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                <h3>Table of Contents</h3>
                <ul id="menu-toc" class="menu-toc">
                    <li class="menu-toc-current"><a href="#item1">Self-destruction</a></li>
                    <li><a href="#item2">Why we die</a></li>
                    <li><a href="#item3">The honeymoon</a></li>
                    <li><a href="#item4">A drawing joke</a></li>
                    <li><a href="#item5">Commencing practice</a></li>

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                                <p>The Hon. Francis Gillette, in a speech in Hartford, Conn., in 1871, said
                                that there was "in Connecticut, on an average, one liquor shop to every
                                forty voters, and three to every Christian church. In this city, as stated
                                in the _Hartford Times_, recently, we have five hundred liquor shops, and
                                one million eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars were, last
                                year, paid for intoxicating drinks. A cry, an appeal, came to me from the
                                city, a few days since, after this wise: 'Our young men are going to
                                destruction, and we want your influence, counsel, and prayers, to help
                                save them.'"</p>

                                <p>In New London, report says, the young men are falling into drinking habits
                                as never before. So in New Haven, Bridgeport, and the other cities and
                                large places of the state.</p>

                                <p>"The pulse of a person in health beats about seventy strokes a minute, and
                                the ordinary term of life is about seventy years. In these seventy years,
                                the pulse of a temperate person beats two billion five hundred and
                                seventy-four million four hundred and forty thousand times. If no actual
                                disorganization should happen, a drunken person might live until his pulse
                                beat this number of times; but by the constant stimulus of ardent spirits,
                                or by pulse-quickening food, or tobacco, the pulse becomes greatly
                                accelerated, and the two billion five hundred and seventy-four million
                                four hundred and forty thousand pulsations are performed in little more
                                than half the ordinary term of human life, and life goes out in forty or
                                forty-five years, instead of seventy. This application of numbers is given
                                to show that the acceleration of those forces diminishes the term of human

                                <p>"In New York, Mr. Greeley states that 'a much larger proportion of adult
                                males in the state drink now than did in 1840-44.' After speaking of the
                                adverse demonstrations all over the country, he adds, 'I cannot recall a
                                single decisive, cheering success, to offset these many reverses.'</p>

                                <p>"Massachusetts is moving to build an asylum for her twenty-five thousand
                                drunkards. Lager beer brewers at Boston Highlands have three millions of
                                dollars invested in the business, manufactured four hundred and
                                ninety-five thousand barrels last year, and paid a tax of half a million
                                to the general government. The city of Chicago, last year, received into
                                her treasury one hundred and ten thousand dollars for the sale of
                                indulgences to sell intoxicating drinks.</p>

                                <p>"The same rate of fearful expenditure for intoxicating drinks extends
                                across the ocean. In a speech before the Trades' Union Congress, last
                                October, at Birmingham, 'on the disorganization of labor,' Mr. Potter
                                shows drunkenness to be the great disorganizer of the labor of Great
                                Britain, at a yearly cost of two hundred and twenty-eight million pounds,
                                equal to one billion one hundred and forty million dollars; enough," he
                                adds, "to pay the public debt of Great Britain in less than five years,
                                and greatly diminish taxation forever."</p>

                                <p><em>From "The Funny Side of Physic" by A. D. Crabtre</em></p>
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                                <h2>Why we die</h2>
                                <p>But few of the human race die of old age. Besides the thousand and one
                                diseases flesh is heir to, and the disease which Mrs. O'Flannagan said her
                                husband died of, viz., "Of a Saturday 'tis that poor Mike died," very many
                                die of disappointment. More _fret_ out. Mr. Beecher said, "It is the
                                fretting that wears out the machinery; friction, not the real wear."</p>

                                <p>"Choked with passion" is no chimera; for passion often kills the
                                unfortunate possessor of an irritable temper, sometimes suddenly. Care and
                                over-anxiety sweep away thousands annually.</p>

