 | THE SEVENTH SON. Legends of the West |  |
THE SEVENTH SON.
i had a classmate at college whose name was
Jeremy Geode. Circumstances threw us together
at that time, and we became attached friends. We
occupied the same room, and the same bed, and
freely communicated to each other our most secret
thoughts. I am not philosopher enough to account
for the principle of attraction which operated upon
us; the adhesion was very strong, but the cause that
produced it was as deeply hidden from my feeble
powers of perception as the properties of the load-stone.
I once read a very learned and unintelligible
book of philosophy, from beginning to end, for
the purpose of finding out why it was that two human
beings should be stuck together like particles
of granite: but I had my labour for my pains. The
reason was inscrutable; stuck together we were, and
yet never were two individuals more unlike each
other. We were perfect antipodes, and our friendship
a moral antithesis. My readers will enter fully
into the perplexities which this subject afforded me,
when I inform them that my friend was dismally
ugly, while I was, not only a great admirer of
looking. He was a sloven, I was neat and dressy.
He loved books, I loved men—particularly those of
the feminine gender. He was devoted to figures,
and so was I—but then his affections settled upon
the figures of arithmetic and geometry, while mine
were running riot among those of the cotillion. He
was studious, grave, and unsocial, and I gay, volatile,
and fond of company. I could talk by the hour
about any thing, or about nothing, while my friend
was taciturn, seldom opening his remarkably homely
mouth, except to utter a syllogism, or demonstrate
a problem. There were occasions, it is true, when
his eloquence would burst forth like the eruption of a
volcano. I have seen him rant like a stump orator,
over a geological specimen, or pour forth metaphors,
in all the exuberance of poetic phrensy,
while commenting upon the wonders exhibited in
the structure of a poor unfortunate musquito
which had fallen into his clutches. Strange as it
may seem to those who are unacquainted with the
organization of such minds, he was a wit of the
highest order. A sly inuendo, a sententious remark,
a playful sarcasm, uttered with the most inflexible
gravity, would excite in others a paroxysm
of laughter, while he was apparently unconscious of
any feeling akin to mirth. That he enjoyed his
own exquisite vein of humour, and the humour of
others, I have now no doubt, for every man who
possesses any strongly marked faculty of the mind,
experiences a high degree of pleasure in its exercise.
man, who, wrapped up in the abstractions of his own
mind, had no sympathies in common with his
fellow creatures; and he was willing to pass under
any character, which might secure him from intrusion,
and leave him at liberty to pursue the leadings
of his own genius. His equanimity under these
surmises, and under all the crosses of life, was absolutely
miraculous; the truth was that his vigorous
understanding, and native good temper, enabled him
to look down upon the accidents that vex other
men. I alone suspected that he was kind and
generous, because I had seen his eye moisten, and
the rigid muscles of his face relax, as he persued
the tender epistles of a doating mother; though it
was only in after years that I learned that he earned
his own subsistence, and that of his parent, by the
labours of his pen, while he pursued his college studies.
I could have wept, when this fact came to
my knowledge, and when I recollected how I had
sometimes ridiculed his parsimonious habits, and his
unceasing devotion to labour.
Another trait in the character of my friend shall
be chiefly noticed. Although he diligently eschewed
the company of women, and regarded men with
careless indifference, he seemed so perfectly enamoured
of the society of children and other irrational
animals, that I sometimes suspected him of
being a believer in the Pythagorean doctrine of
transmigration. When fatigued with mental exertions,
he would steal off to join his little play fellows,
their place of evening resort. There he would be
seen stretched upon the grass, gazing at them with
an eye of interest and of complete satisfaction.
The youngsters quickly struck up an acquaintance,
and clave to him with instinctive affection. They
soon learned to bring him their hats and coats to
take care of, when they drew them off for play; he
became the umpire in their contests, and the peace-maker
in their disputes; and he might often be seen
with the whole posse around him, the smallest
hanging on his knees and his great shoulders, and
the biggest forming a dense circle, with open eyes
and mouths, while he related some strange legend,
or explained the curious phenomena of nature.
