive little pupil. NoAV, there are few things more alarming and irri- tating to young people, even if consciously enjoying the most robust health, than suddenly to find that they have long been, and still are, the objects of anxious medical surveillance. They begin naturally to sus- 128 PASSAGES FROM THE pect that there must be very good reason for it, and especially in the case of nervous, irritable tem- peraments; their peace of mind is thenceforward destroyed by torturing apprehensions that they are the doomed victims of some insidious, incurable mal- ady. I have often and often known illustrations of this. Sir also was aware of its ill conse- quences, and endeavoured to avert even the shadow of a suspicion from his niece's mind as to the real object of Dr. C 's visits, by formally introducing him, from the first, as one of his own intimate friends. He therefore flattered himself that liis niece was pro- foundly ignorant of the existence of his anxieties concerning her health ; and was not a little startled one morning by Miss Herbert's abruptly entering his study, and, pale with ill-disguised anxiety, inquiring if there was "■ any thing the matter with her." Was she unconsciously ya//m^ i7ito a decline ? she asked, almost in so many words. Her uncle was so con- founded by the suddenness of the affair, that he lost his presence of mind, changed colour a little, and, with a consciously embarrassed air, assured her that it was " no such thing," — " quite a mistake — a very ridiculous one," — "a childish whim," &c. &c. &c. He was so very earnest and energetic in his assu- rances that there was no earthly ground for appre- hension, and, in short, concealed his alarm so clum- sily, that his poor niece, though she left him with a kiss and a smile, and affected to be satisfied, retired to her own room, and from that melancholy moment resigned herself to her grave. Of tliis she herself, three years subsequently, in England, assured me. She never afterward recovered that gentle buoyancy and elasticity of spirits which made her burst upon her few friends and acquaintance lik^^a little lively - sunbeam of cheerfulness and gayety.' She felt per- petually haunted by gloomy though vague suspi- cions that there was something rarf/ca//?/ rtron^ in her constitution; that it was from her biith sown DL\RY OP A LATE PHYSICIAN. 129 with the seeds of death ; and that no earthly power could eradicate them. Though she resigned herself to the dominion of such harassing thoughts as these while alone, and even shed tears abundantly, she succeeded in banishing, to a gi'eat extent, her uncle's disquietude, by assuming even gi'eater gayety of de- meanour than before. The baronet took occasion to mention the little incident above related to Dr. C ; and was excessively agitated to see the physician assume a very serious air. " This may be attended with more mischief than you are aware of, Sir ," he replied. " I feel it my duty to tell you how miserably unfortunate for her it is that Miss Herbert has at last detected your restless uneasiness about her health, and the means you have taken to watch her constitution. Hence- forward she may appear satisfied — but mark her if she can forget it. You will find her fall frequently into momentaiy fits of absence and thoughtfulness. She will brood over it," continued Dr. C . "Why, good God! doctor,'\replied the baronet, " what's the use of frightening one thus ? Do you think my niece is the first girl who has known that her friends are anxious about her health % If she is really, as you tell her, free from disease — why, the devil ! — can she fancy herself into a consumption V " No, no. Sir ; but incessant alarm may acce- lerate the evil you dread, and predispose her to sink, her energies to droop, under the blow — however lightly it may at first fall— which has been so long impending. And besides, Sir , I did not say she was free from disease, but only that I had not dis- cerned any present symptoms of disease." " Oh, stuiF, stuff, doctor ! nonsense !" muttered the baronet, rising, and pacing the room with excessive agitation. "Can't the girl be laughed out of her fears 1" It may be easily believed that Sir spent every future moment of his stay in India in an agony of 130 PASSAGES FROM THE apprehension. His fears exaggerated the slightest indication of his niece's temporar}'- indisposition into a symptom of consumption ; any thing like a cough from her would send him to a pillow of thorns ; and her occasional refusal of food at meal-times was re- ceived with undisguised trepidation on the part of her uncle. If he overtook her at a distance, walking out with her governess, he would follow unperceived, and strain his eyesight with endeavouring to detect any thing like feebleness in her gait. These inces- sant and very natural anxieties about the only being he loved in the world, enhanced by his efforts to conceal them, sensibly impaired his own health and spirits. He grew fretful and irritable in his demean- our towards every member of his establishment, and could not completely fix his thoughts for the transaction of his important official busines^ This may be thought an overstrained representa- tion of Sir 's state of mind respecting his niece ; but by none except a young, thoughtless, or heartless reader. Let the thousand— the million heart -wrung parents who have mourned, and are now mourning, over their consumptive offspring — let them^ I say, echo the truth of the sentiments I am expressing. Let those whose bitter fate it is to see " The bark, so richly freighted \vith their love," gradually sinking, shipwrecked before their very eyes, say whether the pen or tongue of man can fur- nish adequate words to give expression to their an- guished feelings ! Eighteen years of age, within a trifle, was Miss Herbert when she again set foot on her native land,, and the eyes and heait of her idolizing uncle leaped for joy to see her augmented health and loveliness, which he fondly flattered himself might now be destined to " Grow with her growth, and strengthen with her strength." DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 131 The voyage, though long and monotonous as usual, with its fresh breezy balminess, had given an impetus to her animated spirits; and as her slight figure stepped down the side of the gloomy colossal Indiaman wliich had brought her across the seas, her blue eye was bright as that of a seraph; her beauteous cheeks glowed with a soft and rich crim- son, and there was a lightness, ease, and elasticity in her movements, as she tripped the short dis- tance between the vessel and the carriage which was in waiting to convey them to town, that filled her doting micle with feelings of almost phrensied joy. "God Almighty bless thee, my darling! Bless thee — bless thee for ever, my pride! my jewel! — Long and happy be thy life in merry England !" sobbed the baronet, folding her almost convulsively in his arms as soon as they were seated in the car- riage, and giving her the first kiss of welcome to her native shores. The second day after they were established at one of the hotels, while Miss Herbert and her governess were riding the round of fashion- able shopping, Sir drove alone to the late Dr. Baillie. In a long interview (they were personal friends) he communicated all his distressing appre- hensions about his niece's state of health, imploring him to say whether he had any real cause of alarm whatever, immediate or prospective; andAvhat course and plan of life he would recommend for the future. Dr. Baillie, after many and minute inquiries, con- tented himself with saying, that he saw no grounds for present apprehensions. " It certainly did sonie- times happen, that a dehcate daughter of a consump- tive parent inherited her mother's tendencies to dis- ease," he said. "And as for her future life and habits, there was not the slightest occasion for medi- cine of any kind ; she must live almost entirely in the country, take plenty of fresh dry air and exercise — especially eschew late hours and company ;" and 132 PASSAGES FROM THE he hinted, finally, the advantages, and almost the necessity, of xin early matrimonial engagement. It need hardly be said that Sir resolved most religiously to follow this advice to the letter. " I'll come and dine with you in Dover-street, at seven to-day," said Dr. Baillie, " and make my own observations." "Thank you, doctor — but — but we dine out to- day," muttered the baronet, rather faintly, adding, inwardly, "no, no! — no more medical espionage — no, no !" Sir purchased a very beautiful mansion, which then happened to be for sale, situated within ten or twelve miles of London ; and thither he removed as soon as ever the preliminary arrangements could be completed. The shrine and its divinity were worthy of each other. Hall was one of the most charming, picturesque residences in the county. It was a fine, antique, semi-Gothic structure, almost obscured from sight in the profound gloom of forest shade. The delicious velvet greensward, spread immediately in front of the house, seemed formed for the gentle foot- steps of Miss Herbert. When you went there, if you looked carefully about, you might discover a little white tuft glistening on some part or other of the " smooth, soft-shaven lawn :" it was her pet lamb, cropping the crisp and rich herbage. Little thing! it would scarce submit to be fondled by any hand but that of its innocent indulgent mistress. She also might occasionally be seen there, wander- ing thoughtfully along, with a book in her hand — Tasso, probably, or Dante — and her loose light hair straying from beneath a gipsy bonnet, commingling in pleasant contact with a saffron-coloured riband. Her uncle would sit for an hour together, at a corner of his study-window, overlooking the lawn, and never remove his eyes from the figure of his fair niece. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 133 Miss Herbert was now talked of every where in the neighbourhood as the pride of the place — the star of the comity. She budded forth almost visibly; and though her exquisite form was developing daily, till her matured womanly proportions seemed to have been cast in tlie mould of the V^enus de Medici, though on a scale of more slenderness and delicacy, it was, nevertheless, outstripped by the precocious expanding of her intellect. The sympathies of her soul were attuned to the deepest and most refined sentiment. She was passionately fond of poetry, and never wandered without the sphere of what was first-rate. Dante and ^Milton were her constant com- panions by day and night ; and it was a treat to hear the melUfluous cadences of the former uttered by the soft and rich voice of INIiss Herbert. She could not more satisfactorily evidence her profound appre- ciation of the true spirit of poetry than by her almost idolatrous admiration of the kindred genius of Handel and Mozart. She was scarcely ever known to play any other music than theirs; she would listen to none but the "mighty voices of those dim spirits." And then she was "the most amiable and charitable creature that sure ever trod the earth! How many colds, — slight, to be sure, and evanescent, — had she caught, and how many rebukes from the alarmed fondness of her uncle had she suffered in conse- quence, through her frequent visits, in all weathers, to the cottages of the poor and sick I — " You are de- scribing an ideal being, and investing it with all the graces and virtues — one that never really existed," perhaps exclaims one of my readers. There are not a few now living who could answer for the truth of my poor and faint description ^vith anguish and re- gret. Frequently, on seeing such instances of pre- cocious developement of the powers of both mind and body, the curt and correct expression of Quin- tilian has occurred to my mind with painful force — "Quod obscrvatum fere est, celerius occidcre /csii- .M 134 PASSAGES FROM THE natam maturitatem ;"* aptly rendered by the English proverb, " Soon ripe, soon rotten." The latter part of Dr. Baillie's advice was anx- iously kept in view by Sir ; and soon after Miss Herbert had completed her twentieth year, he had the satisfaction of seeing- her encourage the atten- tions of a Captain , the third son of a neigh- bouring nobleman. He was a remarkably fine and handsome young man, of a very superior spirit, and fully capable of appreciating the value of her whose hand he sought. Sir was delighted almost to ecstasy when he extracted from the trembling, blush- ing girl a confession that Captain 's company was any thing but disagreeable to her. The young military hero was, of course, soon recognised as her suitor; and a handsome couple, people said, they would make. Miss Herbert's health seemed more robust, and her spirits more buoyant than ever. How, indeed, could it be otherwise, when she was daily riding in an open carriage, or on horseback, over a fine, breezy, champaign country, by the side of the gay, handsome fascinating Captain ? The baronet was sitting one morning in his study, having the day before returned from a month's visit to some friends in Ireland, and engaged with some important letters from India, when ^Iiss B , his niece's governess, sent a message requesting to speak in private with him. When she entered, her embar- rassed and somewhat flurried manner not a little surprised Sir . "How is Ehzal— How is Eliza, Miss B ?" he inquired hastily, laying aside his reading-glasses. " Very well," she replied, " very ;" and after a little fencing about the necessity of making allowance for the exaggeration of alarm and anxiety, she proceeded to inform him, that Miss Herbert had latterly passed ■♦ De Inst. Orat. lib. iv. In proemio. DIARY OF A LATE THYSICIAX. 135 restless nights ; that her sleep was not unfrequently broken by a cough — a sort of faint chirchyard'coughy she said, it seemed — which had not been noticed for some time, till it was accompanied by other symp- toms "Gracious God! madam, how was this not told me before ] Why — why did you not write to me in Ireland about it V inquired Sir , with excessive trepidation. He could scarcely sit in his chair, and grew very pale ; while Miss B , herself equally agitated, went on to mention profuse night- sweats, a disinclination for food, exhaustion from the slightest exercise, a feverishness every evening, and a faint hectic flush — " Oh, plague-spot /" groaned the baronet, almost choked, letting fall his reading-glasses. He tottered towards the bell, and the valet was directed to order the carriage for town immediately. " What — M-hat possible excuse can I devise for bringing Dr. Baillie here V said he to the governess, as he was drawing on his gloves. " Well, well, I'll leave it to you ; do what you can. For God's sake, madam, prepare her to see him somehow or another, for the doctor and I shall certainly be here together this evening. Oh! — say I'm called up to town on sudden business, and thought I might as well bring him on with me, as he is visiting a patient in the neighbourhood. Oh, any thing, madam, any thing !" He hardly knew what he was saying. Dr. Baillie, however, could not come, being him- self at Brighton an invalid, and the baronet was therefore pleased, though with ill-disguised chagrin, to summon me to supply his place. On my way down, he put me in possession of most of tlie facts above narrated. He implored me, in tenderness to his agitated feelings, to summon all the tact I had ever acquired, and alarm the object of my visit as little as possible. I was especially to guard against appearing to know too much ; I was to beat about tlie bush— to extract her symptoms gradually, &e. 136 PASSAGES FROM THE &c. I never saw the fondest, the most doting father or mother more agitated about an only child than was Sir about his niece. He protested that he could not survive her death ; that she was the only- prop and pride of his declining years, and that he must fall if he lost her ; and made use of many simi- lar expressions. It was in vain that I besought him not to allow himself to be carried so much away with his fears. He must let me see her, and have an opportunity of judging whether there were any real cause of alarm, I said ; and he might rely on my honour as a gentleman, that I would be frank and candid with him to the very utmost — I would tell him the worst. I reminded him of the possibil- ity that the symptoms he mentioned might not really exist ; that they might have been seen by Miss B through the distorting and magnifying medium of apprehension ; and that, even if they did really exist — why, that — that — they were not always the pre- cursors of consumption, I stammered, against my own convictions. It is impossible to describe the emotions excited in the baronet by my simple utter- ing the word "consumption." He said it stabbed him through the heart ! On arriving at Hall, the baronet and I in- stantly repaired to the drawing-room, where Miss Herbert and her governess were sitting at tea. The pensive sunlight of September shone through the Gothic window near which they were sitting. Miss Herbert was dressed in white, and looked really dazzlingly beautiful; but the first transient glance warned me that the worst might be apprehended. I had that very morning been at the bedside of a dying young lady, a martyr to that very disease, which commenced by investing its victim with a tenfold splendour of personal beauty, to be compensated for by sudden and rapid decay! Miss Herbert's eyes were lustrous as diamonds ; and the complexion of her cheeks, pure and fair as that of the lily, was sur- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 137 niounted with an intense, circumscribed, crimson flush — alas, alas ! the very "plague-spot" of liectic — of consumption. She saluted me silentlj', and her eyes glanced hurriedly from me to her uncle, and from him again to me. His disordered air defied disguise. She M^as evidently apprized of my coming, as well as of the occasion of my visit. Indeed, there was a visible embarrassment about all four of us, which I felt I was expected to dissipate by introducing indif- ferent topics of conversation. This I attempted, but with little success. Miss Herbert's tea M^as be- fore her, on a little ebony stand, untouched ; and it was evidently a violent effort only that enabled her to continue in the room. She looked repeatedly at Miss B , as though she wished to be gone. After about half an hour's time, I alluded complimentarily to what I had heard of her performance on the piano ; she smiled coldly and rather contemptuously, as though she saw the part I was playing. Nothing daunted, hoAvever, I begged her to favour me with one of Haydn's sonatas ; and she went immediately to the piano, and played what I asked — I need hardly say, very exquisitely. Her uncle then withdrew, for the alleged purpose of answering a letter, as had been arranged between us ; and I was then left alone with the two ladies. I need not fatigue the reader with a minute description of all that passed. I in- troduced the object of my visit as casually and gently as I could, and succeeded more easily than I had anticipated in quieting her alajms. The answers she gave to my questions amply corroborated the truth of the account given by Miss B to the baronet. Her feverish accelerated pulse, also, told of the hot blighting breathings of the destroying angel, who was already hovering close around his victim ! I was compelled to smile with an assumed air of gayety and nonchalance, while listening to the poor girl's unconscious disclosures of various little M2 138 PASSAGES FROM THE matters, which amounted to infallible evidence that she was already beyond the reach of medicine. I bade her adieu, complimenting her on her charming looks, and expressing my dehght at finding so little occasion for my professional services ! She looked at me with a half-incredulous, half-confiding eye, and with much girlish simplicity and frankness put her hand into mine, thanking me for dispersing her fears, and begging me to do the same for her uncle. I afterward learned, that as soon as I left the room, she burst into a flood of tears, and sighed and sobbed all the rest of the evening. With Sir 1 felt it my duty to be candid. Why should I conceal the worst from him, when I felt as certain as I was of my own existence that his beau- tiful niece was already begimiing to wither away from before his eyes 1 Convinced that " hope de- ferred maketli sick the heart," I have always in such cases warned the patient's friends, long beforehand, of the inevitable fate awaiting the object of their anxious hopes and fears, in order that resignation might gradually steal thoroughly into their broken hearts. — To return. I was conducted to the baro- net's study, where he was standing with his hat and gloves on, ready to accompany me as far as the high road, in order that I might wait the arrival of a London coach. I told him, in short, that I feared I had sfeen and heard too much to allow a doubt that his niece's present symptoms were those of the com- mencing stage of pulmonary consumption ; and that though medicine and change of climate might possi- bly avert the evil day for a time, it was my melan- choly duty to assure him that no earthly power could save her. " jMerciful God !" he gasped, loosing his arm from mine, and leaning against *the park gate, at which we had arrived. 1 implored him to l^/;alm. He continued speechless for some time, wTtn his hands clasped. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 139 " Oh, doctor, doctor !" he exclaimed, as if a gleam of hope had suddenly flashed across his mind, " we've forgot to tell you a most material thing, which per- haps will alter the whole case — oh, how could we have forgotten it!" he continued, growing heated with the thought; "my niece eats veiy heartily — nay, more heartily than any of us, and seems to relish her food more." Alas ! I was obliged, as I have hundreds of times before been obliged, to dash the cup from his lips, by assuring him that an almost ravenous appetite was as invariably a forerumier of consumption as the pilot-fish of the shark ! " Oh, great God, w^hat will become of me ! Wliat shall I do ]" he exclaimed, almost frantic, and wring- ing his hands in despair. He had lost every vestige of self-control. " Then my sweet angel must die ! Damning thought ! Oh, let me die too! I cannot, I will not survive her! — Doctor, doctor, you must give up your London practice, and come and live in my house — you must ! By G — , FU fling my v.hole fortune at your feet ! Only save her, and )^ou and yours shall Mallow in w^ealth, if I go back to India to procure it ! — Oh, whither— whither shall 1 go with my darling? To Italy—France 1— My God! what shall I do when she is gone for ever !" he exclaimed, like one distracted. I entreated him to recollect himself, and endeavour to regain his self-possession before returning to the presence of his niece. He started. "Oh, mockery, doctor, mockery! How can I ever look on the dear girl again? She is no longer mine ; she is in her grave — she is !" Remonstrance and expostulation, I saw, were ut- terly useless, and worse, for they served only to irri- tate. The coach shortly afterward drew up ; and, wringing my hands, Sir extorted a.promise tliat I would see his niece the next day, and bring Dr. Baillie with me, if he should have returned to town. I was as good as my word, except that Dr. Baillie could not accompany me, being still at Brighton. 140 PASSAGES FROM THE My second interview witli Miss Herbert was long', and painfully interesting. Slie and I were alone. She wept bitterly, and recounted the incident before mentioned which occurred in India, and occasioned her first serious alarm. She felt convinced, she told me, that her case was hopeless ; she saw, too, that her uncle possessed a similar conviction, and sobbed agonizingly when she alluded to his altered looks. She had felt a presentiment, she said, for some months past, which, however, she had never men- tioned till then, that her days were numbered; and attributed, too truly, her accelerated illness to the noxious clime of India. She described her sensa- tions to be that of a constant void within, as if there were a something wanting — an unnatural hollowness — a dull, deep aching in the left side — a frequent in- clination to relieve herself by spitting, which, when she did, alas ! alas ! she observed more than once to be streaked with blood. " How long do you think I have to live, doctor?" she inquired, faintly. " Oh, my dear madam, do not, for heaven's sake, ask such useless questions! How can I possibly presume to answer them, giving you credit for a spark of common sense V She grew very pale, and wiped her forehead. "Is it likely that I shall have to endure much pain?" she asked, with increasing trepidation. I could reply only, that I hoped not — that there was no ground for immediate apprehension; and I fal- tered, that possibly a milder climate and the skill of medicine might yet carry her througli. The poor girl shook her head hopelessly, and trembled vio- lently from head to foot. "Oh, poor uncle! — Poor, poor Edw ." She faltered, and fell fainting into my arms ; for the latter allusion to Captain had completely overcome her. Holding her senseless, sylphlike figure in my arms, I hurried to the bell, and was immediately DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 141 joined by Sir , the governess, and one or two female attendants. I saw the baronet was begin- ning to behave like a madman, by the increasing boisterousness of his manner, and the occasional glare of wildness that shot from his eye. With the utmost difficulty I succeeded in forcing him from the room, and keeping him out till Miss Herbert had re- covered. " Oh, doctor, doctor !" he muttered hoarsely, after staggering to a seat, " this is worse than death. I pray God to take her and me, too, and put an end to our miseiy !" I expostulated with him rather sternly, and repre- sented to him the absurdity and impiousness of his wish. " D — n — n !" he thundered, starting from his chair, and stamping furiously to and fro across the room. *' What the do you mean by snivelling in that way, doctor? Can I see my darling dying — abso- lutely dying by inches — before my very eyes, and yet be cool and unconcerned 1 I did not expect such conduct from you, doctor ;" — he burst into tears. "Oh! Fm going mad! — I'm going mad!" and he sunk again into his seat. From one or two efforts he made to gulp down again, as it were, the emo- tions which were swelling and dilating his whole frame, I seriously apprehended either that he would fall into a fit or go absolutely raving mad. Happily, however, I was mistaken. His fearful excitement gradually subsided. He was a man of remarkably strong and ardent feelings, which he had never been accustomed to control even in the moments of their most violent manifestations; and on the present occasion, the maddening thought that the object of his long, intense, and idolizing love and pride was about to be lost to him irretrievably — for ever — was sufficient to overturn his shaken intellects. I pre- vailed upon him to continue where he was till I re- turned from his niece, for I was summoned to her 142 PASSAGES FROM THE chamber. I found her lying on the bed, only par- tially undressed. Her beautiful auburn hair hung disordered over her neck and shoulders, partially concealing her lovely marble-hued features. Her left hand covered her eyes, and her right clasped a little locket, suspended round her neck by a plain black riband, containing a little of Captain 's hair. Miss B , her governess, her maid, and the housekeeper, with tears and sobs, were engaged in rendering various little services to their unfortunate young mistress ; and my lieart ached to think of the little — the nothing — / could do for her. Two days afterward. Dr. Baillie, another physi- cian, and myself went down to see Miss Herbert ; for a note from Miss B informed me that her ward had suffered severely from the agitation expe- rienced at the last visit I had paid her, and was in a low nervous fever. The consumptive symptoms, also, were beginning to gleam through the haze of accidental indisposition with fearful distinctness. Dr. Baillie simply assured the baronet that my pre- dictions were but too likely to be verified ; and that the only chance of averting the worst form of con- sumption (a galloping one) would be an instant removal to Italy, that the fall of the 3'^ear and the winter season might be spent in a more genial and fostering climate. We, at the same time, frankly assured Sir ;, who listened with a sullen, despair- ing apathy of manner, that the utmost he had to ex- pect from a visit to Italy was the faintest chance of a temporary suspension of the fate which hovered over his niece. In a few weeks, accordingly, they were all settled at Naples. But what have I to say, all this time, the reader is possibly asking, about the individual who was singled out by fate for the first and heaviest stroke inflicted by Miss Herbert's approaching dissolution? Where was the lover? Where was Captain ? I have avoided allusions to him hitherto, because his DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICLVN. 143 distress and agitation transcended all my powers of description. He loved Miss Herbert with all the passionate romantic fervour of a first attachment; and the reader must ask his own heart what were the feelings by which that of Captain was lacerated. I shall content myself with recording one little incident which occurred before the family of Sir left for Italy. I was retiring one night to rest, about twelve o'clock, when the startling summons of the night-bell brought me again down-stairs, accompa- nied by a servant. Thrice the bell rung with impa- tient violence before the door could possibly be opened, and I heard the steps of some vehicle let down hastily. " Is Dr. at home ]" inquired a groom, and be- ing answered in the affu'mative, in a second or two a gentleman leaped from the chariot standing at the door, and hurried into the room whither I had retired to await him. He was in a sort of half-military trav- elling dress. His face was pale, his eye sunk, his air disordered, and his voice thick and flurried. It was Captain , who had been absent on a shooting excursion in Scotland, and who had not received inteUigence of the alarming symptoms dis- closed by Miss Herbert till within four days of that v/hich found him at my house, on the present occa- sion, come to ascertain from me the reality of the melancholy apprehensions so suddenly entertained by Sir and the other members of both families. "Good God! is there no liope, doctor 1" he in- quired, faintly, after swallowing a glass of wine, which, seeing his exliaustion and agitation, I had sent for. I endeavoured to evade giving a direct answer — attempted to divert his thoughts towards the projected trip to the continent — dilated on the soothing, balmy climate she would have to breathe — it had done wonders for others, &c. &c. ; and, in a word, exhausted the stock of inefficient subterfuges 144 PASSAGES FROM THE and palliatives to which all professional men are on such occasions com])elled to resort. Captain listened to me silently, while his eye was fixed on me with a vacant imobserving stare. His utter wretchedness touched me to the soul ; and yet what consolation had I to offer him 1 After several pro- found sighs, he exclaimed, in a flurried tone, " I see how it is. Her fate is fixed, and so is mine ! Would to God — would to God I had never seen or known Miss Herbert ! — What will become of us !" He rose to go. " Doctor, forgive me for troubling you so late, but really I can rest nowhere ! I must go back to Hall." I shook hands with him, and in a few moments the chariot dashed off. Really I can scarcely conceive of a more dreadful state of mind than that of Captain , or of any one whose "heart is in the right place," to use a homely but apt expression, when placed in such wretched circumstances as those above related. To see the death-warrant sealed of her a man's soul dotes on — who is the idolized object of his holiest, fondest, and possibly Jirst affections ! — yes, to see her bright and beautiful form suddenly snatched do^vn into " utter darkmess" by the cold, relentless grasp of our common foe — the " desire of our eyes taken away as with a stroke" — may well wither one ! That man's soul which would not be palsied, prostrated by such a stroke as this is worthless, and worse — it is a foul libel on his kind. He cannot love a woman as she should and must be loved. Why am I so vehement in expressing my feelings on this subject ? Because in the course of my pro- fessional intercourse my soul has been often sick- ened with listening to the expression of opposite sentiments. The poor and pitiful philosophy — that the \vord should ever have been so prostituted! — which is now sneaking in among us, fostered by foolish ears, and men with hollow hearts and barren brains, for the purpose of weeding out from the soul's DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 145 garden its richest and choicest flowers, sympathy and sentiment — this philosophy may possibly prompt some reader to sneer over the agonies I have been attempting- to describe ; but, oh, reader, do you eschew it — trample on it — trample on it whenever, wherever you find it, for the reptile, though very little, is very venomous. Captain 's regiment was ordered to Ireland ; and as he found it impossible to accompany it, he sold out, and presently followed the heart-broken baronet and his niece to Italy. The delicious cli- mate sufficed to kindle and foster for a while that deceitful igrds JrUims, ho\je,\vhich. always flits before in the gloomy horizon of consumptive patients, and leads them and their friends on — and on — and on — till it suddenly sinks quivering into their grave ! — They staid at Naples till the month of July. Miss Herbert was smking, and that with fearfully accele- rated rapidity. Sir 's health was much impaired with incessant anxiety and watching ; and Captain had been several tim.es on the very borders of madness. His love for the dear being who could never be his increased ten thousand fold when he found it hopeless ! — Is it not always so 1 Aware that her da^^s were numbered, Miss Herbert anxiously importuned her uncle to return to England. She wished, she said, to breathe her last in her native isle, among the green pastures and hills of shire, and to be buried with her father and mother. Sir listened to the utterance of these sentiments with a breaking heart. He could see no reason for refusing a compliance with her request ; and accord- ingly the latter end of August beheld the unhappy family once more at Hall. I once saw a very beautiful lily, of rather more than ordinary stateliness, whose stem had been snapped by the storm over-night ; and on entering my garden in the morning, alas, alas ! there lay the pride of all chaste flowers, pallid and prostrate on N 146 PASSAGES FROM THE the very bed where it had a short while before bloomed so sweetly ! This little circumstance was forcibly recalled to my recollection on seeing Miss Herbert for the first time after her return from the continent. It was in the spacious drawing-room at Hall, where I had before seen her in the eve- ning; and she was reclining on an ottoman, which had been drawn towards the large fretted Gothic window formerly mentioned. I stole towards it with noiseless footsteps, for the hushing, cautioning movements of those present warned me that Miss Herbert was asleep. I stood and gazed in silence for some moments on the lovely unfortunate, almost afraid to disturb her even by breathing. She was wasted almost to a shadow, — attenuated to nearly ethereal delicacy and transparency. She was dressed in a plain white muslin gown, and lying on an Indian shawl, in which she had been enveloped for the pur- pose of being brought down from her bedchamber. Her small foot and ankle were concealed beneath white silk stockings and satin slippers, through which it might be seen how they were shrunk from the full dimensions of healtli. They seemed, indeed, rather the exquisite chiselling of Canova, the repre- sentation of recumbent beauty, than flesh and blood, and scarcely capable of sustaining even the slight pressure of Miss Herbert's wasted frame. The arms and hands were enveloped in long white gloves, which fitted very loosely ; and her waist, encircled by a broad violet-coloured riband, was rather that of a young girl of twelve or thirteen than a full- grown woman. But it was her countenance — her symmetrical features, sunk, faded, and damp with death-dews, and her auburn hair falling in rich, mat- ted, careless clusters down each side of her alabaster temples and neck— it was all this which suggested the bitterest thoughts of blighted beauty, almost breaking the heart of the beholder. Perfectly mo- tionless and statuelike lay that fair creature, breath- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 147 inor SO imperceptibly that a rose-leaf might have slept on her lips unfliittered. On an easy-chair, drawn towards the head of the ottoman, sat her uncle, Sir , holding a white cambric handker- chief in his hand, with which he from time to time Aviped off the dews which started out incessantly on his niece's palHd forehead. It was affecting to see his hair changed to a dull iron-gray hue ; whereas, before he had left for the continent, it Avas jet-black. His sallow and worn features bore the traces of recent tears. And where norv is the lover? Where is Captain 1 again inquires the reader. He was then at INIilan, raving beneath the tortures and delirium of a brain-fever, which flung him on his sick-bed only the day before Sir 's family set out for England. Miss Herbert had not been told of the circumstance till she arrived at home ; and those who communi- cated the intelligence will never undertake such a duty again ! After some time, in which we around had main- tained perfect silence, Miss Herbert gently opened her eyes ; and seeing me silting opposite her uncle, by her side, gave me her hand, and with a faint smile, whispered some ^vords of welcome which I could not distinguish. " Am I much altered, doctor, since you saw me last]" she presently inquired, in a more audible tone. I said I regretted to see her so feeble and emaciated. " And does not my poor uncle also look very ill 1" inquired the poor girl, eying him with a look of sor- rowful fondness. She feebly extended her arms, as if for the pui-pose of putting them round his neck, and he seized and kissed them with such fervour, that she burst into tears. " Your kindness is killing me; oh, don't, don't!" she murmured. He was so overpowered with his emotions, that he abruptly rose and left the room. I then made many minute inquiries about the state of her health. I could 148 PASSAGES FROM THE hardly detect any pulsation at the wrist, though the blue veins and almost the arteries, 1 fancied, might be seen meandering beneath the transparent skin. * * * INIy feelings will not allow me, nor would my space, to describe every interview I had with her. She sunk very rapidly. She exhibited all those sudden deceitful rallyings which invariably agonize consumptive patients and their friends with fruitless hopes of recovery. Oh, how they are clung to ! how hard to persuade their fond hearts to relinquish them ! with what despairing obstinacy will they persist in " hoping against hope !" I recollect one