The Funny Side of Physic Part 93

Decision came to Job's help--at least help out of that field. At this very moment of need for some one to help him decide what course to pursue, a ferocious bull, feeding in the next meadow, annoyed or scandalized by the appearance of Job, scaled the low fence, and with one bellow, ran full tilt after Job, who hesitated no longer, but leaped the rail fence just as the animal made a lunge at him. Job reached the highway in safety of person, though the bull retreated with a full square yard of the false flag of truce upon his horns.

Job's dest.i.tution seemed perfect without this last affliction. The sound of carriage wheels startled him, but to where should he flee? He was at the zero of his fortunes. He was naked, hungry, penniless. Where should he find one friend.

"Ah! the river!" That would hide him forever from the uncharitable world!...

Job crawled across the field, and was already near the stream.

What! Had some pitying angel, softened by Job's utter dest.i.tution and despair, alighted amongst the bushes! Or was it a temptation of the devil?

Reader, "put yourself in"--No! But imagine Job reduced to the moiety of a shirt, about to take the fatal plunge, when lo! he discovers just before him, lying,--a golden waif,--a very handsome suit of clothes,--hat, breeches, hose, shoes, gloves, cane, cravat! and no visible second person near.

Job's perplexity was brief. He seated himself on the gra.s.s. He changed his equivocal shirt for the ample piece of ruffled "aired-snow" in the twinkling of an eye; donned the stockings and breeches,--"just a fit,"--waistcoat, and coat, seized the hat, gloves, cravat, and cane, and in three minutes he was back on the main road. The swimmer must have been just Job's size, so admirably did the whole wardrobe fit and become him.

Again Job pa.s.sed the five-barred gate, where stood the bull, with glaring eyes, waving in vain the flag of truce upon his horns.

Job journeyed onward, waving his cane, and smiling in supreme contempt at the bit of rag which so recently proclaimed his crime and wretchedness. He put his hand into _his_ pocket, and pulled out a _purse_! It contained eight guineas! This was too much. Job fell upon his knees in the highway, overcome with grat.i.tude, and holding up the purse in his left hand, placing the other over his stomach, he "blessed his lucky stars" for his propitious change of fortunes.

Here we bid adieu to the barber-bleeders. Those who wish to know how the swimmer came out, must consult "Men of Character," by Jerrold.

THE USE OF BRAINS.

Mr. G. H. Lewes tells a story of a gentleman who, under the scissors, said something about his thinning locks being caused by the development of his brains. "Excuse me, sir," remarked the barber, "but you are laboring under a mistake. The brains permeate the skull, and encourage the growth of the hair--_that's what they're for, sir_."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

XXIX.

THE OMNIUM GATHERUM.

EX-SELL-SIR!--"THE OBJECT TO BE ATTAINED."--A NOTORIOUS FEMALE DOCTOR.--A WHITE BLACK MAN.--SQUASHY.--MOTHER'S FOOL.--WHO IT WAS.--THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS DAUGHTER.--EDUCATION AND GIBBERISH.--SCOTTISH HOSPITALITY.--THE OLD LADY WITH AN ANIMAL IN HER STOMACH.--STORIES ABOUT LITTLE FOLKS.--THE BOY WITH A BULLET IN HIM.--CASE OF SMALL-POX.--NOT MUCH TO LOOK AT.--FUNERAL ANTHEMS.

EX-SELL-SIR.

The morning sun was shining bright, As lone upon old Georgetown's height, A Bliss-ful doctor, clad in brown, Desiring wealth and great renown, Displayed aloft to wondering eyes A shrub which bore this strange device, Cundurango!

A maiden fair, with pallid cheek, With ardent haste his aid did seek To stay the progress and the pain Of carcinoma of the brain; While still aloft the shrub he bore, The answer came, with windy roar, To Cundurango!

A matron old, with long unrest From carcinoma of the breast, This Bliss-ful doctor rushed to see, And begged his aid on bended knee.

The magic shrub waved still on high, And rushed through air the well-known cry, Try Cundurango!