These facts were not generally known in college;
and it was well for him—for had the erudite and
dignified sophomores detected him in such childish
pursuits, my friend Jeremy Geode would undoubtedly
have been put in Coventry. He had a mocking-bird,
too, in a cage, a martin box at his window,
and an industrious family of silk-worms in a small
cabinet. A lean, hungry, ferocious-looking cat,
whose love of mice or of mythology had brought
her to college, who had been expelled from one
room, and kicked out of another, and suffered martyrdom
in so many shapes, that, but for the plurality
of her lives, she would long since have ceased to
exist, at last took refuge in our room. She entered
with a truly feline stealth of tread, and sought concealment
with the cowardice of conscious felony.
than a mutual attachment commenced, a single
glance revealed to each a kindred spirit; in a
few hours puss was running between the student's
feet; before the close of the day she was reposing
in his lap, and a firm friendship was cemented.
Under his care she grew fat, social, and contented,
and justice requires me to say, that a more intelligent
or better behaved cat never inhabited the
walls of a learned institution.
After the completion of our collegiate course, we
commenced the study of our respective professions.
Now it was that a principle of repulsion began to
operate, which carried us perpetually in opposite
directions. Our minds, which had heretofore, to
some extent, inhabited the same sphere, began to
diverge as it were, from a common centre, so that
we entered upon the great theatre of life by different
paths. My friend, who was cautious and plodding,
betook him to the dusty turnpike of science, carefully
noting the indications of the innumerable
finger-posts and mile-stones, which have been set
up by the industry of sundry worthy men, on
either side of that great highway. He was willing
to reach the ultimate point of his ambition by the
beaten road, which experience has marked out.
Wisdom's ways are said to be pleasant ways, and all
her paths peace, and I dare say he found them so;
but I must confess that I had not sufficient taste to
discern, wherein that peace and pleasantness consisted.
I betook myself to that flowery path,
destination, meanders through the regions of fancy,
and the resorts of pleasure. But I was unwilling,
at first, to part with my friend; I grieved to see his
youth withering in monastic seclusion, and his
energies wasted in a severe course of unproductive
studies.
“What do you expect to gain,” said I to him,
one day, “by this incessant toil of the mind, this
rigid self denial, this total abstraction from the
ordinary pursuits of youth?”
“Knowledge!” was his laconic reply.
“And will the accumulated stores of knowledge
be worth so dear a purchase? Are you not acting
the part of the miser who keeps up a mass of useless
wealth, at the expense of all the courtesies of
life, and all its enjoyments? Is this a rational way
of spending time?”
“I like it,” said he.
I was nettled at his perfect composure. “So
does your cat like to sleep,” I exclaimed, “and
pardon me for saying that I see little difference,”—
I was going to say, “between you and your cat,”
but I had the grace to modify the comparison—“between
dozing over the fire, or over musty books.”
“The books are far from musty,” replied he very
placidly, “and as for poor puss, she is quite happy
and respectable, in her way.”
“But my dear Geode, to what end is this slavery
of the mind?”
“Usefulness.”
“Usefulness! to whom, pray?”
“To myself, to my country, to mankind.”
“And the reward? Come tell us that. What
do you expect in return for becoming the benefactor
of an ungrateful world?”
“The approbation of good men, and of my own
conscience.”
He had reason and virtue on his side, and my
logic would hold out no longer. I was awed, but
not convinced; and we parted.
My friend studied medicine, a choice upon which
I had often rallied him as growing out of his love
for the occult sciences; for with his more solid acquirements,
he had mingled an acquaintance with
alchemy, witchcraft, and all the mystic lore which
is found in black letter books. He could draw
horoscopes, and tell fortunes like an adept, and so
gravely would he talk upon such subjects, that had
it not been for a lurking roguishness of the eye,
which he could never wholly command, I should
have feared that he was in earnest. I chose the
science of law, because this profession is considered
the path to office and honour. I had no relish for
the drudgery of a practising attorney. Framing
declarations, and exploring the intricacies of law
reports, had no attractions for me. My ambition
soared higher; and I imagined, as multitudes of
young men do, who crowd to the bar in the hope of
leading a life of ease and dignity, that my labours
would cease, and my triumphs begin, with my
maiden speech. In common with all who have been
The labours of the lawyer who pursues his profession
with energy, are as severe as those of the farmer
or mechanic, while his pecuniary gains are less
certain. But then the farmer is a drudge, and the
mechanic is not an esquire. The legal profession
confers a patent of gentility on its members; they
are gentlemen of the bar; and the man who wishes
to become a gentleman by a short cut, and to remain
one during life, has only to procure a license to
practise in a court of record, which confers an indefeasible
title to that distinction, whatever may be
the properties of his body, mind, or estate.