evening, in particular, that her shattered energies were so un- accountably revived and collected — her eye grew so full and bright — her cheeks were suffused with so rich a vermihon — her voice soft and sweet as ever, and her spirits so exhilarated — that even / was stag- gered for a moment ; and poor Sir got so ex- cited, that he said to me in a sort of ecstasy, as he accompanied me to my carriage, "Ah, doctor, a phcznix^ doctor! a phcsnix. She's rising from her ashes — ah! ha! She'll cheat you for once — darhng!" and he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, for they were overflowing. " Doctor, you're fond of music, I believe ; you will not have any objection to listen to a little now, M'ill you 1 I'm exactly in the mood for it, and it's almost the only enjoyment I have left, and Miss B plays enchantingly. Go, love, please, and play a mass from Mozart — the one we listened to last night," said Miss Herbert, on one occasion, about a week after the interview last mentioned. Miss B , who was in tears, immediately rose, and took her seat at the piano. She played with exquisite taste and skill. I held one of my sweet patient's hands in mine, as she lay on the sofa, with her face turned towards the window, through which the retiring sunlight was streaming in tender radiance on her wasted features, after tinting the amber-hued groves which were DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 14'9 visible through the window. I need not attempt to characterize the melting music which Miss B was pouring from the piano. I have often thought that there is a sort of spiritual, unearthly character about some of the masses of Mozart, M^hich draws out the greatest sympathies of one's nature, striking the deepest and most hidden chords of the human heart. On the present occasion, the peculiar cir- cumstances in which I was placed — the time — the place — the dying angel whose hand was clasped in mine — disposed me to a more intense appreciation of Mozart's music than I had ever known before. The soft, soothing, solemn, swelling cadences un- dulated one after another into my full heart, till they forced the tears to gush from my eyes. I was utterly- overcome. Oh, that languishing, heart-breaking music I can never forget ! the form of Eliza Herbert flits before me to this day when I hear it spoken of. I will not listen to any one play it now ; though I have often wept since on hearing it from Miss B , to whom Miss Herbert bequeathed her piano. — To return. My tears flowed fast ; and I perceived also the crystal drops oozing through the closed eyelids of Miss Herbert. " Heart-breaking music, is it not, doctor ?" she murmured. I could make her no reply. I felt at that moment as if I could have laid down my life for her. After a long pause. Miss B continuing all the while playing, Miss Herbert sobbed, " Oh, how I should like to be buried while the organ is playing this music ! And he — he was fond of it, too !" she continued, with a long, shuddering sigh. It was echoed, to my surprise, but in a profomider tone, from that quarter of the room where the grand- piano was placed. It could not have been from Miss B , I felt sure ; and looking towards her, I beheld the dim outline of Sir 's figure leaning against the piano, with his face buried in his white handker- chief. He had stolen into the room unperceived — far he had left it half an hour before, in a fit of sudden N2 150 PASSAGES FROM THE agitation — and after continuing- about five minutes, was compelled by his feelings again to retire. His sigh and the noise he made in withdrawing had been heard by Miss Herbert. " Doctor — doctor," she stammered faintly, turning as white as ashes, " who — who is that 1 what was it? — Oh, dear — it can never be — no — no — it can- not" — and she suddenly fainted. She continued so long insensible that I began to fear it was all over. Gradually, however, she recovered, and was carried up to bed, which she did not leave again for a week. I mentioned, I think, in a former part of this nar- rative, Miss Herbert's partiality for poetry, and that her readings were confined to that which was of the highest order. While sitting by her bedside, I have heard her utter often very beautiful thoughts, sug- gested by the bitterness of her own premature fate. All — all are treasured in my heart ! I have not attempted to describe her feelings with reference to Captain , simply because I cannot do them justice, without, perhaps, incurring the reader's suspicions that I am slipping into the char- acter of the novelist. She did not know that Cap- tain continued yet at death's door at Milan, for we felt bound to spare her feelings. We fabri- cated a story that he had been summoned into Egypt, to inquire after the fate of a brother who had travelled thither, and whose fate, we said, w^as doubtful. Poor girl! she believed us at last, and seemed rather in- clined to accuse him of unkindness for allowing a7iy thing to witlidraw him from her side. She never, however, said any thing directly of this kind. It is hardly necessary to say that Captain . never knew of the fiction. I have never, to this day, en- tirely forgiven myself for the part I took in it. I found her one morning within a few days of her death wretchedly exhausted both in mind and body. She had passed, as usual, a restless night, unsoothed DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 151 even by the laudanum, which had been administered to her in much larger quantities than her medical attendants had authorized. It had stupified, without at the same time composing and calming her. Poor — poor girl ! almost the last remains of her beauty had disappeared. There was a fearful hollowness in her once lovely and blooming cheeks; and her eyes — those bright orbs which had a short while ago dazzled and delighted all they shone upon — were now sunk — quenched — and surrounded by dark halos! She lay with her head buried deep in the pillow, her hair folded back, matted with perspira- tions. Her hands — but I cannot attempt to describe her appearance any further. Sir sat by her bedside, as he had sat all through her illness, and was utterly worn out. I occupied the chair allotted to Miss B , who had just retired to bed, having been up all night. After a long silence. Miss Her- bert asked very faintly for some tea, which was pre- sently brought her, and dropped into her mouth by spoonfuls. Soon after she revived a little, and spoke to me, but in so low a whisper that I had great diffi- culty in distinguishing her words. The exertion of utterance, also, was attended with so much evident pain, that I would rather she had continued silent. " Laudanum — laudanum — laudanum, doctor ! They don't give me enough of laudanum !" she muttered. We made her no reply. Presently she began mur- muring at intervals somewhat in this strain : "Ah — among the pyramids — looking at them — sketching — ascending them, perhaps — oh ! what if they should fall and crush him? Has he found his brother"? On his way — home — sea— ships — ship." Still we did not interrupt her, for lipr manner indicated only a dim, dreamy sort of half-consciousness. About an hour afterv\\ird (why did I linger there, it may be asked, when I could do nothing for her, and could ill spare the time 1 1 know not — I could not leave) she again commenced, in a low, moaning, wander- 152 PASSAGES FROM THE ing- tone : " Uncle ! what do you think ? Chatterton — poor, melancholy Chatterton, sat by my side all night long — in that chair where Dr. is sitting. He died of a broken heart — or of my disease — didn't he 1 — Wan — wan — sad — cold — ghostly — but so like a poet! — Oh, how he talked — no one earthly like him ! — His voice was like the mysterious music of an J^^olian harp — so solemn — soft — stealing- ! * * * He put his icy fingers on my bosom, and said it must soon be as cold ! — But he told me not to be afraid — nor weep, because I was dying so young — so early. He said I M-as a young little rose-tree, and M'ould have the longer to bloom and blossom when he came for me." She smiled faintly and sadly. " Oh, dear, dear ! — I wish 1 had him here again ! But he looks very cold and ghostly — never moves — nothing rustles — I never hear him come or go — but I look, and there he is ! — and I'm not at all frightened, for he seems gentle — but I think he can't be happy — happy — never smiles, never! * * * Dying people see and hear more than others !" This, I say, is the substance of what she uttered. All she said was per\'aded by a sad romance, which shaved that her soul was deeply imbued with poetry. "Coll ! — Toll ! — Toll ! — How solemn ! —White plurries ! — White scarfs ! — Hush — ' Earth to eartK' — oh, dreadful ! — It is crumbling on my breast ! They all go — they leave me all — poor, poor Eliza ! — They leave me all alone in the cold church. — HeHl often w^alk in the church by himself — ^his tears will fall on the pavement — but / shall not hear him — nor see him ! — He will ne — ver see me ! — Will the organ play, I wonder] — It may \vake me from sleep for a while !" I hstened to all this, and was fit for nothing the rest of the day. Again — again I saw her, to let fall tears over the withered petals — the blighted blossoms of early beauty! It wrung my heart to see her little more than a breathing corpse. Oh, the gloom— anguish— desolation, diffused through DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 153 Hall ! It could be felt ; it oppressed you on entering I * * * On Saturday morning (the — day of November, 18 — ), I drove down early, having' the preceding evening promised to be there as soon as possible the next day. It was a cold, scowling, bitter November morning, and m}^ heart sunk within me as my chariot rattled rapidly along the hard high- way towards Hall. But I was too late. The curtain had fallen, and hid poor Eliza Herbert from this world for ever ! She had expired about half an hour before my arrival. As I was returning to town, after attending the funeral of Miss Herbert, full of bitter and sorrowful thoughts, I met a travelling carriage and four thun- dering down the road. It contained poor Captain , his valet, and a young Italian medical at- tendant, all just returned from the continent. He looked white and wasted. The crape on my hat — my gloves — weepers — mourning suit, told all in- stantly. I was in a moment at his side, for he had swooned. As for the disconsolate baronet, little remains to be said. He disposed of Hall; and, sick of England — ill and iriitable — he attempted to regain his Indian appointment, but unsuccessfully ; so he betook himself to a solitary house belonging to the family in shire; and, in the touching lan- guage of one of old, " went on mourning to the end of his davs." The Spectral Dog — an Ulmion. The age of ghosts and hobgoblins is gone by, says worthy Dr. Hibbert; and so, after him, says almost everybody now-a-days. These mysterious visitants are henceforth to be resolved into mere optical delu- sion, acting on an excitable fancy and an irritable nervous temperament ; and'the report of a real bona fide ghost or apparition is utterly scouted. Possibly 154 PASSAGES FROM THE this may not be going- too far, even though it be in the teeth of some of the most stubborn facts that are on record. One or possibly two of this character I may perhaps present to the reader on a future oc- casion ; but at present I shall content myself with relating a very curious and interesting case of ac- knowledged optical delusion ; and I have no doubt that many of my medical readers can parallel it with similar occurrences within the sphere of their own observation. Mr. D was a clergyman of the Church of Eng- land, educated at Oxford, — a scholar, " a ripe and good one," — a man of remarkably acute and power- ful understanding ; but, according to his own account, destitute of even an atom of imagination. He was also an exemplary minister; preached twice wil- lingly every Sunday; and performed all the other duties of his office with zealous fidelity, and to the full satisfaction of his parishioners. If any man is less likely to be terrified with ghosts, or has less reason to be so, than another, surely it was such a character as Mr. D . He had been officiating on Sunday evening for an invalid friend, at the latter's church, a few miles' distance from London, and was walking homewards enjoying the tranquillity of the night, and enlivened by the cheerful beams of the full moon. When at about three miles' distance from town, he suddenly heard, or fancied he heard, immediately behind him, the sound of gasping and panting, as of a dog follow- ing at his heels, breathless with running. He looked round on both sides ; but, seeing no dog, thought he must have been deceived, and resumed his walk and meditations. The sound was presently repeated. Again he looked round, but with no better success than before. After a little pause, thinking there was something rather odd about it, it suddenly struck him, that what he had heard was nothing more than the noise of his own hard breathing, oc- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 155 casioned by the insensibly accelerated pace at which he was walking, intent upon some subject wliich then particularly occupied his thoug-hts. He had not walked more than ten paces further, when he again heard precisely similar sounds; but with a running accompaniment (if I may be allowed a pun) of the pit-pit-pattering of a dog's feet, following close behind his left side. " God bless me !" exclaimed Mr. D aloud, stopping for the third time, and looking round in all directions, far and near ; " why, really, that's very odd — very ! Surely I could not have been mistaken again?" He continued standing still, wiped his forehead, replaced his hat on his head, and, with a little trepidation, resumed his walk, striking his stout black walking-stick on the ground with a certain energy and resoluteness which sufficed in reassuring his own flurried spirits. The next thirty or forty- paces of his walk ]\Ir. D passed over " erectis aurihus^'' and hearing nothing similar to the sounds which had thrice attracted his attention, was relaps- ing into his meditative mood, when, in a few mo- ments, the noise was repeated, apparently from his right-hand side ; and he gave something like a start from the path-side into the road on feeling the calf of his leg brushed past, as he described it, by the shaggy coat of his invisible attendant. He looked suddenly down, and, to his very great alarm and astonishment, beheld the dim outhne of a large Newfoundland dog — of a blue colour! He moved from the sjwt where he was standing — ^the phantom followed him ; he rubbed his eyes with his hands, shook his head, and again looked ; but there it still was, large as a young calf (to which he himself compared it), and had assumed a more distinct and definite form. The colour, hou'ever, continued the same — faint blue. He observe^, too, its eyes — like dim-decaying firecoals, as it looked up composedly in his face. He poked about his walking-stick, and 156 PASSAGES FROM THE moved it repeatedly through and through the form of the phantom ; but there it continued — indivisible — impalpable — in short, as much a dog as ever, and yet the stick traversing its form in every direction, from the tail to the tip of the nose ! Mr. D hur- ried on a few steps, and again looked ; — there was the dog! Now the reader should be informed that Mr. D was a remarkably temperate man, and had that evening contented liimself with a solitary glass of port by the bedside of his sick brother ; so that there was no room for supposing his perceptions to have been disturbed with liquor. "What can it be?" thought he, while his heart knocked rather harder than usual against the bars of its prison ; " oh, it must be an optical delusion — oh, 'tis clearly so ! nothing in the Avorld worse ! that's all. How odd !" — and he smiled, he thought, very unconcernedly; but another glimpse of the phantom standing by him in blue indistinctness in- stantly darkened his features with the hue of appre- hension. If it really was an optical delusion, it was the most fixed and pertinacious one he ever heard of! The best part of valour is discretion, says' Shakspeare ; and in all things ; so, observing a stage passing by at that moment, to put an end to the matter, Mr. D , with a little trepidation in his tone, ordered it to stop : there Avas just room for one inside ; and in stepped Mr. D , chuckling at the cunning fashion after which he had succeeded in jockeying his strange attendant. Not feeling in- clined to talk with the fat woman who sat next him, squeezing him most unmercifully against the side of the coach, nor with the elderly grazier-looking man fronting him, whose large, dirty, top-boots se- riously incommoded him, he shut his eyes, that he. might pursue his thoughts undisturbed. After about five minutes' riding, he suddenly opened his eyes, and the first thing that met them was the figure of DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 157 the blue dog, lying stretched in some unaccountable manner at his feet, half under the seat ! *'I — I — hope THE DOG does not annoy you, sir]" inquired Mr. D , a little flustered, of the man op- posite, hoping to discern whether the dog chose to be visible to any one else. " Sir !" exclaimed the person he addressed, start- ing from a kind of doze, and staring about in the bottom of the coach. " Lord, sir !" echoed the woman beside him. "A DOG, sir, did you say"?" inquired several, in a breath. " Oh — nothing — nothing, I assure you. 'Tis a little mistake," replied 3Ir. D , with a faint smile ; " I — I thought — in short, I find I've been dreaming ; and Fm sure I beg pardon for disturbing you." Ever}' one in the coach laughed except Mr. D , whose eyes continued riveted on the dim blue outline of the dog lying motionless at his feet. He was now certain that he was suffering from an optical illusion of some sort or other, and endea- voured to prevent his thoughts from running into an alarmed channel, by striving to engage his faculties with the philosophy of the thing. He could make nothing out, however; and the Q.E.D. of his think- ings startled him not a littie,''^'hen it came in the shape of the large blue dog, -leaping at his heels out of the coach when he alighted. An-ived at home, he lost sight of the phantom during the time of sup- per and the family devotions. As soon as he had extinguished his bedroom candle and got into bed, he was neaily leaping out again on feeling a sensa- tion as if a large dog had jumped on that part of the bed where his feet lay. He felt its pressure I He said he was inclined to rise, and make it a subject of special prayer to the Deity. Mrs. D asked him what was the matter with him ] for he became very cold, and shivered a little. He easily quieted her with saying he felt t. little chilled ;• and as soon O 158 PASSAGES FROM THE as she was fairly asleep, he got quietly out of bed, and walked up and down the room. Wherever he moved he beheld, by the moonlight through the win- dow, the dim dusky outline of the dog, following wherever he went ! Mr. D opened the windows, he did not ex* Charlotte, why will you be so obstinate ? You DIAlftr OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 213 kuow how poorly you have been all the week, and Dr. says late hours are the worst things in the world for you." " Pshaw, mother ! nonsense, nonsense." " Be persuaded for once, now, I beg ! Oh dear^ dear, what a night it is too — it pours with rain, and blows a perfect hunicane ! You'll be wet and catch cold, rely on it. Come now, won't you stop and keep me company to-night ? ^ That's a good girl !" " Some other night will do as well for that, you know ; for now I'll go to Mrs. P 's, if it rains cats and dogs. So up — up — up I go !" singing jauntily " Oh she shall dance all dress'd in white, So iadyUke." Such were very nearly the words, and such the manner, in which Miss J expressed her deter- mination to act in defiance of her mother's wishes and entreaties. She was the only child of her wid- owed mother, and had but a few weeks before com- pleted her twenty-sixth year, with yet no other pros- pect before her than bleak single-blessedness. A weaker, more frivolous and conceited creature never breathed — the torment of her amiable parent, the nuisance of her acquaintance. Though her mother's circumstances were verv^ straitened, sufficing barely to enable them to maintain a footing in what is called the middling genteel class of society, this young wo- man contrived by some means or other to gratify her penchant for dress, and gadded about here, there, and every where the most showily dressed person in the neighbourhood. Though far from being even pretty- faced, or having any pretensions to a good figure, for she both stooped and was skinny, she yet believed herself handsome ; and by a vulgar, flippant forward- ness of demeanour, especially when in mixed com- pany, extorted such attentions as persuaded her that others thought so. For one or two years she had been an occasional 214 PASSAGES FROM THE patient of mine. The settled pallor, the tallowiness of her complexion, conjointly with other symptoms, evidenced the existence of a liver complaint; and the last visits I had paid her were in consequence of frequent sensations of oppression and pain in the chest, which clearly indicated some orgfanic disease of her heart. I saw enough to warrant me in warn- ing her mother of the possibility of her daughter's sudden death from this cause, and the imminent peril to which she exposed herself by dancing, late hours, &c.; but Mrs. J 's remonstrances, gentle and affec- tionate as they always were, were thrown away upon her headstrong daughter. It was striking eight by the church clock when Miss J , humming the words of the song above mentioned, lit her chamber-candle by her mother's •and withdrew to her room to dress, soundly rating the servant-girl by the way for not having starched some article or other which she intended to have worn that evening. As her toilet was usually a long and laborious business, it did not occasion much sur- prise to her mother, who was sitting by the ftre in their little parlour, reading some book of devotion, that the church chimes announced the first quarter past nine o'clock without her daughter's making her appearance. The noise she had made overhead in walking to and fro to her drawers, dressing-table, &c. had ceased about half an hour ago, and her mother supposed she was then engaged at her glass, adjusting her hair and preparing her complexion. " Well, I wonder what can make Charlotte so very careful about her dress to-night !" exclaimed Mrs. J , removing her eyes from the book and gazing thoughtfully at the fire ; " Oh ! it must be because young Lieutenant N is to be there. Well, I was young myself once, and it's very excusable in Char- lotte — heigho !" She heard the wind howling so dis- jnally without that she drew together the coals of her brisk fire, and was laying down the poker when the DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 215 clock of church struck the second quartear after nine. " Why, what in the world can Charlotte be doing all this while ?" she again inquired. She listened — *' I have not heard her moving' for the last three quar- ters of an hour! I'll call the maid and ^ask." She rung the bell and the servant appeared. " Betty, Miss J is not gone yet, is she 1" " La, no, ma'am," replied the girl, " I took up the curling-irons only about a quarter of an hour ago, as she had put one of her curls out ; and she said she should soon be ready. She's burst her new muslin dress behind, and that has put her into a way, ma'am." " Go up to her room then, Betty, and see if she wants any thing; and tell her it's half past nine o'clock," said Mrs. J . The servant accordingly went up stairs and knocked at the bedroom-door once, twice, thrice, but received no answer. There was a dead silence, except when the wind shook the window. Could Miss J have fallen asleep 1 Oh, impossible ! She knocked again, but unsuccessfully as before. She became a little flustered, and after a moment's pause opened the door and entered. There was ^liss J sitting at the glass. " Why, la, ma'am," commenced Betty in a petulant tone, walking up to her, " here have I been knocking for these five mimites, and"— Betty staggered horror-struck to the bed, and utter- ing a loud shriek, alarmed Mrs. J , who instantly tottered up stairs, almost palsied with fright. Miss J was dead ! I was there within a few minutes, for my house was not more than two streets distant. It was a stormy night in March : and the desolate aspect of things without — deserted streets — the dreary howl- ing of the wind, and the incessant pattering of the rain, contributed to cast a gloom over my mind, when connected with the intelligence of the awful event that had summoned me out, which was deepened into horror by the spectacle I was doomed to witness. 216 PASSAGES FROM THE On reaching the house, I found Mrs. J in violent hysterics, surrounded by several of her neighbours, who had been called in to her assistance. I repaired instantly to the scene of death, and beheld vrhat I shall , never forget. The room was occupied by a white-curtained bed. There was but one window, and before it was a table, on which stood a looking- glass, hung with a little white drapery ; and the vari- ous paraphernalia of the toilet lay scattered about — pins, brooches, curling-papers, ribands, gloves, &c. An arm-chair was drawn to this table, and in it sat Miss J , stone dead. Her head rested upon her right hand, her elbow supported by the table ; while her left hung down by her side, grasping a pair of curling-irons. Each of her wrists was encircled by a sho\A^ gilt bracelet. She was dressed in a white musHn frock, with a little bordering of blonde. Her face was turned towards the glass, which, by the light of the expiring candle, reflected with frightful fidelity the clammy fixed features, daubed over with rouge and carmine — the fallen lower jaw, and the eyes di- rected full into the glass with a cold, dull stare that was appalling. On examining the countenance more narrowly, I thought I detected the traces of a smirk of conceit and self-complacency, which not even the palsying touch of death could wholly obliterate. The hair of the corpse, all smooth and glossy, was curled with elaborate precision, and the skinny, sallow neck was encircled with a string of glistening pearls. The ghastly visage of death thus leering through the tinselry of fashion— the "vain show" of artificial joy — was a horrible mockery of the fooleries of life ! Indeed it was a most humiliating and shocking spectacle. Poor creature ! struck dead in the veiy act of sacrificing at the shrine of female vanity! She must have been dead for some time, perhaps for twenty minutes or half an hour, when I arrived, for nearly all the animal heat had desferted the body, which was rapidly stiffening. I' attempted, but in DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 217 vain, to draw a little blood from the arm. Two or tliree women present proceeded to remove the corpse to the bed for the purpose of laying it out. What strange passiveness ! No resistance offered to them while straightening the bent right arm, and binding the jaws together with a faded white riband which jMiss J had destmed for her waist that evening. On examination of the body we foimd that death had been occasioned by disease of the heart. Her life might have been protracted, possibly for years, had she but taken my advice and that of her mother. I have seen many hundreds of corpses, as well in the calm composure of natural death as mangled and distorted by violence ; but never have I seen so start- ling a satire upon human vanity, so repulsive, un- sightly, and loathsome a spectacle, as a corpse dressed for a hall ! CHAPTER VI. THE TURNED HEAD THE WIFE. The Turned Head. Hypochondriasis,* Janus-like, has two faces — a melancholy and a laughable one. The former, though oftener seen in actual life, does not present itself so frequently to the notice of the medical practitioner as the latter ; though, in point of fact, one as imperatively calls for his interference as the other. It may be safely asserted, that a permanently morbid mood of mind invariably indicates a dis- ordered state of some part or other of the physical * Arising, as its name imports, from disease in the hypo-chondres 'h-KQ xov^po?), i. e. the viscera lying xxnder the cartilage of the breast-bone and false ribs, the liver, spleen, &c. T 218 PASSAGES FROM THE system ; and which of llie two forms of hypochondria Avill manifest itself in a particular case, depends altog'€ther upon the mental idiosyncrasy of the patient. Those of a dull, phleg-matic temperament, vmstirred by intermixture and collision with the bustling activities of life, addicted to sombrous trains of reflection, and, by a kind of sympathy, always looking on the gloomy side of things, gene- rally sink, at some period or other of their lives, into the " slough of despond" — as old Bunyan significantly terms it — from whence they are seldom altogether extricated. Religious enthusiasts con- stitute by far the largest portion of those afflicted with this species of hypochondria — instance the wretched Cowper ; and such I have never known entirely disabused of these dreadful fantasies. Those, again, of a gay and lively fancy, ardent temperament, and droll, grotesque appetencies, ex- hibit the laughable aspect of hypochondriasis. In such you may expect conceits of the most astound- ing absurdity that could possibly take possession of the topsy-turvied intellects of a confirmed lunatic ; and persisted in with a pertinacity — a dogged de- fiance of evidence to the contrary — which is itself as exquisitely ludicrous as distressing and provok- ing. There is generally preserved an amazing consistency in the delusion, in spite of the incipient rebuttals of sensation. In short, when once a crotchet of such a sort as that hereafter mentioned is fairly entertained in the fancy, the patient will not let it go ! It is cases of this kind which baflfle the most adroit medical tactician. For my OAvn part, ] have had to deal with several during the course of my practice, which, if described coolly and faithfuH-y on paper, would appear preposterously incredible to a non-prcfessional reader. Such may possibly be, t]ie fate of flie following. I have given it with a ininutencss of detail, in h^everal parts, which I tlil.ik IS Nvarranted by the intcacsling nature of tht DIARl OF A LATE PHYSrCIAX. 219 by the rarity of such narratives, — and, above all, by tire peculiar character and talents of the well-known individual who is the patient ; and I am convinced that no one would laus^h more heartily over it than he himself — had he not long lain quiet in his grave ! You could scarcely look on N without laugh- ing. There was a sorry sort of humorous expression in his odd and ugly features, which suggested to you the idea that he was always struggling to repel some joyous emotion or other with painful effort. There was the rich light of intellect in his eye, which was dark and full — you felt when its glance w^as settled upon you ; — and there it remained concentrated, at the expense of all the other features ; — in the clumsy osseous ridge of eye-bone impending sullenly over his eyes — the Pittlike nose, looking like a finger and thumb-full of dough drawn out from the plastic mass, with two ill-formed holes inserted in the bulbous extremity — and his large liquorish, shapeless lips — looked altogether any thing but refined or intellec- tual. He was a man of fortune — an obstinate bache- lor — and was educated at Cambridge, where he attained considerable distinction ; and at the period of his introduction to the reader was in his thirty- eighth or fortieth year. If I were to mention his name it would recall to the literary reader many excellent and some admirable portions of literature, for the perusal of which he has to thank N . The prevailing complexion of his mind was som- brous — but played on occasionally by an arch-hu- morous fancy, flinging its rays of fun and droller}" over the dark surface, like moonbeams on miduight waters. 1 do believe he considered it sinful to smile ! There was a puckering up of the corner of the mouth, and a forced corrugation of the eye- brows — the expression of which was set at naught by the conviviality — the solemn drollery of the eyes. You saw Momus leering out of every glance of them ! He said many very witty tilings in conver- 220 PASSAGES FROM THE satioii, and had a knack of uttering the quaintest conceits with something like a whine of compunction in his tone, which ensured him roars of laughter. As for his own laugh — when he did laugh — there is no describing it — short, sudden, unexpected was it, like a flash of powder in the dark. Not a trace of real merriment lingered on his features an instant after the noise had ceased. You began to doubt whether he had laughed at all, and to look about to see where the explosion came from. Except on such rare occasions of forgetfulness on his part, his demeanour was very calm and quiet. He loved to get a man who would come and sit with him all the evening, smoking, and sipping wine in cloudy silence. He could not endure bustle or obstreperousness ; and when he did mifortunately fall foul of a son of noise, as soon as he had had " a sample of his quality," he would abruptly rise and take his leave, saying, in a querulous tone, like that of a sick child, " I'll go !" — [probably these two words will at once recall him to the memory of more than one of my readers] — and he was as good as his word ; for all his acquaintances — and I among the number — knew his eccentricities, and excused them. Such was the man — at least as to the more promi- nent points of his character — whose chattering black servant presented himself hastily to my notice one morning, as I was standing on my door-steps, pondering the probabilities of wet or fine for the day. He spoke in such a spluttering tone of trepidation that it was some time before I could conjecture what was the matter. At length I distinguished something like the words, " Oh, docta, docta, com-a, and see-a a massa ! Com-a ! Him so gashly — him so ill — ver dam bad — him say so — Oh, lorra-lorra-lorra ! Com see-a a massa — him ver orrid !" " Why, what on earth is the rhatter with you, you sable, eh 1 — Why can't you speak slower, and tell me plainly what's the matter ?" said I, impatiently, for DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 221 he seemed inclined to gabble on in that strain for some minutes longer. " Whafs the matter with your master, sirrah, eh ?" I inquired, jerking his striped morning-jacket. " Oh, docta ! docta ! Com-a — massa d— n bad ! Him say so ! — Him head turned ! Him head turned" — " Him rchat, sirrah ]"" said I, in amazement. "Him head turned, docta. — him head .turned," re- plied the man, slappijighis fingers against his forehead. " Oh, I see how it is, I see ; ah, yes," I replied, pointing to my forehead in tura, wishing him to see that I understood him to say his master had been seized with a fit of insanity. " Iss, iss, docta — him massa head turned — him head turned ! — d — n bad !" " WTiere is :\Ir. N , Nambo, eh ?" " Him lying all 'long in his bed, massa — him d — n bad. But him 'tickler quiet — him head turned" — " Why, Nambo, what makes you say your master's head's turned, eh ] \\liat d'ye mean ?" " Him massa self say so — him did — him head turned — d — n." I felt as much at a loss as ever; it was so odd for a gentleman to acknowledge to his negro-servant that his head was turned. " Ah ! he's gone mad, you mean, eli — is that it ? Hem ! mad — is it so ?" said I, pointing, with a wink, to my forehead. " No, no, doctor — him liead turned ! — liim head,'''' replied Nambo ; and raisiug both his hands to his head, he seemed trying to twist it round ! I could make nothing of his gesticulations, so I dismissed him, telling him to take word that I should make his masters my first call. I may as well say, that I w^as on terms of friendly familiarity with Mr. N , and puzzled myself all the way I Avent, with attempting to conjecture whatw^^c; crotchet he had taken into his odd — and, latterly, 1 began to suspect, half-addled— head. He had never disclosed symptoms of what is generally understood by the word hj-pochondriasis ; but I often thouglit there T 2 222 PASSAGES FROM THE was not a likelier subject in the world for it. At len^h I found myself knocking at my friend's door, fully prepared for some specimen of ahftising ec- centricity — for the thought now crossed my mind that he might be really ill. Nambo instantly an- swered my summons, and in a twinkling conducted me to his master's bedroom. It was partially dark- ened, but there was light enough for me to discern that there was nothing unusual in his appearance. The bed was much tossed, to be sure, as if with the restlessness of the recumbent, who lay on his back, with his head turned on one side, and buried deep in the pillow, and his arms folded together outside the counterpane. His features certainly wore an air of exhaustion and dejection, and his eye settled on me with an alarmed expression from the moment that he perceived my entrance. " Oh, dear doctor ! — Isn't this frightful ! — Isn't it a dreadful piece of business ?" " Frightful ! — dreadful business V I repeated, with much sui-prise. " What is frightful 1 Are you ill — have you had an accident, eh ?" " Ah— ah !