The poor invalid is overpowered with
disappointment. His imagination had betrayed him into one of those
desperate, fearful, and indubitable brinks of death, upon which it
seems the first law of nature reminds us what is necessary to die
by. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed, till Mr. M'Fadden
suddenly changed countenance, and said it was no laughing
affair,--such things were not to be trifled with; men should be
thinking of more important matters. And he looked at the wound, run
his fingers over it gently, and rubbed it as if doubting the depth.
"A little more whiskey would'nt hurt me, Doctor?" he enquires,
complacently, looking round the room distrustfully at those who were
enjoying the joke, more at his expense than he held to be in
accordance with strict rules of etiquette.
"I'll admit, my worthy citizen, your case seemed to baffle my skill,
last night," the physician replies, jocosely. "Had I taken your
political enthusiasm into consideration,--and your readiness to
instruct an assemblage in the holy democracy of our south,--and your
hopes of making strong draughts do strong political work, I might
have saved my opiate, and administered to your case more in
accordance with the skilfully administered prescriptions of our
politicians. Notwithstanding, I am glad you are all right, and trust
that whenever you get your enthusiasm fired with bad brandy, or the
candidates' bad whiskey, you will not tax other people's feelings
with your own dying affairs; nor send for a 'nigger' preacher to
redeem your soul, who will run away when he thinks the job
completed.
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