But I sat down, not to write of myself, but
to indite the veritable history of Doctor Jeremy
Geode, who having obtained his diploma with great
distinction, emigrated to the western states. He
called to take leave of me, previous to his departure.
A suit of mourning announced that he had lost his
mother, the only human being, in memory of whom
he would have thought it necessary to exhibit this
outward symbol of grief. “I nursed her,” said
he, “in her last illness, and received her blessing.
It was mournful to sever so dear a tie; but I felt
that I had gained, in her approbation of my conduct,
a richer legacy than any that the whole earth
could bestow.” He spoke of his future prospects
with confidence, though with that peculiar bashfulness
with which a modest young man, accustomed
to seclusion, faces the world for the first time.
There is no sight more touching to a considerate
youth, embarking in the voyage of life, with no
companion but enterprise and indigence. Bright
may be his career, and noble his triumphs; but the
chances that those buoyant hopes, those modest
graces, those virtuous emotions, which render
youth so engaging, will be blighted by vice, by disappointment,
and by sordid cares, are so many, as
to fill the benevolent heart with trembling apprehension.
Doctor Geode settled in an obscure town, far in
the wilderness. It was a village newly laid out,
upon the borders of an extensive prairie; a beautifully
undulating plain, fringed with woods, and
dotted with picturesque clumps and groves of trees.
The grass, as yet but little trodden, exhibited its
pristine luxuriance, and a variety of gorgeous
flowers enlivened the scene. The deer still loitered
here, as if unwilling to resign their ancient pastures,
and at night the long howl of the wolf could be
heard, mingled with the fearful screechings of the
owl. The village was composed of log cabins, and
was, with the neighbourhood around it, inhabited
chiefly by backwoodsmen—a race of people who,
delighting in the chase, and devoted to their wild,
free, and independent habits, precede the advance
of the denser population, and keep ever on the outskirts
of society. Ardent, hospitable, and uncultivated,
the stranger is as much delighted with the
cordial welcome he finds at their firesides, as he is
struck with their primitive manners, their singular
Accustomed to long journeys, to frequent changes
of residence, to protracted hunting expeditions, to
swimming rivers, and encamping in the woods, they
bear fatigue and exposure with the patience of the
Indian: their figures of speech are numerous, and
drawn from natural objects: and they have a fund of
that intelligence which arises from extensive wanderings,
from a close observance of nature, and from
habits of free discussion, mingled with the simplicity
induced by the absence of literature.
A few months passed away delightfully with
Doctor Geode. He roamed the forests and the
prairies with the eagerness of one who had fallen
upon a new world, more beautiful than that of his
nativity. He walked and rode, hunted and fished,
not for sport, but in search of scientific truth. The
cabin which he occupied as a study, soon grew into
a museum of natural curiosities. Every day brought
some novel and interesting subject under his investigation.
The treasures of knowledge which he had
accumulated over the midnight lamp, seemed now
to swell, and burst forth into life, as the exuberant
flower springs from the folds of the bud. The
world around him was teeming with living and
beautiful illustrations of those abstruse principles
that had been gathered into his memory with so
much toil, and arranged with so much care. Not
a wind blew, nor a shower fell; not a flower regaled
his senses with its gaudy beauties or rich perfumes;
without filling his mind with a sensation of pleasurable
were all eloquence, and music, and symmetry. He
had studied these things in the closet as mere abstractions,
but now they came before him as sensible
objects, bearing the stamp of reality, and glowing
with the freshness of life.