— you may well ask that !" he replied ; adding, after a pause, " it took place this morning about two hours ago !" " You speak in parables, Mr. N ! Why, what in the world is the matter with you ?" " About two hours ago — yes," he muttered, as if he had, not heard me. " Doctor, do tell me truly now, for the curiosity of the thing, what did you think of me on first entering the room 1 — Eh ? — Feel inclined to laugh, or be shocked — which ]" " Mr. N , I really have no time for trifling, as I am particularly busy to-day. Do, I beg, be a little more explicit ! Why have you sent for me 1 — What is the matter with you 1" " Why, God bless me, doctor !" he replied, with an air of angry surprise in his manner which I never saw before, " I think, indeed, it's you who are DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 223 trifling ! Have you lost your eyesight this morn- ing ? Do you pretend to say you do not see I have undergoieone of the most extraordinary alterations in appearance that the body of man is capable of — such as never was heard or read of before ?" " Once more, Mr. N ," 1 repeated, in a tone of calm astonishment, " be so good as to be explicit. What are you raving about ]" " Raving ! — Egad, I think it's you who are raving, doctor !" he answered ; " or you must wish to insult me ! Do you pretend to tell me you do not see that my head is turned ?'"' — and he looked me in the face steadily and sternly. "Ha — ha — ha! — Upon my* honour, N , I've been suspecting as much for this last five or ten minutes ! I don't think a patient ever described his disease more accurately before !" " Don't mock me. Doctor ," replied N , sternly. " By , I can't bear it ! It's enough for me to endure the horrid sensations I do !" " Mr. N , what do you" " \\Tiy, d n n, Doctor ! you'll drive me mad! — Can't you see that the back of my head is in front, and my face looking backwards ? Horrible !" I burst into loud laughter. " Doctor , it's time for you and me to part — liigh time," said he, turning his face away from me. "I'll let you know that I'll stand your nonsense no longer ! I called you in to give me yom- advice, not to sit grinning like a baboon by my bedside ! Once more, — finally : Doctor , are you disposed to be serious and rational ] If you are not, my man shall show you to the door the moment you please." He said this in such a sober, earnest tone of indignation, that I saw he was fully prepared to carry his threat into execution. I determined, therefore, to humour him a little, shrewdly suspecting some temporary suspension of his sanity — not exactly madness — but at least some extraordinary hallucination. To adopt 224 PASSAGES FROM THE an expression which I have several times heard him use — " I saw what o'clock it was, and set my watch to the time." " Oh — well ! — I see now how matters stand ! — The fact is, I did observe the extraordinary posture of affairs you complain of — immediately I entered the room — but supposed you were joking with me, and twisting your head round in that odd way for the purpose of hoaxing me ; so I resolved to av ait and see which of us could play our parts in tlie farce longest! — Why, how's all this, Mr. N 1 — Is it then really the case I — Are you — in — in ear- nest — in having your head turned?" — " In earnest, doctor !" replied Mr. N , in amazement. " "Why, do you suppose this happened by my own will and agency ? — Absurd !" — " Oh, no, no — most as- suredly not — it is a phenomenon — hem ! hem ! — a phenomenon — not unfrequently attending on the nightmare,^'' I answered, with as good a grace as possible. " Pho, pho, doctor ! — Nonsense ! — You must really think me a child, to try to mislead me with such stuff as that ! I tell you again, I am in as sober possession of my senses as ever I was in my life; and, once more, I assure you, that in truth and reality my head is turned — literally so." " Well, well ! — So I see ! — It is indeed, a veiy ex- traordinary case — a very unusual one ; but I don't, by any means, despair of bringing all things round again ! — Pray tell me how this singular and afflicting accident happened to you V " Certainly," said he, despondingly. " Last night, or rather this morning, I dreamed that I had got to the West Indies — to Barbadoes, an island where I have, as you know, a little estate left me by my uncle, C ; and that, a few moments after I had entered the plantation, for the purpose of seeing the slaves at work, tliere came a sudden hurricane, a more tremendous one than ever was known in those parts ; DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 225 — trees — canes — huts — all were swept before it ! Even the very ground on which we stood seemed whirled away beneath us ! I turned my head a moment to look at the direction in Avhich things were going-, when, in the very act of turning, the blast suddenly caught my head, and — oh, my God ! — blew it completely round on my shoulders, till my face looked quite — directly behind me — over my back ! In vain did I almost wrench my head off my shoulders, in attempting to twist it round again ; and what with horror, and — and — altogether — in short, I awoke — and found the frightful reality of my situa- tion ! — Oh, gi'acious Heaven !" continued Mr. N , clasping his hands, and looking upwards, "what have I done to deserve such a honible visitation as this 1" Humph ! it is quite clear -what is the matter here, thought I ; so assuming an air of becoming profes- sional gravity, I felt his pulse, begged him to let me see his tongue, made many inquiries about his general health, and then proceeded to subject all parts of" his neck to a most rigorous examination; before, behind, on each side, over eveiy natural ele- vation and depression, if such the usual varieties of surface may be tenned, did my fingers pass ; he all the while sighing, and cursing his evil stars, and wondering how it was that he had not been killed by the " dislocation !" This little farce over, I con- tinued silent for some moments, scarcely able the' while to control my inclination to burst into fits of laughter, as if pondering the possibility of being able to devise some means of cure. " Ah,— thank God !— I have it— I have it"— " What !— what— eh ?— what is it ]" "I've thought of a remedy, which, if — if~if any thing in the world can bring it about, will set matters right again — will bring back your head tb its former position." "Oh, God be praised !— Dear— dear doctor!— if ,226 PASSAGES FROM THE you do but succeed, I shall consider a thousand pounds but the earnest of what I will do to evince my gratitude !" he exclaimed, squeezing my hand fervently. "But I am not absolutely certain that we shall succeed," said I, cautiously. "We wil], however, give the medicine a twenty-four hours' trial ; during all which time you must be in perfect repose, and consent to lie in utter darkness. Will you abide by my directions ■?" " Oh, yes — yes — yes ! — dear doctor ! — What is the inestimable remedy 1 Tell me — tell me the name of my ransomer. I'll never divulge it — never !" " That is not consistent with my plans at present, Mr. N ," I replied, seriously ; " but, if successful — of which I own I have very sanguine expectations — I pledge i)iy honour to reveal the secret to you." " Well — but— at least you'll explain the nature of its operation — eh ?" Is it internal — external — what "?" The remedy, I told him, would be of both forms ; the latter, however, the more immediate agent of his recovery ; the former, preparatory — predisposing. I may tell the reader simply what my physic was to be : three bread-pills (the ordinary placebo in such cases) every hour ; a strong laudanum draught in the evening; and a huge bread-and-water poultice for his neck, with which it was to be environed till the parts were sufficiently mollified to admit of the neck's being twisted back again into its former position ; and when that was the case — why — to ensure its permanency, he was to wear abroad band of strength- ening-plaster for a week ! ! This was the bright device, struck out by me — all at a heat ; and ex- plained to the poor victim with the utmost solemnity and deliberation of manner — all the wise winks and knowing nods, and hesitating "hems" and "has" of professional usage — sufficed to inspire him with some confidence as to the results. I confess I shared the most confident expectations of success. A sound night's rest, hourly pill-taking, and the*'glamm3^ DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 227 saturating sensation round about his neck, I fully believed, would bring liini round : — and, in the full anticipation of seeing him disabused of the ridiculous notion he had taken into his head, I promised to see him the first thing in the morning, and took my de- parture. After quitting the house, I could not help laughing immoderately at the recollection of the scene I had just witnessed ; and Mrs. M , who liappened to be passing on the other side of the street, and observed my involmitaiy risibility, took occasion to spread an ill-natured rumour, that I was in the habit of " making myself merry at the expense of my patients !" — I foresaw, that should this " crick in the neck" prove permanent, I stood a chance of listening to innumerable conceits of the most whim- sical and paradoxical kind imaginable — for I knew N 's natural turn to humour. It was inconceiv- able to me how such an extraordinary delusion could bear the blush of daylight, resist the evidence of his senses, and the unanimous simultaneous assurances of all who beheld him. Though it is little credit to me, and tells but small things for my self-control — I cannot help acknowledging, that at the bedside of my next patient, who was within two or three hours of her end, the surpassing absurdity of the " turned head" notions glared in such ludicrous extremes before me, that I was nearly bursting a blood-vessel with endeavours to suppress a perfect peal of laughter ! About eleven o'clock the next morning, I paid N a second visit. The door was opened as usual" by his black servant, Nambo; by whose de- meanour I saw that something or other extraordinary awaited me. His sable sw^ollen features and dancing white eyeballs showed that he was nearly bursting with laughter. " He — lie — he !" he chuckled, in a sort of sotto Doce, " him inassa head turned! — liim back infrojit! him watldle!— he — he — lie!" — and he twitch(rffliis clothes— jerking his jacket^M^iitfir pointing 228 PASSAGES FROM THE to his breeches, in a way that I did not understand. On entering- the room where N , with one of his favourite silent smoking friends (M , the^ late well-known counsel), were sitting at breakfast, I encountered a spectacle which nearly made me expire with laughter. It is almost useless to at- tempt describing it on paper — yet I will try. Two gentlemen sat opposite each other at the breakfast- table, by the fire : the one with his face to me was Mr M. ; and N sat with his back towards the door by Avhich I entered. A glance at the former sufficed to show me that he was sitting in tortures of suppressed risibility. He was quite red in the face — his features were swelled and puffy — and his eyes fixed strainingly on the fire, as though in fear of encountering the ludicrous figure of his friend. They were averted from the fire, for a moment, to welcome my entrance — and then redirected thither with such a painful effort — such a comical air of compulsory seriousness — as, added to the preposte- rous fashion after which poor N had chosen to dress himself — completely overcame me. The thing was irresistible ; and my utterance of that peculiar choking sound, which indicates the most strenuous efforts to suppress one's risible emotions, was the unwitting signal for each of us bursting into a long and loud shout of laughter. It was in vain that I bit my under lip almost till it brought blood, and that my eyes strained till the sparks flashed from them, in the vain attempt to cease laughing ; in full before me sat the exciting cause of it, in the shape of N , his head supported by the palm of his left hand, with his elbow propped against the side of the armchair. The knot of his neck-kerchief was tied, with its customary formal precision, back at the nape of his neck ; his coat and waistcoat were buttoned down his back ; — and his trousers, moreover, to match the novel fashion, buttoned behind, and, of course, the hinder parts of them bulged out ridicuftiisiy in DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 239 front ! — Only to look at the coat-collar fittin£C under the chm, like a stiff military stock — the four tail buttons of brass glistening conspicuously before, and the front parts of the coat buttoned carefully over his back — the compulsory handiwork of poor Nambo ! N , perfectly astounded at our successive shouts of laughter — for we found it impossible to stop, — suddenly rose up in his chair, and, almost in- articulate with fury, demanded what we meant by such extraordinary behaviour. This fury, however, was all lost on me; 1 could only point, in an ecstasy of laughter, almost bordering on phrensy, to his novel mode of dress — as my apology'-. He stamped his foot, uttered volleys of imprecations against us, and then ringing his bell, ordered the servant to show us both to the door. The m.ost violent emotions, how- ever, must in time expend their violence, though in the presence of the same exciting cause ; and so it was with Mr. M and myself. On seeing how seriously affronted N was, we both sat down, and I entered into examination, my whole frame aching with the prolonged convulsive fits of irre- pressible laughter. It would be in vain to attempt a recital of one of the drollest conversations in which I ever bore pari. N 's temper was thoroughly soured for some time. He declared that my physic was all a hum- bug, and apiece of quackery; and the " d — d pudding romid his neck" the absurdest farce he ever heard of; he had a great mind to make Nambo eat it, for the pains he had taken in making it and fastening it on — ^poor fellow ! Presently he lapsed into a melancholy, reflective mood. He protested that the laws of locomotion were utterly inexplicable to him — a practical parar dox ; that his volitions as to progressive and retro- gressive motion neutralized each other; and the necessary result was, a cursed circumsryratory mo- tion — for all the world like that of a hen that had I' 230 PASSAGES FROM THE lost one of its Avings ! That henceforward he should be compelled to crawl, crablike, through life, all ways at once, and none in particular. He could not conceive, he said, which was the nearest way from one given point to another ; in short, that all his sensations and perceptions were disordered and con- foimded. His situation, he said, w^as an admirable commentaiy on the words of St. Paul — " But I see another law in my members warring against the law of my mind." He could hot conceive how the ar- teries and veins of the neck could carry and return the blood, after being so shockingly twisted — or " how^ the windpipe went in," affording a free course to the air through its distorted passage. In short, he said, he w^as a M^alking lie ! Curious to ascertain the consistency of this anomalous state of feeling, I endeavoured once more to bring his delusion to the test of simple sensation by placing one hand on his nose and the other on his breast, and asking him w^hich w^as which, and whether l30th did not lie in the same direction ; he wished to know why I persisted in making myself meriy at his ex- pense. I repeated the question, still keeping my hands in the same position ; but he suddenly pushed them off, and asked me, with indignation, if I was not ashamed to keep his head looking over his shoulder in that w^ay — accompanying the words with a shake of the head, and a sigh of exhaustion, as if it had really been twisted round into the wrong di- rection. " Ah !" he exclaimed, after a pause, " if this unnatural state of affairs should prove perma- nent — hem! — I'll put an end to the chapter! He '—he — he ! He — he — he !" he continued, bursting suddenly into one of those short abrupt laughs, which I have before attempted to describe. " He — he — he ! how d — d odd !" We both asked him, in surprise, what he meant, for his eyes were fixed on the fire in apparently a melancholy mood. " He— he— he ! exquisitely odd, by G — ! He — DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 231 he — ^he !" After repeated inquiries, he disclosed the occasion of his unusual cachinnations. " I've just been thinking," said he, " suppose — He, he, he I — suppose it was to come to pass that I should be hanged — he, he, he ! God forbid, by-the-way ; but, suppose I should, how old Ketch would be puzzled ! — my face looking one way, and my tied hands and arms pointing another! How the crowd would stare ! He, he, he ! And suppose," pursuing the train of thought, " I were to be publicly w^hipped — how I could superintend operations ! And how the devil am I to ride on horseback, ehl with my face to the tail, or to the mane ?- In short, what is to become of me ] I am, in effect, shut out from society !" "You have only to walk circumspectly,^'' said M ; " and as for hack-hiXers — hem." " That's odd — very — but impertinent," replied the hypochondriac, with a mingled expression of chagrin and humour. « " Come, come, N , don't look so steadily on the dark side of things," said I. " The dark side of things ]" he inquired — " I think it is the hack-si^e. of things I am compelled to loc^ at !" " Look forward to better days," said I. " Look Jbrzi-ard, again ! What nonsense !" he replied, interrupting me ; " impossible ! How can I look forward .'^ My life will henceforth be spent in wretched retrospectives T and he could not help smiling at the conceit. Having occasion during the conversation to use his pocket-handkerchief, he sud- denly reached his hand behind as usual, and was a little confused to find that the usual position of his coat-pocket required that he should take it from before! This I should have conceived enough to put an end to liis delusion, but I was mistaken. " Ah ! it will take some time to reconcile me to this new order of things — but practice — practice, 232 PASSAGES FROM THE you know !" It was amazing to me that his sensa- tions, so contradictory to the absurd crotchet he liad taken into his head, did not convince him of his error, especially when so frequently compelled to act in obedience to long-accustomed impulses. As, for instance, on my rising to go, he suddenly started from his chair, shook my hands, and accompanied me to the door, as if nothing had been the matter. " Well now ! what do you think of that ?" said I, triumphantly. " Ah — ah !" said he, after a puzzled pause, " but you little know the effort it cost me !" He did not persevere long in the absurd way of putting on his clothes which I have just described; but even after he had discontinued it, he alleged his opinion to be, that the front of his clothes ought to be with his face ! I might relate many similar fooleries springing from this notion of his turned head, but sufficient has been said already to give the reader a clear idea of the general character of such delusions. My subsequent interviews with him while under this unprecedented hallucination were similar to the two which I have attempted to describe. The fit lasted near a month. I happened luckily to recollect a device successfully resorted to by a sa- gacious old English physician, in the case of a royal hypochondriac abroad, who fancied that his nose had swelled into greater dimensions than those of his whole body besides ; and forthwith resolved to adopt a similar method of cure with N . Elec- tricity was to be the wonder-working talisman ! I lectured him out of all opposition, silenced his scruples, and got him to fix an evening for the ex- orcisation of the evil spirit — as it might well be called — w^hich had taken possession of him. Let the reader fancy, then, N 's sitting-room, about seven o'clock in the evening, illuminated with a cheerful fire, and four mould candles; the awful DIARY or A LATE PHYSICIAN*. 233 electrifying machine dnly disposed for action ; Mr. S of Hospital, Dr. , and myself, all standing round it, adjusting the jars, chains, &c. ; and Nambo busily engaged in laying bare his master's neck, N all the while eying our motions with excessive trepidation. I had infinite difficulty in getting his consent to one preliminary — the bandag- ing of his eyes. I succeeded, however, at last, in persuading him to undergo the operation blindfolded, in assuring him that it was essential to success ; for that if he was allowed to see the application of the conductor to the precise spot requisite, he might start, and occasion its apposition to a wrong place ! The real reason will be seen presently ; the great manoeuvre could not have been practised but on such terms ; for how could I give his head a sudden twist round at the instant of his receiving the shock, if he saw what I was about-1 I ought to have mentioned that we also prevailed upon him to sit with his arms pinioned, so that he was completely at our mercy. None of us could refrain from an occasional titter at the absurdity of the solemn farce we were playing — fortunately, however, un- heard by N . At length, Nambo being turned out, and the doors locked, lest seeing the trick he might disclose it subsequently to his master, we commenced operations. S worked the machine — round, and round, and round, whizzing — sparkling — crackling — till the jar was moderately charged : it was then conveyed to N 's neck. Dr. using the conductor. N , on receiving a tolerably smart shock, started out of his chair, and I had not time to give him the twist I had intended. After a few moments, however, he protested that lie felt " something loosened" about his neck, and was easily induced to submit to another shock considerably stronger than the former. The instant the rod v/ as applied to his neck, I gave the head a sudden ex- cruciating wrench towards the left shoulder, S U2 234 PASSAGES FROM THE striking him at the same moment a smart blow on the crown. Poor N ! " Thank God !" we all exclaimed, as if panting for breath. " I — i — is it all over ?" stammered N , faintly — quite confounded with the effects of the threefold remedy we had adopted. " Yes — thank God, we have at last brought your head round again, and your face looks forward now as heretofore !" said I. " O, remove the bandage — remove it ! Let my own eyesight behold it ! Bring me a glass !" "As soon as the proper bandages have been ap- plied to your neck, Mr. N ." " What, eh — a second pudding, eh 1" " No, merely a broad band of diachlum plaster, to prevent — ^hem — the contraction of the skin," said I. As soon as that was done, we removed the handker- chiefs from his eyes and arms. "Oh, my God, how delightful!" he exclaimed, rising and walking up to the mirror over the mantel- piece. " Ecstasy ! All really right again" — " My dear N , do not, I beg, do not work your neck about in that way, or the most serious disar- rangement of the — the parts," said I — "Oh, it's so, is it? Then I'd better get into bed at once, I think, and you'll call in the morning." I did, and found him in bed. " Well, how does all go on this morning ]" I inquired. "Pretty well — middling," he replied, with some embarrassment of mamier. " Do you know, doctor, I've been thinking about it all night long— and I strongly suspect" — His serious air alarmed me — I began to fear that he had discovered the trick. " I strongly suspect — hem — hem" — he continued, " What ?" I inquired, rather sheepishly. "Why, that it was my brains only that were turned — and— that— that— most ridiculous piece of business — " " Why, to be sure, Mr. N " * * * and he was DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN*. 235 SO ashamed about it, that he set off for the countr\' immediately, and among the glens and mountains of Scotland endeavoured to forget that ever he dreamed that mS HEAD WAS TURNED. The Wife. Monday Evening, 25th July, 18 — . — Well! the poor martyr has at last been released from her sufferings, and her wasted remains now lie hid in ihe kindly gloom of the grave. Yes, sweet, abused, forgiving Mrs. T ! I this morning attended your funeral, and let fall a tear of miavailing regret! Shall I tell your sad story all in one word or two ? The blow that broke your heart, was stmck by your HUSBAND ! Heaven grant me calmness in recording your wrongs ! Let not the feelings of outraged humanity prompt me to " set down aught in malice ;" may I be dispassionately enough disposed to say but the half, nay, e^en the hundredth part only, of what I know, and my conscience will stand acquitted ! Let not him who shall road these pages anticipate any thing of romance, of high-flown rodomontade, in wHat follows. It is all about a poor, ill-used, heart-broken WIFE : and such a one is, alas ! too often met with in all classes of society to attract, in an ordinary case, any thing of public notice. The ensuing narration will not, however, be found an ordinaiy case. It is fraught with circumstances of sucli peculiar aggravation, and exhibits such a moving picture of the tenderness and unrepining fortitude of woman, that I am tempted to give it at some length. Its general accuracy may be relied upon, for I suc- ceeded in wringing it from the reluctant lips of the poor sufferer herself. I must, however, be allowed to s'lve it in my own way; though at the risk of its being thereby divested of much of that sorrowful simplicity and energy — that touching na'iret^. which 236 PASSAGES FROM THE characterized its utterance. I shall conclude with extracting some portions of my notes of visits made in a professional capacity. Miss Jane C had as numerous a retinue of suitors as a pretty person, well-known sweetness of disposition, considerable accomplishments, and 10,000/. in the funds could not fail of procuring to the possessor of so many charms. She was an orphan, and was left absolute mistress of her prop- erty on attaining her twenty-first year. All the members of her own family most strenuously backed the pretensions of the curate of the parish — a young man of ascertained respectability of character and family, with a snug stipend, and fair prospects of preferment. His person and manners were agreeable and engaging ; and he could not conceal his inclination to fling them both at Miss C 's feet. All who knew the parties said it would be an excellent match in all respects, and a happy couple they would make. Miss C herself could not look at the curate with indifference — at least if any in- ference might be drawn from an occasional flushing of her features at church, whenever the eyes of the clergyman happened to glance at her — which was much oftener than his duty required. In short, the motherly gossips of the place all looked upon it as a settled thing, and had pitched upon an admirable house for the future couple. They owned unani- mously that " the girl might have gone further and fared worse," and so forth ; which is a great deal for such people to say about such matters. There happened, however, to be given a great ball, by the lady of the ex-mayor, where Miss C was one of the stars of the evening; and at this party there chanced to be a young Londoner, who had just come down on a three-weeks' holy day. He was training for the law, in a solicitor's oflice, and was within six or seven months of the expira- tion of his articles. He was a personable sort of DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 237 fellow to look at — a spice of a dandy — and had that kind of air about him which tells of tozvn, — if not of the blandness, ease, and elegance of the West, still — of town, — which contrasted favourably with the comparative ungainliness of provincials. He was, in a word, a sort of small star ; a triton among the minnows ; and whatever he said or did took infallibly. Apprized by some judicious relations of the united charms of Miss C 's purse and person, he took care to pay her the most conspicuous attentions. Alas! the quiet claims of the curate were soon silenced by his bustling rival. This young spark chatted Miss C out of her calm senses. Wher- ever she went he followed; whatever she said or did he applauded. He put into requisition all his small acquirements — he sung a little, danced more, and talked an infinity. To be brief, he determined on carrying the fort with a coup de main; and he succeeded. The poor curate was forgotten for ever! Before the enterprising young lawyer left he was an accepted suitor of Miss C 's. The coldness of all her friends and acquaintances signified nothing to her; her lover had, by some means or other, obtained so powerful a hold of her aflfections, that sneers, reproaches, remonstrances, threats on the part of all who had previously be- trothed her to the curate, " passed by her as tite idle wind, which she regarded not." She promised to become his wife as soon as his articles should have expired, and to live in London. In due time, as matters approached a crisis, friends called in to talk over preliminaries. Mr. T proved to be comparatively penniless ; but wiiat was that 1 Miss C acted with very unusual generosity. She insisted on settling only half her fortune— and left the other half entirely at his disposal ; receiving this intelligence from her own lips, the yoimg man uttered the most frantic expressions of gratitude — promised her eternal love and faithfulness 238 PASSAGES FROM THE — protested that he idolized her — and took her at her word. It was in vain that cautious relations stepped in to tender their remonstrances to Miss C , on the imprudent extent to which she was placing her fortune beyond her own control. Opposition only consolidates the resolutions of a woman whose mind is once made up. The generous creature believed implicitly every word that her lover poured into her delighted ear ; and was not startled into any thing like distrust, even when she found that her young husband had expended, at one fell swoop, nearly 3000/. of the 5000/. she had so imprudently placed at his disposal, in " establishing themselves in Lon- don," as he termed it. He commenced a rate of living which it required an income of at least 1000/. a-year to support ; and when an uncle of his wife's took upon him to represent to Mr. T the ruinous extravagance — the profligate expenditure of his wife's funds — which all their mutual friends were lamenting and reprobating, he was treated with an insolence which for ever put an end to his inter- ference, and effectually prevented that of any other party. All, however, might yet have gone right, had Mr. T paid but a moderate attention to business ; for his father had the command of an excellent town connexion, which soon put enough into his son's hands to keep two clerks in regular employment. His wife was soon shocked by hearing her husband make incessant complaints of the drudgery of the office, though he did not devote, on an average, more than two or three hours a-day to it. He was always proposing some new party, some delightful drive, some enchanting excursion to her; and she dared not refuse, for he had already once disclosed symptoms of a most imperious temper whenever 4ijs will was interfered with. She began to grow very uneasy, as she saw him drawing check after check on the banker, without once replacing a DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 239 single sum ! Good God, what was to become of them ■? He complained of the tardy returns of busi- ness ; and yet he left it altogether to the manage- ment of two hired clerks ! He was beginning also to grow irregular in his hours ; reiteratedly kept her waiting hours expecting his return to dinner in vain ; filled his table with frequent drafts from the gayest and most dissipated of his professional ac- quaintance, whose uproar, night after night, alarmed every one in the house, and disturbed the neigh- bours. Then he took to billiard-playing, audits invariable concomitants — drinking and late hours ; — the theatres, frequented alone for the purpose — alas ! too notorious to escape even the chaste ears of his unfortunate and insulted wife — of mingling with the low wretches — the harpies — who frequent the slips and saloons ; — then " drinking-bouts" at taverns — and midnight " larks'' — in company with a set of vulgar, ignorant young fellows, who always left him to settle the reckoning. He sent one of the clerks to his banker's, with a check for 10/. one morning; which proved to be the exact amount by which he had " overdrawn" his account — and worse — returned without the usual accommodation aflbrded. He was a little dismayed at finding such to be the state of things, and went up stairs to his wife to tell her, with a curse, of the " meanness" — the " d d stmginess" of Messrs . " What ! Is it all spent, George ?" she inquired, in a gentle and very faint tone of voice. " Every rap — d — ee, Jane !" was the reply. She iurned pale and trembled, while her husband, putting his hands in his pockets, walked suddenly to and fro about the parlour. With trembling hesitation, Mrs. T alluded to the near approach of her confine- ment, and asked, almost inaudible with agitation, and tlie fear of offending him, whether he had madet a7iy provision for the necessary expenses attendmg it — had laid up any thin^. He repUed in the nega- 240 PASSAGES FROM JIIE live, in a very petulant tone. She could not refiain from shedding tears. " Your crying can't mend matters," said he, rudely walking to the window, and humming the words of some popular air. " Dear, dear George, have you seen any thing in my conduct to displease you ?" she inquired, wiping her eyes. " Why do you ask me that, Mrs. T f said he, walking slowly towards her, and eying her very sternly. She trembled, and had scarcely breath enough to answer, that she had feared such might have been the case, because he had become rather cool towards her of late. " D'ye mean to say, ma'am, that I have used yoii ill, eh ? Because if you do, it's a d " " Oh, no, no, George, I did not mean any thing of the kind ; but — but — kiss me, and say you have for- given me — do !" and she rose and stepped towards him with a forced smile. He gave her his cheek with an air of sullen indifference, and said, " It's no use blubbering about misfortunes, and all that sort of thing. The fact is, something must be done, or, d — ee ! /'m done ! Look, here I am ! Bring your chair here, do ! What do you say to these ?" He pulled out of his pocket a crumpled mass of papers — bills which had been sent in during the week, — some of them of several months' standing : 70/. were due for wine and spirits ; 90/. for articles of his dress; 35/. for the use of a horse and tilbury; 10/. for cigars and snuffs ; and, in short, the above arc a sample of the items which swelled into the gross amount of nearly 300/. — all due — all from creditors who refused him longer credit, and all for aipticles which had ministered nothing to his poor wife's com- fort or necessities. She burst into tears, as she looked over the bills scattered on the table, and flinging her arms round her husband's neck, implored Inm to pay more attention to business. DIARY 0? A LATE PHYSICIAN. 241 " I tell you I do,^'' he replied, impatiently, suffer- ing, not returning, her aifectionate embrace. " Well, dearest George ! I don't mean to blame you" " You had better not, indeed !" he replied, coldly ; " but what's to be done, eh ? — That's what we ought to be considering. Do you think — hem! — I am — Could you, do you think — " He paused, and seemed embarrassed. " Could I what, dear George ?" she inquired, squeezing his hands. " D'ye think — D — ee ! — no — I'll ask you some other day !" and he rose from his chair. What will be imagined was his request,"? — She learned some days afterward, that it was for her to use her influence with her aunt, an old widow lady, to lend him 500/. ! — To return, however. He was standing opposite the fire, in moody con- templation, when a rude puppy, dressed in the ex- treme of the fashion, with three different-coloured waistcoats on, burst miceremoniously into the par- lour, and disturbed the sorrowful tUe-d-tete of T and his wife, by rushing up to the former, shaking his hands, and exclaiming boisterously — "Ah! T , how d'ye do, d — ee ] — Bill Bunce's chaffer has beat ; he has, by — ! I've won 15/. on it ! Oh, a thousand pardons, ma'am — I didn't see you ; but tliere's been a great dog-fight, you see, and I have been luckier than what ^Ir. T here has, for I've won 15/. and he has lost 20/. 