Families from the interior of Hibernia are peculiarly subject to that suspense; and where their Irish agent happens to be an old confidential solicitor, or a very dear friend, or a near relation of the family, the attack is frequently acute. An instance, indeed, occurred lately, wherein the miscarriage of an Irish letter actually caused the very same accident to a new-married lady!
The baronet, however, bore up well; and being extremely good-humoured, the surliest créanciers in Paris could not find in their hearts for some time to be angry with him; and so, most unreasonably left him to be angry with himself, which is a thousand times more tormenting to a man, because sans intermission.
At length, some of his most pressing friends, who a short time before had considered it their highest honour to enjoy the pratique of Monsieur le Chevalier, began to show symptoms of losing temper;—as smoke generally forebodes the generation of fire, something like a blaze seemed likely to burst forth; and as the baronet most emphatically said to me—“The d—d duns, like a flock of jack snipes, were eternally thrusting their long bills into me, as if I was a piece of bog!”
Complaisance and smooth words very rarely fail to conciliate a Frenchman; and, after all, the baronet never experienced more civil or kinder friends in Paris than some of these very snipes who stuck their long bills into him. But “remittances” from the county of Galway have been, time immemorial, celebrated for the extreme slowness of their movements; and though in general very light, they travel more deliberately than a broad-wheel waggon. Hence, Sir John Burke’s “corporal ills” were both perpetuated and heightened by his mental uneasiness.
Doctors were called in, in hopes that one or other of them might by chance hit upon a remedy; and Sir John submitted to their prescriptions (to use his own words), like a lamb going to the slaughter.—“I knew very well,” said he, “that one banker could do me more good by a single dose, than all the doctors in Paris put together;—but as my friends Messrs. * * * * * had declined to administer any more metallic prescriptions, I really feared that my catastrophe was not very distant.”
And, indeed, the doctors, neither jointly nor severally agreeing as to the nature of his symptoms, nor to the necessary mode of treatment, after several consultations respecting the weather and the war (as customary), gave Sir John’s case up as desperate: and having showed the palms of their hands without any favourable result, shook their heads, made each three low and lingering bows, and left the baronet to settle affairs himself with Madam Pandora as well as he could.
One of these medical gentlemen, however,—a fair, square, straightforward, skilful nosologist,—could not bring himself so easily to give up the baronet: he returned; and by dint of medicamenta, phlebotomy, blistering, leeching, cupping, smothering in vapour, &c. &c. (the pains of the patient’s mind, meanwhile, being overcome by the pains of his body) the doctor at last got him thorough the thing (as they say in Ireland). He was not, however, quite free from the danger of a relapse; and an unlucky flask extraordinary of “Epernay sec” (taken to celebrate his recovery) set Sir John’s solids and fluids again fermenting, knocked down his convalescence, which Dr. T—— had so indefatigably re-established, and introduced a certain inflammatory gentleman called fever.
The clergy were now summoned, and attended with an extra quantity of oil and water to lighten and prepare the baronet’s soul for speedy transportation; some souls, they said, and I believe truly, being much easier put into dying order than others. The skill of Doctor T——, however, once more preserved his patient for further adventures, and both physician and baronet agreed that, as the priests had done his body none, and his soul no perceptible service, and as holy men were of course above all lust of lucre, there was no necessity for cashing them; so that the contemplated fees for masses should in strict justice be transferred to prescriptions. A few more plenteous bleedings were therefore substituted for extreme unction: with the aid of a sound natural constitution, Sir John once more found himself on his legs; and having but little flesh, and no fat, his shanks had not much difficulty in carrying his body moderate distances.
At the last bleeding, the incident occurred to which the foregoing is but matter of induction. The blood which the doctor had just extracted from the baronet was about twenty ounces of genuine ruby Galway gore, discharged unadulterated from the veins of a high-crested, aboriginal Irishman. It lay proudly basking and coagulating before the sun in china basins, at the chamber-window. Sir John seeming still rather weak, the physician determined to bring all his skill into a focus, discover the latent source of indisposition, and if possible at once root it out of the baronet’s constitution, thereby gaining the double advantage of increasing professional fame and the amount of his fees. Now, at precisely the same point of time, the baronet was inventing an apology for not paying the doctor.
After musing some time, as every physician in the world does, whether he is thinking of the patient or not, Doctor T—— said, “Pray, let me see your tongue, Sir John.”