 | The actress of Padua, and other tales |  |
A TALE OF HARD SCRABBLE.
“Believe it, there's ne'er a mistress in the world
Can mislike it.”
Cynthia's Revels.
The attorney and the apothecary, by prescriptive
right, belong to the aristocracy of every village;—
by aristocracy is meant that class of the community
who live by doing nothing—a laborious kind of life,
certainly, and by no means profitable, still many
adopt it of choice, and believe it conclusive evidence
of their gentility, in spite of a seedy coat and pockets
to let.
There is a little village called Hard Scrabble,
somewhere in New Jersey—true, several places in
that state are justly entitled to the same cognomen,
but, in order to prevent all geographical mistakes, the
Hard Scrabble referred to fronts upon the Atlantic,
while behind extends the deserts of Arabia in little,
and is justly celebrated for blue-fish and oysters,
white sand and black mosquitoes; all of which are
considered staple commodities, except the last.
There is scarcely a spear of grass growing for
many miles around Hard Scrabble. It is so barren
on record that a flock of crows, in making the
attempt, fell dead when they spied out the nakedness
of the land. Notwithstanding all this, it is a place of
resort in the summer season, by such as imagine that
they can find pleasure in any other place than their
own homes. It is astonishing how much privation
and annoyance some people can undergo, if it be
only christened by the name of pleasure.
Our village, like every other village, could boast
of an attorney and apothecary, and if the fact of
doing nothing be a legitimate claim to aristocracy,
their caste was an elevated one, for Capias, the attorney,
had not issued a writ for a twelve-month, and
the same length of time had elapsed since death had
released the last patient of little Tapioca by writ of
habeas corpus—still our worthies did not despond.
Hope feeds her votaries on the chamelion's dish; a
rattle is sufficient to amuse us through life, and if
we unfortunately break the toy, and discover the
tinsel of which it is composed, we sit down and weep
like children.
It would have been a handsome speculation to
have purchased our village worthies at their real
value, and to have sold them again for what they
imagined they were worth. They were on excellent
terms with themselves, were both bachelors, and
looked forward to the day when Hymen and Fortune
would combine to make them happy. The
non-productives, whenever abandoned by the latter,
have implicit faith in Hymen working miracles in
their favour. Every prudent man should have two
strings to his bow, and the ladies say it is not amiss
to have two beaux to your string.
Hard Scrabble, as already observed, was resorted
to in the summer season, by those who fancied that
mosquito phlebotomy would benefit their health, and
while the other watering places were as crowded
and uncomfortable as the Black Hole of Calcutta,
the few who visited here had ample room to battle
with the swarms of insects that every breeze from
to those who object to being bitten, and do
not consider the monotonous hum of his little trumpet,
as one of the pleasures of a watering place.
The sting of a mosquito may be compared to olives,
tomatoes, and the condiments used in French cookery—we
must be accustomed to them before they
become palatable, and a man must be stung very
often by a mosquito before he likes it.
Miss Deborah Nightshade visited Hard Scrabble
for the benefit of her health. It was so retired, and
there was such a delightful view of gray sand all
around, particularly when the sun was beating on it,
and it was so charmingly romantic to see the fishermen
and the wreckers at their labour, and the sea-breeze
was so bracing even in the dog-days, that
Miss Nightshade felt convinced that her health
would be speedily reinstated and her beauty renovated.
The latter is seldom the work of time.
Miss Nightshade belonged to that much-injured
class of society, in vulgar parlance styled old maids.
Having refused, according to her own account, six
advantageous offers, in the bloom of youth and
beauty, she ultimately found herself on the wrong
side of matrimony, and reluctantly despaired of
ever warming her chilled bosom at the torch of
Hymen. For a few years it was her sole delight to
relate to her friends her former conquests; and a
glow, something of a brickdust hue, would return to
her withered cheeks, when she dwelt upon the entire
control she at one time had over her heart-stricken
admirers—“Hoc est vivere bis,” says Martial, but as
this, by continual repetition, gradually ceased to afford
gratification, Miss Deborah sought for amusement
in censuring the imprudence and immodesty of the
belles of the present age. By this time she had
purchased a pair of spectacles, and consequently
very few follies of this nature passed under her
nose without the closest observation. When a cynic,
in spite of his satire and reproof, observes all around
him enjoying their pleasures, without showing any
weary of growling, and though his disgust is heightened
by having been treated with indifference, he
swallows his spleen, and suffers the world to work
its own salvation. After Miss Deborah had ceased
to take any amusement in censuring the foibles of
the rising generation, finding she had but little gratification
in society, she fancied that there would be
a pleasure still remaining, if she could only appear
the most miserable member of it. She was not
peculiar in this particular.
The arrival of Miss Nightshade created quite a
sensation in Hard Scrabble. True there was no
military parade, discharge of ordnance, nor was she
invited to a public dinner by the functionaries of the
village, in conformity with the fashion of the day on
great occasions; still there was neither man, woman,
nor child in Hard Scrabble who was not full of the
important arrival, within ten minutes after its taking
place. It is astonishing how rapidly news circulates
in a village.