But in the midst of these pursuits, my worthy
friend entirely forgot to employ the ordinary means
of getting into practice. He made no display of his
skill, nor courted the acquaintance of any of his
neighbours. No flashy advertisement extolled the
merits of Doctor Geode, and informed the public
that he was their humble servant. A wily competitor,
taking advantage of this improvidence, represented
my erudite friend as an insane gentleman,
who roamed about gathering roots, and catching
prairie flies; and the neighbours felt no inclination
to consult a mad doctor. His own habits confirmed
these mercenary slanders. His homely face was
pale and sallow; his thick black beard was often allowed
to remain a whole week unshaven; and in his
total carelessness of every thing relating to his own
comfort, he sometimes walked from his shop to his
lodgings without his hat, or with one boot and one
shoe. His collection of stuffed birds, impaled insects,
and pickled reptiles, might well bring his
sanity in question with those who could see no advantage
in this hideous resurrection of dead bodies.
Moreover he had tamed a crow, a bird held in particular
aversion, in consequence of its depredations
to have been,
Natural enemy of man;
up her residence with him, was his constant companion.
He soon found himself avoided, like a mad
dog in a populous town, or a freemason in the enlightened
state of New York. Week after week
rolled away, and not a patient called the skill of
Doctor Geode in requisition. He wondered at this
circumstance, and perplexed himself with vain endeavours
to conjecture the reason. He saw that he
was even shunned; but his modesty, as well as his
independence, prevented him from inquiring into
the cause. In the mean while his finances were exhausted,
and poverty, with all its inconveniences
and mortifications, stared him in the face.
There is one truth, as regards the moral government
of this world, to which there are few exceptions;
it is, that good deeds always have their
reward. So it happened to my friend. He was
one day induced to enter a solitary cabin, in the
outskirts of the village, by hearing as he passed the
groans of a person who seemed to be in pain. A
decent widow who supported a large family by her
labour, was suffering under a high fever, and in a
state of delirium. Beside her sat a fair haired girl,
about fourteen years old, the daughter of a neighbouring
gentleman, bathing her temples, and vainly
endeavouring to soothe her torture. Without
such assistance to the sufferer as her case
required; nor did he quit her bed side, until every
alarming symptom was removed. The young girl,
who at first shrunk back in alarm, was soon drawn
to his assistance by the kindness of his tones, and
now witnessed his promptness and success with astonishment.
He continued to attend her from day
to day until his patient was completely restored,
and then refused any compensation for what he considered
a slight and a voluntary service. Being an
intelligent woman, who had been accustomed to
attend the sick, she readily discovered, from his
tender manner, and skilful prescriptions, that he
was no ordinary man; and she now, in the warmth
of her gratitude, revealed to him the arts by which
his competitor had deprived him of the confidence
of the public.
Doctor Geode never did things like other men.
Instead of getting angry, he was amused at the
ingenuity of his rival, and at his own ridiculous
predicament. He was born too far east to be
overreached by a specious pretender; and as his
necessities were at that moment particularly pressing,
he soon devised a plan for present relief, and
for the utter discomfiture of his rival. Although his
bashfulness, and habits of abstraction, had kept him
aloof from an intercourse with his neighbours, he
had not been unattentive to their traditions and
modes of thinking; while he spoke little, he had
listened and observed much. Some of their superstitions
he was even then preparing an essay on this subject.
With these landmarks to assist him, his scheme was
soon digested. Having prepared a neat card, and
drawn upon it a circle and a triangle, with red ink,
he proceeded to trace over it several words in the
Greek character. He then advertised that “Doctor
Jeremy Geode, the seventh son of a celebrated Indian
doctor, would cure all diseases, by means of
the wonderful Hygeian Tablet, or Kickapoo Panacea,
of which he was sole proprietor.” It was a
happy thought! the virtues of a seventh son have
long been well known; and however our sturdy
borderers may dislike their savage neighbours, the
Indian doctor has always been in high repute
among them. The reputed lunatic was at once elevated
into an inspired mediciner; the crow, the
black cat, and the collection of natural curiosities,
became objects of respectful curiosity. In vain did
the regular physician of the village denounce him
as an impostor; in vain an incredulous few professed
their entire disbelief. The doors of the seventh son
were soon crowded with the halt and the sick.
