St. Ronan's Well. Вальтер Скотт

to do due honour – “Does her leddyship mean the grace? I see the minister is just coming in. – Her leddyship waits till ye say a blessing, an ye please, sir.”

      Mr. Winterblossom, who toddled after the chaplain, his toe having given him an alert hint to quit the dining-table, though he saw every feature in the poor woman's face swoln with desire to procure information concerning the ways and customs of the place, passed on the other side of the way, regardless of her agony of curiosity.

      A moment after, she was relieved by the entrance of Dr. Quackleben, whose maxim being, that one patient was as well worth attention as another, and who knew by experience, that the honoraria of a godly wife of the Bow-head were as apt to be forthcoming, (if not more so,) as my Lady Penelope's, he e'en sat himself quietly down by Mrs. Blower, and proceeded with the utmost kindness to enquire after her health, and to hope she had not forgotten taking a table-spoonful of spirits burnt to a residuum, in order to qualify the crudities.

      “Indeed, Doctor,” said the honest woman, “I loot the brandy burn as lang as I dought look at the gude creature wasting itsell that gate – and then, when I was fain to put it out for very thrift, I did take a thimbleful of it, (although it is not the thing I am used to, Dr. Quackleben,) and I winna say but that it did me good.”

      “Unquestionably, madam,” said the Doctor, “I am no friend to the use of alcohol in general, but there are particular cases – there are particular cases, Mrs. Blower – My venerated instructor, one of the greatest men in our profession that ever lived, took a wine-glassful of old rum, mixed with sugar, every day after his dinner.”

      “Ay? dear heart, he would be a comfortable doctor that,” said Mrs. Blower. “He wad maybe ken something of my case. Is he leevin' think ye, sir?”

      “Dead for many years, madam,” said Dr. Quackleben; “and there are but few of his pupils that can fill his place, I assure ye. If I could be thought an exception, it is only because I was a favourite. Ah! blessings on the old red cloak of him! – It covered more of the healing science than the gowns of a whole modern university.”

      “There is ane, sir,” said Mrs. Blower, “that has been muckle recommended about Edinburgh – Macgregor, I think they ca' him – folk come far and near to see him.”18

      “I know whom you mean, ma'am – a clever man – no denying it – a clever man – but there are certain cases – yours, for example – and I think that of many that come to drink this water – which I cannot say I think he perfectly understands – hasty – very hasty and rapid. Now I – I give the disease its own way at first – then watch it, Mrs. Blower – watch the turn of the tide.”

      “Ay, troth, that's true,” responded the widow; “John Blower was aye watching turn of tide, puir man.”

      “Then he is a starving doctor, Mrs. Blower – reduces diseases as soldiers do towns – by famine, not considering that the friendly inhabitants suffer as much as the hostile garrison – ahem!”

      Here he gave an important and emphatic cough, and then proceeded.

      “I am no friend either to excess or to violent stimulus, Mrs. Blower – but nature must be supported – a generous diet – cordials judiciously thrown in – not without the advice of a medical man – that is my opinion, Mrs. Blower, to speak as a friend – others may starve their patients if they have a mind.”

      “It wadna do for me, the starving, Dr. Keekerben,” said the alarmed relict, – “it wadna do for me at a' – Just a' I can do to wear through the day with the sma' supports that nature requires – not a soul to look after me, Doctor, since John Blower was ta'en awa. – Thank ye kindly, sir,” (to the servant who handed the tea,) – “thank ye, my bonny man,” (to the page who served the cake) – “Now, dinna ye think, Doctor,” (in a low and confidential voice,) “that her leddyship's tea is rather of the weakliest – water bewitched, I think – and Mrs. Jones, as they ca' her, has cut the seedcake very thin?”

      “It is the fashion, Mrs. Blower,” answered Dr. Quackleben; “and her ladyship's tea is excellent. But your taste is a little chilled, which is not uncommon at the first use of the waters, so that you are not sensible of the flavour – we must support the system – reinforce the digestive powers – give me leave – you are a stranger, Mrs. Blower, and we must take care of you – I have an elixir which will put that matter to rights in a moment.”