Among those who felt most deeply interested in
the new comer were Counsellor Capias and Dr.
Tapioca. The former was moved thereunto as he
prided himself upon being a man of gallantry, the
cock of the village, and the lady would naturally
expect numberless little attentions which he alone
was calculated to perform; while on the other hand
the apothecary looked forward to having a profitable
patient, for he already heard that the lady was an
invalid, and had visited that distinguished watering
place, Hard Scrabble, for the benefit of her health.
Miss Nightshade imagined herself afflicted with
more complaints than physiologists have touched
upon, and she protested that her feelings were, at
times, such as were not to be paralleled by those of
any case on record. Her physicians were amazingly
puzzled. They avoided naming any disease in her
presence, as she was sure to have it the next day,
though she was systematic in appropriating a day to
each disorder, and was careful not to have two complaints
too violent for her constitution. Mondays she appropriated
to the rheumatism, Tuesdays to palpitation
of the heart, Wednesdays to the ague, Thursdays
to dyspepsia, and so on throughout the week,
by which prudent arrangement she greatly facilitated
the practice of her medical advisers, who usually
prescribed, in all cases,
R. Panis micar. 3ss.
Aq. fontan. mx.
M. ft. pil. x.
Sumat. 1, pro re natâ.
Which hieroglyphics Champollion, after intense study,
has deciphered to mean neither more nor less
than ten pills made up of bread and pure water, a
medicine fully as efficacious as Dr. Last's chalk and
vinegar, which if it could do no good, could do no
harm. Strange it is that the science of medicine
should be so mystified as to give a frightful aspect
even to the staff of life.
Such being the constitution of Miss Nightshade,
she was no sooner warm in her chamber at Hard
Scrabble than she made inquiry for the physician of
the village. But our watering place, in one respect,
resembled Gilead, “there was no physician there,”
and accordingly little Tapioca was summoned to
her bedside as the most available succedaneum in
the emergency. His heart dilated with hope as he
seized his ivory-headed cane to visit his new patient,
and he felt satisfied that there was no place that held
out such encouragement to a young practitioner as
Hard Scrabble. He had only been ten years in
practice, and already had had ten patients, without
including the parson's cow.
He paid his first visit on Monday, and accordingly
found his patient labouring under a violent attack
of fancied rheumatism, in hourly expectation of her
approaching dissolution. A short time before his
arrival, as her nurse was assisting her to rise, the old
lady, groaning most piteously, exclaimed, “Gently,
gently, I beseech you;—do you think I am made of
will certainly drop off with pain—dear me, unless I
obtain relief very soon, I cannot last much longer,”
with a hundred similar exclamations; but they succeeded
in supporting her to a sofa, into which she
fell, exhausted with pain and weakness. Her temples
were immediately bathed, smelling bottles applied,
and the house was in a bustle from the garret
down to the cellar. The cockles of Miss Nightshade's
heart warmed as she beheld the anxiety of
all around her. She had not remained long in this
happy situation, before Tapioca was announced as
ascending the staircase. What was to be done in
this emergency? Scarcely half drest,—her clothes
had been opened during her fainting fit,—and too
weak to reach the bed, if they had time to support
her to it—must she be detected in this dishabille?
Maiden modesty forbid. She rose from the sofa,
made but one spring, and “swift as Camilla over the
bending corn,” she regained the bed, huddled herself
beneath the covering, and overturned the old
nurse in her rapid passage. When Tapioca entered,
the fainting scene was again enacted with considerable
effect, and after applying every remedy, apparently
to little purpose, he left her, with a doleful
countenance and an ominous shake of the head.
Our disciple of Galen had no sooner departed than
his patient recovered sufficiently to give instructions
to her nurse. “To-morrow she said, I feel that I
shall be deprived of the use of speech, and you must
relate particularly the different stages of my sickness
to the Doctor, that he may be enabled to treat
my case correctly.” Here followed a long and minute
statement—at such an hour she was taken with
a violent chill, which was succeeded by a raging
fever—after lying in a delirious state for three hours,
she fell into a short and restless sleep, and awoke
with the most excruciating head-ache—and much
more, of a similar nature, which occupied the old
nurse the whole afternoon to commit to memory.
The first person that Tapioca met when he
whom he related all that had transpired, and was
full of golden dreams as to the future. He looked
upon his patient as the true Eldorado, and he assumed
an air of superiority over the briefless attorney,
which did not escape his notice, and it mortified
his pride. How strangely constituted is the mind
of man!—The one was elated at the prospect of
physicking an old woman to death, and had already
reached the zenith of his ambition, while the other
was sunk to the nadir of despondency for the lack
of an opportunity of prosecuting some poor devil for
robbing a hen-roost.—A cause like that, ye Gods!
would have enabled him to eclipse the reputation of
Cicero and Demosthenes, and though the jury might
sleep and the judges snore, still fame, with her
brazen trump would blow a blast that would be
heard even to the four corners of Hard Scrabble.—
And what is life without fame?