Among the first that came was Mr Jones, the father
of the fair haired girl, a gentleman of information
and property; a frank, hospitable man, who had taken
up a favourable opinion of the doctor, and who became
now, by his daughter's account of the incident
she had witnessed, warmly engaged in his interest.
What passed at the interview need not be repeated;
Mr Jones at its conclusion exhibited evident symptoms
Geode had received some new views of western
character. They remained firm friends, and Mr
Jones never spoke of the seventh son, but in terms
of high respect. The success of the mystic tablet
was triumphant, and its fame spread far and near.
Nauseating and dangerous drugs were decried, as
useless and pernicious. It even became a matter of
general remark and wonder, that people should be
so stupid as to swallow deadly poisons, while health
could be so much more cheaply purchased by
looking at a card. Faith alone was requisite to give
efficacy to the spell. It is true that the charm sometimes
failed; but this was always attributed to the
unbelief of the patient, and the doctor forthwith
proceeded to treat such cases secundum artem,
concealing the fact that he used the subtle minerals
of the pharmacopœia, and leaving the world to suppose
that he practised only with the simples gathered
in his botanic excursions. The consequence was
that his practice spread not only through the country
around, but an immense number of patients were
brought to him from a distance. As for the regular
physician, he was obliged to quit the village.
Happening to pass through that region, when the
fame of Doctor Geode was at its zenith, I was astonished
to hear the name of my old classmate, of whom
I had lost sight for some years, coupled with miraculous
cures by faith; and I determined to pay him
a visit. Muffled in my cloak, and disguised still
further by the alteration that time had made in my
log house, divided into several apartments, all of
which, except one, were occupied by the sick. In
the audience room, if I may so call it, sat the doctor;
his black beard, which he had suffered to grow,
overhanging his breast, and his raven locks almost
concealing his features; while his mountainous nose,
his calm but piercing eye, and his sarcastic lip, revealed
to me, at a glance, my former classmate. He
was surrounded by a group of persons, who sought
relief from real or imaginary diseases.
“I have a desperate misery in my side,” said one.
“I've got the billiards fever,” groaned another.
“I am powerful weak,” drawled a third.
“My limbs are sort o' dead like,” whined a fourth.
“Oh, doctor, I've got the yaller janders powerful
bad; I feel jist like I'd naaterally die off; and I
can't hope myself, no how.”
“Can you cure the rheumatiz?”
“I've an inward fever.”
“Doctor, my peided cow is in a desput bad fix
with the holler horn.”
“Ah, doctor Geeho, you never seed sich a poor
afflicted crittur as I be, with the misery in my
tooth; it seems like it would jist use me up body-aciously.”
“Oh, doctor, doctor, I've got the shaking ager, so
mighty bad, I aint no account, no how.”
“Mr Geehead, I wish you'd look at my boy; he's
got in the triflingest way you ever seed; he can't larn
his book, and does nothing but jeest tell lies and
no how.”
“Canst thou minister to a mind diseased?” inquired
I in a feigned tone. His quick eye, which
had more than once rested on me, since I had entered
the room, was turned hastily towards me in
eager scrutiny. Failing to penetrate my disguise,
he civilly inquired my business.
“I know,” said I in a mock heroic tone, “that
knowledge is thy idol, usefulness thy creed, the approbation
of good men, thy reward. I seek advice.”
“Your complaint?” inquired he in a tremulous
voice, for he more than suspected who was his visitor.
“The cacoethes scribendi.”
“Oh si sick omnes!” exclaimed the seventh son,
waving his hand over his valetudinarian levee, who
stood gasping in awe, at this outlandish dialogue.
“It hath afflicted me from my youth,” rejoined I.
“Get you gone,” cried he in a tone of grave sarcasm,
while a joyful recognition sparkled in his eye,
“get you gone, it is a loathsome, incurable disease,
which criticism may correct, but the grave only can
remove. It hath afflicted the world for ages, carrying
with it revilings, and jealousies, and war. It
maketh a man lean in flesh, and poor in substance.
A hollow eye, a sunken cheek, a soiled finger, and
a tattered coat are its symptoms.”
“I crave a private consultation, learned doctor,”
said I, and accordingly, after dismissing his patients,
the fervour of affectionate friendship.