                                <p>Let us see how long a man should live. The horse lives twenty-five years;
                                the ox fifteen or twenty; the lion about twenty; the dog ten or twelve;
                                the rabbit eight; the guinea-pig six or seven years. These numbers all
                                bear a similar proportion to the time the animal takes to grow to its full
                                size. But man, of all animals, is the one that seldom comes up to his
                                average. He ought to live a hundred years, according to this physiological
                                law, for five times twenty are one hundred; but instead of that, he
                                scarcely reaches, on the average, four times his growing period; the cat
                                six times; and the rabbit even eight times the standard of measurement.
                                The reason is obvious. Man is not only the most irregular and the most
                                intemperate, but the most laborious and hard-worked of all animals. He is
                                also the most irritable of all animals; and there is reason to believe,
                                though we cannot tell what an animal secretly feels, that, more than any
                                other animal, man cherishes wrath to keep it warm, and consumes himself
                                with the fire of his secret reflections.</p>

                                <p>"Age dims the lustre of the eye, and pales the roses on beauty's cheek;
                                while crows' feet, and furrows, and wrinkles, and lost teeth, and gray
                                hairs, and bald head, and tottering limbs, and limping, most sadly mar the
                                human form divine. But dim as the eye is, pallid and sunken as may be the
                                face of beauty, and frail and feeble that once strong, erect, and manly
                                body, the immortal soul, just fledging its wings for its home in heaven,
                                may look out through those faded windows as beautiful as the dewdrop of
                                summer's morning, as melting as the tears that glisten in affection's eye,
                                by growing kindly, by cultivating sympathy with all human kind, by
                                cherishing forbearance towards the follies and foibles of our race, and
                                feeding, day by day, on that love to God and man which lifts us from the
                                brute, and makes us akin to angels."</p>

                                <p><em>From "The Funny Side of Physic" by A. D. Crabtre</em></p>
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                                <h2>The honeymoon</h2>
                                <p>The origin of the honeymoon is not generally known.</p>

                                <p>The Saxons long and long ago got up the delightful occasion. Amongst the
                                ancient Saxons and Teutons a beverage was made of honey and water, and
                                sometimes flavored with mulberries. This drink was used especially at
                                weddings and the after festivals. These festivals were kept up among the
                                nobility sometimes for a month--"monath." The "hunig monath" was thus
                                established, and the next moon after the marriage was called the

                                <p>Alaric, about the fifth century king of the Saxons and Western Goths, is
                                said to have actually died on his wedding night from drinking too freely
                                of the honeyed beverage,--at least he died before morning,--and it
                                certainly would seem to be a charitable inference to draw, since he
                                partook very deeply of the "festive drink." It was certainly a sweet
                                oblivion, "yet it should be a warning to posterity, as showing that even
                                bridegrooms may make too merry."</p>

                                <p>Dr. Blanchet recently read a paper before the Academy of Science, Paris,
                                relative to some cases of "long sleep," or lethargic slumber. One of them
                                related to a lady twenty years of age, who took a sleeping fit during her
                                _honeymoon_, which lasted fifty days.</p>

                                <p>"During this long period a false front tooth had to be taken out in order
                                to introduce milk and broth into her mouth. This was her only food; she
                                remained motionless, insensible, and all her muscles were in a state of
                                contraction. Her pulse was low, her breathing scarcely perceptible; there
                                was no evacuation, no leanness; her complexion was florid and healthy.
                                The other cases were exactly similar. Dr. Blanchet is of opinion that in
                                such cases no stimulants or forced motion ought to be employed.</p>

                                <p>"The report did not say whether the husband was pleased or not with her
                                long silence."</p>

                                <p>There is too much talk in the world about woman's "_jaw_." As for me, give
                                me the woman who can _talk_; the faster and more sense the better.</p>

                                <p><em>From "The Funny Side of Physic" by A. D. Crabtre</em></p>
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                                <h2>A drawing joke</h2>
                                <p>Several kings and great lords are made mention of as being particularly
                                fond of using the lancet. Peter the Great of Russia was remarkably fond of
                                witnessing dissections and surgical operations. He even used to carry a
                                case of instruments in his pocket. He often visited the hospitals to
                                witness capital operations, at times assisting in person, and was able to
                                dissect properly, to bleed a patient, and extract a tooth as well as one
                                of the faculty.</p>

                                <p>The pretty wife of one of the czar's valets had the following unpleasant
                                experience of his skill. The husband of the "maid" accused her of
                                flirting, and vowed revenge. The czar noticed the valet seated in the
                                ante-room, looking forlorn, and asked the cause of his dejection. The
                                wicked valet replied that his wife had a tooth which gave her great pain,
                                keeping them both awake day and night, but would not have it drawn.</p>

