Tales of the Wonder Club Volume I Part 5

"It's freezing hard to-night, sir," said the landlord to the chairman.

"Is it, mine host?" said Mr. Oldstone, rendered still more good humoured under the influence of the punch. "Then fill up a b.u.mper and drink to the health of our club, after which you may sit down here and listen to the next story, if you can prevent falling asleep. Our first story you have missed. Oh, I can a.s.sure you it would have given you the horrors to have listened to it."

Here our worthy host filled up a gla.s.s, and, nodding his head, drank to the long life of all the members and guests, and hoped that the club might have as many more anniversaries as there were hairs in the heads of all the members put together.

This sentiment was received with applause, and the health of the landlord was drunk with three times three. He replied to it in a short, bluff, and unembarra.s.sed speech, amid cheers; and rattling of gla.s.ses.

Then modestly taking a seat at some little distance from the table, filled his pipe, lighted it, and put himself into a listening att.i.tude.

"It is your turn now, doctor," said the chairman. "We're all waiting, and, mind, we all expect a good one. On this evening, gentlemen, each one must strive to outdo his neighbour."

"I cannot promise that I will outdo Mr. Hardcase's narrative," said the doctor, modestly, "but I will do my best to add to the entertainment of the company in my humble way."

"Bravo, doctor!" cried several voices at once.

Mr. Oldstone thumped the table and called out, "Silence, gentlemen; Dr.

Bleedem will favour us with a story."

Silence immediately ensued, and the doctor began.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER II.

THE SPIRIT LOVERS.--THE DOCTOR'S STORY.

I am about to relate, gentlemen, a curious incident in my medical experience, many years ago.

When I was yet a young pract.i.tioner I had already a numerous circle of patients, out of which it will be only necessary for me to bring two cases before you this evening. The first was that of a young man of about four-and-twenty, whom I shall call Charles. He was of good family, and his parents were moderately well off. I was called to his bedside, the former doctor having been dismissed. I had had some conversation with the parents of the young man before I was ushered into his presence. They informed me that my predecessor had p.r.o.nounced his disease "a rapid decline" and as incurable. But the case had other peculiarities which puzzled him. The brain, he said, was much affected.

The patient ate little, unlike other consumptive subjects, whose appet.i.tes are usually enormous. He slept much, and talked much in his sleep, but in his waking moments he was irritable and restless, and preferred being left alone all day. He could not even bear the sight of his own parents in his room. He had his regular hours of sleep, and always seemed to look forward to his hours of rest, especially to his nightly hours.

I questioned the parents as to how long he had been in this state. They told me more than a year. I inquired if any member of their family had ever died of consumption. They replied that not one, either on the father's side or the mother's, bore the slightest trace of that malady, and that for many generations back the members of both families had lived to a good old age. Neither of the parents could give the slightest account of how the disease originated.

Their son had been sent to the university two or three years before, where he had studied hard, but without having made up his mind to follow any particular profession. They suggested that possibly over-study had sewn the seeds of the disease. He was not, as they a.s.sured me, given to dissipation.

Having ascertained these particulars, I expressed a desire to see the patient, and was shewn into the sick-room. The parents told me to prepare for a cool reception, as their son was not over partial to visitors, and especially doctors. They then retired, leaving me alone with the patient, as I had previously requested them; for it has always been my policy to work myself as much as possible into the confidence of my patients, in order to obtain more minute particulars of their case which otherwise they might be reserved upon. For this a _tete-a-tete_ is absolutely necessary, as there are patients who are reserved even in the presence of their nearest relatives and friends.

The young man, as I entered, was seated in bed, propped up by cus.h.i.+ons.

He was in a thoughtful att.i.tude, and for some moments seemed unconscious of my presence. At length, hearing my footsteps, he started, glared wildly at me, and turned his face to the wall.

"Come," I said, soothingly, "don't be frightened; I am only the new doctor. I have come to see if I can't make something out of your case.

Come, turn round. I daresay we shall be better friends before long. What is this?" I asked, as I laid my hand upon a volume hidden under the clothes, and examined it. "Ah, Shakespeare!"

"Don't touch it," cried the young man, starting up with sudden energy.

"I never allow my Shakespeare to be polluted by strange hands."

I was rather startled at this sudden burst of irritability from my new patient, especially in the exhausted state in which I found him, and not a little amused at the oddity of his caprice.

"You are a great admirer of Shakespeare?" I observed, after a pause.

He did not deign a reply, but fell back languidly on his cus.h.i.+ons and closed his eyes.

"A great poet," I continued. "What insight into character! What knowledge of mankind! What a versatile genius! With what truth and exquisite feeling he portrays both the king and the peasant, the courtier and the jester! How truly he seizes the leading characteristics of the Jew and the Christian in his 'Merchant of Venice,' to say nothing of his sublime imagination in the 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' and in 'The Tempest'; the exquisite humours, too, of his 'Merry Wives of Windsor,'

and then there is his----"

At this juncture my patient opened his eyes, and gave me a look that seemed to say, "Have you done yet?" and, after a pause, said aloud, "I thought you were the doctor."

"Ah! truly," said I, blus.h.i.+ng slightly; "I am afraid, I weary you.

Pardon me if my enthusiasm for your great poet has carried me away from my professional duties. But, to business. How do you feel at present?"

He eyed me with a peculiar expression, and said, "Do you really want to know?"

"To be sure I do; haven't I come----"

"You have heard that I have been given over as incurable. The last doctor was an older man than you. What do you hope to effect?"

"To effect a cure; _I_ do not give you up. I do _not_ think your disease is consumption. I hope in time to----"

"To what?" he asked, nervously.

"Well, to be able to serve you."

"No," he cried, "not to _serve_ me, but to _cure_ me."

"In curing you, shall I not serve you?"

"No. I do not want to be cured. Leave me to die, if you want to serve me."

"Oh, my dear young man," I cried, "don't talk like that. Your malady is not of the sort that you need fear death so soon."

"Fear death!" he exclaimed. "On the contrary, I seek death. I desire to die."

"What! you desire to die? A young man like you, in the pride of your youth, with the whole world before you. What can make you so tired of your life?"

"Because my life's a burden to me."

"Poor young man," I said, "can you have suffered so much! Ah," I muttered, half to myself, "youth has its sufferings as well as age."

I was young myself then, and I had suffered. I felt the deepest sympathy for my patient.

"If," I resumed, "in curing you I could make life cease to be a burden----"

"I would not accept the offer," he replied. "What should I gain by it?

The grosser material part of my nature would be rendered more gross, more material; capable only of those delights that the grossest minds revel in, to the utter exclusion of those sublime visions and inspirations which visit the soul when least clogged with matter. It would be to exchange a paradise for a pandemonium; high, exalted thoughts and feelings for low and grovelling ones. No," he said; "he who, like me, has tasted both lives will hardly throw away the higher for the lower."