I remained with him that day, and we consumed
nearly the whole night in conversation. After he
had recounted his adventures, I inquired how he,
whose moral principles I knew to be rigid, could
justify himself in assuming a character which did not
belong to him.
“There is less of imposture,” he replied, “in the
character which I have assumed, than you imagine;
my father was a physician, and I am his seventh
son.”
“But is it right to delude the ignorant, and give
your sanction to an idle superstition?”
“I will not say that it is right. Nothing is right,
but truth and plain dealing. Yet I am not prepared
to say that it is morally wrong, to do good to
men through the medium of their own weakness.
One half the diseases which afflict mankind are
imaginary, and should be treated as such. I practise
upon this rule, and have found faith quite as
valuable as physic.”
“But is it possible that you can pursue this life
with satisfaction?”
“So far as there has been deception in it, it has
been irksome. But it has afforded me a fund of
amusement, and has given me an insight into the
human heart, which I consider invaluable. I have
acquired an intimate acquaintance with the peculiarities
of a most original people; have seen the workings
of superstition in one of its most powerful
curious incidents of the mysterious connexion between
mind and matter.”
“Then you have some confidence in your system?”
“Oh yes: how can I help it? I have seen the
sturdy hunter, who could face the painted Indian, or
wrestle with a hungry wolf, quailing under a fancied
or unimportant disorder, and suddenly, at my
bidding, by a mere volition of will, resuming his
vigour, and returning to his manly exercises; I have
seen the drooping maiden, who was withering like
the autumn leaf, call back her smiles and her bloom,
by a simple exertion of faith. I must acknowledge,
however, that my plan has been extended farther,
and continued longer, than I intended. It was embraced
partly in jest, partly under the goadings of
stern necessity. My success astonished me. I saw
no way to retreat. I was doing good to others and
enriching myself. I am now possessed of a sufficient
sum to establish me wherever I please. Besides,
the bubble must soon burst; ours is not a
country, nor an age, in which delusion can live
long.”
I left him on the following morning. Shortly
afterwards he abandoned the scene of his success,
after presenting the mystic tablet to the poor widow,
who had proved so valuable a friend to him in the
hour of adversity, and instructing her in the real
secret of its efficacy.
Three years had passed away since the interview
just related, when one day Doctor Geode, who was
now a regular physician, of high standing, in a city
not far from that of my own residence, entered my
room. I was astonished at the change which a
short time had wrought in his person and appearance.
He was now in his thirtieth year, and had
just reached the vigour of manhood. He was plainly
but neatly dressed. Good living and active employment
had clothed his muscles with flesh, and
brought a healthy bloom to his cheek. The sharp
angles of his face had become rounded, and the
clouds of care were dispersed. The clownish manners
of the student had given place to the deportment
of a plain intelligent gentleman. A smile of
benevolence and placid contentment sat upon his
features; and I thought him by no means so ugly as
he had been in his youth.
“Come,” said he, “will you join me in a trip
to —?”
“For what purpose?”
“During my residence there, I had a friend, who
treated me with kindness. He had penetrated my
disguise by his own sagacity, but appreciated my
motives, kept my secret with inviolable honour, and
promoted my interest with all his influence. I was
his family physician. He is dead, and his only
daughter, the fair-haired girl whom I once told you
of, is about to be deprived of her inheritance by a
designing relative. My intimacy with the family
has put me in possession of facts, which are unknown
her claim. She is a mere child, poor thing,
and does not know her own rights. Come, you
have the dyspepsia, I am sure; I prescribe a long
journey.”
Who could resist the temptation of a tour to the
frontier, in company with such a man? “The
seventh son shall be obeyed,” said I; and the next
morning found us on our horses. The journey was
delightful. The doctor was full of anecdote, and
brimful of science; both of which he poured out in
copious streams. His former taciturnity had given
place to conversational powers of a high order. It
had never been constitutional, but was the result of
circumstances. His youth had been silently and
diligently employed in acquiring the knowledge
which now burst forth in rich exuberance; and he
reminded me of the tree that in the winter stands
bare, solitary, and ungraceful, but in due season
bears the leaf, the blossom, and the fruit. His inquisitive
mind was continually on the stretch. I
was struck with his various information, his affability,
and his colloquial skill.