                                <p>"Send her to me," said the czar.</p>

                                <p>The woman was brought, but persisted in affirming that her teeth were
                                sound, and never ached. The valet alleged that this was always the way she
                                did when the physician was called; therefore, in spite of her cries and
                                remonstrances, the king ordered her husband to hold her head between his
                                knees, when the czar drew out his instruments and instantly extracted the
                                tooth designated by the husband, disregarding the cries of the unfortunate

                                <p>In a few days the czar was informed that the thing was a put-up job by the
                                jealous husband, in order to punish, if not mar the beauty of, his gallant
                                wife, whereupon the instruments were again brought into requisition; and
                                this time the naughty valet was the sufferer, to the extent of losing a
                                sound and valuable tooth.</p>

                                <p><em>From "The Funny Side of Physic" by A. D. Crabtre</em></p>
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                                <h2>Commencing practice</h2>
                                <p>From that excellent work, "Scenes in the Practice of a New York Surgeon,"
                                by Dr. E. H. Dixon, I copy, with some abbreviation, the following, which
                                the author terms "Leaves from the Log-book of an Unfledged Æsculapian:"--</p>

                                <p>"In the year 1830 I was sent forth, like our long-suffering and
                                much-abused prototype,--old father Noah's crow,--from the ark of safety,
                                the old St. Duane Street College. I pitched my tent, and set up my trap,
                                in what was then a fashionable up-town street.</p>

                                <p>"I hired a modest house, and had my arm-chair, my midnight couch, and my
                                few books in my melancholy little office, and I confess that I now and
                                then left an amputating-knife, or some other awful-looking instrument, on
                                the table, to impress the poor women who came to me for advice.</p>

                                <p>"These little matters, although the 'Academy' would frown upon them, I
                                considered quite pardonable. God knows I would willingly have adopted
                                their most approved method of a splendid residence, and silver-mounted
                                harnesses for my bays; but they were yet in dream-land, eating moonbeams,
                                and my vicious little nag had nearly all this time to eat his oats and
                                nurse his bad temper in his comfortable stable.</p>

                                <p>"In this miserable way I read over my old books, watered my
                                rose-bushes,--sometimes with tears,--drank my tea and ate my toast, and
                                occasionally listened to the complaint of an unfortunate Irish damsel,
                                with her customary account of 'a pain in me side an' a flutterin' about me
                                heart.' At rare intervals I ministered to some of her countrywomen in
                                their fulfilment of the great command when placed in the Garden of Eden.
                                (What a dirty place it would have been if inhabited by Irish women!)</p>

                                <p>"And thus I spent nearly a year without a single call to any person of
                                character. I think I should have left in despair if it had not been for a
                                lovely creature up the street. She was the wife of a distinguished fish
                                merchant down town.</p>

                                <p>"This lovely woman was Mrs. Mackerel. I will explain how it was that I
                                was summoned to her ladyship's mansion, and had the pleasure of seeing Mr.
                                Mackerel, of the firm of 'Mackerel, Haddock &amp; Dun.'</p>

                                <p>"One bitter cold night in January, just as I was about to retire, a
                                furious ring at the front door made me feel particularly amiable! A
                                servant announced the sudden and alarming illness of Mrs. Mackerel, with
                                the assurance that as the family physician was out of town, Mrs. M. would
                                be obliged if I would immediately visit her. Accordingly, I soon found
                                myself in the presence of the accomplished lady, having--I confess
                                it--given my hair an extra touch as I entered the beautiful chamber.</p>

                                <p>"Mrs. Mackerel was not a bad-tempered lady; she was only a beautiful
                                fool--nothing less, dear reader, or she would have never married old
                                Mackerel. Her charms would have procured her a husband of at least a
                                tolerable exterior. His physiognomy presented a remarkable resemblance to
                                his namesake. Besides, he chewed and smoked, and the combination of the
                                aroma of his favorite luxuries with the articles of his merchandise must
                                have been most uncongenial to the curve of such lips and such nostrils as
                                Mrs. Mackerel's.</p>

                                <p>"I was received by Mr. Mackerel in a manner that increased observation has
                                since taught me is sufficiently indicative of the hysterical _finale_ of a
                                domestic dialogue. He was not so obtuse as to let me directly into the
                                true cause of his wife's nervous attack and his own collectedness, and yet
                                he felt it would not answer to make too light of it before me.</p>