1'^ This precious puppy was one of T 's bosom friends ! — Ay, incredible as it may seem, it was for such Avorthless fellows, such despicable blockheads as th^se, that Mr. T had squandered his gene- rous wife's property, and forsaken her company ! On the present occasion, — a sample of what had oc- curred so often as to cause no surprise — nothing but a gush of bitter tears after he was gone, — T civilly bade her good morn in?, and departed arm-in- X 243 PASSAGES FROM THE ann with his " friend," and did not return till past two o'clock in the morning, almost dead-drunk. Had he seen how the remainder of the day was spent by his poor wife — in tears and terror — unsoothed by the thought that her husband was absent on errands of honourable employment — content with making a scanty dinner of that at which the servant " turned up her nose," as the phrase is — and sitting the rest of the evening sewing and shedding tears by turns, till the hour of midnight warned her to retire to a sleepless bed : could he have felt the hurried beat- ings of the heart whenever her wakeful ear fancied she heard the sound of his approaching footsteps on the pavement beneath : could he have done this, he might not, possibly, on waking in the moniing, have called her a , nor struck her on the mouth till lier under-lip was half cut through, for presuming to rouse him before he had slept off the fumes of the brandy, and all he had drunk over night — in order that he might be in trim for a consultation appointed for eleven o'clock. He did do this ; and I was the first person on earth to whom she reluctantly told it — on her deathbed ! Though her delicate and interesting situation — within a very few weeks of her accouchement — might have kindled a spark of tenderness and pride in the bosom of any husband who had not lost all the feehngs of honour and manliness, it sufficed, ap- parently, to inspire T with a determination to treat her more unkindly and neglectfully than ever. She scarcely ever saw him during the day; and v/hen he came home at night — more than once con- ducted by the watchman — he was almost invariably stupified with liquor; and if t\e had the power of utterance, he seemed to take a demoniacal pleasure in venting upon her the foulest expressions which he could recollect being used i'-y the riftrafF of the taverns where he spent his tjfue. More than once was she so horrified with whr4t he said, that, at the DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 243 peril of lier life, she insisted on leaving him, and sharing the bed of the servant! Her wretched looks might have broken a heart of stone; yet it affected not that of the wretch who called her his wife ! A few days after the occuiTence above related, the maid-servant put a twopenny-post letter into her mistress's hands; and fortunate it was for Mrs. T that the girl happened to be in the room while she read it, awaiting orders for dinner. The note was in these words, written in a feigned, but still a lady's hand : — " Unfortunate ^Iadam ! "I feel it my duty to acquaint you that your husband, Mr. T , is pursuing quite disgraceful courses all night and day, squandering away his money among sharpers and blacklegs, and that he is persuaded to back one of the boxers in a great fight that is to be ; and above all, and what I blush to tell you, — but it is fitting Mrs. T should know it, in my opinion, — Mr. T is notoriously keeping a woman of infamous character, with Avhom he is constantly seen at the theatres and most other pubHc places, and she passes as his consin. Hoping that you will have prudence and spirit to act in this distressing business as becomes a lady and a wife, I am, " Madam, " With the truest respect and sympathy, "A Real Friend." Mrs. T read this cruel letter in silence — mo- tionless — and with a face that whitened sensibly as she proceeded ; till, at the disgi'accfiil fact mentioned in the concluding part, she dropped the paper from her hands — and the servant ran to her in time to prevent her falling from the chair, for she had swooned ! It was long before she came to ; and 244 PASSAGES FROM THE when that was the case, it was only that she mig-ht be carried to her bed — and she was confined that evening. The child was stillborn ! All this came on the husband like a thunderstroke, and shocked him for a time into something like sobriety and compunction. The admirable qualities of his wife — her virtues and her meekness — shone before his startled eyes in angel hues. He forsook the scenes a constant frequenting of which had rendered him unworthy to live under the same roof with her, and betook himself to the regular pursuits of business with great earnestness. He soon found out what arduous up-hill work it was to bring again under his control affairs which had been so long and shame- fully neglected. He felt several times disposed to throw it all over in disgust ; for, alas ! he had lost almost eveiy vestige of the patience and accuracy of business-habits. He succeeded, with great diffi- culty, in appeasing the more clamorous of his cred- itors, and, in a word, he once more stood a chance of clearing his way before him. His poor wife, however, was brought several times to the very- verge of the grave, and was destined for months to the monotonous hours of a bed of sickness. For nearly a month, she experienced the most affection- ate attentions from her husband, that were consist- ent with a due attention to the business of his office. She felt revived and cheered by the prospect of his renewed attachment, and trusted in its per- manency. But, alas ! her husband was not made of such materials as warranted her expectations; he was little else than a compound of weakness, vanity, ignorance, and ill-temper; and for such a one the sober loveliness and attractiveness of domestic life had no charms. He had no sooner got his affairs a little into train, and succeeded in reviving the confi- dence of some of his principal clients, than he began to relax his efforts. One by one his old as- sociates drew round him, and re-entangled him in DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 243 the toils of dissipation. The first time that poor ill- fated Mrs. T came down into the parlour to dinner, after a three months' absence in her sick- chamber, she was doomed to dine alone — disap- pointed of the promised presence of her husband to welcome her — for the same low, contemptible cox- comb, formerly introduced to the reader as one of her husband's most intimate friends, had called in the course of the morning-, and succeeded in enticing him away to a tavern-dinner with a " set of good ones," who were afterward to adjourn to one of the minor theatres. In vain was the little fillet of veal, ordered by her husband himself, placed on the table before his deserted wife ; she could not taste it, nor had strength enough to carve a piece for the nurse ! jVIr. T had had the grace to send her a note of apology, alleging that his absence was occasioned by " an affair of business !" This cniel and perfidious conduct, however, met with its due punishment. One of his principal creditors — his tailor — happened to be swallowing a hasty dinner in a box adjoining the one in which T and his boisterous asso- ciates were dining, and accidentally cast eyes on his debtor T . He saw and heard enough to fill him with fury ; for he heard his omii name mentioned by the half-inebriated debtor, as one of the •' served-out snips''' whom he intended to " do" — an annunciation \vhich was received by the gentlemanly young men who were dining with him, with cries of " Bravo, T , do ! D — ee, I — and I — and I — have done it before this !" The next morning he was an^ested for a debt of 110/. at the suit of the very "snip" whom he in- tended, in his o^vn witty way, to " do," and carried off to a spunging-house in Chancery Lane. There he lay for two days without his wife's knowing any thing of the true state of things. He could get no one to stand bail for him, till one of his wife's in- sulted friends, and his own brother-in-law, came for- X 2 246 PASSAGES FROM THE ■ward reluctantly for that purpose, in order to calm her dreadful agitation, which had flung her again on a sick-bed. Her husband wrote her a most peniten- tial letter from the spunging-house, imploring her forgiveness of his misconduct, and promising amend- ment. Again she believed him, and welcomed him home with enthusiastic demonstrations of fondness. He himself could not refrain from weeping; he sobbed and cried like a child ; for his feelings — what with the most pungent sense of disgrace, and re- morse, and conscious un worthiness of the sweet creature, whose affections no misconduct of his seemed capable of alienating — were quite overcome. Three of his largest creditors commenced actions against him, and nothing seemed capable of arresting the ruin now impending over him. Where was he to find the means of satisfying their claims 1 He was in despair, and had sullenly and stupidly come to a resolution to let things take their course, when, as if Providence had determined to afford him one chance more of retrieving his circumstances, the sudden death of his father put him in possession of 300/. in ready cash ; and this sum, added to 200/. advanced him by two of his wife's friends, who could not resist her agonizing supplications, once more set matters to rights. Passing over an interval of four years, spent with disgrace to himself, and anguish to his wife, similar to that described above, they must now be presented to the reader occupying, alas ! a lowered station of society. They had been compelled to relinquish an airy, respectable, and commodious residence, for a small, bad house, in a worse neighbourhood. His business had dwindled down to what was insufficient to occupy the time of one solitary clerk, whom he was scarcely able to pay regularly — and the more respectable of his friends had deserted him in disgust. The most rigorous — nay, almost starving DIARY OF A LATE PHVSICIAX. 247 — economy on the part of his wife barely sufficed to make both ends meet. She abridged herself of almost every domestic comfoit, of all those little elegancies which a well-bred woman loves to keep about her, and did so without a murmur. The little income arising from the 5000/. her settlement-money, might surely of itself, with only ordinary prudence on his part, have enabled them to maintain their ground with something like respectability, especially if he had attended to what remained of his business. But, alas ! alas ! T — =-'s temper had by this time been thoroughly and permanently soured. He hated his good wife — his business — his family — himself — every thing except liquor and low company ! His features bore testimony to the sort of life he led — swelled, bloated, and his eyes languid and bloodshot. Mrs. T saw less of him than ever; for not far from his house there was a small tavern, frequented by not the most respectable sort of people ; and there was T to be found, evening after evening, smoking and drinking himself into a state of stupid insensibility, till he would return home redolent of the insufferable stench and fumes of tobacco-smoke and brandy-and-water I In the daytime he was often to be found for hours together at an adjoining bilhard-room, where he sometimes lost sums of money, which his poor wife was obliged to make up for by parting, one by one, with her little trinkets and jewelry ! What could have infatuated him to pursue such a line of conduct ? it may be asked. Why, as if of set purpose, to ruin the peace of mind of one of the fondest and most amiable wives that ever man was blessed with] A vulgar but forcible expression may explain all, — it was "the nature of the beast." He had no intellectual plea- sures — no taste for the quiet enjoyments of home ; and had, above all, in his wife, too sweet, confiding, and unresisting a creature ! Had she proved a ter- magant, the aspect of things might have been vei-y 248 PASSAGES FROM THE different ; she might have bullied him into something like a sense of propriety. But here, however, he had it all his own way — a poor creatm'e, who allowed him to break her heart without remonstrance or reproach; for the first she dared not — the second she could not ! It would have melted a heart of stone to see her ! She was wasted to a skeleton, and in such a weak, declining state of health, that she could scarcely stir out of doors. Her appetite was almost entirely gone ; her spirits all fled long ago ! Now, shall I tell the reader one immediate cause of such physical exhaustion ? I will, and truly. Mr. T had still a tolerable share of business^ but he could scarcely be brought to give more than two hours' attendance in his office a-day, and sometimes not even that. He therefore imprudently left almost every thing to the management of his clerk, a worthy young man, but wholly incompetent to such a cliarge. He had extorted from even his idle and unworthy master frequent acknowledgments of his obligations for the punctuality with which he transacted all that was intrusted to him, and, in particular, for the neat- ness, accuracy, and celerity with which he copied drafts of pleadings, leases, agreements, &c. His master often hiccoughed to him his astonishment at the rapidity with which he "turned them out of hand." Little did the unworthy fellow imagine that in saying all this, he was uttering, not his clerk's, but his wife's praises ! For she it was, poor creature ! who, having taken the pains to learn a la\vyer's hand, engrossing, &c. from the clerk, actually sat up almost regularly till two or three o'clock in the morning, plodding, occasionally through papers and parchments — making long and' laborious abstracts — engrossing settlements, indentures, &c. and copying pleadings, till her wearied eyes and her little hands could no longer perform their office ! I could at this moment lay my hands on a certain legal instrument of tiresome prolixity, which was engrossed, every DIARY OF A LATR PHYSICIAN. 249 word, by Mrs. T ! This was the way iii which his wife spent the hours of midnight, to enable him to squander away his time and money in the un- worthy, the infamous manner above related ! Was it wonderful that her health and spirits were wholly borne down by the pressure of so many ac- cumulated ills f Had not her husband's eye been dulled, and his perceptions deadened, by the per- petual stupors of intoxication, he might have dis- cerned the hectic flush — the coming fever — the blood-spitting, which foretel — consumption! But that was too much to be expected. As for the evenings — that part of his day was invariably spent at his favourite tavern, sotting hour after hour among its lowest frequenters ; and as for her night-cough and blood-spitting, he was lulled by liquor into too profound a repose to be roused by the sounds which were, in effect, his mart>Ted wife's death-knell ! If, during the daytime, he was, in a manner, forced to notice her languor — her drooping spirits — the only notice, the only sympathy it called forth on his part, was a cold and careless inquiry, why she did not call in a medical man ! I shall conclude this portion of my narrative with barely reciting four instances of that conduct on the part of Mrs. T 's husband, which at last succeeded in breaking her heart ; and which, with many other similar vices, were commu- nicated to me with tears of tortured sensibility. I. Half-drunk, half-sober, he one evening intro- duced to her, at tea, a familiar " friend," whose questionable appearance might, at first sight, have justified his wife's refusal to receive her. Her conversation soon disclosed her real character ; and the insulted wife abruptly retired from the room that was polluted by the presence of the infamous crea- ture, whom he avowed to be his mistress ! He sprung after her to the door, for the purpose of dragging her back ; but her sudden paleness, and the iaint tones in which she wliispered — "Don't stop me— 250 PASSAGES FROM THE don't— or I shall die !" so shocked him, that he al- lowed her to retire, and immediately dismissed the wretch, whom he could have brought thither for no other purpose than to insult his wife ! Poor creature ! did a portion of her midnight earnings go towards the support of the wretch who was kept by her husband ] Was not such a consideration suffi- cient to stab her to the heart ? II. Having occasion, late one evening, to rummage among her husband's office-papers, in search of something which was to be engrossed that night, her eye happened to light on a document, with a pencil superscription — " Copy, case for coujisel, concerning Mrs. T '5 marriage-settlementy A very excusa- ble curiosity prompted her to peruse what proved to be a series of queries submitted to counsel, on the following points, among others: What present powers he had under her marriage-settlement ? — whether her own interest in it could be legally made over to another, with her consent, during her life- time, and if so, how ? — whether or not he could part with the reversion, provided she did not exercise her power of willing it away elsewhere 1 — From all this, was it possible for her not to see how heartlessly he was calculating on the best method of obtaining possession of the remnant of her fortune 1 " Oh, cruel — cruel — cruel George ! So impatient ! — Could you not wait a month or two 1 I'm sure I shall not keep you out of it long ! I always intended to leave it you, and I won't let this alter my mind, though it is cruel of you !" sobbed Mrs. T , till her heart seemed breaking. At that moment she heard her husband's loud obstreperous knock at the door, and hastily crumpling up the paper into the drawer of the desk from which she had taken it, she put out the candle, and leaving her midnight labours, flew up stairs to bed — to a wretched and sleepless one ! III. Mrs. T 's child, which was about three DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 251 years and a half old, was suddenly seized with convulsive fits, as she was one eveninir undressing it for bed. Fit after fit followed in such rapid suc- cession that the medical man who was summoned in prepared her to expect the worst. The distrac- tion of her feelings may be easier conceived than described, as she held on her knee the little creature on whose life were centred all the proud and fond feelings of a mother's love, deepened into exclusive intensity — for it seemed the only object on earth to return her love ; — as she held it, 1 say, but with great difficulty, for its tiny limbs were struggling and plunging about in a dreadfid manner. And then the frightful rolling of the eyes ! They were endeav- ouring to pour a tea-spoonful of Dalby's carminative, or some such medicine, through the closed teeth, when the room-door vv as suddenly thrown open, and in reeled Mr. T , more than half-seas over with liquor, and in a merrier mood than usual, for he had been successful at billiards ! He had entered un- observed througi^h the street-door, which had been left ajar by the distracted servant-girl, and hearing a bustle in the room, he had entered for the purpose of seeing what was the matter. "Wh — wh — what is the matter, good fo — oiks, ehl" he stammered, reeling towards where Mrs. T Avas sitting, almost fainting with terror at seeing the frightful contortions of her infant's coun- tenance. She saw him not, for her eyes were fixed in agony on the features of her suffering babe. " AVhat the — the — the d — 1 is the matter with all of you here, eh ?" he inquired, chucking the servant- girl imder the chin, who, much agitated, and shed- ding tears, had approached to beg he would leave the room. He tried to kiss her, and in the presence of the medical man — who sternly rebuked him for his monstrous conduct. " D — n you, sir — who the d — 1 are you ?'' he said, putting his arms a-kimbo ; " I will know what's the 252 PASSAGES FROM THE matter!" He came near — he saw all! — the leaden hand, quivering features, the limbs now rigid, and struggling violently, the starting eyeballs. " Why, for God's sake, what's the matter, eh 1" he stammered, almost inaudibly, while the colour fled from his face, and the perspiration started upon his forehead. He strove to steady himself, but that was impossible. He had drunk too deeply. " What are you doing to the child — what — what f he again inquired, in a feeble and faltering voice, in- terrupted by a hiccough. No notice whatever was taken of him by , who did not seem to see or hear him. — " Jane, tell me," addressing his wife, " has the child had" — hiccough — " an — an — ac— *ci — dent T" The infant that moment gave a sudden and final plunge ; and Mrs. T 's faint shriek and the servant-girl's wringing of the hands announced that all was over ! The little thing lay dead in the arms of its mother. " Sir, your child is dead," said the apothecary, somewhat sternly, shaking Mr. T by the arm — for he stood gazing on the scene with a sullen, vacant stare, scarcely able to steady himself. " Wh— wh— at ! D—e—a—d /" he muttered. " Oh, George, my darling is — is dead !" groaned the afflicted mother, for the first time looking at and addressing her husband. The word seemed to sober him in an instant. " What !— Dead ! And I drunk !" The medical man who stood by told me he could never forget the scenes of that evening! When Mrs. T discovered, by his manner, his disgrace- ful condition, she was so utterly overcome with her feelings of mingled grief, shame, and horror, that she fell into violent hysterics, which lasted almost all night long. As for T , he seemed palsied all the next day. He sat alone during the whole of the next morning, in tlie room where the dead infant lay, DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 253 gazing upon it with emotions which may be imagined, but not described ! IV. Ahnost the only piece of ornamental furniture, her last remaining means of amusement and conso- lation, was her piano. She played Avith great taste and feeling, and many a time contrived to make sweet sounds pour an oblivious charm over her sor- rows and sufferings, by v/andering over the airs which she had loved in happier days. Thus was she engaged one afternoon with one of Dr. Arne's exquisite compositions, the air beginning, "Blow, blow, thou bitter wind." She made several attempts to accompany the music with her voice — for she had a very sweet one, and could sing — but, whenever she attempted, the words seemed to choke her. There was a sorrowful appropriateness in them, a touching echo of her own feelings,'which dissolved her very spirit within her. Her only child had died, as the reader was informed, about six months before, and her husband had resumed his ill courses, becoming more and more stern and sullen in his demeanour — more unreasonable in his requirements. The words of the air, as may be easily conceived, were pain- fully appropriate to her situation, and she could not help shedding tears. At that moinent her husband entered the room, with his hat on, and stood for seme moments before the fire in silence. " Mrs. T 1" said he, as soon as she had con- cluded the last stanza. " Well, George ]" said she, in a mild tone. " I — I must sell that piano, ma'am — I must !" said he. " What !" exclaimed his wife, in a low whisper, turning round on the music-stool, and looking him in the face with an air of sorrowful surprise. " Oh, you cannot be in earnest, George !" " Ton my life, ma'am, but I am — I can't afford you superfluities while we can hardly afford the means of. keeping body and soul together." Y 254 PASSAGES FROM THE " George — dear George — do forgive me, but I — I— - I cannot part with my poor piano !" said she. " Why not, ma'am, when / say you must 1" " Oh, because it was the gift of my poor mother !'' she replied, bursting into tears. " Can't help that, ma'am — not I. It must go. I hate to hear its cursed noise in the house — it makes me melancholy — it does, ma'am — you're always playing such gloomy music," replied her husband, in a severe and less decisive tone. ^ Well, well ! if that's all, I'll play any thing you like — only tell me, dear George ! what shall I play for you, now ]" said she, rising from the music-stool and approaching him. "Play a farewell to the piano ; for it must go, and it shall V' " Dear, kind George ! let me keep it a little longer," said she, looking him beseechingly in the face — " a little — a little longer" — " Well, ma'am, sit down and play away till I come in again, any thing you like." He left the room; and in less than half an hour— * ©h, hardness of heart unheard of! — returned with a stranger, who proved to be a furniture broker, come to value the instrument ! That evening it was sold to him for 15/. ; and it was carried away the first thing in the morning, before his wife came down stairs! What will be supposed the cause of this cruelty ? It was to furnish Mr. T with money to pay a bill of the infamous creature more than once alluded to, and who liad obtained a complete ascendency over him ! It was a long-continued course of such treatment as this that called me upon the scene, in a profes- sional capacity merely at first ; till the mournful countenance of my patient inspired me with feelings of concern and friendly sympathy, which eventually led to an entire confidence. She came to me in the Maostentatious character of a morning patient, in a DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 25S hackney-coach, with an elderly female friend. She looked quite the lady, though her dress was of but an ordinary quality, yet exquisitely neat and clean ; and she had still a veiy interesting and somewhat pretty face, though long-continued sorrow had made sad havoc with her features ! These visits, at in- tervals' of a week, she paid me, and compelled me to take my fee of one guinea, on each occasion— though I would have given te"o to be enabled to decline it without hurting her delicacy. Though her general health had suffered severely, still i thought that matters had not gone quite so far as to destroy all hopes of recovery, with due attention ; — though her cheeks disclosed, almost every evening, the death- rose, the grave-flowers of hectic, and night-sweats and a faint cough were painfully regular in their recurrence, still I saw nothing, for a long time, to warrant me in warning her of serious danger. I in- sisted on her alio wing me to visit her at her own house, and she at last permitted me, on condition that I would receive at least half-a-guinea — poor creature! — for every visit. That, however, I soon dropped; and I saw her almost every day gratuitously, when- ever any temporary aggravations of her symptoms required my attendance. The first time I saw her husband I could not help taking a prejudice against him, though she had never breathed a syllable to me of his ill ^conduct. He was apparently about forty years old, though his real age was not more than two or three-and- thirty. His manners and habits had left a sufficiently strong impress upon him to enable a casual beholder to form a shrewd conjecture as to his character. His features, once rather handsome than otherwise, were now reddened and swollen with long-continued excess ; and there was altogether an air of truculence — of vulgar assurance and stupid sul- lenness about him which prepossessed me strongly against him. When, long afterward, Mrs. T gave me that description of his appearance and 256 PASSAGES FROM THE ; manners under which he is first placed before the reader of this narrative, I could not help frequently ! interrupting her with expressions of incredulity, and i remmding her of his present ill-favoured looks : but as she went on with her sad story my skepticism van- 1 ished. Personal deterioration was no incredible ; attendant on moral declension I 1 March 2Sth, 18 — . — There can be no longer any | doubt as to the nature of Mrs. T 's symptoms, i She is the destined victim of consumption. The ! oftener I go to her house the stronger are my sus- picions that she is an unhappy woman, and that her ' husband ill-uses her. I have many times tried to hint my suspicions to her, but she will declare nothing. She witl not understand me. Her settled ,| despondency, however, accompanied with an undue : current of feverish nervous trepidation, which she , cannot satisfactorily explain, convinces me some- thing or other is wrong. I see very little of her i husband, for he is scarcely ever in her company when i I call. Though his business is that of an attorney, | and his house and office are one, I see scarcely any ; indications of business stirring. I am afraid they ■ are in sinking circumstances. I am sure that she, at ' least, was born and bred for a higher station than she j now occupies. Her manners have that simplicity, : ease, and elegance which tell of a higher rank in society. I often detect her alone in tears, over a ! low fire. In a word, I am sure she is wretched, and that her husband is the cause of it. That he keeps i late hours I knozv — for she happened to let slip as ' much one day to me, when I was making inquiries .' about the time of her retiring to sleep. I feel a great interest in her ; for whenever I see her, her appearance reminds me of "Patience on a monu- ! ment, smiling at Grief," — ; " Sorrow deck'd ' In the poor faded garb of tarnisli'd joj', 111 fitting to her wasted form." DLUIY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 257 April 5th. — To-day I found them both together- sitting one on each side of the fireplace, he smok- ing — in the parlour, — and she, with a little flower- ing-work in her lap. I thought he seemed somewhat embarrassed at my entrance ; which probably had put an end to some scene of unpleasantness, for her face was suffused with crimson. It soon retired, however, and left the wanness to which I had been accustomed in her. " So my wife's ill, sir, it seems," said Mr. T , putting his pipe on the hob, and addressing me. " I'm sorry to say she is, -Mr. T ," I replied, " and that she is worse to-day than she has been for some time." Mrs. T let fall tears. " Sorry to hear you say so, doctor ; IVe just heen telling her it's all owing to her own obstinacy in not calHng entirely on ." " I think you might have used a milder word, sir," said I, with involuntary sternness, at the same time directing my attention exclusively to his wife, as if for the purpose of hinting the propriety of his re- tiring. " What's the matter with her, sir ?" he inquired, in a more respectful tone than he had hitherto as- smned. " General debility, sir, and occasional pain," said I, coldly. " What's it owing to 1" I looked suddenly at Mrs. T ; our eyes met — and hers had an expression of apprehension. I determined, however, to give a hint that I suspected all was not right, and replied — " I fear she does not take suitable nourishment — keeps irregular hours — and has something or other in her mind which harasses her." The latter words I accompanied with a steady look in his face. He seemed a little flushed. ^' You're mistaken, sir," said he, with a brusque air ; Y2 258 PASSAGES FROM THE " she may eat what she likes — that I can afford — may go to bed at what hour she Hkes — and it's all her own fault that she will sit moping over the fire night after night, and week after week — waiting for my return — till two or three o'clock in the morning" — " That is, of itself, sufficient to accoimt for her illness," said I, pointedly. He began to lose his temper, for he saw the shameful acknowledgment he had imwittingly made. " Pray, Mrs. T ," he inquired, looking angrily at his wife, who sat pale and trembling by his side, — " Haxe you any thing on your mind — eh 1 — if so — why — speak out — no sneaking !" " No !" she stammered ; " and I never said I had — I assure you. Did I ever give you even the most distant hint of the kind, doctor ]" she continued, ap- pealing to me. " By no means, madam, — not in the slightest, on any occasion," I replied ; " it was only a conjecture — a suspicion of my own." I thought he looked as if he would have made some instant reply, for his eye glared furiously on me. He bit his lips, however, and continued silent. His conscience " pricked him." I began to feel uneasy about the future quiet of Mrs. T , lest any observations of mine should have excited her husband's suspicions that she made disclosures to me of family matters. " What would you advise for her, sir V he asked, coldly. " Removal, for a few weeks, to the seaside, a liberal diet, and lively society." " Very well, sir," said he, after a puzzled pause ; *' very good, sir — very ; it shall be attended to. — Perhaps you want to be alone — eh 1 — So I'll leave you!" and directing a peculiar look towards his wife, as if warning her against something or other, he left the room. She burst into tears directly he was gone. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 259 " My dear madam, forgive me for saying that I suspect your husband's behaviour towards you is somewhat harsh, and, perhaps, unkind,''' said I, in as soothing a tone as I could command, and pressing her hand kindly in mine. " Oh no, doctor, — no I" she replied, adding in an altered manner, indicating displeasure, " what makes you think so, sir V " Why, madam, simply because I cannot shut my eyes or my ears to what passes even while I am here — as, for instance — only just now, madam — just now." She sighed, and made me no reply. T told her I was in earnest in recommending the course I had mentioned to her husband. " Oh dear, doctor, no, no, — we could not afford it," said she, with a sigh. At that moment her husband returned, — and resumed his former seat in sullen silence. I soon after took my departure. Jijyril 7th. — Does not the following make one blush for one's species 1 — I give it merely as I received it from the lips of ^Irs. T . Inestimable woman I why are you fated to endure such pangs ? — About twelve o'clock at noon, hearing her husband come in, and thinking from his looks, of Avhich she caught a casual and hasty glance through the window, that he was fatigued, and stood in need of some re- freshment, she poured out a glass of port wine, almost the last in a solitary bottle which she had pur- chased, under my directions, for medicinal purposes, and, with a biscuit, brought it herself down stairs — though the effort so exhausted her feeble frame, that she was obliged to sit down for several moments on the last stair to recover her breath. At last she ventured to knock at the door of the little back- ofRce where he was sitting, holding the little waiter with the glass of wine and the biscuit in her left hand. " Who's there ]" inquired the giuff voice of T . 260 PASSAGES FROM THE " It's only I, my dear. May I come in, please ?" replied the gentle voice of his wife. " What brings you here, eh ] — What the d — 1 do you want with me, now V said he, surlily. " I've brought you something, my dear," she re- plied, and ventured to open the door. T was sitting before some papers or parchments, alone, and his countenance showed that he was in a worse humour than usual. So soon as he saw her errand, he suddenly rose from his chair, and exclaiming, in an angry tone — " What the — — brings you here in this way, plaguing me while engaged at business, you ! Eh, woman ?" Oh, my God ! In a sudden fit of fury he struck the waiter, wine, biscuit and all, out of her trembling hands to the floor, rudely pushed her out of the room, and slammed the door violently in her face. He did not reopen it, though he could not but have heard her fall upon the floor, the shock was so sudden and violent. There, stretched across the mat, at the bottom of the staircase, lay that suffering creature, unable to rise, till her stifled sobbings brought the servant-girl to her assistance. "I can't help saying it's most abominable usage of you, ma'am ; it is — and I don't care if master hears me say so neither," said the girl, herself crying ; " for I'm sure he isn't worthy of the very shoes you wear — he isn't." She was endeavouring to lift her mistress, when Mrs. T suddenly burst into a loud unnatural laugh, and went off into violent hysterics. Mr. T , hearing the noise of talking and laughing, sprung to the door, threw it open, and shouted to them to be "off with their noise — disturbing busi- ness!" — but the piteous spectacle of his prostrate wife stopped him — and, almost petrified with horror, he knelt down for the pui-pose of assisting her all he could. * * * About an hour after this occurrence I happened to call — and found her lying in bed, alone — her husband DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 261 having left her on business. When the servant told me — and her mistress reluctantly corroborated what she said — the circumstances above related, I felt such indignation swelling my whole frame, that had he been within reach, I could not have resisted caning the scoundrel within an inch of his unworthy life ! The recollection of this occurrence tortures me even now, and I can hardly believe that such brutality as T 's could have been shown by man ! Mrs.T kept her room from that hour, and never left it till she was carried out for burial ! — But this is anticipating. April 8th, 9th, lOth, llth. — I see clearly that poor Mrs. T will never rise from her bed again. She has drained the bitter cup of grief to the dregs ! — She is one of the meekest sufferers I ever had for a patient. She says little to me, or to any one : and shows a regard — a love for her unworthy husband, which, I think, can be called by no other name than absolute infatuation. I have never yet heard her breathe a hint to his disadvantage. He is not much with her ; and from what little I have seen, I feel convinced that his eyes are opening to a sense of the flagrant iniquity of his past conduct. And what are the effects produced by his feelings of shame and remorse 1 He endeavours to forget all in the continual stupor induced by liquor ! April 12th. — Mrs. T delirious. Raved while I was there about her child — convulsions — said some- thing about " cruel of Mr. T to be drunk while his child lay dying," — and said many other things which shocked me unutterably, and convinced me that her primary disorder was — a broken heart. I am sure she must have endured a series of brutal usage from her husband ! 13^^. — The whole house upside down — in dis- order and confusion from the top to the bottom — for there is an execution in it, and the officers and an ap- praiser are making an inventoiy of the furniture \-^ 262 PASSAGES FROM THE poor — poor— poor Mrs. T lying all the while on her death-bed ! — The servant told me afterward, that her mistress, hearing strange steps and voices, called what was the matter ; and on receiving word of the real state of matters, lifted up her hands, burst into an agony of weeping, and prayed that the Almighty would be pleased to remove her from such a scene of wretchedness. T himself, I learned, w^as sitting cowering over the kitchen fire, crying like a child ! — Brute ! coward ! fool ! — Such was the state of things at the time of my arrival. I was incon- ceivably shocked, and hurried to Mrs. T 's room, with unusual haste and trepidation. I found her in tears — sobbing, and exclaiming, " Why won't they let us rest a little 1 — why strip the house before I am gone 1 — can they not wait a little 1 — where, where is Mr. T r' I could not for several minutes speak myself, — for tears. At length I succeeded in allaying her ex- citement and agitation. At her request, I sent for the appraiser into her room. He came — and seemed a respectable and feeling man. " Were you bent upon stripping the house, sir, while this lady is lying in her present dangerous state r' " Indeed, sir, indeed, sir," replied the man, with considerable emotion — " I'm sorry for it — very — but it is my duty — duty — ordered — " he continued, com- posedly ; " if I had my own way, sir" — " But at least you need not approach this cham- ber, sir," said I, rather sternly. He stammered something like the words, " obliged — sorry — court of law," &c. &c. Mrs. T again burst into an agony of tears. " Retire, sir, for the present," said I, in an authori- tative tone, " and we will send for you soon." I then entered into a conversation with my poor persecuted patient, and she told me of the 5000/. settled to her separate use, and which she intended, under a power DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 263 in the deed of settlement, to will to her husband. I spontaneously promised to stand security for the satisfaction of the execution, provided the creditors would defer proceedings for three months. She blessed me for it! — This, however, I afterward learned would be illegal, at least so I was told ; and I therefore wrote a check on my banker for the amount awarded by the court, and thus put an end to distress from that quarter. At Mrs. T 's request, I returned to her bedside that evening. I found a table, with writing materials placed before a chair, in which she begged me to be seated. She then dictated to me her will — in which, after deducting the sum I had advanced in satisfaction of the execution, and leaving me, in addition, sufficient to purchase a plain mourning-ring, she bequeathed the whole absolutely and unreservedly to her husband ; and added, my hand shaking while I wrote it down, " hoping that he will use it prudently, and not entirely forget me when I am gone. And if lie should — if he should — " her utterance was choked — " and if he should — marry again — " again she paused. "Dear, dear madam! compose yourself! Take time! This dreadful agitation will accelerate the event we are all dreading !" said I. " No — don't fear. I beg you will go on ! If he should marry again, may he use her — use her — No, no, no ! — strike all the last clause out ! Give me the pen !" I did as she directed me — struck out from the words, "^and if he should," &c., and put the pen into her hand. With trembling fingers she traced the letters of her name ; I witnessed it, and she saidr " Now, is all right ]" — " Ves, madam," I replied. She then burst into a flood of tears, exclaiming, " Oh, George ! George ! this will show you that, however tired you may have giown of me, I have loved you to the end — I have — I have !" She burst into louder weeping. " Oh,, it's hard, it's hard to part with him, though 264 PASSAGES FROM THE he might — he might have used me — No !" she paused. ' I suffered her excited feelings to grow calm ; and after some time spent in endeavouring to soothe her, \ I took my departure from witnessing one of the most heart-breaking scenes I have ever encountered. Her husband could not be prevailed on to enter her room that day ; but all night long, I was told, he sat outside the door, on one of the steps of the stairs, , and more than once startled her with his sighs. April lith to May 6th. — Sinking rapidly. I afiall i be astonished if she survive a week. She is..com- ■ paratively in a happy frame of mind, and has availed j herself of the consolations of religion to some \ purpose. On this day (May 6th) ;/Jcu : whence f-/-AHiii? — a "seizing," a " holding fast." Therefore we speak cf an attack of epilepsy. This etymology is highly descriptive of the disease in question ; for the suddenproatration, rigidity, contortious,.«kc. of thepaiiem, strongly DllRY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 273 M was a very powerful man ; and during the fits it was next to impossible for all present, united, to control his movements. The foam at his mouth suggested to his terrified brother the harrowing sus- picion that the case was one of hydrophobia. None of my remonstrances or assurances to the contrary sufficed to quiet him, and his distress added to the confusion of the scene. After prescribing to the best of my ability, I left, considermg the case to be one of simple epilepsy. During the rest of the day and night, the fits abated both in violence and frequency; but lie was left in a state of the utmost exhaustion, from which, however, he seemed to be rapidly re- covering, during the space of the four succeeding days ; when I was suddenly summoned to his bed- side, which I had left only two hours before, with the intelligence that he had disclosed symptoms of more alarming illness than ever. I hurried to his chambers, and found that the danger had not been magnified. One of his friends met me on the stair- case, and told me that about half an hour before, 'vhile he and Mr. C ^l , the patient's brother, were sitting beside him, he suddenly turned to the latter, and inquired, in a tone full of apprehension and terror—" Is Mr. T dead ]*' " Oh dear, yes — he died several days ago" — was the reply. " Then it was he" — he gasped — "it Avas he whom I suggest the idea that he has been taken or seized (cViAr/^o-a?) by, as it ■were, some external invisible agent. — It is worthy of notice, by-the-way, that i-iXrj-TiKdi is used by ecclesiastical writers to denote a person pos- sessed by a demon. 