Poor Capias was in the slough of despond as he
contemplated the air of importance assumed by his
friend the apothecary; for as long as they continued
upon the same footing, he considered himself at the
head of the village; true, he maintained but a divided
empire, but now his rival had fearfully outstripped
him in the race for glory, and the consequences
were to be deprecated. Moreover Tapioca himself
had undergone an alarming metamorphosis. He
was no longer the slouchy, quiescent creature, willing
to yield his opinions to the dogmatisms of his
friend Capias. On the contrary, he felt his importance
and was determined that others should feel it
also; he accordingly pulled up his frill, drew his hat
over his forehead, applied the ivory head of his cane
to his nose, and paraded the main street of Hard
Scrabble for two hours, knee deep in sand, and over
head and ears in a brown study.—The dogs barked
at him, the ragged urchins followed in his wake,
and the old women threw up their arms in amazement,
still the apothecary stalked on, and felt himself
like Selkirk, “the monarch of all he surveyed.”
finally, overpowered by his feelings, shut himself up
in his office, and dropped into his arm chair the picture
of incurable despair.
It is said that the night is darkest as the morn
approaches, and so it proved to the desponding attorney,
for just as he had concluded to pull up stakes
and abandon Hard Scrabble for ever to the victorious
Tapioca, he was awakened from his gloomy reflections
by a violent knock at the door, and on
opening it a messenger from Miss Nightshade stood
before him, with a summons to appear in her presence
without delay.—It was sometime before the
attorney recovered sufficiently from his astonishment
to demand the nature of the lady's business
with him.
“She wishes to employ you professionally,” said
the messenger.
“Ha! What! How!”—ejaculated the attorney.
It had been so long since the poor fellow had been
employed professionally that he had almost forgot
the meaning of the phrase.
“She wants you to draw up her will,” continued
the other, “for she thinks she is agoing to die.”
“Make her will!—Going to die!—I knew how it
would be when she called in that d—d cow doctor
Tapioca.—He's not fit to physic a pig with the
measles.”
Tapioca was still wading through the sand, with
his cane applied to his nose, unconscious of the illiberal
remarks of his friend the attorney.—The messenger
proposed informing him of the desperate state
of his patient, but Capias objected, protesting that a
second visit from the apothecary would effectually
supercede the necessity of his own services, for he
looked upon him as Death's catch-pole, that in every
pill and potion was a Capias ad respondendum, from
which there was not even a temporary escape by any
species of bail or mainprize. How a single drop of
envy will curdle a whole pail full of the milk of
human kindness!
The attorney took from his shelf a book of forms,
and a quire of paper, then cocking his hat fiercely,
and assuming an air of gravity, becoming a man of
business, he proceeded to the dwelling of his client,
and as he passed his triumphant rival, he did not
even condescend to bestow a look of recognition
upon him.—Tapioca checked his perambulation, and
with amazement beheld the attorney enter the residence
of his patient, and though he had been pluming
himself for the last two hours, it was now a difficult
matter for him to conceal the white feather.
Capias was solemnly ushered into the chamber of
the invalid, and introduced to her, bolstered up in
an easy chair, an old nurse refreshing her olfactories
with a bottle of hartshorn.—Preliminaries being settled,
the attorney seated himself at a table, spread
his papers, and commenced taking down the heads
of the instrument.
“This is a solemn business, Mr. Capias,” observed
Miss Nightshade, in a faint voice.
“Very, madam, but one which it is the duty of us
all to perform sooner or later. Now for my part I
regularly make my will on the 31st day of December.—I
settle up my affairs, and am always prepared
at a moment's warning. Life is uncertain.”
“Then you do not think, Mr. Capias, that making
one's will, is likely to hasten one's death?”
“A vulgar error, madam.—On the contrary, it is
calculated to renew our lease—I may call it our
lease for life, for we are all nothing more than mere
tenants for life, here; no fee simple;—an estate tail
with remainder to the worms. Making one's will is
calculated to tranquillize the mind, and there is
nothing so conducive to long life as a tranquil mind.
Mens conscia recti—as the poet says—you understand,
madam.”
“Well the thoughts of making my will always
shattered my nerves to that degree!—Nurse, that
bottle of salts.—But since it must be done—and you
are sure it will not hasten my end, Mr. Capias?”—
“Positive. Ten years ago, old squire Polywog
for post-haste to make his will. Now the squire
was a bachelor, and when he came to look over the
large estate he was about to bequeath to a parcel of
thankless relatives, who wished him out of the way,
he protested that it would be very disagreeable to
die under such circumstances, so he plucked up
courage, pulled off his night cap, got out of bed, got
married, lived like an emperor, spent his estate, and
inundated Hard Scrabble with a shoal of little Polywogs.”
“O, shocking!” exclaimed Miss Nightshade, “you
do not mean to recommend the same course of conduct
to me, Mr. Capias?”
“Much better than dying, madam,” responded the
attorney, bowing, “and a safer remedy than taking
Tapioca's physic.”
“Dear, dear, I should never live to go through
with it!—Some hartshorn, nurse.—The bare idea
shocks my nervous system to that degree!—You
can't think, Mr. Capias!”—
The nurse bathed her temples, applied the salts
to her nostrils, and the invalid finally recovered sufficiently
to give Capias the heads of the manner in
which she wished to dispose of her worldly possessions,
as follows:—
“To my brother Jeroboam, and his heirs, Mr.