The evening sun went down in red-- The maid and matron both were dead; And yet, through all the realms around, This worthless shrub, of mighty sound, Will serve to fill the purse forlorn, And the cancer succ.u.mb "in a horn"

To Cundurango.

THE OBJECT TO BE ATTAINED.

A doctor was called in to see a patient whose native land was Ireland, and whose native drink was whiskey. Water was prescribed as the only cure. Pat said it was out of the question; he could never drink it. Then milk was proposed, and Pat agreed to get well on milk. The doctor was soon summoned again. Near the bed on which the sick man lay was a table, and on the table a large bowl, and in the bowl was milk, but strongly flavored with whiskey.

"What have you here?" said the doctor.

"Milk, doctor; just what you orthered."

"But there's whiskey in it; I smell it."

"Well, doctor," sighed the patient, "there may be whiskey in it, but milk is my object."

THE LAUGH WINS.

An old lady reduced in circ.u.mstances applied to a physician to know if she might conscientiously sell some quack pills. The physician rather recommended that she should sell some pills made of bread, observing that, if they did no good, they would certainly do no harm. The old lady commenced business, and performed many cures with her pills, till at last she had great confidence in them. At length the physician, whom she called her benefactor, became ill by a bone sticking in his throat, which he could not pa.s.s up or down. In this situation the old lady visited him, and recommended her pills in his own language. The physician, upon this expression, burst out laughing, and in the act of laughing brought up the bone.

A NOTORIOUS FEMALE DOCTOR.

WASHINGTON, January 10, 1872.

From an account of the "Women's National Suffrage a.s.sociation," reported to the Press, I cut the following description of a noted female doctress who dresses in a garb as near to a man's as the cramped laws of the land will admit.

"Ten minutes after the opening ... a curly, crinkly feminine, in very large walking boots, came to the front, being followed, after a brief pause, by the rest of the sisters. This lady was new, even to the reporters, and one of them, handing up a pencilled inquiry to Mrs. Dr.

Walker, was informed that she was 'Mrs. Ricker, a beautiful, charming, and good widow, fair, forty, and rich.' This bit of interesting news started on its travels.

"The doctor, who has the usual manly proclivity for hugging the girls, threw her arms around a pretty and modest-looking girl standing by, and enthusiastically shouted, "You are a dear, sweet little creature."

The frightened young woman drew hastily back, and faltered out that she was not in the habit of being hugged by men. This turned the laugh on the doctor; but she gained her lost ground by quickly replying to the inquiry of the secretary as to what place he should put her down from as a delegate, to put her down "from all the world;" but he objected, anxious for the completeness of his roster.

"You must have a local habitation, you know."

"Put me down from Washington, then, for that is the home of everybody who has none other."

Unmindful of the eloquent protest of her coat and pantaloons against feminine distinctions, he wrote her down as "Mrs. Mary Walker;" but seizing the pencil from his fingers, she spitefully erased the "Mrs."

and wrote "Doctor."

"I never was Mrs.; I never will be."

A WHITE MAN TURNING BLACK.

The San Francisco Examiner says a gentleman of that city, about twenty-five years of age, ruddy complexion, curly red hair, who had an intractable and painful ulcer on the left arm, resisting all previous modes of treatment, yielded to the request of trying the effect of transplanting a piece of skin to the ulcer from another person. The ulcer was prepared in the usual manner by his physician, and a bit of skin, about an inch square, was taken from the arm of a fine healthy negro man and immediately spread over the ugly ulcer, and then carefully dressed and bandaged. The skin transplantation had the desired effect. Healthy granulation sprang up, and the unsightly ulcer soon healed. A few months afterwards he went to his physician and told him that ever since the sore healed the black skin commenced to spread, and it was increasing. About one third of his arm was completely negroed. The doctor himself was alarmed. The high probability is, that the whole skin of this white man will become negro.

An officer had a wooden leg so exceedingly well made that it could scarcely be distinguished from a real one. A cannon ball carried it off. A soldier who saw him fall called out, "Quick, run for the surgeon." "No,"