We reached the broad prairies, and the region of
thinly scattered population. The wide and beaten
road was changed for the path that winded over the
plains, or among the tangled woods. We forded
the little streams, and crossed the rivers in canoes,
driving our horses before us. Instead of meeting
the travelling carriage, the stage, and the loaded
wagon, we encountered the solitary hunter in his
of the cat, and the watchful glance of the wary Indian.
We lodged no longer at the inn, attended
by assiduous servants, but slept at the settler's cabin,
and sat as equals at his board. Two more days
would have brought us to —, when my friend
was taken ill. The attack was severe, and he
thought his own case doubtful. There was no physician
in the neighbourhood, and he himself was unprovided
with such medicines as were suitable to
his case. The fever was raging and the pain intense.
It was one of those cases in which the crisis
approaches rapidly. Two days passed and he
hourly grew worse. I was almost frantic. At
length the man of the house told us of an old woman,
that had lately settled in the neighbourhood,
who was “a desperate good doctor.”
“There was a right smart chance of sickness,
when she came into the settlement,” continued the
man, “a heap of people called on her—she had
abundance to do—and she flew round among the
folks mighty peart, I tell you. The way she fixed
'em, was the right way, there's no mistake in it.
I would'nt give her for naary high larnt marcury
doctor, I ever see, no how.”
“But this is an extreme case.”
“No matter,” replied the hunter cheerfully—
“if the man was as cold as a wagon tire, provided
there was any life in him, she'd bring him to; there's
no two ways about it.”
My friend smiled. “Send for the woman!” I exclaimed,
boy was accordingly mounted on the fleetest steed,
and soon returned with the female æsculapius.
There was nothing peculiar in her appearance, except
that she wore a large black veil, which completely
concealed her features. She required to be
left alone with the patient, but as I insisted on being
present at the interview, an exception was made in
my favour. She approached the bed, felt the sufferer's
pulse, and passed her hand over his forehead,
while the doctor, who seemed to recognise the skilful
touch of a practitioner, mechanically put out his
tongue. The woman turned to me and said in a low
voice, “I can do nothing for this gentleman—he is
very ill, and requires a greater physician than I am.”
“Do your best,” exclaimed I.
“Ah, Sir, I have little skill in medicine. I am
but a poor weak woman; a very humble instrument
in the hands of Providence. I can do nothing here.
This man needs medicine.”
“If you mean to say, that you do your work by
a spell, I insist upon your trying it.”
“Very willingly,” said the woman meekly, and
then raising her voice, she exclaimed, “let no one
speak.”
She next turned to her patient, and said, “Sick
man! do you believe that I can raise you from this
bed of pain?”
The doctor, who, even in the hour of extremity,
seemed to retain his relish for hocus pocus, nodded
over me.
“Then look upon my face,” continued she, in a
solemn tone, throwing back her veil, and displaying
in her right hand the identical tablet of Doctor Geode,
“and look upon this tablet of health, and these mysterious
figures, and charmed words, drawn upon it
by the hand of the seventh son of a celebrated Indian
doctor—look on them, and believe, and be restored.”
This was more than the doctor could stand. No
sooner did he behold the workmanship of his own
hands, and the pupil of his tuition, and witness the
whole acting of that curious scene, of which he had
been the inventor, than he burst into an immoderate
convulsion of laughter. The woman gazed in amazement,
for in the altered features of her patient she
did not recognize her master. I ran to him in alarm;
but he continued to laugh, rolling from side to side,
throwing up his long arms, and screaming as if distracted.
As soon as he was composed enough to speak, he
exclaimed, “Give her a fifty dollar note, Charles!
Go, go, good woman, you have done your duty well
—go now, but do not leave the house!”
“Can it be possible,” continued he, as the wondering
woman closed the door after her, “can it be,
that there are two Richmonds in the field? No, it
is my own veritable spell, and my very deputy herself!”
