“I find, Dick, that you are in the habit of taking my best jokes, and passing them off as your own. Do you call that the conduct of a gentleman?”
“To be sure, Tom. Why, a true gentleman will always take a joke from a friend.”
A WANT SUPPLIED.—ORIGINAL ANECDOTES OF ABERNETHY.—A LIVE IRISHMAN.—MADAM ROTHSCHILD.—LARGE FEET.—A SHANGHAI ROOSTER.—SPREADING HERSELF.—KEROSENE.—“SALERATUS.”—HIS LAST JOKE.—AN ASTONISHED DARKY.—OLD DR. K.’s MARE.—A SCARED CUSTOMER.—“WHAT’S TRUMPS?”—“LET GO THEM HALYARDS.”—MEDICAL TITBITS.—MORE MUSTARD THAN MEAT.—“I WANT TO BE AN ANGEL.”—TOOTH-DRAWING.—DR. BEECHER VS. DR. HOLMES.—STEALING TIME.—CHOLERA FENCED IN.—“A JOKE THAT’S NOT A JOKE.”—A DRY SHOWER-BATH.—PARBOILING AN OLD LADY.
“There would be no difficulty in multiplying anecdotes attributed to Abernethy (or other celebrated physicians) ad libitum, but there are three objections to such a course. First, there are many told of him which never happened; others, which may possibly have occurred, you find it impossible to authenticate; and lastly, there is a class which, if they happened to Dr. Abernethy, certainly happened to others before he was born. In fact, when a man once gets a reputation of doing or saying odd things, every story in which the chief person is unknown or unremembered, is given to the next man whose reputation for such is remarkable.”—Memoirs of Dr. Abernethy, by George Macilwain, F. R. C. S., etc., etc.
Notwithstanding the great number of authentic anecdotes of physicians which might be collected together, Mr. Campbell, the experienced antiquarian bookseller, of Boston, assures me there is no such book in print. I have been many years collecting such, and for this chapter I have selected therefrom those most chaste, amusing, instructive, and authentic.
The following original anecdote of the great English surgeon I obtained verbally from Mr. Sladden, of Chicago:—
“My grandmother once visited Dr. Abernethy, with her eldest son, my uncle, living in London, to consult the great physician respecting an inveterate humor of the scalp, with which the child was afflicted.
“There were a great many patients in waiting, and when it came my grandmother’s turn, she walked up to the great man, and removing the boy’s cap, presented the case for his inspection in silence. He took a quick glance at the humory head, turned to the old lady, and said,—
“‘Madam, the best thing I can recommend for that disease is a plenty of warm water and soap. And, by the way, if that don’t remove it, the next best thing is to apply freely soap and warm water. Five guineas, if you please, ma’am.’
“As my grandmother was the embodiment of neatness, she never forgave the doctor for this broad intimation of the questionableness of her neatness.”