'E-ActiXtj, signifies simply ■" failure, deficiency." I shall conclude this note with a practical illustration of the necessity •which calls it forth— the correction of a prevalent error. A flippant stu- dent, who, I was given to understand, plumed himself much among his companions on his Greek, was suddenly asked by one of his examiners for a definition of epilepsy, grounded on its etymologj'. I forget the defini- tion, which was given with infinite self-sufficiency of tone and manner ; but the fine trick of scholarship with which it was finished off I well recollect : — " From i-jXtiv^ j; — (hi-Xei-ru) — I fail, am wanting) ; there- fore, sir, epilepsy is a failure of animal functions ! ."' — The same sag© definition is regularly given by a well-known metropolitan lecturer I 274 PASSAGES FROM THE saw, and he is surely — damned! — Yes, merciful Maker ! — he is ! — he is !" — he continued, elevating his voice to a perfect roar — " and the flames have re- duced his face to ashes! — Horror! horror! horror!" — He then shut his eyes, and relapsed into silence for about ten minutes : when he exclaimed — " Hark you, there — secure me ! tie me ! make me fast, or I shall burst upon you and destroy you all — for I 'm going- mad — I feel it !" — He ceased, and commenced breath- ing fast and heavily — his chest heaving as though under the pressure of enormous weight ; and his swelling, quivering features, evidencing the dreadful uproar within. Presently he began to grind his teeth, and his expanded eyes glared about in all directions, as though following the motions of some frightful ob- ject, and muttering fiercely through his closed teeth — " O save me from him — save me — save me !" — It was a fearful thing to see him lying in such a state — grind- ing his teeth as though he would crush them to powder — his livid lips crested with foam — his fea- tures swollen — writhing — blackening ; and, which gave his face a peculiarly horrible and fiendish ex- pression, his eyes distorted or inverted upwards, so that nothing but the glaring whites of them could be seen — his whole frame rigid — and his hands clenched, as though they would never open again! — It is a dreadful tax on one's nerves to have to encounter such objects, familiar though medical men are with such and similar spectacles ; and in the present in- stance, every one round the bedside of the unfortu- nate patient stood trembling with pale and moment- arily-averted faces. The ghastly, fixed, up-turning of the eyes in epileptic patients fills me with horror whenever I recall their image to ray mind ! The return of these epileptic fits, in such violence, and after such an interval, alarmed me with appre- hensions, lest, as is not unfrequently the case, apo- plexy should supervene, or even ultimate insanity. It was rather singular that M was never known DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 275 to have had an epileptic fit previous to the present seizure, and he was then in his twenty-fifth year. I was conjecturing what sudden fright or blow, or ac- cident of any kind, or congestion of the vessels of the brain from frequent inebriation, could have brought on the present fit— when my patient, whose features had gi-adually sunk again into their natural disposition, gave a sigh of exhaustion — the perspira- tion burst forth, and he murmured — some time before we could distinctly catch the words — " Oh — spectre- smitten ! — spectre-smitten !" — which expression I have adopted as the title of this paper — " I shall never recover again !" — Though suiRciently surprised and perplexed about the import of the words, we took no notice of them ; but endeavoured to divert his thoughts from the fantasy, if such there were, which seemed to possess them, by inquiring into the nature of his symptoms. He disregarded us, however; fee- bly grasped my hand in his clammy fingers, and looking at me languidly, muttered — " What — Oh, what brought the fiend into my chambers V — and I felt his whole frame shiver — " Poor T ! Horrid fate !" — On hearing him mention T 's name, we all looked simultaneously at one another, but with- out speaking ; for a suspicion crossed our minds, that his highly-wrought feelings, acting on a strong imagination, always tainted with supeistitious ter- rors, had conjured up some hideous object, which had scared him nearly to madness — probably some fan- cied apparition of his deceased neighbour. He began again to utter long deep-drawn groans, that gradually gave place to the heavy stertorous breathing which, with other symptoms — his pulse, -for instance, beat- ing about 115 a-minute — confirmed me in the opinion that he was suffering from a very severe congestion of the vessels of the brain. I directed copious vene- section — his head to be shaven, and covered perpetu- ally with cloths soaked in evaporating lotions — and )}listers behind his ears, and at the nape of the neck 276 PASSAGES FROM THE — and appropriate internal medicines. I then left him, apprehending the worst consequences : for I had once before a similar case under my care — one in which a young lady was, which I strongly sus- pected to be the case with M , absolutely fright- ened to death, and went through nearly the same round of symptoms as were beginning to make their appearance in my present patient: a sudden epileptic seizure, terminating in outrageous madness, which: destroyed both the physical and intellectual energies, and the young lady expired. I may possibly here- after prepare for publication some of my notes of her case, which had some very remarkable features. The next morning, about eleven, saw me again at Mr. M 's chambers, where I found three or four members of his family — two of them his married sisters — seated round his sitting-room fire, in melan- choly silence. Mr. , the apothecary, had just left, but was expected to return every moment, to meet me in consultation. My patient lay alone in his bed-room asleep, and apparently better than he had been since his first seizure. He had had only one slight fit during the night; and though he had been a little delirious in the earlier part of the eve- ning, he had been on the whole so calm and quiet, that his friends' apprehensions of insanity were be- ginning to subside ; so he was left, as I said, alone; for the nurse, just before my arrival, had left her seat by his bedside for a few moments, thinking him " in a comfortable and easy nap," and was engaged, in a low whisper, conversing with the members of M 's family who were in the sitting-room. Hear- ing such a report of my patient, I sat down quietly among his relations, determining not to disturb him, at least till the arrival of the apothecary. Thus were we engaged, questioning the nurse in an under- tone, when a loud laugh from the bed-room suddenly silenced our whisperings, and turned us all pale. We started to our feet, with blank amazement in each DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 277 countenance, scarcely crediting tlie evidence of our senses. Could it be M 1 It must; there was none else in the room. What, then, was he laughing about ? While we were standing silently gazing on one another with much agitation, the laugh was re- peated, but longer and louder than before, accom- panied with the sound of footsteps, now crossing the room — then, as of one jumping! The ladies turned paler than before, and seemed scarcely able to stand. They sunk again into their chairs, gasping with ter- ror. " Go in, nurse, and see what's the matter," said I, standing by the side of the younger of the ladies, whom I expected every instant to fall into my arms in a swoon. "Doctor! — go in? — I — I — I dare not!" stammered the nurse, pale as ashes, and trembling violently. " Do you come here, then, and attend to Mrs. ," said I, " and I will go in." The nurse staggered to my place, in a state not far removed from that of the lady whom she was called to attend ; for a third laugh, — long, loud, uproarious, — had burst from the room while I was speaking. After cautioning the ladies and the nurse to observe profound silence, and not to attempt following me till I sent for them, I stepped noiselessly to the bed-room door, and opened it slowly and softly, not to alarm him. All was silent within; but "the first object that presented itself when I saw fairly into the room, can never be effaced from my mind to the day of my death. ;Mr. INI had got out of bed, pulled oft' his shirt, and stepped to the dressing-table, where he stood stark- naked before the glass, with a razor in his right hand, with which he had just finished shaving off his eyebrows ; and he was eying himself steadfastl}- in the glass, holding the razor elevated above his head. On seeing the door open and my face peering at him, he turned full towards me — (the grotesque aspect of his countenance denuded of so prominent a feature Aa 278 PASSAGES FROM THE as the eyebrows, and his head completely shaved, and the wildfire of madness flashing- from his staring eyes, exciting the most frightful ideas) — brandishing the razor over his head with an air of triumph, and shouting nearly at the top of his voice — "Ah, ha, ha! —What do you think of this ?" Merciful Powers ! May I never be placed again in such perilous circumstances, nor have my mind over- whelmed with such a gush of horror as burst over it at that moment ! . What was 1 to do ? Obeying a sud- den impulse I had entered the room, shutting the door after me ; and should any one in the sitting-room suddenly attempt to open it again, or make a noise or disturbance of any kind, by giving vent to their emotions, what was to become of the madman or ourselves 1 He might, in an instant, almost sever his head from his shoulders, or burst upon me or his sisters, and do us some deadly mischief! I felt con- scious that the lives of all of us depended on my conduct ; and I do devoutly thank God for the mea- sure of tolerable self-possession which was vouch- safed me at that dreadful moment. I continued standing like a statue — motionless — silent — endea- vouring to fix my eye on him, that I might gain the command of his ; that successful, I had some hopes of being able to deal with liim. He, in turn, now stood speechless — and I thought he was quailing — that I had over-mastered him — when I was suddenly fit to faint with despair — for at that awful instant I heard the door-handle tried — the door pushed gently open — and the nurse, I supposed — or one of the ladies — peeping through it. The maniac also heard it — the spell was broken — and, in a phrensy, he leaped several times successively in the air, brandishing the razor over his head as before. While he was in the midst of these feats, I turned my head hurriedly to the person who had so shanie- fully disobeyed my orders, and thereby jeopardied my life— whispered in low, affiighted accents — " At DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 279 the peril of your lives— of mine — shut the door, away — away, hush! or we are all murdered!" I was obeyed — the intruder withdrew, and I heard a sound as if she had fallen to the floor — probably in a swoon. Fortunately the madman was so occupied with his antics, that he did not observe what had passed at the door. It was the nurse who made the attempt to discover what was going on, I afterward learned — but unsuccessfully, for she had seen nothing. My injunctions were obeyed to the letter, for they main- tained a profound silence, unbroken but by a faint sighing sound, which I should not have heard, but that my ears were painfully sensitive to the slightest noise. But to retmn to myself and my fearful cham- ber companion. "Mighty talisman!" he exclaimed, holding the razor before liim, and gazing earnestly at it, " how utterly unworthy — how infamous the common use men put thee to V' Still he continued standing, with his eyes fixed intently upon the deadly weapon — I all the while uttering not a sound, nor moving a muscle, but waiting for our eyes to meet once more. " Ha — Doctor ! — How easily I keep you at bay, though little my weapon — thus'' — he exclaimed gayly, at the same time assuming one of the postures of the broadsword exercise — but I observed that he cautiously avoided meeting my eyes again. I crossed ray arms submissively on my breast, and continued in perfect silence, endeavouring, but in vain, to catch a glance of his eye. I did not wish to excite any emotion in him, except such as might have a ten- dency to calm, pacify, disarm him. Seeing me stand thus, and manifesting no disposition to meddle with liim, he raised his left hand to his face, and rubbed his fingers rapidly over the site of his shaved eye- brows. He seemed, I thought, inclined to go over them a second time, wlien a knock was heard at the outer chamber-door, which I instantly recognised as that of Mr. the apothecary. The madinan also 280 PASSAGES FROM THE heard it, turned suddenly pale, and moved away from the glass opposite which he had been stooping. " Oh — oh !" he gioaned, while his features assumed an air of the blankest affright, every muscle quivering, and every limb trembling from head to foot. " Is that — is — is that T come for me ]" He let fall the razor on the floor, and clasping his hands in an agony of, apprehension, he retreated, crouching and cowering down, towards the more distant part of the room, where he continued peering round the bedpost, his eyes straining as though they would start from their sockets, and fixed steadfastly upon the door. I heard him rustling the bed-curtain, and shaking it ; but veiy gently, as if wishing to cover and conceal himself within its folds. Oh, humanity ! — Was that poor being — that silly, slavering idiot — was that the once gay, gifted, bril- liant M 1 To return. My attention was wholly occupied with one object, the razor on the floor. How I thanked God for the gleam of hope that all might yet be right — that I might succeed in obtaining pos- session of the deadly weapon, and putting it beyond his reach! But how was I to do all this? I stole gradually towards the spot where the razor lay, with- out removing once my eye from his, nor he his from the dreaded door, intending, as soon as I should have come pretty near it, to make a sudden snatch at the horrid implement of destruction. I did — I suc- ceeded — I got it into my possession, scarcely credit- ing my senses. I had hardly grasped my prize, when the door opened, and Mr. the apothecary en- tered, sufficiently startled and bewildered, as it may be supposed, with the strange aspect of things. " Ha — ha — ha ! It's you, is it — it's you — you ana- tomy ! You plaster ! How dare you mock me in this hoiTid way, eh ]" shouted the maniac, and springing like a lion from his lair, he made for the spot where the confounded apothecary stood, stupifiied with ter- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICUN. 281 ror. I verily believe he would have been destroyed, torn to pieces, or cruelly maltreated in some way or other, had I not started and thrown myself between him and the unwitting object of his vengeance, ex- claiming at the same time, as a dernier resort, a sud- den and strong appeal to his fears — " Remember ! — T ! T ! T !" " I do — I — do !" stammered the maniac, stepping back, perfectly aghast. He seemed utterly petrified, and sunk shivering down again into his former posi- tion at the corner of the bed, moaning — " Oh me ! wretched me! Away — away — away!" I then stepped to Mr. , who had not moved an inch, directed him to retire instantly, conduct all the females out of the chambers, and return immediately with two or three of the inn-porters, or any other able-bodied men he could procure on the spur of the moment ; and I concluded by slipping the razor unobservedly, as I thought, into his hands, and bidding him remove it to a place of safety. He obeyed, and I found my- self once more alone with the madman. " M ! dear Mr. M ! I've got something to say to you — I have, indeed ; it's very — very particu- lar." I commenced, approaching him slowly, and speaking in the softest tones conceivable. " But you've forgotten this, you fool, you ! — you have !" he replied, fiercely, approaching the dressing- table, and suddenly seizing another razor — the fellow of the one I had got hold of with such pains and peril — and which, alas, alas ! had never once caught my eye ! I gave myself up for lost, fully expecting that I should be murdered, when I saw the blood- thirsty spirit with which he clutched it, brandished it over his head, and with a smile of fiendish derision, shook it full before me ! I trembled, however, the next moment, for himself, for he drew it rapidly to and fro before his throat, as though he would give the fatal gash, but did not touch the skin. He gnashed his teeth with a kind of savage satisfaction Aa2 282 PASSAGES FROM THE at the dreadful power with which he was consciously armed. " Oh, Mr. M ! think of your poor mother and sisters !" I exclaimed, in a sorrowful tone, my voice faltering with uncontrollable agitation. He shook the razor again before me with an air of defiance, and really " grinned horribly a ghastly smile." " Now suppose I choose to finish your perfidy, you wretch ! and do what you dread, eh ]" said he, hold- ing the razor as if he was going to cut his throat. " Why, wouldn't it be nobler to forgive and forget, Mr. M ]" I replied, with tolerable firmness, and folding my arms on my breast, anxious to appear quite at ease. "Too — too — too, doctor ! Too — too — too ! — Ha, by- the-M^ay ! — What do you say to a razor hornpipe — eh"? — Ha, ha, ha — a novelty, at least!" He began forthwith to dance a few steps, leaping frantically high, and uttering at intervals a sudden, shrill, disso- nant cry, resembling that used by those who dance the Highland " fling," or some other species of Scot- tish dance. I affected to admire his dancing, even to ecstasy — clapping my hands, and shouting, " Bravo, bravo ! — Encore !" He seemed inclined to go over it again, but was too much exhausted, and sat down panting on the window-seat, which was close behind him. "You'll catch cold, Mr. M , sitting in that draught of air naked, and perspiring as you are. Will you put on your clothes ]" said I, approaching him. " No !" he replied, sternly, and extending the razor threateningly. I fell back, of course — not knowing what to do, nor choosing to risk either his destruc- tion or my own by attempting any active interfe- rence ; for what was to be done with a madman who had an open razor in his hand % Mr. , the apo- thecary, seemed to have been gone an age ; and I found even my temper beginning to fail me~for I DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN'. 283 was tired with liis tricks, deadly 'dan^rous as they were. My attention, however, was soon riveted again on the motions of the maniac. " Yes — yes, deci- dedly so — I'm too hot to do it now — I am !" said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and eying the razor intently. " I must get calm and cool — and then — then for the sacrifice ! Ah, ha, the sacrifice ! — An offering — expiation — even as AlDraham — ha, ha, ha ! — But, by-the-way, how did Abraham do it — that is, how did he intend to have done it ] — Ah, I must ask my famihar !" "A sacrifice, Mr. M 1— WTiy, what do you mean ?" I inquired, attempting a laugh — I say, at- tempting — for my blood trickled chillily through my veins, and mv heart seemed frozen. " WTiat do'l mean, eh ? Wretch ! Dolt !— What do I mean ] — Why, a peace-off"ering to my Maker for a badly-spent life, to be sure ! — One would think you had never heard of such a thing as religion — you sow I" " I deny that the sacrifice would be accepted, and for two reasons," I replied, suddenly recollecting that he plumed himself on his casuistrv^ and hoping to engage him on some new crotchet, which might keep him in play till Mr. returned with assistance — but I was mistaken ! "Well, well. Doctor ! Let that be, now — I can't resolve doubts now — no, no," he rephed, solemnly, — " 'tis a time for action — for action — for action," he continued, gradually elevating his voice, using vehement gesticulations, and rising from his seat. " Yes, yes," said I, waniily ; " but though you've followed closely enough the advice of the Talmudist, in shaving off your eyebrows, as a preparatory" " Aha ! aha !— What ! have you seen the Talmud ? — Have you, really] — Well," he added, after a doubt- ful pause, " in what do you think I've failed, eh ]" [I need hardly say, that I myself scarcely knew 284 PASSAGES FROM THE what led me to utter the nonsense in question ; but I have several times found, in cases of insanity, that suddenly and readily supplying a motive for the pa- tienfs conduct — referring it to a cawse, of some sort or other, with steadfast intrepidity — even be the said cause never so preposterously absurd — has been attended with the happiest effects, in arresting the patient's attention — chiming in with his eccentric fan- cies, and piquing his disturbed faculties into acquies- cence in what he sees coolly taken for granted, as quite true — a thing of course — mere matter-of-fact — by the person he is addressing. I have several times recommended this little device to them who have been intrusted with the care of the insane, and have been assured of its success.] " You are very near the mark, I own ; but it strikes me that you have shaved them off too equally — too uniformly. You ought to have left some little ridges — furrows — ^liem, hem ! — to — to — terminate, or resemble the — the — the striped stick which Jacob held up before the ewes!" " Oh — ay — ay ! Exactly — true ! — Strange over- sight !" he replied, as if stiuck with the truth of the remark, and yet puzzled by vain attempts to cor- roborate it by his own recollections — " I — I recollect it now — but it isn't too late yet — is it ?" " I think not," I replied, with apparent hesitation, hardly crediting the success of my strange strata- gem. " To be sure, it will require veiy great deli- cacy ; but as you've not shaved them off -very closely, I think I can manage it," I continued, doubtfully. " Oh, oh, oh !" growled the maniac, while his eyes flashed fire at me. " There's one sitting by me that tells me you are dealing falsely with me — oh, you villain ! oh, you wretch !" At that moment the door opened gently behind me, and the voice of Mr. , the apothecary, whispered, in a low hurried tone, " Doctor, I've got three of the inn-porters here, in the sitting-room." Though the wliisper was almost DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 285 inaudible even to me, when uttered close to my ear, to my utter amazement, M had heard every syl- lable of it, and understood it too, as if some official minion of the Devil himself had quickened his ears, or conveyed the intelligence to him. "Ah— ha— ha !— Ha, ha, ha! — Fools! Knaves! Harpies! — and what are you and your three hired desperadoes, to me ? — Thus — thus do I outwit you, fools — thus !" and springing from his seat, he sud- denly drew up the lower part of the window-frame, and looked through it — then at the razor — and again at me, with one of the most awful glances — fuU of dark diabolical meaning, the momentaiy suggestion of the great tempter, that I ever encoimtered in my life. " Which ! — ^which ! — which !" he muttered fiercely through his closed teeth, while his right foot rested on the window-seat, ready for him to spring out, and his e^'e travelled, as before, rapidly from the razor to the window. Can any thing be conceived more pal- sying to the beholders ? ' Why did not you and your strong reinforcement spring at once upon him, and overpower him?' possibly some one is asking. — Aha ! and he armed with a naked razor ? His head might have been severed from his shoulders, before we could have over-mastered him — or we might our- selves—at least one of us — have been mmdered in the attempt. W'e knew not xa-hat to do! M sud- denly withdrew his head from the window, through which he had been gazing, with a shuddering, horror- stricken motion, and groaned — " No ! no ! no ! — I won't — can't — for there's T standing just be- neath, his face all blazing, and waiting with out- spread arms to catch me," standing at the same time shading his eyes with his left hand — when I whis- pered, — " Now, now ! go up to him — secure him — all three spring on him at once, and disarm him !" They obeyed me, and were in the act of rushing into the room, when "Si suddenly planted liimself in a pos- 286 PASSAGES FROM THE ture of defiance, elevated the razor to his throat, and almost howled — " One step — one step nearer — and I — 1 — I — so !" motioning as thongh he would draw it from one ear to the other. We all fell back, horror- struck, and in silence. What could we do ? If we moved towards him, or made use of any threatening gesture, we should see the floor in an instant deluged with his blood. I once more crossed my arms on my breast, with an air of mute submission. "Ha — ha!" he exclaimed, after a pause, evidently pleased with such a demonstration of his power, " obedient, however ! — come — that's one merit ! But still, what a set of cowards — bullies — cowards you must all be ! — What ! — all four of you afraid of one man ?" In the course of his frantic gesticulations he had drawn the razor so close to his neck that its edge had slightly grazed the skin under his left ear, and a little blood trickled from it over his shoulders and breast. " Blood !—5Zooc? .^— What a strange feeling! How coldly it fell on my breast ! — How did I do it? — Shall —I — go — on, as I have made a beginning ?" he ex- claimed, drawling the words at great length. He shuddered, and — to my unutterable joy and aston- ishment — deliberately closed the razor, replaced it in its case, put both in the drawer ; and having done all this, before we ventured to approach him, he fell at his full length on the floor, and began to yell in a manner that was perfectly frightful ; but in a few moments he burst into tears, and cried and sobbed like a child. We took him up in our arms, he groan- ing — " Oh, shorn of my strength! — shorn! shorn ! like Samson ! — Why part with my weapon 1 — The Philis- tines be upon me !" — and laid him down on the bed, where, after a few moments, he fell asleep. When he woke again, a strait-waistcoat put all his tremen- dous strugglings at defiance — though his strength seemed increased in a tenfold degree — and prevented lus attempting either his own life or that of any one DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 287 near him. When he found all his wri things and hearings utterly useless, he gnashed his teeth, the foam issued from his mouth, and he shouted, " I'll be even with you, you incarnate devils ! — 1 will ! — I'll suffocate myself!" and he held his breath till he grew black in the face, when he gave over the at- tempt. It was found necessary to have him strapped down to the bed; and his howlings were so shocking and loud, that we began to think of removing him, even in that dreadful condition, to a madhouse. I ordered his head to be shaved again, and kept per- petually covered with cloths soaked in evaporating lotions — blisters to be applied behind each ear, and at the nape of the neck — ^leeches to the temples, and the appropriate internal medicines in such cases — and left him, begging I might be sent for instantly in the event of his getting worse.* Oh, I shall never forget this harrowing scene ! — my feelings were wound up almost to bursting ; nor did they receive their proper tone for many a week. I cannot con- ceive that the people whom the New Testament speaks of as being " possessed of devils," could have been more dreadful in appearance, or more out- rageous in their actions, than was Mr. M ; nor can I help suggesting the thought, that, possibly, they w^ere in reality nothing more than maniacs of the worst kind. And is not a man transformed into a devil when his reason is utterly overturned I On seeing M the next morning, I found he had passed a terrible night—that the constraint of the strait-waistcoat filled him incessantly with a fury that was absolutely diabolical. His tongue was dreadfully lacerated; and the whites of his eyes, with perpetual straining, were discoloured with a * I ought to have mentioned, a liille way back, thnt in obedience to my hurried injunctions, the ladies suffered thenisek-es, almost tainting •with fright, to be conducted silently into the adjoirPfg chambers ; and it was well they did. Suppose they had uttered y&y sudden shriek, or attempted to interfere, or made a disturbance of aiiy kind, what would have become of us all I / 288 PASSAGES FROM THE reddish hue, like ferrets' eyes. He was truly a pite- ous spectacle ! One's heart ached to look at him, and think, for a moment, of the fearful contrast he formed to the gay Mr. M he was only a few days before, — the delight of refined society, and the id'ol of all his friends ! He lay in a most precarious state for a fortnight ; and though the fits of outrageous madness had ceased, or become much mitigated, and interrupted, not unfrequently, with " lucid intervals" — as the phrase is, — I began to be apprehensive of his sinking eventually into that hopeless, deplorable con- dition, idiotcy. During one of his intervals of sanity — when the savage fiend relaxed, for a moment, the hold he had taken of the victim's faculties — M said something according with a fact which it was impossible for him to have any knowledge of by the senses, which was to me singular and inex- plicable. It was about nine o'clock in the morning of the third day after that on which the scene above described took place, that M , who was lying in a state of the utmost lassitude and exhaustion, scarcely able to open his eyes, turned his head slowly to- wards Mr. , the apothecary, who was sitting by his bedside, and whispered to him — " They are pre- paring to bury that wretched fellow next door — hush! hush ! — one of the coffin-trestles has fallen — hush !" Mr. , and the nurse, who had heard him, both strained their ears to listen, but could hear not even " a mouse stirring" — " there's somebody come in — a lady, kissing his lips before he's screwed down — oh, I hope she won't be scorched— that's all !" He then turned away his head, with no appearance of emo- tion, and presently fell asleep. Through mere curiosity, Mr. looked at his watch ; and from subsequent inquiry ascertained that — sure enough — about the time when his patient had spoken, they were about binying his neighbour ; that one of the trestles did shp a little aside, and the coffin, in con- sequence, was near falling ; and finally, marvellous DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 289 to tell, that a lady, one of the deceased's relatives, 1 believe, did come and kiss the corpse, and cry bit- terly over it ! Neither Mr. nor the nurse heard any noise whatever during the time of the burial preparations next door, for the people had been earnestly requested to be as quiet about them as pos- sible, and really made no disturbance whatever. By what strange means he had acquired his information — whether Or not he was indebted for it to the ex- quisite delicacy, the morbid sensitiveness of the organs of hearing, I cannot conjecture ; especially am I at a loss to accoimt for the latter part of what he uttered, about the lady's kissing the corpse. On another occasion, during one of his most placid moods, but not in any lucid interval, he insisted on my taking pen, ink, and paper, and turning amanuen- sis. To (juiet him I acquiesced, and wrote what he dictated ; and the manuscript now lies before me, and is, verbatim et literatim, as follows : — " I, T M , saw, — what saw I ? A solemn silver grove — there were innumerable spirits sleeping among the branches — (and it is this, though unob- served of naturalists, that makes the aspen-tree's leaves to quiver so much — it is this, I say, namely, the rustling movements of the spirits) — and in the midst of this grove was a beautiful site for a statue, and one there assiu-edly was — but what a statue ! Transparent, of stupendous size, through which (the sky was cloudy and troubled) a ship was seen sink- ing at sea, and the crew at cards ; but the good spirit of the m.M saved them ; for he showed them the key of the universe, and a shoal of sharks, with murder- ous eyes, were disappointed of a meal. Lo, man, behold — another part of this statue — what a one ! — has a FISSURE in it — it opens — widens into a parlour, in darkness ; and shall be disclosed the horror of horrors, for, lo, some one sitting — sitting — easy- chair — fiery- face — fiend — fiend — oh, God ! oh, God ! save me," cried he. He ceased speaking, with a Bb 290 PASSAGES FROM THE shudder — nor did he resume the dictation, for he seemed in a moment to have forgotten that he had dictated at all. I preserved the paper; and gibberish though it is, I consider it both curious and highly characteristic throughout. Judging from the latter part of it, where he speaks of a " dark par- lour with some Jiery-faced fiend sitting in an arm- chair ;^'' and couphng this with various similar ex- pressions and allusions which he made during his ravings, I felt convinced that his fancy was occupied with some one individual image of horror, which had scared him into madness, and now clung to his dis- ordered faculties like a fiend. He often talked about " spectres," " spectral" — and uttered incessantly the words, "spectre-smitten." The nurse once asked him what he meant by these words ; he started — grew disturbed — his eye glanced with affright — and he shook his head, exclaiming, "horror!" A few days afterward he hired an amanuensis, who, of course, was duly apprized of the sort of person he had to deal with ; and after a painfully ludicrous scene — he attempting to beat down the man's terms from a guinea and a half a week to half a crown — he engaged him for three guineas, he said, and insisted on his taking up his station at the side of the bed, in order that he might take down every M'ord that was uttered. M told him he was going to dictate a romance ! It would have required, in truth, the " pen of a ready writer" to keep pace with poor M 's utterance ; for he raved on at a prodigious rate, in a strain, it need hardly be said, of unconnected absurdi- ties. Really it was inconceivable nonsense, rhap- sodical rantings in the Maturin style, full of vaults, sepulchres, spectres, devils, magic — with here and there a thought of real poetry. It was piteous to peruse it ! His amanuensis found it impossible to keep up with him, and therefore profited by a hint from one of us, and, instead of writing, merely moved his pen rapidly over the paper, scrawling all sorts of DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 291 ragged lines and figures, to resemble writing! M never asked him to read it over, nor requested to see it himself; but, after about fifty pages were done, dictated a titlepage — pitched on publishers — settled the price and tlie number of volumes— four ! — and then exclaimed — " Well ! — thank God — that^s off my mind at last !" He never mentioned it afterward ; and his brother committed the zvhole to the flames about a week after. M had not, however, yet done with his amanu- ensis — but put his services in requisition in quite an- other capacity — that of reader. Milton was the book he selected — and actually they went through very nearly nine books of it, — M perpetually inter- rupting him with comments, sometimes saying sur- passingly absurd, and occasionally very fine, forcible things. All this formed a truly touching ilhlstration of that beautiful often-quoted sentiment of Horace — " Quo semel est imbuta recens, servabit odorera Testa diu," Epist. Lib. I. Ep. 2. 69, 70. As there was no prospect of his speedily recover- ing the use of his reasoning faculties, he was re- moved to a private asylum, where I attended him regularly for more than six months. He was re- duced to a state of drivelling idiotcy ; complete fatuity! Lamentable! heart-rending! Oh, how de- plorable to see a man of superior intellect — one \vhose services are really wanted in society — the prey of madness ! Dr. Johnson was well known to express a peculiar horror of insanity. " Oh, God ! afflict my body with what tortures thou wiliest ; but spare my reason .'" Where is he that does not join him in uttering such a prayer ? It w^ould be beside my purpose here to enter into abstract speculations or purely professional details 292 PASSAGES FROM THE concerning insanity ; but one or two brief and simple remarks, the fruits of much experience and consider- ation, may perhaps be pardoned me. It is still a vexatu questio in our profession, whether persons of strong or weak minds — whether the ignorant or the highly cultivated, are most frequently the subjects of insanity. If we are disposed to listen to a generally shrewd and intelligent writer [Dr. Munro, in his Philosophy of Human JVaiwre"], we are to under- stand, that " children and people of weak minds are never subject to madness ; for," adds the doctor, " how can he despair who cannot think 1" Though the logic here is somewhat loose and leaky, I am disposed to agree with the doctor in the main ; and I ground my acquiescence, first, on the truth of Locke's distinction, laid down in his great work (book ii. c. ii. ^ 12 and 13), where he mentions the difference " between idiots and madmen," and thus states the sum of his observations : " In short, herein seems to lie the difference be- tween idiots and madmen, that madmen put wrong ideas together, and do make wrong propositions, but argue and reason right from them ; but idiots make very few or no propositions, and reason scarce at all." Secondly, On the corroboration afforded to it by my own experience. I have generally found that those persons who are most distinguished for their powers of thought and reasoning when of sound mind, continue to exercise that power, but incor- rectly, and be distinguished by their exercise of that power when of unsound mind, — their understand- ing retaining, even after such a shock and revolution of its faculties, the bent and bias impressed upon it beforehand ; and I have found, further, that it has been chiefly those of such character — i. e. thinkers — that have fallen into madness ; and that it is the per- petual straining and taxing of their strong intellects, DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 293 at the expense of their bodies, that has brought them into such a calamity. Suppose, therefore, we say, in short, that madness is the fate of strong- minds, or at least of minds many degrees removed from weak; and idiotcy of weak, imbecile minds. This supposi- tion, however, involves a sony sort of compliment to the fair sex ; for it is notorious that the annual ma- jority of those received into lunatic asylums are females ! I have found imaginative, fanciful people the most liable to attacks of insanity; and have had under my care four such instances, or at least very nearly resembling the one lam now relating, in which insanity has ensued from sudden fright. And it is easily accounted for. The imagination — the pre- dominant faculty — is immediately appealed to — and, eminently lively and tenacious of impressions, exerts its superior and more practised powers at the ex- pense of the judgment or reason, which it tramples upon and crushes. There is then nothing left in the mind that may make head against this unnatural dominancy; and the result is generally not unlike that in the present instance. As for my general sys- tem of treatment, it may all be comprised in a word or two — acquiescence ; submission ; suggestion ; soothing.