      So saying, Dr. Quackleben pulled from his pocket a small portable case of medicines – “Catch me without my tools,” – he said; “here I have the real useful pharmacopœia – the rest is all humbug and hard names – this little case, with a fortnight or month, spring and fall, at St. Ronan's Well, and no one will die till his day come.”

      Thus boasting, the Doctor drew from his case a large vial or small flask, full of a high-coloured liquid, of which he mixed three tea-spoonfuls in Mrs. Blower's cup, who, immediately afterwards, allowed that the flavour was improved beyond all belief, and that it was “vera comfortable and restorative indeed.”

      “Will it not do good to my complaints, Doctor?” said Mr. Winterblossom, who had strolled towards them, and held out his cup to the physician.

      “I by no means recommend it, Mr. Winterblossom,” said Dr. Quackleben, shutting up his case with great coolness; “your case is œdematous, and you treat it your own way – you are as good a physician as I am, and I never interfere with another practitioner's patient.”

      “Well, Doctor,” said Winterblossom, “I must wait till Sir Bingo comes in – he has a hunting-flask usually about him, which contains as good medicine as yours to the full.”

      “You will wait for Sir Bingo some time,” said the Doctor; “he is a gentleman of sedentary habits – he has ordered another magnum.”

      “Sir Bingo is an unco name for a man o' quality, dinna ye think sae, Dr. Cocklehen?” said Mrs. Blower. “John Blower, when he was a wee bit in the wind's eye, as he ca'd it, puir fallow – used to sing a sang about a dog they ca'd Bingo, that suld hae belanged to a farmer.”

      “Our Bingo is but a puppy yet, madam – or if a dog, he is a sad dog,” said Mr. Winterblossom, applauding his own wit, by one of his own inimitable smiles.

      “Or a mad dog, rather,” said Mr. Chatterly, “for he drinks no water;” and he also smiled gracefully at the thoughts of having trumped, as it were, the president's pun.

      “Twa pleasant men, Doctor,” said the widow, “and so is Sir Bungy too, for that matter; but O! is nae it a pity he should bide sae lang by the bottle? It was puir John Blower's faut too, that weary tippling; when he wan to the lee-side of a bowl of punch, there was nae raising him. – But they are taking awa the things, and, Doctor, is it not an awfu' thing that the creature-comforts should hae been used without grace or thanksgiving? – that Mr. Chitterling, if he really be a minister, has muckle to answer for, that he neglects his Master's service.”

      “Why, madam,” said the Doctor, “Mr. Chatterly is scarce arrived at the rank of a minister plenipotentiary.”

      “A minister potentiary – ah, Doctor, I doubt that is some jest of yours,” said the widow; “that's sae like puir John Blower. When I wad hae had him gie up the lovely Peggy, ship and cargo, (the vessel was named after me, Doctor Kittleben,) to be remembered in the prayers o' the congregation, he wad say to me, ‘they may pray that stand the risk, Peggy Bryce, for I've made insurance.’ He was a merry man, Doctor; but he had the root of the matter in him, for a' his light way of speaking, as deep as ony skipper that ever loosed anchor from Leith Roads. I hae been a forsaken creature since his death – O the weary days and nights that I have had! – and the weight on the spirits – the spirits, Doctor! – though I canna say I hae been easier since I hae been at the Wall than even now – if I kend what I was awing ye for elickstir, Doctor, for it's done me muckle heart's good, forby the opening of my mind to you.”

      “Fie, fie, ma'am,” said the Doctor, as the widow pulled out a seal-skin pouch, such as sailors carry tobacco in, but apparently well stuffed with bank-notes, – “Fie, fie, madam

18

The late Dr. Gregory is probably intimated, as one of the celebrated Dr. Cullen's personal habits is previously mentioned. Dr. Gregory was distinguished for putting his patients on a severe regimen.