Capias, I give all my farm in Crane Neck Valley.
—It was the family homestead, and it is but right
that brother Jerry should have it, as he is my elder
brother.”
“Perfectly right”—responded Capias, making a
memorandum. “We do not pay sufficient regard
to the continuance of old families among us. Few
are so fortunate as to survive two generations.—
What shall Crane Neck farm be rated at, madam?”
“Ten thousand dollars,” replied Miss Deborah,
refreshing her drooping spirits with the hartshorn.
“It has been valued at twelve thousand, but as Jerry
is a favourite brother, put it at ten.”
“Very well, madam, pray proceed.”
“His little son Joktan, I should like to provide
for, dear little cherub!—the hartshorn nurse—so I
will give him the grazing meadows in Muck Slush
Swamp; they may be a handsome estate by the time
he comes of age.”
“Sufficient, no doubt, madam, to keep him from
being swamped in this dirty world,” responded Capias,
noting little Joktan's legacy.
“Women, you know, Mr. Capias, are always imposed
upon in the management of real estate, so I
will give all my stock in the five per cents. to my
dear sister Lucretia.”
“All the stock in the five per cents.”—muttered
Capias, writing—“How much, madam!”
“Only eight thousand dollars,” replied the other,
with a sigh of regret that it was not more.
“Only eight thousand! what an eternity of practice
in Hard Scrabble!” ejaculated the attorney.
The invalid proceeded to make handsome bequests
to uncles and aunts, nephews and nieces, and concluded
by nominating the favourite little Joktan as
residuary legatee, by which time she was completely
exhausted by the exertion, and Capias withdrew to
put the instrument in form, but not before he had
received instructions to have it ready to be executed
the following day.
Capias on the way to his office encountered his
friend Tapioca still standing in the same position as
when they last parted. His curiosity was wrought
to the pitch of agony to ascertain what business the
attorney could possibly have had with his patient.
But that he had business was evident, for he waded
through the sand with an unusual swell, his law
book in one hand, and ostentatiously displaying the
roll of paper in the other.—The children ran away,
abashed, and even the whiffets were afraid to bark
at him. Tapioca followed in his wake, as crest fallen
and dejected as Rolla when kneeling to the haughty
Spaniard. Capias entered his office and the apothecary
followed.
Adversity is said to be the school of virtue; but
feelings take deepest root when fortune frowns, like
poisonous weeds that become more rank in the shade,
while in the sunshine of prosperity flowers alone
would bud and blossom in the same soil.—When a
man is on good terms with himself he usually looks
with an eye of complacency upon the whole world,
and so it was with Capias. Finding himself in the
ascendent, the bitter feelings that had annoyed him
a few hours before were no longer remembered, and
he looked upon his rival with a smile of complacency,
at the same time assuming a sort of patronizing air.—
This constant aiming at superiority is happily illustrated
in one of Sheridan's comedies, where an
errand boy having been cuffed by the footman, exclaims
“Master kicks Tag, Tag kicks me, and I'll
go kick the dog.”—He is a poor devil indeed who
has not even a dog to kick.
Tapioca encouraged by the smile aforesaid, ventured
to ask in a faltering voice, what it was had
called him to Miss Nightshade's lodgings.
“Professional business,” replied Capias, pompously.
“I rejoice to hear it”—that was a white lie.—“Of
what nature, pray?”
“To make the old lady's will.—She already
smokes that you are not a regular practitioner and
she thinks it well to be prepared for the worst.”
“Bless my soul! You did not hint at such a
thing?”
“Dr. Tapioca you must be aware that I am superior
to such a pitiful act of treachery.—You are my
friend, and to prove that I think you so, I will let
you into a secret.”
“A secret! I am all impatience.”
“You have read of the mines of Peru?” said Capias,
with an air of mystery.
“I have.”
“You have also heard of the golden fleece of
Jason?”
“Certainly.”
“And of Sinbad's cavern of diamonds?”
“I have read of that also.”
“Then, my dear fellow, you will be astonished,”
continued Capias, tapping him gently on the shoulder,
“when I inform you that the wealth of all these
is united in that old woman. Zounds, man, she's
the only true philosopher's stone.”
“I am amazed! But how do you know all this?”
“How do I know? I am her legal adviser, and
we gentlemen of the law are entrusted with important
secrets at times. See here,” he continued, spreading
open the sheet of memoranda he had taken, as
deliberately as if he had been opening Pandora's
box—“See here is a brief outline of her possessions.”
Tapioca cast his eye over the several bequests,
and ejaculated, with uplifted hands, “Bless my
soul!”
“Now answer me one question, upon the honour
of a medical man,” continued Capias—“Is she seriously
ill?”
“Very.”
“What is her complaint?”
“Can't say—all sorts—a complication of disorders;
sometimes one, sometimes another.”
“You are of opinion she can't last long?”
“A month at farthest.”
“You are her physician, and no doubt will see
your prediction verified. Now, my friend, I have
another secret to impart. I have been a long time
at the bar, and wish to retire from practice.”