* Had I pursued a different plan with M , what might have been the disastrous issue ! To return, however. The reader may possibly recollect seeing something hke the following expres- sion, occurring in " The Broken Heart :"t " A candle flickering and expiring in its socket, which suddenly shoots up into an instantaneous brilliance, and then is utterly extinguished." I have referred to it, merely because it affords a very apt illustration — apter far than any that now suggests itself to me, of what sometimes takes place in madness. The roaring flame of insanity sinks suddenly into the sullen, ♦ See the case " Intriguing and Madness, p. 91. t Page 121. Bb? 294 PASSAGES FROM THE smouldering embers of complete fatuity, and remains so for months ; when, like that of the candle just alluded to, it will instantaneously gather up and con- centrate its expiring energies into one terrific blaze — one final paroxysm of outrageous mania — and lo ! it has consumed itself utterly — burnt itself out — and the patient is unexpectedly restored to reason. The experience of my medical readers, if it have lain at all in the track of insanity, must have presented such cases to their notice not unfrequently. However metaphysical ingenuity may set us speculating about the " why and wherefore" of it — the^ac^ is undenia- ble. It was thus with Mr. M . He had sunk into the deplorable condition of a simple, harmless, melan- choly idiot, and was released from formal constraint; but suddenly, one morning, while at breakfast, he sprung upon the person who always attended him — and had not the man been very muscular, and prac- tised in such matters, he must have been soon over- powered, and perhaps murdered. A long and deadly wrestle took place between them. Thrice they threw each other — and the keeper saw that the madman several times cast a longing eye towards a knife which lay on the breakfast-table, and endeavoured to swing his antagonist so as to get himself within its reach. Both were getting exhausted with the pro- longed struggle — and the keeper, really afraid for his life, determined to settle matters as soon as possible. The instant, therefore, that he could get his right arm disengaged, he hit poor Mr. M a cruel blow on the side of the head, which felled him, and he lay sense- less on the floor, the blood pouring fast from his ears, nose, and mouth. He was again confined in a strait- waistcoat, and conveyed to bed — when, what with exhaustion, and the effect of the medicines which had been administered, he fell into profound sleep, which continued all day, and, with little intermission, through the night. When he awoke in the morning, lo ! he was " in his right mind !" His calmed, tran- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 295 quillized features, and the sobered expression of his eyes, showed that the sun of reason had really once more dawned upon his long-benighted faculties. Ay — he was " himself again !" I heard of the good news before I saw him, and on hastening to his room, I found it was indeed so — his altered appearance at first sight amply corroborated it ! How different the mild, sad smile now beaming on his pallid faded features, from the vacant stare — the unmeaning laugh of idiotcy — or the fiendish glare of madness ! — the contrast was strong as that be- tween the soft, stealing, expansive twilight, and the burning blaze of noonday. He spoke in a very feeble, almost inarticulate voice, complained of dreadful ex- haustion, and whispered something indistinctly about " waking from a long and dreary dream ;" and said that he felt, as it were, only half awake — or alive. All was new — strange — startling ! Fearful of taxing too much his new-bom powers, I feigned an excuse, and took my leave, recommended him cooling and quieting medicines, and perfect seclusion from visit- ers. How exhilarated I felt my own spirits all that day ! He gradually, very gradually, but surely, recovered. One of the earliest indications of his reviving interest in life — "And all its busy, thronging scenes," was an abrupt inquiry whether Trinity term had com- menced — and whether or not he was now eligible to be called to the bar. He was utterly unconscious that three terms had flitted over him, while he lay in the gloomy wilderness of insanity ; and when I satis- fied him of this fact, he alluded with a sigh to the beautiful thought of one of our old dramatists, who, illustrating the unconscious lapse of years over " En- djrmion" — makes one t£ll him — " Lo, the twig against which thou leanedst when thou didst fall asleep is now become a tree when thou awakest I" 296 PASSAGES FROM THE It was not till several days after his restoration to reason that I ventured to enter into any thing like detailed conversation with him, or to make particular allusions to his late illness ; and on this occasion it was that he related to me his rencounter with the fearful object which had overturned his reason — adding, with intense feeling-, that not ten thousand a-year should induce him to live in the same cham- bers any more. During the course of his progress towards com- plete recoveiy, memory shot its strengthening rays further and further back into the inspissated gloom in which the long interval of insanity had shrouded his mind ; but it was too dense — too " palpable an obscure" — to be ever completely and thoroughly illu- minated. The rays of recollection, however, settled distinctly on some of the more prominent points ; and I was several times astonished by his sudden reference to things which he had said and done, during the " depth of his disorder." He asked me once, for instance, whether he had not made an attempt on his life, and with a razor, and how it was that he did not succeed. He had no recollec- tion, however, of his long and deadly struggle with his keeper — at least he never made the slightest allu- sion to it, — nor of course did any one else. " I don't much mind talking these horrid things over with you, doctor — for you know all the ins and outs of the whole affair ; but if any of my friends or relatives presume to torture me with any allusions or inquiries of this sort — I'll fight them ! they'll drive me mad again !" The reader may suppose the hint was not disregarded. All recovered maniacs have a dread — an absolute horror — of any reference being made to their madness, or any thing they have said or done during the course of it : and is it not easily accounted for? " Did the horrible spectre which occasioned your illness, in the first instance, ever present itself to you DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 297 afterward?" I once inquired. He paused and turned pale. Presently he replied, with considerable agita- tion — " Yes, yes — it scarcely ever left me. It has not always preserved its spectral consistency, but has entered into the most astounding — the most pre- posterous combinations conceivable, with other ob- jects and scenes — all of them, liowever, more or less of a distressing or fearful character — many of them terrific !" I begged him, if it were not unpleasant to him, to give me a specimen of them. " It is certainly far from gratifying to trace scenes of such shame and horror — but I witl comply as far as I am able," said he, rather gloomily. " Once I saw him," meaning the spectre, " leading on an army of huge speckled and crested serpents against me ; and when they came upon me — for I had no power to run away — I suddenly found myself in the midst of a pool of stagnant water, absolutely alive with slimy shapeless reptiles ; and while endeavouring to make my way out, he rose to the surface, his face hissing in the water, and blazing bright as ever! Again, I thought I saw him in single combat, by the gates of Eden, with Satan — and the air thronged and heated with swart faces looking on !" This was un- questionably some dim confused recollection of the Milton-readings, in the earlier part of his illness. " Again, I thought I was in the act of opening my snuff-box, when he issued from it, diminutive at first in size — but swelling soon into gigantic proportions, and his fiery features diffusing a light and heat around, that absolutely scorched and blasted! At another time I thought I was gazing upwards on a sultry summer sky — and in the midst of a luminous fissure in it, made by the lightning — I distinguished his accursed figure, with his glowing features wear- ing an expression of horror, and his limbs out- stretched, as if he had been hurled down from some height or other, and was falling through the sky to- wards me. He came — he came — flung himself into 298 PASSAGES FROM THE my recoiling arms — and clung to me — ^burning, scorching, withering my soul within me ! I thought further, that I was all the while the subject of strange, paradoxical, contradictoiy feelings towards him ; — that I at one and the same time loved and loathed — feared and despised him !" He mentioned several other instances of the confusions in his " chamber of imagery." I told him of his sudden exclamation concerning Mr. T 's burial, and its singular cor- roboration ; but he either did not, or affected not to recollect anything about it. He told me he had a full and distinct recollection of being for a long time pos- sessed with the notion of making himself a " sacri- fice" of some sort or other, and that he was seduced or goaded on to do so by the spectre, in the most dazzling temptations — and under the most appalling threats — one of which latter was, that God would plunge him into hell for ever, if he did not offer up himself; — that if he did so, he should be a sublime spectacle to the universe," &c. &c. &c. " Do you recollect of dictating a novel or a ro- mance V He started as if struck with some sudden recollection. " No — but I'll tell you what I recollect well — that the spectre and I were set to copy all the tales and romances that ever had been written, in a large, bold, round hand, and then translate them into Greek or Latin verse !" He smiled, nay, even laughed at the thought, almost the first time of his giving way to such emotions since his recovery. He added, that as to the latter, the idea of the utter hopeless- ness of ever getting through such a stupendous undertaking never once presented itself to him, and that he should have gone on with it, but that he lost his inkstand ! ! " Had you ever a clear and distinct idea that you had lost the right use of reason ?" " Why, about that, to tell the truth, I've been puz- zling myself a good deal, and yet I cannot say any thing decisive. I do fancy that at times I had short, DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 299 transient glimpses into the real state of things, but they were so evanescent. I am conscious of feeling at these times incessant fury arising from a sense of personal constraint, and I longed once to strangle some one who was giving me medicine." But one of the most singular of all is yet to come. He still persisted then, after his complete recovery as we supposed, in avowing his belief that we had hired a huge boa serpent from Exeter 'Change, to come and keep constant watch over him, to con- strain his movements when he threatened to become violent; that it lay constantly coiled up under his bed for that purpose ; that he could now and then feel the motions — the wrilhing undulating motions of its coils — hear it utter a sort of sigh, and see it often elevate its head over the bed, and play with its soft, slippery, delicate forked tongue over his face, to soothe him to sleep. When poor M , with a se- rious, sober, earnest air, assured me he still believed all this, my hopes of his complete and final restora- tion to sanity were dashed at once! How such an absurd — in short I have no terms in which I may adequately characterize it — how, I say, such an idea could possibly be persisted in I was bewildered in attempting to conceive. I frequently strove to rea- son him out of it, but in vain. To no purpose did I burlesque and caricature the notion almost beyond all bounds ; it was useless to remind him of the blank impossibility of it ; he regarded me with such a face as I should exhibit to a fluent personage, quite in earnest in demonstrating to me that the moon was made of green cheese. I have once before heard of a patient who, after recovering from an attack of insanity, retained one solitary crotcliet — one little stain or speck of lunacy — about which, and which alone, he was mad to the end of his life. I supposed such to be the case with M . It was possible — barely so, I thought — that he might entertain his preposterous notion about the 300 PASSAGES FROM THE boa, and yet be sound in the general texture of his mind. I prayed God it might; I "hoped against hope." The last evening I ever spent with him was occupied with my endeavouring, once for all, to dis- abuse him of the idea in question ; and in the course of our conversation he disclosed one or two other little symptoms — specks of lunacy — which made me leave him filled with disheartening doubts as to the probability of a permanent recovery. ******** My worst fears were awfully realized. In about five years from the period above alluded to, M , who had got married, and had enjoyed excellent general health, was spending the summer with his family at Brussels — and one night destroyed him- self — alas, alas ! destroyed himself in a maimer too horrible to mention'! CHAPTER VIII. The Martyr-Philosopher. It has been my lot to witness many dreadful death- beds. I am not overstating the truth, when I assert that nearly eight out of every ten that have come under my personal observation — of course excluding children — have more or less partaken of this char- acter. I know only one way of accounting for it, and some may accuse me of cant for adverting to it — men will not live as if they were to die. They are content to let that event come upon them " like a thief in the night."* They grapple with their final * One of my patients, whom a long course of profligacy had brought to a painAil and premature death-bed, once quoted this striking and scriptural expression when within less than an hour of his end, and with a thrill of horror. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 301 foe, not merely unprepared, but absolutely inca- pacitated for the struggle, and then wonder and wail at their being overcome and " trodden under foot." I have, in some of the foregoing chapters, attempted to sketch three or four dreary scenes of this descrip- tion, my pencil trembling in my hand the while ; and could I but command colours dark enough, it is yet in my power to portray others far more appalling than any that have gone before — cases of those who have left life "clad in horror's hideous robe" — 'whose sun has gone down in darkness — if I may be pardoned for quoting the fearful language of a very unfashionable book ! Now, however, for a while at least, let the storm pass away; the accumulated clouds of guilt, despair, madness, disperse ; and the lightning of the fiercer passions cease to shed its disastrous glare over our minds. Let us rejoice beneath the serened heavens ; let us seek sunnier spots — by turning to the more peaceful pages of humanity. Let me attempt to lay before the reader a short account of one whose exit was eminently calm, tranquil, and dignified; who did not skulk into his gi'ave with shame and fear, but laid down life with honour: leaving behind him the influence of his greatness and goodness, like the evening sun — who smiles sadly on the sweet scenes he is quitting, and a holy lustre glows long on the featmes of nature — " Quiet as a nun " Breathless with adoration."* Even were I disposed, I could not gratify the reader with any thing like a fair sketch of the early days of Mr. E . I have often lamented, that, knowing as I did the simplicity and frankness of his disposition, I did not once avail myself of several opportunities which fell in my way of becoming acquainted with the leading particulars of his life. * Wordsworth, I believe. Cc 302 PASSAGES FROM THE Now, however, as is generally the case, I can but deplore my negligence, when remedying it is impos- sible. All that I have it now in my power to record is some particulars of his latter days. Interesting I know they will be considered : may they prove instructive. I hope the few records I have here pre- served will show how a mind long disciplined by philosophy, and strengthened by religious principle, may triumph over the assault of evils and misfortunes combined against its expiring energies. It is fitting, I say, the w^orld should hear how nobly E sur- mounted such a sudden influx of disasters as have seldom before burst overwhelmingly upon a death- bed. And should this chapter of my Diary chance to be seen by any of his relatives and early friends, I hope the reception it shall meet with from the public may stimulate them to give the world some fuller particu- lars of Mr. E 's valuable, if not very varied life. More thian seven years have elapsed since his death; and as yet, the only intimation the public has had of the event, has been in the dreary corner of the public prints allotted to " Deaths,'''' — and a brief enumeration in one of the quarterly journals of some of his lead- ing contributions to science. The world at large, however, scarce know that he ever lived — or at least, hoxv he lived or died ; but how often is such the fate of modest merit ! My first acquaintance with Mr. E commenced accidentally, not long before his death, at one of the evening meetings of a learned society of which we were both members. The first glimpse I caught of him interested me much, and inspired me with a kind of reverence for him. He came into the room within a few minutes of the chair's being taken, and walked quietly and slowly, with a kind of stooping gait, to one of the benches near the fireplace, where he sat down without taking off his great-coat, and crossing his gloved hands on the knob of a high walking- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 303 Stick, he rested his chin on them, and in that attitude continued througliout the evening. He removed his hat when the chainiian made his appearance ; and 1 never saw a finer head in my life. The crown was quite bald, but the base was fringed round, as it were, with a little soft, glossy, silver-hued hair, which in the distance looked like a faint halo. His forehead was of noble proportions ; and, in short, there was an expression of serene inteUigence in his features, blended with meekness and dignity, which quite enchanted me. " Pray, who is that gentleman V I inquired of my friend Dr. D , who was sitting beside me. " Do you mean that elderly thin man sitting near the fire- place with a great-coat on V — " The same." — " Oh, it is Mr. E , one of the very ablest men in the room, though he talks the least," whispered my friend ; " and a man who comes the nearest to my beau ideal of a philosopher of any man I ever kneW' or heard of in the present day !" " Why, he does not seem very well known here," said I, observing that he neither spoke to nor was spoken to by any of the members present. " Ah, poor Mr. E is breaking up, I'm afraid, and that very fast," replied my friend, with a sigh. " He comes but seldom to our evening meetings, and is uot ambitious of making many acquaintances." I intimated an eager desire to be introduced to him. "Oh, nothing easier," replied my friend, "for I know him more familiarly than any one present, and he is, besides, simple as a child in his mamiers, even to eccentricity, and the most amiable man in the Avorld. I'll introduce you when the meeting's over." While we were thus whispering together, the subject of our conversation suddenly rose from his seat, and with some trepidation of mamier addressed a few words to the chair, in correction of some assertions which he interrupted a member in advancing. It was something, if I recollect right, about the atomic 304 PASSAGES FROM THE theory, and was received with marked deference by the president, and general " Hear ! hears !" from the members. He then resumed his seat, in which he was presently followed by the speaker whom he had evidently discomfited; his eyes glistened, and his cheeks were flushed with the effort he had made, and he did not rise again till the conclusion of the sitting. We then made our way to him, and my friend intro- duced me. He received me politely and frankly. He complained, in a weak voice, that the walk thither had quite exhausted him, that his health was failing him, &c. " Why, Mr. E , you look very well," said my friend. " Ah, perhaps I do, but you know how little faith is to be put in the hale looks of an old and weak man. Age generally puts a good face on bad matters, even to the last," he added, with a smile and a shake of the head. " A sad night !" he exclaimed, on hearing the wind howling drearily without, for we were standing by a window at the north-egtst comer of the large build- ing; and a March wind swept cruelly by, telling bitter things to the old and feeble who had to face it. "Allow me to recommend that you wrap up your neck and breast well," said I. " I intend it, indeed," he replied, as he was folding up a large silk handkerchief. "One must guard one's candle with one's hand, or death will blow it out in a moment. That's the sort of treatment we old people get from him ; no ceremony — he waits for one at a bleak corner, and puffs out one's expiring light with a breath, and then hastens on to the more vigorous torch of youth." " Have you a coacli 1" inquired Dr. D . "A coach! I shall walk it in less than twenty minutes," said Mr. E , buttoning his coat up to the chin. " Allow me to offer you both a seat in mine," said DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 305 I ; " it is at the door, and I am driving towards your neighbourhood." He and Dr. D^ — accepted the offer, and in a few minutes' time we entered, and drove off. We soon set down the latter, who lived close by ; and then my new philosophical friend and I were left together. Our conversation turned, for a while, on the evening's discussion at the society ; and in a very few words, remarkably well chosen, he pointed out what he considered to have been errors committed by Sir and Dr. , the prin- cipal speakers. I was not more charmed by the lu- cidness of his views than by the unaffected diffidence with which they were expressed. " Well," said he, after a little pause in our con- versation, " your carriage motion is mighty pleasant ; it reduces one into a feeling of indolence ! These delicious soft-yielding cushioned backs and seats, they would make a man loath to use his legs again ! Yet I never kept a carriage in my life, though I have often wanted one, and could easily have afforded it once." I asked him why ] He replied, " It was not because he feared childish accusations of ostenta- tion, nor yet in order to save money, but because he thought it becoming to a rational being to be- content with the natural means God has given him, both as to matter of necessity and pleasure. It was an in- sult," he said, " to nature, while she was in full vig- our, and had exhibited little or no deficiency in her functions, to hurry to art. For my own part," said he, " I have always found a quiet but exquisite satis- faction in continuing independent of her assistance, though at the cost of some occasional inconvenience : it gives you a consciousness of relying incessantly on Him who made you and sustains you in being. Do you recollect the solemn saying of Johnson to Garrick, on seeing the immense levies the latter had made on the resources of ostentatious, ornamental art? 'Davie, Davie, these are the things that make a death-bed terrible!'" I said something about Co 2 306 PASSAGES FROM THE Diogenes. " Ah," he replied, quickly,' " the other ex- treme! He accused nature of superfluity, redun- dancy. A proper subordination of externals to her use is part of her province ; else why is she placed among so many materials, and witli such facilities of using them] My principle, if such it may be called, is, that art may minister to nature, but not pamper and surfeit her with superfluities. " You would laugh, perhaps, to come to my house, and see the extent to which 1 have carried my prin- ciples into practice. I, — yes, I, — whose life has been devoted, among other things, to the discovery of mechanical contrivances ! You, accustomed, per- haps, to the elegant redundancies of these times, may consider my house and furniture absurdly plain and naked — a tree stripped of its leaves, when the birds are left to lodge on the bare branches ! But I M'^ant little, and do not ' want that little long.' But stop, here is my house ! Come — a laugh, you know, is good before bed — will you have it now ? Come, see a curiosity — a Diogenes, but no cynic!" Had the reader seen the modesty, the cheerfulness, the calm- ness of manner with which Mr. E , from time to time, joined in the conversation, of which the above is the substance, and been aware of the weight due to his sentiments, or those of one who had actually LIVED UP to them all his life, and earned a very high character in the philosophical world — if he be aware how often old age and pedantry, grounded on a small reputation, are blended in repulsive union, he might not consider the trouble I have taken thrown away in recording this my first conversation with Mr. E . He was, indeed, an instance of " philosophy teaching by example ;" a sort of character to be sought out for in life, as one at whose feet we may safely sit down and learn. I could not accept of Mr. E 's invitation that evening, as I had a pa- tient to see a little farther on ; but I promised him an early call. All my way home my mind was filled DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 307 with the image of E , and partook of the tran- quillity and pensiveness of its guest. I scarce know how it was, but with all my admi- ration of Mr. E , I suffered the month of May to approach its close before I again encountered him. It was partly owing to a sudden increase of business, created by a raging scarlet fever, and partly occa- sioned by illness in my own family. I often thought and talked, however, of the philosopher, for that was the name he went by with Dr. D and myself. Mr. E had invited us both to take " an old-fash- ioned friendly cup of tea" with him ; and accordingly, about six o'clock, we found ourselves driving down to his house. On our way. Dr. D told me that our friend had been a widower nearly five years ; and that the loss, somewhat sudden, of his amiable and accomplished wife had worked a great change in him, by divesting him of nearly all interest in life or its concerns. He pursued even his philosophical occupations with languor, more from a kind of habit than inclination. Still he retained! the same even- ness and cheerfulness which had distinguished him through life. But the blow had been struck which severed him from the world's joys and engagements. He might be compared to a great tree torn up by the root, and laid prostrate by a storm, yet M^hich dies not all at once. The sap is not instantaneously dried up ; but for weeks, or even months, you may see the smaller branches still shooting unconsciously into short-lived existence, all fresh and tender from the womb of their dead mother; and a rich gieen mantle of leaves long concealing from view the poor fallen trunk beneath. Such was the pensive turn my thoughts had taken by the time we had reached Mr. E 's door. It was a fine summer evening — the hour of calm excitement. The old-fashioned win- dow-panes of the house we had stopped at shone like small specks of fire in the steady slanting rays of the retiring sun. It was the first house of a very respect- 308 PASSAGES FROM THE able antique-looking row, in the suburbs of London, which had been built in the days of Henry the Eighth. Three stately poplars stood sentries before the gateway. " Well, here we are at last at Plato's Porch, as I've christened it," said Dr. D , knocking at the door. On entering the parlour, a large old-fashioned room, furnished with tlie utmost simplicity consistent with comfort, we found Mr. E sitting near the window, reading. He was in a brown dressing-gown and study cap. He rose and welcomed us cheerfully. " I have been looking into La Place," said he, in the first pause which ensued, " and a little before your arrival, had flattered myself that I had detected some erroneous calculations ; and only look at the quantity of evidence that was necessary to convince that I was a simpleton by the side of La Place !" pointing to two or three sheets of paper crammed witli small algebrai- cal characters in pencil — a fearful array of symbols — 'VTZI 3a%n f|-i-9 — ?i=9;7iX log. e"— and sines, co-sines, series, &c. &c. without end. I had the curiosity to take up the volume in question, Avhile he was speaking to Dr. D , and noticed on the fly leaf the autograph of the Marquis La Place, who had sent his work to Mr. E . Tea was presently brought in ; and as soon as the plain old- fashioned china, &c. &c. had been laid on the table by the man-servant, himself a knowing old fellow as I ever saw in my life. Miss E , the philoso- pher's niece, made her appearance, an elegant, unaf- fected girl, with the same style of features as her uncle. " T can give a shrewd guess at your thoughts. Dr. ," said Mr. E , smiling, as he caught my eye following the movements of the man-servant till he left the room. " You fancy my keeping a man-ser- vant to wait at table does not tally very well with what I said the last time I had the pleasure of see- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 309 " Oh dear, I'm sure you're mistaken, Mr. E ! I was struck with the singularity of his countenance and manners — those of a stanch old family servant." " Ah, Joseph is a vast favourite with my uncle," said Miss E , " I can assure you, and fancies him- self nearly as ^eat a man as his master." " Why, as far as the pratique of the laboratory is concerned, I doubt if his superior is to be found in London. He knows iU and all my ways as well as he knows the palm of his own hand ! He has the neatest way in the world of making hydrogen gas, and, what is more, found it out himself," said Mr. E , explaining the process ; " and then he is a miracle of cleanliness and care! He has not cost me ten shillings in breakage since I knew him. He moves among my brittle waires like a cat on a glass wall." " And then he writes and reads for my uncle — does all the minor work of the laboratoiy — goes on errands — waits at table — in short, he's quite invalua- ble," said Miss E . " Quite a factotum^ I protest," exclaimed Dr. D . " You'd lose your hetter half, then, if he were to die, I suppose ?" said I, quickly. " No ! that can happen but once,''^ replied Mr. E , with a sigh, alluding to the death of his wife. Conversation flagged for a moment. " You've for- gotten," at length said E , breaking the melan- choly pause, "the very chief of poor Joseph's accomphshments — what an admirable, unwearied nurse he is to me." At that moment Joseph entered the room with a note in his hand, which he gave to IMr. E . I guessed where it came from ; for happening a few moments before to cast my eye to the window, I saw a footman walking up to the door; and there was no mistaking the gorgeous scarlet liveries of the Duke of . E , after glancing over the letter, begged us to excuse liim 310 PASSAGES FROM THE for a minute or two, as the man was waiting for an answer. " You^ of course, knew what my uncle alluded to," said Miss E , addressing Dr. D in a low tone, as soon as E had closed the door after him, "when he spoke of Joseph's being a nurse; don't you V Dr. D nodded. " My poor uncle," she continued, addressing me, " has been for nearly twenty-Jive years afflicted with a dreadful disease in the spine ; and during all that time has suffered a perfect martyrdom from it. He could not stand straight up, if it were to save his life ; and he is obliged to sleep in a bed of a very curious descrip- tion, the joint contrivance of himself and Joseph. He takes half an ounce of laudanum every night at bedtime, without whichthe pains, which are always most excruciating at nighttime, would not suffer him to get a moment's sleep. Oh, how often have I seen him rolling about on this carpet and hearth-rug — yes, even in the presence of visiters — in a perfect ecstasy of agony, and uttering the most heartbreaking groans." "And I can add," said Dr. D , "that he is the most perfect Job, the most angelic sufferer I ever saw." " Indeed, indeed he is," rejoined Miss E , with emotion. " I can say with perfect truth that I never once heard him murmur or complain at his hard fate. When I have been expressing my sympathies, during the extremity of his anguish, he has gasped, ' Well, well, it might have been worse.' " Miss E sud- denly raised her handkerchief t i her eyes, for they were overflowing. " Do you see that beautiful little picture hanging over the mantelpiece V she inquired, after a pause, which neither Dr. D nor 1 seemed inclined to interrupt ; pointing to an exquisite oil-painting of the crucifixion. " I have seen my poor uncle lying down on the floor, while in the most violent paroxysms of DIARV OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 311 pain, and with his eyes fixed intently on that picture, exclaim, ' Thine were ^eater ; thine were ^eater !' And then he has presently clasped his hands up- wards, a smile has beamed upon his pallid, quiv- ering features, and he has told me the pain was abated." " I was once present during one of these painfully interesting scenes," said Dr. D , " and have seen such a heavenly radiance on his countenance as could not have been occasioned by the mere sudden cessation of the anguish he had been suffering." " Does not this strange disorder abate with his in- creasing years ]" I inquired. " Alas, no !" replied Miss E ; " but is, if pos- sible, more frequent and severe in its seizures. In- deed, we all think it is wearing him out fast. But for the unwearied services of that faithful creature, Joseph, who sleeps in the same room with him, my uncle must have died long ago." " How did this terrible disorder attack Mr. E , and when ]" I inquired. I was informed that he himself originated the complaint with an injury he sustained when a very young man. He was riding one day on horseback ; and his horse suddenly reared backward, and Mr. E 's back came in violent contact with a plank projecting from behind a cart loaded with timber. He was, besides, how- ever, subject to a constitutional feebleness in the spine, derived from his father and grandfather. He had consulted almost every surgeon of eminence in England, and a few on the Continent; and spent a little fortune among them, — but all had been in vain! " Really, you will be quite surprised. Dr. ," said Miss E , " to know, that though such a martyr to pain, and now in his sixty-fourth year, my uncle is more active in his habits and regular in his hours than I ever knew any one. He rises almost invariably at four o'clock in summer, and at six iii 312 PASSAGES FROM THE ■winter ; and this, though so helpless, that without Joseph's assistance he could not dress himself — ." "Ah, by-the-way," — interrupted Dr. D , "that is another peculiarity in Mr. E 's case ; he is subject to a sort of nightly paralysis of the upper extremities, from which he does not completely recover till he has been up for some two or three hours." How little had I thought of the under-current of agony, flowing incessantly beneath the calm surface of his cheerful and dignified demeanour ! Oh, philosophy — Oh, Christian philosophy ! — I had failed to detect any marks of suffering in his features, though I had now had two interviews with him — so completely, even hitherto, had "his unconquerable mind con- quered the clay," — as one of our old writers expresses it. If I had admired and respected him heretofore, on the ground of Dr. D 's opinion, how did I now feel disposed to adore him ! I looked on him as an instance of long-tried heroism and fortitude, almost unparalleled in the history of man. Such thoughts were passing through my mind when Mr. E re-entered the room. What I had heard during his absence made me now look on him with tenfold interest. I wondered that I had overlooked his stoop, and the permanent print of pain on his pallid cheek. I gazed at him, in short, with feelings of sympathy and reverence, akin to those called forth by a picture of one of the ancient martyrs. "I'm sorry to have been deprived of your com- pany so long," said he ; " but I have had to answer an invitation, and several questions besides, from — I dare say you know whom ?" addressing Dr. D . " 1 can guess, on the principle ex wigue — the gaudy livery ' vaunts of royalty' — eh ? Is it V " Yes. He has invited me to dine with Lord , Sir , and several other members of the Society, at , this day week, but I have declined. At my time of life I can't stand late hours and excite- ment. Besides, one must learn betimes to wean DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 313 from the world, or be suddenly snatched from 'it screaming like a child," said Mr. E , with an impressive air. " I believe you are particularly intimate with ; at least I have heard so. Are you V inquired Dr. D . " No. I might possibly have been so, for has shown great consideration towards me; but I can assure you, I am the sought rather than the seeker, and have been all my life." " It is often fatal to philosophical independence to approach too frequently and too nearly the magic circle of the court," said I. " True. Science is, and should be, aspiring. So is the eagle ; but the royal bird never approaches so near the sun as to be drowned in its blaze. has been nothing since he became a courtier." * * * "What do you think of 's pretensions to science generally, and his motives for seeking so anxiously the intimacy of the learned?" inquired Dr. D . " Why, ," replied E , with some hesita- tion ; " 'tis a wonderful thing for him to know even a fiftieth part of what he does. He is popularly acquainted with the outlines of most of the leading sciences. He went through a regular course of readings with my friend ; but he has not the time necessary to ensure a successful prosecution of science. It is, however, infinitely advantageous to science and literature to have the willing and active patronage of royalty. I never knew him exhibit one trait of overbearing dogmatism ; and that is saying much for one whom all flatter always. It has struck me, however, that he has rather too anxious an eye towards securing the character and applause of a Mecanas." " Pray, Mr. E , do you recollect mentioning to me an incident which occurred at a large dimier- party given by , when you