                                <p>"Mr. and Mrs. M. had just returned from a party. (The party must be the
                                'scape-goat'!) He assured me that as the lady was in the full enjoyment of
                                health previously, he felt obliged to attribute the cause of her attack
                                and speechless condition--for she spoke not one word, or gave a sign--to
                                the dancing, heated room, and the supper.</p>

                                <p>"I was fully prepared to realize the powers of ice-cream, cake, oranges,
                                chicken-salad, oysters, sugar-plums, punch, and champagne, and at one
                                moment almost concluded to despatch a servant for an emetic of ipecac;
                                but--I prudently avoided it. Aside from the improbability of excess of
                                appetite through the portal of such a mouth, the lovely color of the
                                cheeks and lips utterly forbade a conclusion favorable to Mr. Mackerel's
                                solution of the cause.</p>

                                <p>"I placed my finger on her delicate and jewelled wrist. All seemed calm as
                                the thought of an angel's breast!

                                <p>"I was nonplussed. 'Could any tumultuous passion ever have agitated that
                                bosom so gently swelling in repose?'</p>

                                <p>"Mackerel's curious questions touching my sagacity as to his wife's
                                condition received about as satisfactory a solution as do most questions
                                put to me on the cause and treatment of diseases; and having tolerably
                                befogged him with opinions, and lulled his suspicions to rest, by the
                                apparent innocent answers to his leading questions, he arrived at the
                                conclusion most desirable to him, viz., that I was a fool--a conviction
                                quite necessary in some nervous cases....</p>

                                <p>"So pleased was Mr. M. with the soothing influences of my brief visit that
                                he very courteously waited on me to the outside door, instead of ordering
                                a servant to show me out, and astonished me by desiring me to call on the
                                patient again in the morning.</p>

                                <p>"After my usual diversion of investigating 'a pain an' a flutterin' about
                                me heart,' and an 'O, I'm kilt intirely,' I visited Mrs. Mackerel, and had
                                the extreme pleasure of finding her quite composed, and in conversation
                                with her fashionable friend, Mrs. Tiptape. The latter was the daughter of
                                a 'retired milliner,' and had formed a desirable union with Tiptape, the
                                eminent dry goods merchant. Fortunately--for she was a woman of
                                influence--I passed the critical examination of Mrs. T. unscathed by her
                                sharp black eyes, and, as the sequel will show, was considered by her
                                'quite an agreeable person.'</p>

                                <p>"Poor Mrs. Mackerel, notwithstanding her efforts to conceal it, had
                                evidently received some cruel and stunning communication from her husband
                                on the night of my summons; her agitated circulation during the fortnight
                                of my attendance showed to my conviction some persistent and secret cause
                                for her nervousness.</p>

                                <p>"One evening she assured me that she felt she should now rapidly recover,
                                as Mr. Mackerel had concluded to take her to Saratoga. I, of course,
                                acquiesced in the decision, though my previous opinion had not been asked.
                                I took a final leave of the lovely woman, and the poor child soon departed
                                for Saratoga.</p>

                                <p>"The ensuing week there was a sheriff's sale at Mackerel's residence. The
                                day following the Mackerels' departure, Mr. Tiptape did me the honor to
                                inquire after the health of my family; and a week later, Master Tiptape
                                having fallen and bumped his dear nose on the floor, I had the felicity of
                                soothing the anguish of his mamma in her magnificent _boudoir_, and
                                holding to her lovely nose the smelling salts, and offering such
                                consolation as her trying position required!"</p>

                                <p>Thus was commenced the practice of one of the first physicians of New
                                York. The facts are avouched for. The names, of course, are manufactured,
                                to cover the occupation of the parties. The doctor still lives, in the
                                enjoyment of a lucrative and respectable practice, and the love and
                                confidence of his numerous friends and patrons.</p>

                                <p>Quite as ludicrous scenes could be revealed by most physicians, if they
                                would but take the time to think over their earlier efforts, and the
                                various circumstances which were mainly instrumental in getting them into
                                a respectable practice.</p>

                                <p><em>From "The Funny Side of Physic" by A. D. Crabtre</em></p>
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