“That would be repaying practice in its own
coin,” replied the apothecary, with a sardonic grin.
“You may laugh, sir, but there's no joke in that,”
continued the other, gravely. “Business is becoming
too fatiguing, and it is time that I should think of
settling myself comfortably for life. I have an idea
of making the old lady Mrs. Capias.”
“And at the same time making yourself comfortable
with the golden fleece?”
“Precisely so. I shall then, my dear friend, leave
to you the undivided throne of Hard Scrabble, and
while I sink into the obscurity of private life, I
must endeavour to console myself with the ten
thousand in the five per cents., brother Jerry's consternation,
and little Joktan's residuary legacy.
What think you of my plan?”
“Admirable! nothing could be better.”
“Do what you can to forward it, and we shall
have rare sport, snipe shooting in Muck Slush meadows.
I know you are fond of snipe shooting.”
“Always was.”
“I am to see her to-morrow, at four o'clock, with
the will, and I shall change her thoughts from death,
or my tongue has lost the power of persuasion.
Now go, and let me finish the will. Business, you
know, is paramount to all other considerations.”
“Certainly. To-morrow at four?”
“At four precisely, I shall make an opening into
the mines of Peru.”
“And bear off the Hesperian fruit, in spite of the
dragon,” said Tapioca.
“Dragon and all,” added Capias, as Tapioca left
the office, and the attorney commenced the last will
and testament of Miss Nightshade.
The following day, about two o'clock, Tapioca
was seen slowly walking along the street of Hard
Scrabble towards the lodgings of his patient, in deep
thought, with his ivory-headed cane applied to his
thin proboscis. The reader is already aware that
Miss Deborah had foretold that at this time she
would be speechless, and accordingly she lay in
state, as mute as an oyster awaiting the tide, at the
same time enjoying the commiseration of the village
gossips, who had assembled on the momentous occasion.
This is a custom which regular practitioners
protest against, as the incessant clatter which half a
dozen old women necessarily must occasion, is considered
even more injurious to the patient than the
physic which the established routine of science compels
him to swallow.
The windows were all darkened, and not a word
was composed of the most loquacious gossips of
Hard Scrabble. But then the whisper was as unbroken
as the hum in a bee-hive, when its inmates
are preparing to swarm. The invalid overheard
their whispering with inward satisfaction, and slily
watched their motions without the apprehension of
being seen, as the bed curtains were carefully closed
to prevent the light from incommoding her.
At length Tapioca arrived. On passing the thresh-hold,
his under jaw suddenly fell, his cadaverous
countenance became distended, and he assumed the
mock solemnity of a verger at the head of a funeral
procession. He approached the bed, felt the patient's
pulse, and after a few significant interjections, such
as, hum! ha! delightful pulse! moist skin! changes
for the better, &c. he seated himself and inquired
of the nurse the progress of the complaint since his
last visit, as he found it impossible to elicit an
answer from Miss Deborah. The old nurse began
her story:—
“She was taken with a fever, sir, shortly after
you left her.”
“A chill, a chill you mean,” exclaimed Miss Deborah,
petulantly.
“True, true, I remember now. She was taken
with a violent chill, which was succeeded by a raging
fever.”
“That's right,” interrupted the speechless patient,
at the same time raising herself upon her elbow, to
attend to the interesting relation.
“She then fell into a restless sleep,” continued
the nurse.
“Not so,” cried the old maid, “your memory is
very treacherous. After lying in a delirious state—”
“Oh! yes, that's it. After lying in a delirious
state for three hours, she awoke with the most excruciating
head-ache.”
“No, no—you stupid old — what's to become
of the restless sleep? Get out of the room, and I
will relate it to the doctor myself, although the exertion
did, in a narration interspersed with a few
intersting episodes, which occupied a full hour.
Tapioca listened like a lineal descendant of Job,
occasionally throwing in a “hum,” or a “ha!” by
way of keeping up the dialogue, or enlivening the
conversation.
When the invalid had finished, the gossips began
to deplore the state of the sick woman, and to express
their doubts as to the propriety of the course
of treatment the apothecary had adopted. One contended
that the medicine he had prescribed was too
active for her feeble system, and that a second dose
would be the death of her. Another was positive
that there was marcury in the pills, and there was
nothing worse in cases like the present than marcury
pills. A third had lost her husband in two hours
after taking a dose of pills, and she could never
abide the sight of a pill since, for they were all rank
pisen. She put on her spectacles, opened the box,
and protested that they were the same pisenous things
that her husband had taken, for they looked as much
alike as two peas. Miss Nightshade herself, besought
Tapioca not to prescribe any more of those pills, for
they had occasioned such violent spasms that she
was certain she could not survive a return of her
sufferings. Tapioca was astounded; for in compounding
the pills he had most scrupulously followed
the mystical recipe already adverted to, with the
addition of a little liquorice powder, in order to give
his boluses of bread a legitimate aspect.