were present, when Dd 314 PASSAGES FROM THE Dr. made use of these words to : * Does not your think it possible for a man to pelt another with potatoes, to provoke him to fling peaches in retimi, for want of other missiles /" — and the furious answer was ." " We will drop that subject, if you please," said E , coldly, at the same time colouring, and giving my friend a peculiar monitory look. " I know well, personally, that has done very many noble things in his day — most of them, com- paratively, in secret ; and one munificent action he has performed lately towards a man of scientific eminence, who has been as unfortunate as he is de- serving, which will probably never come to the public ear, unless and die suddenly," said Mr. E . He had scarcely uttered these words, when he turned suddenly pale, laid down his teacup with a quivering hand, and slipped slowly from his chair to the floor, where he lay at his full length, rolling to and fro, with his hands pressed upon the lower part of his spine — and all the while uttering deep sighs and groans. The big drops of perspiration rolling from his forehead down his cheeks, evidenced the dreadful agony he was enduring. Dr. D and I both knelt down on one knee by his side, proffering our assistance — but he entreated us to leave him to himself for a few moments, and he should soon be better. " Emma !" he gasped, calling his niece — who, sob- bing bitterly, was at his side in a moment, " kiss me — that's a dear girl — and go up to bed — but, on your way, send Joseph here directly." She retired, and in a few moments Joseph entered hastily, with a broad leathern band, which he drew round his mas- ter's waist and buckled tightly. He then pressed with both his hands for some time upon the imme- diate seat of the pain. Our situation was both em- barrassing and distressing — both of us medical men, and yet compelled to stand by mere passive spec- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 315 tators of agonies we could neither alleviate nor remove. " Do you absolutely despair of discovering what the precise nature of this complaint is ?" I inquired in an under-tone. " Yes — in common with every one else that has tried to discover it, but in vain. That it is an affec- tion of the spinal chord is clear ; but what is the immediate exciting cause of these tremendous parox- ysms I cannot conjecture," replied Dr. D . " Wliat have been the principal remedies resorted tol" " Oh, every thing — almost every thing that the wit of man could devise : local and general bleedings to a dreadful extent ; irritations and counter-irritations without end ; electricity — galvanism — all the re- sources of medicine and surgery have been ran- sacked to no purpose. — Look at him !" wliispered Dr. D , " look — look ; — do you see how his whole body is drawn together in a heap, while his limbs are quivering as though they would fall from him] — See — see — how they are now struck out, and plunging about, his hands clutching convulsively at the carpet — scarce a trace of humanity in his distorted fea- tures — as if this great and good man were the sport of a demon !" " Oh ! gracious God ! Can we do nothing to help him ?" I inquired, suddenly approaching him, almost stifled with my emotions. Mr. E did not seem conscious of our approach; but lay rather quieter, groaning — " Oh — oh — oh — that it would please God to dismiss me from my sufferings !" " My dear, dear ^Ir. E ," exclaimed Dr. D , excessively agitated, " can we do nothing for you ? Canit we be of any service to you V " Oh, none — none — none !" he groaned, in tones expressive of utter hopelessness. For more than a quarter of an hour did this victim of disease con- tinue writhing on the floor, and we standing by, 316 PASSAGES FROM THE <* physicians of no value !" The violence of the par- oxysm abated at length, and again we stooped, for the purpose of raising him and carrying him to the ! sofa — but he motioned us off, exclaiming so faintly | as to be almost inaudible — " No — no, thank you — I \ must not be moved for this hour — and when I am, it i must be to bed." — "Then we will bid you good evening, and pray to God you may be better in the j morning." — "Yes — yes. — Better — better: good — good-by," he muttered, indistinctly. ; " Master's falling asleep, gentlemen, as he always ! does after these fits," said Joseph, who had his arm \ round his suffering master's neck. We, of course, left immediately, and met Miss E in the passage, ; muflHed in her shawl, and sobbing as if she would \ break her heart. ! Dr. D told me as we were walking home, that I about two years ago, E made a week's stay with i him ; and that, on one occasion, he endured agonies , of such horrible intensity, as nothing could abate, or i in any measure alleviate, but two doses of laudanum of nearly six drachms each, within half an hour of ; each other ; and that even then he did not sleep for i more than two hours. "When he awoke," con- j tinned my friend, " he was lying on the sofa in a state of dreadful exhaustion, the perspiration run- ning from him like water. I asked him if he did not | sometimes yield to such thoughts as w^ere suggested j to Job by his impetuous friends — to ' curse God and \ die,' — to repine at the long and lingering tortures he j had endured nearly all his life, for no apparent crime ' of his own ?" " No, no," he replied, calmly ; ".I've suffered too long an apprenticeship to pain for that-* I own I was at first a little disobedient — a little i restive — but now I am learning resignation ! Would 1 not useless fretting serve to enhance — to aggravate jny pains !" i " Well !" I exclaimed, " it puzzles my theology— if any thing could make me skeptical." E saw \ DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICUN. 317 the train of my thoughts, and interrupted^ me, laying his white wasted hand on mine — " I always strive to bear in mind that I am in the hands of a God as GOOD as great, and that I am not to doubt his good- ness because I cannot exactly see how he brings it about. Doubtless there are reasons for my suffering what I do, which, though at present incomprehensi- ble to me, would appear abundantly satisfactory could I be made acquainted with them. Oh, Dr. D , what would become of me," said E , solemnly, " were I, instead of the rich consolations of religion, to have nothing to rely on but the disheartening speculations of infidelity? — if in this world only I have hope," he continued, looking steadfastly up- wards ," I am, of all men, most miserable !" — " Is not it dangerous to know such a man, lest one should feel inclined to fall down and worship him V inquired my friend. Indeed I thought so. Surely E was a miracle of patience and fortitude ! and how he had contrived to make his splendid advancements in science, while subject to such almost unheard-of tor- tures, both as to duration and intensity — had de- voted himself so successfully to the prosecution of studies requiring habits of long, patient, profound abstraction — was to me inconceivable. How few of us are aware of what is suffered by those with whom we are most intimate ! How few know the heavy counterbalancings of popularity and eminence ; the exquisite agonies, whether physical or intellectual, inflicted by one irremoveable "thorn in the flesh!" Oh! the miseries of that eminence whose chief prerogative too often is — " Above the vulgar herd to rot in state !" How little had I thought, while gazing at the rooms, on this admirable man, first fascinated with the placidity of his noble features, that I looked at one who had equal claims to the character of a mar- Dd2 318 PASSAGES FROM THE TYR and a philosopher ! How my own petty griev- ances dwindled away in comparison of those endured by E ! How contemptible the pusillanimity I had often exhibited ! And do YOU, reader, who, if a man, are, perhaps, in the habit of cursing and blaspheming while smart- ing under the toothache, or any of those minor " ills that flesh is heir to," think, at such times, of poor, meek, suffering E , and be silent ! I could not dismiss from my mind the painful image of E writhing on the floor, as I have above de- scribed, but lay the greater part of the night reflect- ing on the probable nature of his unusual disorder. Was it any thing of a spasmodic nature ? Would not such attacks have worn him out long ago ] Was it one of the remoter effects of partial paralysis 1 Was a preternatural pressure on the spinal chord, occasioned by fracture of one of the vertebras, or enlargement of the intervertebral ligaments 1 — Or was it owing to a thickness of the medulla-spinalis itself ] Fifty similar conjectures passed through my mind, excited as well by the singularity of the disease, as by sympathy for the sufferer. Before I fell asleep, I resolved to call on him during the next day, and inquire carefully into the nature of his symptoms, in the forlorn hope of hitting on some means of miti- gating his sufferings. By twelve o'clock at noon I was set down again at his door. A maid-servant answered my sum- mons, and told me that Mr. E and Joseph were busily engaged in the " lahhory .'" She took in my card to him, and returned with her master's compli- ments, and he would thank me to step in. I followed the girl to the laboratory. On opening the door, I saw E and his trusty work-fellow, Joseph, busily engaged fusing some species of metal. The former was dressed as on the preceding evening, with the addition of a long black apron, — looked heated and flushed with exercise ; and, with his stooping gait, DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 319 was holding some small implement over the furnace, while Joseph, on his knees, was puffing away at the fire with a small pair of bellows. — To anticipate for a moment : how little did E or I imagine that this was very nearly the last time of his ever again entering the scene of his long and useful scientific labours ! I was utterly astonished to see one whose suffer- ings over night had been so dreadful, quietly pursuing his avocations in the morning as though nothing had happened to him! " Excuse my shaking hands with you for the pres- ent, doctor," said E , looking at me through a huge pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, " for both hands are engaged, you see. My friend Dr. has just sent me a piece of platina, and you see I'm already playing pranks with it ! Really, I'm as eager to spoil a plaything to see what my rattle's made of as any philosophical child in the kingdom ! Here I am an- alyzing — dissolving — transmuting — and so on : — but IVe really an important end in view here — trying a new combination of metal, and Dr. is anxious to know if the result of my process corresponds with his — now, now, Joseph," said E , breaking off suddenly, " it is ready ; bring the — " At this critical instant, by some unlucky accident, poor Joseph sud- denly overthrew the whole apparatus — and the com- pounds, ashes, fragments, &c. were spilled on the floor ! Really, I quite lost my own temper with thinking of the vexatious disappointment it would be to E . Not so, however, with him. " Oh, dear — dear, dear me ! ^Yell, here's an end of our day's work before we thought of it ! How did you do it, Joseph, eh ]" said E^^ , with an air of chagrin, but with perfect mildness of tone. What a ludicrous contrast between the philosopher and his assistant ! The latter, an obese little fellow, with a droll cast of one eye — was quite red in the face, and wringing his hands, exclaimed — " Oh Lord — oh Lord —Oh Lord ! what could I have been doing, master?" 320 PASSAGES FROM THE — "Why, that's surely your concern more than mine," replied E , smiling at me. " Come, come, it can't be helped — you've done yourself more harm than me, by giving Dr. such a specimen of your awkwardness as / have not seen for many a month. See and set things to rights as soon as possible," said E , calmly, and putting away his spectacles. " Well, Dr. , what do you think of my little workshop V he continued, addressing me, who still stood with my hat and gloves on, surprised and de- liglited to see that his temper had stood this trial, and that such a provoking contre-temjJs'h'd.A really not at all ruffled him. From the position in which he stood, the light fell strongly on his face, and I saw his features more distinctly than heretofore. I no- ticed that sure index of a thinking countenance — three strong perpendicular marks or folds between the eyebrows, at right angles with the deep wrinkles that furrowed his forehead, and then the " untroubled lustre" of his cold, clear, full, blue eyes, rich and serene as that " through whose clear medium the great sun Lovetk to shoot his beams, all brightening, all Turning lo gold." Reader, when you see a face of this stamp, so marked, and with such eyes and forehead, rest assured you are looking at a gifted, if not an extraordinary man. The lower features were somewhat shrunk and sal- low — as well they might, if only from a thousand hours of agony, setting aside the constant wearing of his " ever-waking mind ;" yet a smile of cheer- fulness — call it rather resignation — irradiated his pale countenance, like twilight on a sepulchre. He showed me round his laboratory, which was kept in most exemplary cleanliness and order ; and then, opening a door, we entered the " sanctum sancto- rum" — his study. It had not more, I should think, than five or six hundred books ; but all of them— in DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 321 plain, substantial bindings — had manifestly seen good service. Immediately beneath the window stood several portions of a splendid astronomical appa- ratus — a very large telescope, in exquisite order — a recently invented instrument for calculating the par- allaxes of the fixed stars — a chronometer of his own construction, &c. " Do you see this piece of furni- ture ]" he inquired, directing my attention to a sort of sideless sofa, or broad inclined plane, stuffed, the extremity turned up, to rest the feet against — and being at an angle of about forty-five degrees with the floor. " Ah ! could that thing speak, it might tell a tale of my tortures, such as no living being may ! For, when I feel my daily paroxysms coming on me, if I am any where near my study, 1 lay my wearied limbs here, and continue till I find relief !" This put conversation into the very train I wished. I begged him to favour me with a description of his disease ; and he sat down and complied. I recollect him com- paring the pain to that which might follow the in- cessant stinging of a wasp at the spinal marrow — sudden, lacerating, accompanied by quivering sensa- tions throughout the whole nervous system — fol- lowed by a strange sense of numbness. He said that at other times it was as though some one was in the act of drilling a hole through his backbone, and piercing the marrow ! Sometimes, during the mo- ments of his most ecstatic agonies, he felt as thougli his backbone was rent asunder all the way up. The pain was, on the whole, local — confined to the first of the lumbar vertebrae; but occasionally fluctuating between them and the dorsal. When he had finished the dreary details of his disease, I was obliged to acknowledge, with a sigh, that nothing suggested itself to me as a remed}*, but what I understood from Dr. D had been tried over and over, and over again. — "You are right," he replied, sorrowfully. " Dreadful as are my sufferings, the bare thought of undergoing more medical or surgical treatment makes me shudder. My back is already frightfully 322 PASSAGES FROM THE disfigured with the searings of caustic, seaton-marks, cupping, and blistering ; — and I hope God will give me patience to wait till their perpetual knockings, as it were, shall have at length battered down this frail structure." " Mr. E , you rival some of the old martyrs !" said I, as we rose to leave the study. "In point of bodily suffering, I may; but their holiness ! those who are put into the keenest parts — the very heart of the ' fiery furnace' — will come out most refined at last !" "Well, you may be earning a glorious reward hereafter for your constancy — " " Or I may be merely smarting for the sins of my forefathers!" exclaimed E , mournfully. Monday, July, 18 — . Having been called to a patient in the neighbourhood of E , I took that opportunity of calling upon him on my return. It was about nine o'clock in the evening ; and I found the philosopher sitting pensively in the parlour alone; for his niece, I learned, had retired early, owing to indisposition. A peculiar semicircular lamp, of his own contrivance, stood on the table, which was strewed with books, pamphlets, and papers. He received me with his usual gentle affability. " I don't know how it is, but I feel in a singular mood of mind to-night," said he ; "I ought to say rather many moods : sometimes so suddenly and strongly excited, as to lose the control over my emotions — at others, sinking into the depths of despondenc}^ I've been trying for these two hours to glance over this new view of the Neptunian theory," pointing to an open book on the table, " which has sent me, to review for him in the — — ; but 'tis useless ; I cannot command my thoughts." I felt his pulse: it was one of the most irregular I had ever known. "I know what you suspect," said he, observing my eyes fixed with a puzzled air on my watch, and my DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 323 finger at his wrist, for several minutes ; " some or- ganic mischief at the heart. Several of your frater- nity have latterly comforted me Avith assurances to that effect." I assured him I did not apprehend any thing of the kind, but merely that his circulation was a little disturbed by recent excitement. *' True — true," he replied, " I am a little flustered, as the phrase is — " " Oh — here's the secret, I suppose V said I, reach- ing to a periodical publication of the month, lying on the table, and in which I had a few days ago read a somewhat virulent attack on him. " You're very rudely handled here, I think?" said I. " What, do 3-0U think that has discomposed me ?" he inquired, with a smile. " No, no — I'm past feeling these things long ago ! Abuse — mere personality — now excites in me no emotion of any kind !" f " Why, Mr. E , surely you are not indifferent to the opinion of the public, which may be misled by such things as these, if suffered to go iman- swered V " I am not afraid of that. If I've done any thing good in my time, as I have honestly tried to do, sen- sible people won't believe me an impostor, at any man's bidding. Those who iscoidd be so influenced are hardly worth undeceiving."* * * ".There's a good deal of acuteness in the paper, and in one particular, the reviewer has fairly caught me tripping. He may laugh at me as much as he pleases ; but why go about to put himself in a pas- sion? The subject did not require it. But if he is in a passion, should I not be foolish to be in one too % — Passion serves only to put out truth ; and no one would indulge it that had truth only in vie^v. * * * " This gentleman's speculations have lon^ served to amuse children and old people : now that he has become old himself, he also may hope for amusement from them." — •' This mountain has so long brought forth mice, th;it, now it has become enfeebled and worn out. it may amuse Jiself with looking after its progeny." — '• Chimeras of a diseased brain," —"Quackery."— iJerifii'. [Neither the Edinburgh nor Quarterly.] Jfr. E knew who was the ivriter of this article. 324 PASSAGES FROM THE The real occasion of my nervousness," he continued, *' is far different from what you have supposed — a little incident which occurred only this evening, and I will tell it you. " My niece, feeling poorly with a cold, retired to bed as soon as she had done tea ; and after sitting here about a quarter of an hour, I took one of the candles, and walked to the laboratory, tc see whether all was right — as is my custom every evening. On opening the door, to my very great amazement, I saw a stranger in it, a gentleman in dark-coloured clothes, holding a dim taper in one hand, and en- gaged in going round the room, apparently putting all my instruments in order. I stood at the door almost petrified, watching his movements, without thinking of interrupting them, for a sudden feehng of something like awe crept over me. He made no noise whatever, and did not seem aware that any one was looking at him — or if he was, he did not seem disposed to notice the interruption. I saw him as clearly, and what he was doing, as I now see you playing with your gloves ! He was engaged leisurely putting away all my loose implements, — shutting boxes, cases, and cupboards, with the accuracy of one who was perfectly well acquainted with his work. Having thus disposed of all the instruments and apparatus which had been used to-day — and we have had very many more than usual out — he opened the inner-door leading to the study, and entered — I following in mute astonishment. He went to work the same way in the study ; shutting up several vol- umes that lay open on the table, and carefully replac- ing them in their proper places on the shelves. " Having cleared away these, he approached the astronomical apparatus near the window, put the cap on the object-end of the telescope, pushed in the joints, all noiselessly, closed up in its case my new chronometer, and then returned to the table where my desk lay, took up the inkstand, poured out the DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 325 ink into the fireplace, flung all the pens under the grate, and then shut the desk, locked it, and laid the key on the top of it. When he had done all this, he walked towards the wall, and turned slowly towards me, looked me full in the face, and shook his head mournfully. The taper he held in his hand slowly expired — and the spectre, if such it were, disappeared. The strangest part of the story is yet to follow. The pale, fixed features seemed perfectly familiar to me — they were those ^vhich I had often gazed at, in a portrait of Mr. Boyle, prefixed to my quarto copy of his ' Treatise of Atmospheric Air.' As soon as I had a little recovered my self-possession, I took down the work in question, and examined the portrait. I was right ! I cannot account for my not having spoken to the figure, or gone close up to it. I thiiik I could have done either, as far as courage went. My prevailing idea was, that a single word would have dissolved the charm, and my curiosity prompted me to see it out. I returned to the parlour and rung the bell for Joseph. " ' Joseph,' said I, ' have you set things to rights in the laboratory and study to-night ]" — ' Yes, master,* he replied, with surprise in his manner ; ' I finished it before tea-time, and set things in particular good order — I gave both the rooms a right good cleaning out — I'm sure there's not even a pin in its wrong place.' " ' What made you fling the pens and ink in the fireplace and under the grate V ' Because I thought they were of no use — the pens worn to stumps, and the ink thick and clotted — too much gu7n in it.' He was evidently astonished at being asked such questions — and w^as going to explain further, when 1 said, simply, ' that will do,' and he retired. Now, what am I to think of all this? If it were a mere ocular spectrum, clothed with its functions from my own excited fancy, there was yet a unity of purpose in its doings that is extraordinary ! Ee 326 PASSAGES FROM THE Something very much like ' shutting up the shop'' — eh ?" inquired E , with a melancholy smile. " 'Tis touching — very ! I never heard a more sin- gular incident," I replied, abstractedly, without re- moving my eyes from the fire ; for my reading of the occunence was a sudden and strong conviction, that, ghost or no ghost, E had toiled his last in the behalf of science — that he would never again have occasion to use his philosophical machinery ! This melancholy presentiment invested E , and all he said or did, with tenfold interest in my eyes. " Don^t suppose, doctor, that I am weak enough to be se- riously disturbed by the occurrence I have just been mentioning. Whether or not it really portends my approaching death I know not. Though I am not presumptuous enough to suppose myself so import- ant as to warrant any special interference of Provi- dence on my behalf — yet I cannot help thinking I am to look on this as a warning — a solemn premo- nition — that I may ' set my house in order, and die.'" Our conversation during the remainder of our inter- view turned on the topic suggested by the affecting incident just related. I listened to all he uttered, as to the words of a doomed — a dying man ! All E advanced on this difficult and interesting subject was marked not less by sound philosophy than un- feigned piety. He ended with avowing his belief, that the omnipotent Being who formed both the body and the soul, and willed them to exist unitedly, could surely, nevertheless, if he saw good, cause the one to exist separately from the other; either by en- dowing it with nert) properties for that special pur- pose, or by enabling it to exercise, in its disembodied state, those powers which continued latent in it during its connexion with the body. Did it follow — he asked — that neither body nor soul possessed any, other qualities than those which were necessary to enable them to exist together? Why should the soul be incapable of a substantially distinct personal ex- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 827 istence 1 Where the impossibility of its being made visible to organs of sense ? Has the Almighty no means of bringing this to pass 1 Are there no latent properties in the organs of vision — no subtle sympa- thies with immaterial substances — which are yet un- discovered — and even undiscoverable 1 Surely this may be the case — though /lott-, it would be impossible to conjecture. He saw no bad philosophy, he said, in this; and he who decided the question in the negative before he had brought forward some evi- dence of its moral or physical impossibility was guilty of most presumptuous dogmatism. This is the substance of his opinions ; but, alas ! I lack the chaste, nervous, philosophical eloquence in Avhich they were clothed. A distinguished living character said of E , that he was the most fasci- nating talker on abstruse subjects he ever heard. I could have staid all night listening to him. In fact, I fear I did trespass on his politeness even to incon- venience. I staid and partook of his supper — simple, frugal fare — consisting of roasted potatoes, and two tumblers of new milk. I left about eleven: my mind occupied but with one wish, all the way home, — that I had known E intimately for as many years as hours ! Two days afterward, the following hurried note was put into my hands, from my friend Dr. D : "My dear , I am sure you M-ill be as much affected as I was, at hearing that our inestimable friend Mr. E , had a sudden stroke of the palsy this afternoon about two o'clock, from which I very- much fear he may never recover ; for this, added to his advanced age, and the dreadful chronic complaint under which he labours, is surely sufficient to shatter the small remains of his strength. I need hardly say, that all is in confusion at . I am going down there to-night, and shall be happy to drive you down also, if you will be at my house by seven. Yours," &c. &c. I was grieved and agitated, but in 328 PASSAGES FROM THE nowise surprised at this intelligence. What passed the last time I saw him prepared me for something of this kind ! On arriving in the evening we were shown into the parlour, where sat Miss E in a paroxysm of hysterical weeping, which had forced her a few mo- ments before to leave her uncle's sick-room. It was some time before we could calm her agitated spirits, or get her to give us any thing like a connected ac- count of her uncle's sudden illness. " Oh, these will tell you all !" said she, sobbing, and taking two let- ters from her bosom, one of which bore a black seal ; " It is these cruel letters that have broken his heart ! Both came by the same post this morning I" She withdrew, promising to send for us when all was ready, and we hastily opened the two letters she had left. What will the reader suppose were the two heavy strokes dealt at once upon the head of Mr. E by an inscrutable Providence 1 The letter I opened, conveyed the intelligence of the sudden death, in childbed, of Mrs. , his only daughter, to whom he had been most passionately attached. The letter Dr. D held in his hand disclosed an instance of almost unparalleled perfidy and ingrati- tude. I shall here state what I learned afterward — that many years ago, Mr. E had taken a poor lad from one of the parish schools, pleased with his quickness and obedience, and had apprenticed him to a respectable tradesman. He served his articles honourably, and Mr. E nobly advanced him funds to establish himself in business. He pros- pered beyond every one's expectations : and the good, generous, confiding E was so delighted with his conduct, and persuaded of his principles, that he gradually advanced him large sums of money to increase an extensive connexion ; and, at last, in- vested his all, amounting to little short of £15,000, in this man's concern, for which he received 5 per cent. Sudden success, however, turned this young DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 329 man's head ; and Mr. E had long- been uneasy at hearing current rumours about his protege's unsteadi- ness and extravagance. He had several times spoken to him about them ; but was easily persuaded that the reports in question were as groundless as malig- nant. And as the last half-year's interest was paid punctually, accompanied with a hint that if doubts were entertained of his probity, the man was ready to refund a great part of the principal, Mr. E 's confidence revived. Now, the letter in question was from this person ; and stated that, though " circum- stances" had compelled him to withdraw from his creditors for the present — in other words, to abscond — he had no doubt that if Mr. E would wait a little, he should in time be able to pay him a " fair dividend !" — " Good God ! why E is ruined /" exclaimed Dr. D , turning pale, and dropping the letter, after having read it to me. " Yes, ruined ! — all the hard savings of many years' labour and economy gone at a stroke !" " WTiy, was all his small fortune embarked in this man's concern ]" " All, except a few hundreds lying loose at his banker's ! — What is to become of poor Miss E ]" " Cannot this infamous scoundrel be brought to justice ]" I inquired. " If he were, he may prove, perhaps, not worth powder and shot, — the viper !' Similar emotions kept us both silent for several moments. " This will put his philosophy to a dreadful trial," said I. " How do you think he will bear it, should he recover from the present seizure so far as to be made sensible of the extent of his misfortunes ?" " Oh, nobly, nobly ! I'll pledge my existence to it ! He'll bear it like a Christian, as well as a pliiloso- pher ! I've seen him in trouble before this." " Is Miss E entirely dependent on her uncle ; and has he made no provision for her ?" Ee2 330 PASSAGES FROM THE " Alas ! he had appropriated to her 5000Z. of the 15,000/. in this man's hands, as a marriage-portion — I know it, for I am one of his executors. The cir- cumstance of leaving her thus destitute will, I know, prey cruelly on his mind." Shortly afterward we were summoned into the chamber of the venerable sufferer. His niece sat at the bedside, near his head, holding one of his cold motionless hands in hers. Mr. E 's face, deadly pale, and damp with per- spiration, had suffered a shocking distortion of the features — the left eye and the mouth being drawn downwards to the left side. He gazed at us va- cantly, evidently without recognising us, as we took our stations, one at the foot, the other at the side of the bed. What a melancholy contrast between the present expression of his eyes, and that of acuteness and brilliance which eminently characterized them in health! They reminded me of Milton's sun, looking " Through the horizontal misty air, Shorn of its beams." The distorted lips were moving about incessantly, as if with abortive efforts to speak, though he could utter nothing but an inarticulate murmuring sound, which he had continued almost from the moment of his being struck. Was it not a piteous — a heart- rending spectacle ] Was this the philosopher 1 After making due inquiries, and ascertaining the extent of the injury to his nervous system, we with- drew to consult on the treatment to be adopted. In accounting for the seizure, I considered that the un- common quantities of laudanum he had so long been in the habit of receiving into his system alone suffi- ciently accounted for his present seizure. Then, again, the disease in his spine — the consequent ex- haustion of his energies — the sedentary, thoughtful life he led — all these were at least predisposing causes. The sudden shock he had received in the DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 331 morning merely accelerated what had long been ad- vancing on him. We both anticipated a speedily fatal issue, and resolved to take the earliest oppor- tunity of acquainting him with his approaching end. [He lies in nearly the same state during Thursday and Friday.] Saturday. — We are both astonished and delighted to find that E 's daily paroxysms have deserted him, at least he has exhibited no symptoms of their appearance up to this day. On entering the room, we found to our inexpressible satisfaction that his disorder had taken a very unusual and happy course — having been worked out of the system by Jever. This, as my medical readers will be aware, is a very rare occurrence. — [Three or four pages of the Diary are occupied with technical details, of no interest whatever to the general reader.] — His features were soon restored to their natural position ; and, in short, every appearance of palsy left him. Sunday evening. — Mr. E going on well, and his mental energies and speech perfectly restored. I called on him alone. Almost his first words to me were — " Well, doctor, good Mr. Boyle was right, you see !" I replied that it yet remained to be proved. " God sent me a noble messenger to summon me hence, did he not 1 One whose character has always been my model, as far as I could imitate his great and good qualities." " You attach too much weight, Mr. E , to that creature of imaginatio]i" — " What ! do you really doubt that I am on my death-bed 1 I assuredly shall not recover. The pains in my back have left me, that my end may be easy. Ay, ay, the ' silver cord is loosed.' " I in- quired about the sudden cessation of his chronic complaint. He said, it had totally disappeared ; leaving behmd it only a sensation of numbness. " In this instance of His mercy towaixls an unworthy worm of the earth, I devoutly thank my Father — my 332 PASSAGES FROM THE God !" he exclaimed, looking reverentially upward, — " Oh, how could I in patience have possessed my soul, if to the pains of dying had been superadded those which had imbittered life ! — My constant prayer to God has been, that, if it be His will, my life may run out clear to the last drop ; and though the stream has been a little troubled," alluding to the in- telligence which had occasioned his illness, " I may yet have my prayer answered — Oh, sweet darling Anne ! why should 1 grieve for you ? Where I am going, I humbly believe you are ! Root and branch — both gathered home !" He shed tears abundantly, but spoke of the dreadful bereaverhent in terms of perfect resignation. * * * " You are no doubt acquainted," he continued, " with the other afflicting news, which, I own, has cut me to the quick ! My confidence has been betrayed, — my sweet niece's prospects utterly blighted, — and I made a beggar of in my old age. This ungrateful man has squandered away infamously the careful savings of more than thirty years — every penny of which has been earned with the sweat of my brow. I do not so much care for it myself, as I have still enough left to preserve me from want during the few remaining days I have left me ; but my poor, dear Emma ! My heart aches to think of it !" " I hope you may yet recover some portion of your property, Mr. E : the man speaks in his letter of paying you a fair dividend." " No, no ; when once a man has deliberately acted in such an unprincipled manner as he has, it is fool- ish to expect restitution. Loss of character and the confidence of his benefactor makes him desperate. I find, that, should I linger on earth longer than a few weeks, I cannot now afford to pay the rent of this house — I must remove from it — I cannot die in the house in which my poor wife breathed her last — this very room !" His tears burst forth again, and mine started to my eyes. " A friend is now looking out DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 333 lodgings for me in the neighbourhood ; to which I shall remove the instant my health will permit. It goes to my heart, to think of the bustling auctioneer disposing of all my apparatus," — tears again gushed from his eyes — "the companions of many years" — " Dear, dear sir ! — Your friends will ransack heaven and earth before your fears shall be verified," said I, with emotion. " They — you — are very good ; but you would be unsuccessful ! — You must think me very weak to let these things overcome me in this way — one can't help feeling them! — A man may writhe under the amputating knife, and yet acknowledge the necessity of its use ! My spirit wants disciplining." " Allow me to say, Mr. E , that I think you bear your misfortunes with admirable fortitude — true philosophic" — " Oh doctor ! doctor !" he exclaimed, interrupting me, with solemn emphasis, " believe a dying man, to whom all this world's fancied realities have sunk into shadows — nothing can make a death-bed easy, but RELIGION — a humble, hearty faith in Him whose Son redeemed mankind ! Philosophy — science — is a nothing — a mockery — a delusion^if it be only of this world ! — I believe from the bottom of my heart, and have long done so, that the essence — the very crown and glory of true philosophy, is to surrender up the soul entirely to God's teaching, and practi- cally receive and appreciate the consolations of the gospel of Jesus Christ !" Oh, the fervency with which he expressed himself — his shrunk clasped hands pointed upwards, and his features beaming with de- votion ! I told him it did my heart good to hear such opinions avowed by a man of his distinguished attainments. " Don't — don't — don't talk in that strain, doctor !" said he, turning to me with a reproving air. " Could a living man but know how compliments fall upon a dying man's ear ! * * * I am going shortly into 334 PASSAGES FROM THE the presence of Him who is wisdom itself; and shall I go pluming myself on my infinitely less than glowworm glimmer, in the presence of that pure effulgence 1 Doctor, I've felt, latterly, that I would give worlds to forget the pitiful acquirements which I have purchased by a life's labour, if my soul might meet a smile of approbation when it first flits into the presence of its Maker — its Judge !" Strange lan- guage ! thought I, for the scientific E , confess- edly a master-mind among men. — Would that the shoal of sciolists, now babbling abroad their infidel crudities, could have had one moment's interview with this dying philosopher ! Pert fools, who are hardly released from their leading-strings — the very go-cart, as it were, of elemental science — before the)' strut about and forthwith proceed to pluck their Maker by the beard — and this, as an evidence of their " independence," and being released from the " trammels of superstition !" Oh, Lord and Maker of the universe ! — that thou shouldst be so " long-suffering" towards these inso- lent insects of an hour ! To return. I left E in a glowing mood of mind, disposed to envy him his death-bed, even with all the ills which attended it ! Before leaving the house, I stepped into the parlour to speak a few words to Miss E . The sudden illness of her uncle had found its way into the papers; and I was delighted to find it had brought a profusion of cards every morning, many of them bearing the most dis- tinguished names in rank and science. It showed that E 's worth was properly appreciated. I counted the cards of fiv^ noblemen, and very many members of the Royal and other learned societies. Wednesday, 15th August. — Well, poor E was yesterday removed from his house in Row, where he had resided upwards of twenty-five years -~-which he had fitted up, working often with his DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 335 own hands, at much trouble and expense — having built the laboratory-room since he had the house — he was removed, I say, from his house, to lodgings in the neighbourhood. He has three rooms on the first floor, small, indeed, and in humble style — -Tdu! perfectly clean, neat, and comfortable. Was not this itself sufficient to have broken many a haughty spirit 1 His extensive philosophical apparatus, fur- niture, &c. &c., had all been sold, at less than a t-xen- tieth part of the sum they had originally cost him ! No tidings as yet have been received of the villain who has ruined his generous patron! E has ceased, however, to talk of it ; but I see that Miss E feels it acutely. Poor girl, well she may ! Her uncle was carried in a sedan to his new resi- dence, and fainted on the way, but has continued in tolerable spirits since his arrival. His conduct is the admiration of all that see or hear of him ! The first words he uttered as he was sitting before the fire in an easy chair, after recovering a little from the exhaustion occasioned by his being carried up stairs, were to Dr. D , who had accompanied him. " Well !" — he whispered, faintly, with his eyes shut — " WTiat a gradation ! — Reached the half-'way- hmise between Row and the ' house appointed for all living !' " "You have much to bear, sir !" said Dr. D . " And more to be thankful for !" replied E . " If there were such a thing as a Protestant calendar" said Dr. D to me, enthusiastically, while re- counting what is told above, " and I could canonize, E should stand first on the Hst, and be my patron saint !" When I saw E- — , he was lying in bed, in a very low and weak state, evidently declining rapidly. Still he looked as placid as his fallen fea- tures would let him. " Doctor," said he, soon after I had sat dowTi, " how very good it is of you to come so far out of your regular route to see me !" 