nd
that he was come for the surgeon, who was probably drunk and asleep
inside. So, being able to sympathize, having had his wife in the straw
every thirteen months regularly for the last fifteen years, he prepared
to assist, and for this purpose took a stone about half a
hundredweight, and coming behind the Doctor, when he was in full kick,
he balanced himself with difficulty, and sent it at the lock with all
the force of his arm, and of course broke the door in. In throwing the
stone, he lost his balance, came full butt against Dr. Mulhaus,
propelled him into the passage, into the arms of the surgeon, who was
rushing out infuriated to defend his property, and down went the three
in the passage together, the two doctors beneath, and the drunken
sawyer on the top of them.

The drunken surgeon, if, to use parliamentary language, he will allow
me to call him so, was of course underneath the others; but, being a
Londoner, and consequently knowing the use of his fists, ere he went
down delivered a "one, two," straight from the shoulder in our poor
dear Doctor's face, and gave him a most disreputable black eye, besides
cutting his upper lip open. This our Doctor, being, you must remember,
a foreigner, and not having the rules of the British Ring before his
eyes, resented by getting on the top of him, taking him round the
throat, and banging the back of his head against the brick floor of the
passage, until he began to goggle his eyes and choke. Meanwhile the
sawyer, exhilarated beyond measure in his drunken mind at having raised
a real good promising row, having turned on his back, lay procumbent
upon the twain, and kicking everything soft or human he came across
with his heels, struck up "The Bay of Biscay, Oh," until he was dragged
forth by two of his friends; and, being in a state of wild excitement,
ready to fight the world, hit his own mate a violent blow in the eye,
and was only quieted by receiving a sound thrashing, and being placed
in a sitting posture in the verandah of the public house, from which he
saw Doctor Mulhaus come forth from the surgeon's with rumpled feathers,
but triumphant.

I am deeply grieved to have recorded the above scene, but I could not
omit it. Having undertaken to place the character of that very noble
gentleman, Doctor Mulhaus, before my readers, I was forced not to omit
this. As a general rule, he was as self-contained, as calm and as
frigid as the best Englishman among us. But under all t