Seeing the practitioner confounded, the gossips
benevolently undertook to prescribe for the patient
themselves. One was certain she could cure her,
and was for drenching her with yarb tea, for her
complaint lay on her innards and should be brought
out by presperation through the pores. Another
thought the complaint was narvous, and that the
patient should have nourishing food, so she recommended
clam soup, for every body knows there's
nothing so strengthening as clam soup; and the old
pill box, was positive it was a fit of the agy, and
there was nothing better for the agy than brandy and
black pepper. She had cured even the dumb agy
with six doses, when the patient had become too
lazy even to shake. Another old woman contended
that it was the cholera, and she was for applying
bags of hot sand to the patient's stomach, and injecting
her veins with boiling sea water. This, she contended,
was the most approved and speedy method
of relieving the patient, and that the experiment
might be made without expense, as Hard Scrabble
abounded with both the remedies.
When doctors disagree, then comes the tug of
war. We occasionally see whole colleges of physicians
going to loggerheads about matters of as little
importance as herb tea, clam soup, brandy and
pepper, and hot sand and salt water, and then we
behold
herb tea is dethroned, and he of the clam soup party
elevated to his place; and as the lights of true
science become more effulgent, we behold the clam
soup champion, in his turn, “whistled down the
wind, to bray at fortune,” while the triumphant
champion of hot sand and salt water mounts the
throne, and, flushed with victory, “cries havoc, and
let's slip the dogs of war.” All things in this mundane
sphere are subject to the mutations of fashion,
and he is indeed a skilful licentiate, and beyond
reproach, who makes it his business to dispose of
all his patients in the most recent and fashionable
manner, without distinction of parties. It would
be exceedingly mortifying to the humblest and best-tempered
man in the world, to be slovenly despatched
by phlebotomy, at a season when blistering is all
the rage.
The practitioners of Hard Scrabble, after voting,
continued to administer the active remedies he had
resorted to, commenced dissertations on the virtues
of herb tea, clam soup, &c. each advocating her
favourite panacea, with that zeal peculiar to village
matrons who have brooded over one cherished idea,
until it stands as prominent and fixed in the waste
of mind as Chimborazo in the map of South America.
As they were all talkers and no listeners, the
jargon soon became as deafening as was the confusion
of tongues at the building of Babel. Tapioca
looked on in silent amazement, while his patient
peeped from behind the curtains and evidently enjoyed
the commotion her case had occasioned. The
disputants, finding words to be weak weapons, having
thoroughly rung the changes upon yarb tea, clam
soup, and salt water, finally fell to pulling each
other's caps, when Tapioca thought it high time to
interfere, and endeavour to dislodge the invaders,
which he succeeded in doing, but not until the skirt
of his coat, and his enormous frill, had received
tristful tokens of the fierceness of the struggle.
Disciples of the healing art in a village have much
to encounter from rivals of this description.
Our hero, having possession of the field, adjusted
his discomfitted apparel, then seated himself beside
the bed to tranquillize the agitated nerves of his
patient, and in order to produce this result, took her
hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, at the same time
looking as tenderly as the Macedonian upon Statira,
or Antony upon the crocodile of the Nile. True,
this was a strange prescription for excited nerves,
but we all know that country apothecaries occasionally
administer a wrong medicine, still as the present
did not appear to be disagreeable, and was perfectly
harmless, the mistake was excusable. Like a cautious
practitioner, he closely watched the effects,
and finding the symptoms favourable, he repeated
the dose, which acted as a charm, and like Othello,
“upon that hint he spake.”
“I understand your system, madam, thoroughly,
can restore you.”
“And what is that, doctor?”
“Matrimony, madam,” he replied, in a tone of
decision that would have become Esculapius himself—“Matrimony
is a radical cure.”
“Do not mention it. The bare idea shocks my
nerves to that degree you cannot think!” She covered
her face, to conceal her confusion, or rather
that she might appear to be confused.
“It is the only prescription that will avail, I assure
you,” he continued, gravely—“You might swallow
my whole shop, madam, and still not recover. There
is more virtue in matrimony than in antimony,
though at times they operate in the same manner—a
little nausea, which tends to keep up a wholesome
excitement, and renews the energies of life.”
“Mr. Capias hinted at something of the kind,”
replied Miss Nightshade, in a bashful tone.
“He did! And what does that pettifogger know
about the healing art? An impudent fortune-hunter,
and so poverty-stricken that even Lazarus himself
would blush to claim kindred with him.”
“A fortune-hunter! You shock me!”
“A desperate fortune-hunter, madam, and I assure
you, on the honour of a medical man, that he has
already fixed his eye upon the farm in Crane Neck
Valley, and little Joktan's legacy.”
“Dear little Joktan!—And could he be so cruel
as to deprive the poor child of its inheritance?”
“Fortune-hunters have no more bowels than a
chameleon; moreover he's an attorney, `a dull and
muddy mettled rascal,' who manages to keep body
and soul together by shooting snipe and catching
oysters, which he calls practising law.—You know
him now, madam, so be on your guard.”
“It is to be deplored that such are suffered to
go at large and prey upon the credulous and unsuspecting,”
said Miss Deborah, with a sigh.
“Greatly to be deplored,” responded Tapioca
it is your idle, worthless fortune-hunter.”
“They are the bane of society,” said Miss Deborah.