336 . PASSAGES FROM THE " Don't name it," said I, " proud and happy" — " But excuse me, I wish to tell you that when I am gone you will find I knew how to be grateful, as far as my means would warrant." "Mr. E ! my dear sir!" said I, as firmly as my emotions could let me, " if you don't- promise this day to erase every mention of my name or services from your will, I leave you, and solemnly declare I will never intrude upon you again ! Mr. E , you distress me — you do, beyond measure !" " Well — well — well — I'll obey you— but may God bless you ! God bless you !" he replied, turning his head away, while the tears trickled down. Indeed I — as if a thousand guineas could have purchased the emotions with which I felt his poor damp fingers feebly compressmg my hand ! ******** " Doctor !" he exclaimed, after I had been sitting with him some time, conversing on various subjects connected with his illness and worldly circum- stances, " don't you think God can speak to the soul as well in a night as in a day-dream ? Shall I presume to say he has done so in my case ?" I asked him what he was alluding to. " Don't you recollect my telling you of an optical, or spectral illusion, which occurred to me at Row ] A man shutting up the shop— you know ?" I told him I did. " Well — last night I dreamed — I am satisfied it was a dream — that I saw Mr. Boyle again ; but how different ! Instead of gloomy clothing, his appear- ance was wondrously radiant — and his features were not, as before, solemn, sad, and fixed, but wore an air of joy and exultation ; and instead of a miserable expiring taper, he held aloft a light like the kindling lustre of a star ! What think you of that, doctor ? Surely, if both these are the delusions of a morbid fancy, ifihey are, what a light they fling over the ' dark valley' I am entering !" DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 337 I hinted my dissent from the skeptical sneers of the day, which would resolve all that was uttered on death-beds into delirious rant — confused disor- dered faculties — superstition. " I think you are right," said he. " Who knows what new light may stream upon the soul, as the wall between time and eternity is breaking down ? Who has come back from the grave to tell us that the soul's energies decay with the body, or that the body's decay destroys or interrupts the exercise of the soul's powers, and that all a dying man utters is mere gibberish ? The Christian philosopher would be loath to do so, when he recollects that God chose the hour of death to reveal futurity to the patriarchs and others of old ! Do you think a superintending Providence would allow the most solemn and in- structivr period of our life, the close — scenes where men's hearts and eyes are open, if ever, to receive admonition and encouragement — to be mere exhibi- tions of absurdity and weakness ? Is that the way God treats his servants ]" Friday afternoon. — In a more melancholy mood than usual, on account of the evident distress of his niece about her altered prospects. He told me, how- ever, that he felt the confidence of his soul in nowise shaken. " I am," said he, " like one lying far on the shores of Eternity, thrown there by the waters of the world, and whom a high and strong \vave reaches once more and oveiHows. One may be pardoned a sudden chilliness and heart-fluttering. — After all," he continued, " only consider what an easy end mine is, comparatively with that of many others ! How veiy — very thankful should I be for such an easy exit as mine seems likely to be ! God be thanked that I have to endure no such agonies of horror and remorse as !" (alluding to Mr. , whom I was then attending, and whose case I had men- tioned on a former occasion to Mr. E ; the one described in a former part of this Diarv, under the Ff 338 PASSAGES FROM THE title, " A Man about Town'^)—^^ that I am writhing under no accident — that I have not to struggle with utter destitution ! — Why am I not left to perish in a prison? To suffer on a scaffold? To be plucked suddenly into the presence of my Maker in battle,* * with all my sins upon my head V Suppose I were grovelling in the hopeless darkness of skepticism or infidelity ? Suppose I were still to endure the ago- nies arising from disease in my spine ] — Oh God I" exclaimed Mr. E , " give me a more humble and grateful heart !" Monday, I9th Septeivher. — Mr. E is still alive, to the equal astonishment of Dr. D and myself. The secret must lie, I think, in his tranquil frame of mind. He is as happy as the day is long I Oh, that my latter days may be like his! I was listening with feelings of delight unutterable to E 's de- scription of the state of his mind — the perfect peace he felt towards all mankind, and his humble and strong hopes of happiness hereafter — when the land- lady of the house knocked at the door, and on enter- ing, told Mr. E that a person was down-stairs very anxious to see him. — " Who is it 1" inquired E . She did not know. " Has he ever been here before V — " No ; but she thought she had several times seen him about the neighbourhood." — " What sort of a person is he V inquired E , with a surprised air. — " Oh, he is a tall, pale man, in a brown great-coat." E requested her to go down and ask his name. She returned, and said, " Mr. H , sir." E , on hearing her utter the word, suddenly raised himself in bed ; the little colour he had fled from his cheeks : he lifted up his hands and exclaimed, " What can the unhappy man want with me ]" He paused thoughtfully for a few moments. " You're of course aware who this is 1" he inquired of me in a whisper. I nodded. " Show * This was at the time of the Peninsular campaigns. DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 339 him up stairs," said he, and the woman withdrew. " For your own sake I beg you to be calm ; don*t allow your feelings" — I was interrupted by the door opening, and just such a person as Mrs. had de- scribed entered, with a slow, hesitating step, into the room. He held his hat squeezed in both his hands, and he stood for a few moments motionless, just within the door, with his eyes fixed on the floor. In that posture he continued till Mrs. had retired, shutting the door after her, when he turned suddenly towards the easy-chair by the fire, in which INIr. E was sitting, much agitated — approached, and falling down on his knees, he covered his eyes with his hands, through which the tears presently fell like rain ; and after many choking sobs and sighs, fal- tered, " Oh, Mr. E !" "What do you want with me, Mr. H ?" in- quired Mr. E , in a low tone, but very calmly. " Oh, kind, good, abused sir ! I have behaved like a villain to you" — " Mr. H , I beg you will not distress me ; con- sider I am in a very poor and weak state." " Don't for God's sake speak so coldly, sir ! I am heartbroken to think how shamefully I have used you !" " Well, then, strive to amend." — " Oh, dear, good Mr. E ! can you forgive me 1" Mr. E did not answer. I saw he could not. The tears were nearly overflowing. The man seized his hand, and pressed it to his lips with fervency. " Rise, Mr. H , rise ! I do forgive you, and I hope that God will! Seek his forgiveness, which will avail you more than jniae .'" " Oh, sir !" exclaimed the man again, covering his eyes with his hands, — " how ver\' — very ill you look — how pale and thin. It's /that'have done it all — I, the d dest" — "Hush, hush, sir!" exclaimed Mr. E , with 340 PASSAGES FROM THE more sternness than I had ever seen him exhibit, " do not curse in a dying man's room." " Dying — dying — dying, sir V exclaimed the man, hoarsely, staring horror-struck at Mr. E , and retiring a step from him. " Yes, James," replied E , mildly, calling him for the first time by his Christian name, " I am as- suredly dying — ^but not through you, or any thing you have done. Come, come, don't distress yourseK un- necessarily," he continued, in the kindest tones ; for he saw the man continued deadly pale, speechless, and clasping his hands convulsively over his breast — " Consider, James, my daughter, Mrs. ." " Oh, no, no, sir — no ! It's / that have done it all ; my ingratitude has broken your heart — I know it has I — What will become of me ?" — the man resumed, still staring vacantly at Mr. E . "James, I must not be agitated in this way — it agitates me — you must leave the room unless you can become calm. What is done is done ; and if you really repent of it" — " Oh, I do, sir ; and could almost -weep tears of blood for it ! But indeed, sir, it has been as much my misfortune as my fault." " Was it your misfortune or your fault that you kept that infamous woman on whom you have squan- dered so much of your property — of mine rather ?" inquired Mr. E , with a mild expostulating air. The man suddenly blushed scarlet, and continued silent. " It is right I should tell you that it is your mis- conduct which has turned me out, in my old age, from the house which has sheltered me all my life, and driven me to die in this poor place ! You have ])eggared my niece, and robbed me of all the hard earnings of my life — wnmg from the sweat of my brow, as you well know, James. James, how could your heart let you do all this ]" The man made him no answer. " I am not angry with you— that is past DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 341 — but I am grieved — disappointed — shocked to find my confidence in you has been so much abused." " Oh, sir, I don't know what it was that infatuated me ; but — never trust a Uving man again, sir — never," replied the man, vehemently. " It is not likely I shall, James — I shall not have the opportunity," said INIr. E , calmly. The man's eye continued fixed on Mr. E , his lip quivered in spite of his violent compression, and the fluctuat- ing colour in his cheeks showed the agitation he was suffering. " Do you forgive me, sir, for what I have done ]" he asked, almost inaudibly. " Yes — if you promise to amend — yes ! Here is my hand — I do forgive you, as I hope for my own forgiveness hereafter !" said Mr. E , reaching out his hand. " And if your repentance is sincere, should it ever be in your power, remember whom you have most heavily wronged, not me, but — but — Miss E , my poor niece. If you should ever be able to make her any reparation — " the tears stood in Mr. E 's eyes, and his emotions prevented his completing the sentence. " Really you must leave me, James — you must — I am too weak to bear this scene any longer," said E , faintly, looking deadly pale. "You had better withdraw, sir, and call some other time," said I. He rose, looking almost bewildered ; thrust his hand into his breast-pocket, and taking out a small packet laid it hurriedly on Mr. E 's lap — snatched his hand to his lips, and murmuring, "Fare- well, farewell, best of men !" — withdrew. I watched him through the window ; and saw that as soon as he had left the house, he set off, running almost at the top of his speed. When I returned to look at Mr. E , he had fainted. He had opened the packet, and a letter lay open in his lap, with a great many bank notes. The letter ran as follows: "Injured and revered sir, — When you read this epistle, the miserable v, riter will have fled from his coimtry, aiid Ff2 342 PASSAGES FROM THE be on his way to America. He has abused the con- fidence of one of the greatest and best of men, but hopes the enclosed sum will show he repented what he had done ! If it is ever in his power he will do more. J H ." The packet contained bank notes to the amomit of 3000/. When E had recovered from his swoon, I had him conveyed to bed, where he lay in a state of great exhaustion. He scarce spoke a syllable during the time I continued with him. Tuesday. — Mr. E still suffers from the effects of yesterday's excitement. It has, I am confident, hurried him far on his journey to the grave. He told me he had been turning over the affair in his mind, and considered that it would be wrong in him to re- tain the 3000/., as it would be illegal, and a fraud on H ^'s other creditors : and this upright man had actually sent in the morning for the solicitor to the bankrupt's assignees, and put the whole into his hands, telling him of the circumstances under which he had received it, and asking him whether he should not be wrong in keeping it. The la>vyer told him that he might perhaps be legally, but not morally wrong — as the law certainly forbade such payments, and yet he was by very far the largest creditor. " Let me act right, then, in the sight of God and man ! Take the money, and let me come in with the rest of the creditors." Mr. withdrew. He must have seen but seldom such an instance of noble con- scientiousness ! I remonstrated with Mr. E . " No, no, doctor," he replied, " I have endeavoured strictly to do my duty during life — I will not begin roguery on my death-bed !" — " Possibly you may not receive a penny in the pound, Mr. E ," said I. " But I shall have the comfort of quitting life with a clear conscience !" ******** Monday. — [A week afterward.] — The "weary wheek of life" Avill soon " stand still !" All is calm DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 343 and serene with E as a summer evening's sun- set ! He is at peace with all the world, and with his God. It is like entering- the porch of heaven, and listening- to an angel, to visit and converse with E . This morning he received the reward of his noble conduct in the matter of H 's bankruptcy. The assignees have wound up the affairs, and found them not near so desperate as had been apprehended. The business was still to be carried on in H 's name ; and the solicitor who had been sent for by E to receive the 3000/. in behalf of the assignees, called this morning with a check for 3500/., and a highly complimentary letter from the assignees. They informed him that there Avas every prospect of the concern's yet discharging the heavy amount of his claim, and that they would see to its being paid to whomsoever he might appoint. H had set sail for America, the very day he had called on E , and had left word that he should never return. E altered his will this evening, in the presence of my- self and Dr. D . He left about 4000/. to his niece, " and whatever sums might be from time to time paid in from H 's business; five guineas for a yearly prize to the writer of the best summary of the progress of philosophy every year, in one of the Scotch colleges ; and ten pounds to be delivered every Christmas to ten poor men, as long as they lived, and who had already received the gratuity for several years; and to J H , his full and hearty forgiveness, and prayers to God that he may return to a course of virtue and true piety, before it is too late." * * * " How is it," said he, address- ing Dr. D and me, " that you have neither of you said any thing to me about examining my body after my decease ?" Dr. D replied, that he had often thought of asking his permission, but had kept delay- ing from day to day. " Why 1" inquired E , with a smile of surprise ; " do you fancy I have any *illy fears or prejudices on the subject ] That I am anxious 344 PASSAGES FROM THE about the shell when the kernel is gonel I can assure you that it would rather give me pleasure than otherwise, to think that by an examination of my body the cause of medical science might be advanced, and so minister a little to my species. I must, how- ever, say you nay ; for I promised my poor wife that I would forbid it. She had prejudices, and I have a right to respect them." Wednesday. — He looked much reduced this eve- ning. I had hurried to his lodgings, to communi- cate what I considered would be the gratifying intel- ligence, that the highest prize of a foreign learned society had just been awarded him for his work on , together with a fellowship. My heated and hurried manner somewhat discomposed him; and before I had communicated my news, he asked, with some agitation, " What ! — Some new misfortune ]" — When I had told him my errand, — " Oh, bubble ! bubble ! bubble !" he exclaimed, shaking his head with a melancholy smile, " would I not give thousands of these for a poor man's blessing ? Are these, these the trifles men toil through a life for? — Oh, if it had pleased God to give me a single glimpse of what I now see, thirty years ago, how true an estimate I should have formed of the littleness — the vanity of human applause ! How much happier would my end have been ! How much nearer should I have come to the character of a true philosopher — an im- partial, independent, sincere teacher of the truth, for its own sake !" — " But honours of this kind are of admirable service to science, Mr. E ," said I, " as supplying strong incentives and stimulants to a pur- suit of philosophy." " Yes ; but does it not argue a defect in the con- stitution of men's minds to require them 1 What is the use of stimulants in medicine, doctor 1 — Don't they presuppose a morbid sluggishness in the parts they are applied to ? Do you ever stimulate a healthy organ? — So is it with the little honours and distinc- DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 345 tions we are speaking of. Directly a man becomes anxious about obtaining- them, his mind has lost its healthy tone — its sympathies with truth — with real philosophy." "Would you, then, discourage striving for them? Would you banish honours and prizes from the sci- entific worid r' "Assuredly — altogether — did we but exist in a bet- ter state of society than we do. * * What is the proper spirit in which, as matters at present stand, a philosopher should accept of honours ? — Merely as evidences, testimonials, to the multitude of those who are otherwise incapable of appreciating his merits, and would set him down as a dreamer — a visionary — but that they saw the estimation in which he was held by those who are likely to canvass his claims strictly. They compel the deference, if not re- spect of the hi -oWoi. A philosopher ought to receive them, therefore, as it were, in self-defence — a shut- mouth to babbling, envious gainsayers. Were all the world philosophers, in the true sense of the word, not merely would honours be unnecessary, but an insult — a reproach. Directly a philosopher is con- scious that the love of fame — the ambition to secure such distinctions, is gradually insinuating — inter- weaving itself with the very texture of his mind; that considerations of that kind are becoming neces- sary in any degree to prompt him to undertake or prosecute scientific pursuits, he may write Icha- BOD on the door of his soul's temple — for the glory is departed. His motives are spurious; his fires false ! To the exact extent of the necessity for such motives is, as it M^ere, the pure ore of his soul adul- terated. Minerva's jealous eyes can detect the slightest vacillation or inconsistency in her votaries, and discover her rival even before the votary himself is sensible of her existence ; and withdraws from her faithless admirer in cold disdain perhaps never to return. Do you think that Archimedes, Plato, or Sir 346 PASSAGES FROM THE Isaac Newton would have cared a straw for even royal honours 1 The true test, believe me — the almost infallible criterion of a man's having- attained to true greatness of mind — to the true philosophic temper, is his utter indifference to all sorts of honours and distinctions. Why 1 — What seeks he — or proposes to seek — but Truth 1 Is he to stop in the race, to look after Atalanta's apples 1 He should endure hon- ours, not go out of his way to seek them. If one apple hitches in his vest, he may carry it with him, not stop to dislodge it. Scientific distinctions are absolutely necessary in the present state of society, because it is defective. A mere ambitious struggle for college honours through rivalry has induced many a man to enter so far upon philosophical studies as that their charms, unfolding in proportion to his progress, have been of themselves at last sufficient to prevail upon him to go onwards — to love science for herself alone. Honours make a man open his eyes, who would else have gone to his grave with them shut : and when once he has seen the divinity of truth, he laughs at obstacles, and follows it through evil and good report — if his soul be properly con- stituted — if it have in it any of the nobler sympathies of our nature. — That is my homily on honours,'*^ said he, with a smile, " I have not wilfully preached and practised different things, I assure you," he continued, with a modest air, " but through life have striven to act upon these principles. Still, I never saw so clearly as at this moment how small my success has been— to what an extent I have been influenced by incorrect motives — as far as an over-valuing of the world's honours may be so considered. Now I see through no such magnifying medium; the mists and vapours are dispersing ; and I begin to see that these objects are in themselves little, even to nothingness. — The general retrospect of my life is far from satis- factory," continued E , with a sigh — " and fills me with real sorrow !" — " Why ?"— I inquired, with DURY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 347 surprise. " Why, for this one reason — because I ] have in a measure sacrificed my religion to philoso- i phy ! Oh — will my Maker thus be put off with the j mere lees — the refuse — of my time and energies 1 i For one hour in the day that I have devoted to him, j have I not given twelve or fourteen to my own pur- \ suits ? What shall I say of this shortly— in a few i hours — perhaps moments — wlien I stan d suddenly in j the presence of God — when I see Him face to face ! , Oh, doctor! — my heart sinks and sickens at the thought ! — shall I not be speechless, as one of old ?" ; I told him I thought he was unnecessarily severe with himself— that "he "wrote bitter things against : himself." " I thought so once, nay, all my life, myself — doc- j tor" — said he, solemnly — " but mark my words, as a j dying man — you will think as I do now when you come to be in my circumstances !" , The above, feebly conveyed perhaps to the reader, j may be considered the last words of a pm- LosopHER. They made an impression on my mind which has never been effaced ; and I trust never will. The reader need not suspect him of " prosing." The ' above were uttered with no pompous, swelling, | pedantic swagger of manner, but with the simplest, | most modest air, and in the most silvery tones of voice I ever listened to. He often paused from faint- ness : and at the conclusion his voice grew almost i inaudible, and he wiped the thick-standing dews from j his forehead. He begged me, in a low whisper, to kneel down and read him one of the church-prayers ' — the one appointed for those in prospect of death : i I took down the prayer-book and complied, though my emotions would not suffer me to speak in more ' than an often-interrupted whisper. He lay perfectly ! silent throughout, with his clasped hands pointing j upwards ; and when 1 had concluded, he responded, , feebly, but fervently, "Amen— Amen!" — and the j tears gushed down his cheeks. My heart was melted ^ 348 PASSAGES FROM THE within me. The silk cap had slipped from his head, and his long, loose, silvery hair streamed over his bed-dress: his appearance was that of a dying prophet of old! Bnt I find I am going on at too great length for the reader's patience, and must pause. For my own part I could linger over the re- membrances of these solemn scenes for ever : but I shall hasten on to the " last scene of all." It did not take place till near a fortnight after the interview above narrated. His manner during that time evinced no tumultuous ecstasies of soul ; none of the bois- terous extravagance of enthusiasm. His departure was like that of the sun, sinking gradually and finally, lower — lower — lower — no sudden upflashings — no quivering — no flickering unsteadiness about his fading rays ! Tuesday, I3th October. — Miss E sent word that her uncle appeared dying, and had expressed a wish to see both Dr. D and me. I therefore despatched a note to Dr. D , requesting him to meet me at a certain place, and then hurried through my lis t of calls, so as to have finished by three o'clock. By four we were both in the room of the dying philoso- pher. Miss E sat by his bedside, her eyes swollen with weeping, and was in the act of kissing her uncle's cheek when we entered. Mr. F , an exemplary clergyman, who had been one of E 's earliest and dearest friends, sat at the foot of the bed with a copy of Jeremy Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying," from which he was reading in a low tone, at the request of E . The appearance of the latter was very interesting. At his own instance, he had not long before been shaved, washed, and had a change of linen ; and the bed was also but recently made, and was not at all tumbled or disordered. The mournful tolling of the church-bell for a funeral was also heard at intervals, and added to the solemnity of the scene. I have seldom felt in such a state DURY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN'. 349 of excitement as I was on first entering the room. He shook hands with each of us, or rather we shook his hands, for he could hardly lift them from the bed. " Well — thank you for coming to bid me farewell !" said he, with a smile ; adding, pleasantly, " Will you allow Mr. F to proceed with what he is read- ing ?" Of course we nodded, and sat in silence lis- tening. I watched E 's features; they M'ere much wasted — but exhibited no traces of pain. His eye, though rather sunk in the socket, was full of the calmness and confidence of unwavering hope, and often directed upwards with a devout expression. A most heavenly serenity was diffused over his counte- nance. His lips occasionally moved, as if in the ut- terance of prayer. When !\Ir. F had closed the book, the first words uttered by E were, " Oh the infinite goodness of God !" " Do you feel that your ' anchor is within the veil ?" ' inquired F . " Oh ! — yes — yes ! — My vessel is steadily moored — the tide of life goes fast away — I am forgetting that I ever sailed on its sea !" replied E , closing his eyes. " The star of faith shines clearest in the night of expiring nature !" exclaimed F . " The sun — the sun of faith, say rather," replied E , in a tone of fervent exultation ; " it turns my night into day — it warms my soul — it rekindles my energies! — Sun — sun of righteousness!" — he ex- claimed, faintly. Miss E kissed him repeatedly, with deep emotion. " Emma, my love !" he whis- pered, " hope thou in God ! See how he will sup- port thee in death !" — She burst into tears. — " Will you promise me, love, to read the little Bible I gave you, when I am gone — especially the Aeu' Testament? — Do — do, love." "I will — I — ," replied Miss E , almost choked with her emotions. She could say no more. "Dr. ," he addressed me, "I feel more to- Gg 350 PASSAGES FROM THE wards you than I can express ; your services — ser-' vices — " he grew very pale and faint. I rose and poured out a glass of wine, and put it to his lips. He drank a few teaspoonfuls, and it revived him. " Well !" he exclaimed, in a stronger voice than I had before heard him speak. " I thank God I leave in perfect peace with all mankind! There is but one thing that grieves me — the general neglect of religion among men of science." Dr. D said, it must afford him great consolation to reflect on the steadfast regard for religion which he himself had always evidenced. " No, no — I have gone nearly as far astray as any of them ; but God's rod has brought me back again. I thank God devoutly that he ever afflicted me as I have been afflicted through life — He knows I do !" * * * Some one mentioned the prevalence of materialism. He lamented it bit- terly; but assured us that several of the most emi- nent men of the age — naming them — believed firmly in the immateriality and immortality of the human soul. " Do you feel firmly convinced of it — on natural and philosophical grounds ?" inquired Dr. D . " I do ; and have, ever since I instituted an inquiry on the subject, /think the difficulty is to believe the reverse — when it is owned on all hands, that nothing in nature's c»hanges suggests the idea of annihilation. I own that doubts have very often crossed my mind on the subject — but could never see the reason of them !" " But your confidence does not rest on the barren grounds of reason," said I ; " you believe Him who brought ' life and immortality' into the world." " Yes — ' Thanks be to God, who giveth us the vic- tory through our Lord Jesus Christ !' " "Do you 7iever feel a pang of regret at leaving life ?" I inquired. • " No, no, no !" he replied, with emphasis ; " life and I are grown unfit for each other ! My sympathies — DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. 351 my hopes — my joys, are too large for it ! Why should I, just got into the haven, think of risking shipwreck again ?" * * * «* ##« He lay still for nearly twenty minutes without speaking. His breathing was evidently accomplished with great difficulty ; and when his eyes occasionally fixed on any of us, we perceived that their expres- sion was altered. He did not seem to see what he looked at. I noticed his fingers also slowly twitch- ing or scratching the bedclothes. Still the expres- sion of his features was calm and tranquil as ever. He was murmuring something in Miss E 's ear; and she whispered to us, that he said, " Don't go — / shall want you at six^ Within about a quarter of six o'clock, he inquired where Emma was, and Dr. D , and Mr. F , and myself. We severally answered, that we sat around him. " I have not seen you for the last twenty minutes. Shake hands with me !" We did. " Emma, my sweet love ! put your arm round my neck — I am cold, cold." Her tears fell fast on his face. "Don't cry, — love— don't— I am quite happy! — God — God — bless you, love !" His lower jaw began to droop a little. Mr. F , moved almost to tears, rose from his chair, and noiselessly kneeled down beside him. "Have faith in our Lord Jesus Christ!" he ex- claimed, looking steadfastly into his face. " I DO !" he answered distinctly, while a faint smile stole over his drooping features. " Let us pray !" whispered IMr. F ; and we all knelt down in silence. I w'as never so overpowered in my life. I thought I should have been choked with suppressing my emotions. " Lord, our hea- venly Father!" commenced Mr. F , in a low tone, " receive thou the spirit of this our dying bro- ther — " E slowly elevated his left hand, and kept it pointing upwards for a few moments, when it 352 PASSAGES, ETC. suddenly dropped, and a long deep respiration an- nounced that this great and good man had breathed his last ! No one in the room spoke or stirred for several minutes ; and I almost thought I could hear the beat- ings of our hearts. He died within a few moments of six o'clock. Yes — there lay the sad effigy of our deceased " guide, philosopher, and friend;" — and yet, why call it sad 1 I coidd detect no trace of sadness in his features — he had left in peace and joy ; he had lived well, and died as he had lived. I can now appreciate the force of that prayer of one of old — " Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his !" There was some talk among his friends of erect- ing a tablet to his memory in Westminster Abbey ; but it has been dropped. We soon lose the recol- lection of departed excellence, if it require any thing like active exertion. THE END. [April, 1831, NEW WORKS, Recently published by J. & J. Harper, New- York. Stantiarlr. Gibbon's Rome (fine) 4v.8vo. | Domestic Duties 12mo. Robertson's Works 3 v. 8vo. I Mathematical Tables 12mo. History of Modern Europe, 3 v. 8vo. | Lives of Signers of D. 1 12ma Life of Byron, by Moore. .2 v. Svo. ; Brooks's Poems 12mo. Cooper's Surg. 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A NoveL [By tne Author of * Pelham/ * The Disovvned,' ' Devereux,'and ' Paul Clifford.'] [Ste- reotyped.'. •* £a the powerful description of intense feelin? and passion, it does not faj snort of tBg nteft 1] ucBt wcriL of ihe saae Author."— A'cto-rorA UontlUy Seuino. Works Recently Published. CLOUDESLEY. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. By the Author of " Caleb Williams," &c. " The new Novel of ' Cloudesley,' by flus celebrated writer, is admitted to be worthy ol hi* genius. The subject is oce of those roriiaaces of real lite which sometimes actually occur ;D so- ciety, and surpass the invention of hct.on. 'I'here is uo writer who kuows so well hcwU'deai with these as Mr. Godivin ; the cUiicrutmeiU and catastj-opbe of the present tale are, pertiap* without parallel in their impressive character." — C/ironicU. THE LOST HEIR ; and THE PREDICTION. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. " One of the best told tales we have met with for souie time. 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Bv the author of " Brambletye House," " Zil lalC&c.'&c. ^ " To say that this novel is by the author of 'Brambletye House,' implies that it islively, \ praphic, and forcible; and such must be the general inipression of 'The New Forest.'"' J —Court Journal. < THE COLLEGIANS. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. ' " The stem imbecility of the heart-broken gentleman may be comp?jed in effect and in I ;otiching beauty, to that most beautiful and impassioned scene in the 'Antiquary,' the Fisherman's lamentation over hb son. Can praise go higher ?" — Sptctatcr. i THE RIVALS. A Novel. By the Author of ' " The Collegians,'''' &c. In 2 volumes, 12mo. " For touches of genuine pathos, simplicity, and most tighly-wrougbt interest, we make ' ^estion if any thing of the kind ever took "precedency of the S'ories of this writer ; and their effect must be to raise their young au'hor high in the rank of illustrious names, norw •ecurely established in the records of litentore, and highest of all in the annals of precociota genius." — Examiner, HUNGARIAN TALES. In 2 vols. 12mo. By i the Author of "The Lettre de Cachet," and "Ro- | mances of Real Life." \ " Written with great vigour and purity of style, highly interesting in the devdope- ! menl of the stories, and aboundins with fine and graphic descriptions of character, as well as of external objects." — -Vcwr-KorA yiirror. ' ROMANCES OF REAL LIFE. In 2 vols. 12mo. i By the Author of " Hungarian Tales." " For a light, free, flowing, and truly feminine s'yle, we know not where to lock for Mrs. Charles Gore's equal among living femala writers, or her superior among dead ; ones. She is a charmm? writer, and rne who will not easily find a rival, except in— herself. In other words, she. and she only, is the writer who can iiiake us forjcf the pleasure which ^ w» have received from these ' Romances of Real Life.' ''—Court Journal. ^Mi COMING OUT; and THE FIELD OF THe'^ FORTY FOOTSTEPS. Novels. By Misses Jane. and Anna Maria Porter. In 2 vols. 12mo. " These works are a proud testimony, not only to the sisterly love of these ladies, but ' to their high attainments."'— -Veic-TiwA Mirror, | THE BARONY. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. ! By Miss Anna Maria Porter. j " This is a delightful work— it will be, and deserves toTie, big bl> DopuUr."— ii< Gazttt*. Works Recently Published. THE LIFE OF NELSON: (No. VL of thfc Family Library.) By Robert Southey, Esq. In 1 vol. 18mo. [Stereotyped.] " We are pleased to find that each succeeding number of the Family Libmry is worthy of the promise held out by (he first numbers, and the literary talents which they display. The preswit is among the most interesting of those that have yet appeared."— Cottrter. THE LIFE OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT: (No. VII. of the Family Library.) By Rev. J Wil- liams. In 1 vol. 18m.o. [Stereotyped.] " Judging by the present specimen, the Family Librar>- miut become a favourite to a'l dasses, and benefit society in general."— £. Joimial. GIBSON'S SUR ^YING. Improved and en- larged. By James K^AN. 8vo. This is now the only edition of Gibson's Si^rveving published in the United States, and In Rccompanied with all the necessary Tables .and Engravings, and sold at a very reduced price. HISTORICAL VIEW of the LITERATURE of the SOUTH OF EUROPE. By M. De Sismondi. Translated from the Original, with Notes. By Thomas Roscoe, Esq. In 2 large vols. Svo. _ " This is a valuable and interesting work. 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