of Mr. Beatty as a young bridegroom,—with nothing more, he annually joined the noble army of Hippocrates. The wonder was that, although these sources of his dignity were simple and known, the doctor found a patient or two nearly every season. The first reproach of all physicians he had silenced this winter, by healing himself: "them turr'ble cracklin's in the drums o' my head, I stopped 'em all with the marrer of a hog's jaw."
"Jawbon' of an ass, ye mean," growled Bunty Gildersleeve. But even he was impressed by the historical fact that old Mr. Lightborn, a farmer Up the Line, had sent down a homemade diagnosis of his daughter's case, when she had shown a distressing fondness for "a idel, dangers man, a drunkart and a gamboler."
"I sent 'er a love-philtre," bellowed the doctor. "Took it in her tea and knew no better! Fixed 'er up! Hallelujah!"
And indeed, all knew that Miss Lightborn had shortly transferred her passion to a quiet young man of considerable property, out on the Ridges.
