“Who’s telling this story,—you or me?” exclaimed Sam, with a wink.
“Yes, he talked pills by Bible doctrine, swore his essences by the blood of the Lamb, the —— old hypocrite. I knowed he was a blamed old hypocrite, for I had to drive him round every onct in a while, and he never failed, in season and out of place, to exhort me to seek salvation, and a new heart, and pure understanding, while, all the time, the filthy tobacco juice slobbered all over his filthier mug, and down his scattering whiskers;—now and then one, like the scattering trees in yonder field,—all over his vest; and his coat sleeves were as bad, from frequent drawing across his face. Yes, he said, ‘Jesus,’ but he meant pills. He said, ‘Get wine and milk, without money and without price,’ but he meant, buy his essences, with money. The old gals went crazy over him, and the pill market was lively. The louder he prayed and exhorted, the faster he sold his medicines.
“One Sunday afternoon he wanted me to shy him over the lake; so, taking his Hem-book and Bible in his coat pockets, and his two tin trunks of medicine, he followed me to the shore. He seated his great carcass in the starn of the boat, while I rowed him over the lake. All the way he slobbered tobacco juice; and gabbled his religion at me, while occasionally I swore mine back at him.
“When we got over, I jumped out, and told him to set steady till I hauled the boat up further; but he didn’t mind, and rose up in the starn with his kit, a tin trunk in each hand, just as I gave the craft a yerk, when over backwards he went kerflounce into the water,—carcass, trunks, Bible, pills, and essences, all into the lake. O, the d——! You ought to have seen him. Up he came, puffin’ and blowin’ like a big whale! Then I fished him out with the boat-hook, and went for his trunks. No sooner had he reached terror firmer than, blowin’ the surplus water and tobacco out of his throat, he commenced swearin’ at me. Religion went by the board! O, Jerusalem! Such a blessing as he gave me I never before heard. I knowed it was pent up in him, the —— old sinner, and he only wanted the occasion to let it out. The bath done it! It was the cussidest baptism I ever witnessed in the hull course of my life.”
“Was he called Dr. Pusbelly?” I suggested, at the close of the narrative.
“Yes, that was his name; but I called him Old Pilgarlic, blame him.”
“Professor Brewster.”
When I lived in Hartford, Conn., some years ago, there resided in that city a black man, then somewhat noted as a “seer” among various classes of whites, as well as blacks, and who resides there still, and has since become quite famous. In what category to place this man,—Professor Brewster, so called,—it is perhaps a little difficult to determine; whether among “clairvoyants,” “animal magnetizers,” “natural doctors,” “fortune-tellers,” or what, or all, it must be admitted that he is a “character,” and wields great influence among certain classes. Nature made him a superior man of his race, and what thorough, early education might have done for him, we are left to conjecture. So noted is Professor Brewster, that I have thought him a proper subject for comment here, as a living illustration of what a man of subtle genius may accomplish, though wholly without “book learning,” or other approved instruction, in the field of medicine.