“Destroyers of the peace and happiness of families,”
responded Tapioca.
“Should be shunned as a pestilence,” added Miss
Nightshade.
“Hunted as beasts of prey,” continued the apothecary,—“and
should be doomed to drink of the bitter
waters of disappointment.”
“I am delighted to hear such correct sentiments,”
said the lady.
“A man without sentiment, may be compared to
—to—a bitter shaddock; tempting without, gall
within,” added Tapioca.—“But may I ask what it
was Mr. Capias presumed to say to you?”
“He incidentally referred to the case of a certain
Squire Polywog, who was restored to health by
matrimony, and though he did not speak plainly,
the conclusion was irresistible.”
“Sly dog!—Well I must say the case of the old
squire was miraculous;—he was under my hands
for six months; went through the whole pharmacopoeia,
and was beginning anew, when to the astonishment
of all, he insisted on the parson saying the
marriage ceremony instead of the funeral service,
and is now the merriest man in Hard Scrabble.”
“I should like to see him,” exclaimed the invalid,
her eye sparkling like a pewter button.
“It would do your heart good,” continued the
man of drugs, “and then the dear little Polywogs
paddling in the puddles!”
“O, don't name it!—Shocking! I can't think of
such a thing!”
“Think of what, madam?” asked the apothecary
in a tone as insinuating as a seton.
“I can never consent to be restored to health on
those conditions,” replied the patient with a languishing
air.
“Self preservation is the first law of nature,” replied
the apothecary, gravely.
“True, very true. I have heard as much from
brother Jerry.”
“No one should wantonly abandon the post assigned
him,” continued Tapioca, applying his ivory
headed cane to his nose.
“O dear! you shock my nerves to that degree!”
“Desperate means are resorted to by bold practitioners
in desperate cases.”
“And do you really think my case so desperate,
doctor?”
“Very.” He felt her pulse, which was attended
with a great squeeze of the hand, as he added, “and
unless you follow my prescriptions implicitly, I will
not answer for the consequences.”
“It's a shocking thing to die, doctor.”
“Terrible.—It is a step, that once taken cannot
be recalled.—`To die, to sleep no more,' as Shakspeare
has it.”
“To sleep no more!—Nay, doctor, one does nothing
but sleep.”
“True; you are right; Shakespeare's wrong. To
sleep! perchance to dream! ay, there's the rub.”
“And such frightful dreams, doctor!”
“Worse than the nightmare, no doubt.”
“Do you think so?”
“Upon the veracity of a medical man,” replied
Tapioca, spreading his broad hand upon his bosom.
“True, I never died myself, but my patients have,
and I have consequently a right to know something
about it.”
“Dear, dear, it is shocking to that degree, that I
must submit to your prescription. But I should like
to see Squire Polywog and his interesting progeny
before I venture.”
She desired Tapioca to withdraw, and await her
appearance in the parlour. He bowed profoundly
and obeyed, and before a quarter of an hour had
elapsed, he was gratified in finding that his prescrip
his patient came tripping in and smiling as the month
of May after a hard winter, a smart bunch of ribands
sticking in her cap, like the red flag of a
pirate, indicating slaughter to all who might fall in
her way. A bunch of pink riband should operate
as a caution to all old bachelors, for when it is hung
out on the maintop, they may rest assured that no
quarter will be shown, when they come to boarding.
The delighted couple sallied forth through the
sand to visit the Nestor of the village, Squire Polywog.
What were the topics of their conversation
on the way history has failed to record, and never
having attempted the character of Pyramus to a
Thisbe in her grand climacteric, even imagination
affords no clue to supply the interesting hiatus.
What was said can never be known, but doubtless
all that could be said on such a trying occasion, was
said by the little apothecary, for Miss Nightshade
appeared at the squire's office, “with a blush on her
cheek and a smile in her eye,” while her whole
face was dimpled like a basin of cream. The man
who can suddenly produce such astonishing results,
must be intimately acquainted with all the secret
avenues to the human heart.
The portly squire was seated in his curule chair,
looking out with a placid and benign countenance
upon a swarm of little breechless Polywogs playing
in the hot sand before the door. He was in one of
those happy moods when a man thinks he thinks,
and the looker-on might labour under the same delusion,
and place him on the list of philosophers,
when in fact he was only sleeping, and lacked sufficient
energy even to close his eye-lids. Village justices
are subject to this disease, especially after
dinner in the dog days.
The entrance of Tapioca and the lady recalled
the wandering senses of the squire from the land of
like an apology for being caught dozing in the
seat of justice, as if an occurrence of that nature
required an apology, when Tapioca interrupted him,
by introducing Miss Nightshade, who was delighted,
for there was such an air of comfort, and the sweet
pretty little Polywogs, looked so healthy and happy,
and ragged and dirty, and the old justice gave such
a hearty paternal chuckle, as they boxed each other
heels over head in the sand, that the spinster could
not restrain her feelings, and she ejaculated, “Well,
this is indeed a rural felicity!”
“Them ere chaps, ma'am, are the rale bone and
sinner of the nation,” exclaimed the delighted father.
