to be enjoyed in due season." And with the Doctor, as
with Cave, the question of the _quantity_ of the kindly fruits thus
preserved was of far greater moment than any mere matter of sentiment
as to their _quality._

The intellectual attainments of the Doctor, it must be admitted,
were not of the highest order. He was a student of men rather than
of books. He had journeyed but little along the flowery paths
of literature. He never gave "local habitation or name" to the
particular Medical College which had honored him with its degree.
He was, as he often asserted, of the "epleptic" school of medicine.
In reply to my inquiry as to what that really was, he solemnly
asservated that it was the only school which permitted its
practitioners to accept all that was good, and reject all that was
bad, of all the other schools. In his practice he had a supreme
contempt for what he called "written proscriptions," and often
boasted that he never allowed one of them to go out of his office.
He infinitely preferred to compound his own medicines, which, with
the aid of mortar and pestle, he did in unstinted measure in his
office. On rainy days and during extremely healthy seasons, his
stock was thereby largely augmented. In administering his "doses"
his generous spirit manifested itself as clearly as along other
lines. No "pent-up Utica" contracted his powers. It has been many
times asserted, and with apparent confidence, that no patient of
his ever complained of not having received full measure. There were
no Oliver Twists among his patients. It was a singular fact in
all the professional experience of this eminent practitioner, that
his patients, regardless of age or sex, were all afflicted with
a like malady. Many a time as he returned from a professional
visit, mounted on his old roan, with his bushel measure medicine
bag thrown across his saddle, in answer to my casual inquiry as to
the ailment of his patient, he gave in oracular tones, the one
all-sufficient reply, _"only a slight derangement of the nervous
system."_

He never quite forgave Mr. Lincoln the reply he once made to an
ill-advised interruption of the Doctor during a political speech.
"Well, well, Doctor," replied Mr. Lincoln, good-humoredly, "I will
take anything from you _except your medicines."_

The Doctor was a bachelor, and his "May of life" had fallen into
the sear and yellow leaf at the time of which we write. He was
still, however, as he more