And then he laughed again, until the whole
house re-echoed the sonorous peal. The big drops
“behold the work of the faith doctor; here we
have been labouring these two days to break this
obstinate fever, and to produce a perspiration, and
lo! the cunning woman has wrought the desired
change in a moment!” And it was exactly so; the
violent muscular action, and the sudden revolution
in the patient's train of thought, had produced instantaneous
relief. A profuse perspiration, succeeded
by a gentle slumber, relieved the most violent
symptoms. When he awoke he asked for the doctress.
“I knew I was safe,” said he, “as soon as
I saw her face. She has a lancet and a box of calomel
pills in her pocket. No man need die of a bilious
fever, when these are near. I lost mine on the road.
Send her in.” It is only necessary to add, that after
a few days' careful attention from the old lady, who
was really an admirable nurse, he was able to resume
his journey.
In consequence of this detention, we arrived at
the place of our destination too late to be of any
service to the daughter of Doctor Geode's former
friend, in her lawsuit. The cause had been tried,
and decided against her. My worthy fellow traveller
bore this disappointment with less patience
than was usual with him. He took it to heart, and
brooded over it. Every day he went to see the
young lady, to console her, and to try to devise
some means to reassert her rights.
After a few visits, the doctor began to talk, in a
very dignified strain, of the moral excellence and
of one week he pronounced her a natural curiosity,
and before the end of the second, he assured me
solemnly, that she was a phenomenon. He had
discovered a new scientific truth, namely, that in
five years, a slim girl of fourteen, may be metamorphosed
into a full grown lovely woman.
“Why, Charles,” said he, “there is nothing in all
the arcana of nature to be compared with it; the
bursting of the gorgeous butterfly from its chrysalis,
the expansion of a beautiful flower, nor any of the
most wonderful changes in the material world, can
not equal it.”
“What's the matter now, doctor?”
“Matter enough, sir; matter for curious thought.
Here is this little girl, who, when I saw her last, was
dressed in cotton homespun, wore a sun-bonnet,
and ran on errands for her father—a little slight
thing, as pale as a lily, and as timid as a fawn.
She sat in the corner knitting, while her father and
I conversed, and never raised her eyes, or uttered
more than one syllable at a time. I used to carry
young birds, flowers, and pictures to her, as I would
to any other child. Now she is a woman, as beautiful
as Hebe, as hospitable as was her own warm-hearted
father, and as rational as an M.D. She is
a remarkable specimen—”
“If she is a specimen,” interrupted I, “I can
easily guess her fate. She will hardly escape so
industrious a collector as yourself. Take her home,
doctor, and place her in your cabinet; she would be
The doctor put on his hat, and walked off. I saw
that it was all over with him.
At the end of the third week of our stay, I began
to grow impatient; but my friend's “phenomenon”
still engaged all his thoughts; and where is the
ardent lover of science who would have been willing
to relinquish so interesting a subject of investigation.
He was anatomising the young lady's affections
with as much patience of research, as he would
have bestowed on the complete skeleton of a
mastodon. I popped in upon them one day, unexpectedly,
as they stood conversing at a window;
and before I was observed, or had time to retire, I
heard her say in a tremulous tone,
“Indeed, Doctor Geode, I hardly know what to
say—it is so sudden—so—so very unexpected—
so—”
“I will tell you what to say; say Yes.”
The young lady covered her face, and uttered
neither yes nor no.
“I see through your case,” continued the determined
doctor, “all that it requires is faith. As I
used to ask my patients here, I now ask you, have
you faith in me?”
“It requires no exertion of credulity to believe
that Doctor Geode is all that is noble and excellent,”
and then she placed her hand in his. The
lover took it respectfully, and evidently at a loss
what he ought to do next, mechanically laid his finger
upon her pulse, as if he expected to find thoughts
system.
I suppose I laughed, for they both turned towards
me.
“Ah, Charles! what, eaves-dropping? well, no
matter—let me introduce you to Mrs Jeremy
Geode that is to be. We shall be married to-morrow,
and the next day bid adieu to the frontier.”
The wedding took place accordingly; and I need
scarcely inform the intelligent reader, that my
friend is now one of the best and happiest of husbands,
and is enjoying, in the meridian of life, the
rich harvest of prosperity and honour, which crowns
a youth of virtue, industry, and self-denial.
| THE SEVENTH SON. Legends of the West | |