“Tough twigs from the genwine tree of democracy;
and if they live long enough they'll all be congressmen
or militia colonels, I warrant 'em. The Polywogs
were never born to stick in the mud.”
The old squire had a proper share of that family
pride and ambition, inseparable from your true republican,
who is disposed to look upon all mankind
as “free and equal,” though he inwardly feels himself
a leetle superior to the general batch, and accordingly
our justice had twice dreamed that he was
President of the United States, but unfortunately
for the destinies of the nation, he could not dream
it the third time. Others have had a similar dream,
but did not come as near the mark as Squire Polywog,
for he dreamt twice.
Tapioca desired the squire to show them into a
more private apartment, when the retailer of law in
the small way, cried to his progeny in front of the
door,
“Washington, tell Lafayette, to call Napoleon,
to run round the house, and open the back window
of the little parlour.”
The mandate was passed from one to the other,
and the little bareheaded Napoleon was promptly
seen turning the corner to obey orders, as ragged as
a colt, and with his right hand twitching up a pair
of razeed galligaskins, which had descended like an
from Washington to Lafayette, and from Lafayette
to the present possessor. Such is the state
of man!
“You perceive there is discipline in my family,
doctor,” remarked the squire, with a significant nod.
“A word is sufficient. Obedient children are a
great blessing.”
“Dear little pets, they must be a great source of
comfort to you,” said the spinster, as they entered
the parlour together, and closed the door.
A few minutes after they had disappeared, Capias
entered the office, giving evidence of the excitement
of the moment, by wiping the perspiration
from his forehead. He had been at Miss Nightshade's
lodgings agreeably to appointment, and
learning from the nurse that she had gone to take a
walk with her physician, he started in pursuit, and
succeeded in tracing them to justice Polywog's
office. He was allowed sufficient time to cool himself
before the parties returned from the parlour,
and on their entrance, he said, addressing the spinster,
“I am amazed, madam, at your speedy restoration
to health.”
“A skilful practitioner, can at times work miracles,
Mr. Capias,” responded the lady.
“Especially when he understands the constitution
of his patient,” added Tapioca.
“I have drawn up your will, madam, agreeably to
your instructions,” continued the attorney.
“I am sorry to have given you so much unnecessary
trouble,” replied the lady, “as I shall now be
under the necessity of altering my will in favour of
another.”
“Another!—Jerry and Joktan cut off with a shilling!
And who is the favourite now?”
“My husband, sir.”
“Your husband! I am all amazement!”
“Allow me, Mr. Capias, to introduce you to Mrs.
Squire Polywog had made them flesh of one flesh.
“Ha! Mrs. Tapioca! Unheard of treachery!”
exclaimed the attorney.
“Practice is becoming too burdensome, and I
thought it time to settle for life,” whispered the
apothecary.
“To be outwitted by a quack!”
“You shall go snipe shooting on Muck Slush
meadows,” continued Tapioca—“You are fond of
snipe shooting?”
“Blood and thunder!”
“Never mind; I will leave you the undivided
throne of Hard Scrabble, while I lie snug in the
golden fleece.”
“This is beyond endurance. Madam, there is the
will, and though you have thought proper to change
your mind, I expect to be paid for my service. Dr.
Tapioca, I shall find a time to punish this breach of
friendship.”
“You will find me delving in the mines of Peru,”
exclaimed the apothecary, laughing, as Capias quit
the office in a rage. The happy couple bent their
way towards the dwelling place of the man of
drugs.
Before the honey moon had elapsed, Tapioca was
desirous of seeing his farm in Crane Neck Valley,
Muck Slush meadows, and the ten thousand in the
five per cents., but he might as well have searched
for the elixir of life, for they were all in terra incognita.
He asked his helpmate for information, but
she could afford him none. He reproached her with
having deceived him, and she charged him with
having deceived himself, as she never told him she
possessed any thing.
“And after all it appears, my dear, you married
me for my fortune.”
“Damn your fortune,” exclaimed poor pilgarlic,
in a rage.
“Remember, love, a fortune-hunter should be shunned
as a pestilence.”
“Ha!”
“The destroyer of the peace and happiness of
families.”
“Ha!” His lower jaw fell, and he stared vacantly.
“Hunted as a beast of prey.”
“You hunted me,” he sighed, dolefully.
“Should be doomed to drink of the bitter waters
of disappointment. Those, I think, lovey, were
your very words.”
“Doomed to drink opium!” he exclaimed, as he
left the room to escape from her irony.
Tapioca's mortification did not terminate here.
As Capias could not get paid for his trouble in
making the will which had seduced our worthy into
all his difficulties, he sued him before Justice Polywog,
for services done his wife, and judgment, according
to custom, went for the plaintiff. Tapioca
never paid money with so ill a grace. It is scarcely
necessary to add that he could never get out of Hard
Scrabble, and that all he gained by his matrimonial
speculation, was a constant patient, who imagined
herself afflicted with more complaints than may be
found in an hospital, and who afforded our disciple of
Galen regular practice—a decided advantage to a
young beginner. This veracious narrative will tend
to illustrate the proverbs which tell you to “look
before you leap,” and “never to buy a pig in a
poke.”
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