that there are some people even so utterly without
imagination that they cannot take a joke; such as that grave man of
Scotland who was at last plainly told by a funny friend quite out of
patience, "Why, you wouldn't take a joke if it were fired at you out of
a cannon!"

"Sir," replied the Scot, with sound reasoning and grave thought, "Sir,
you are absurd. You cannot fire a joke out of a cannon!"

But to return: It is certainly the case that frequently "the doctor"
takes great care not to let the patient know what is the matter, and
even not to let him know what he is swallowing. This is because a good
many people, if at a critical point of disease, may be made to turn
toward health if made to believe that they are doing so, but would be
frightened, in the literal sense of the words, to death, if told what a
dangerous state they are in.

One sort of regular practice humbug is rendered necessary by the demands
of the patients. This is giving good big doses of something with a
horrid smell and taste. There are plenty of people who don't believe the
doctor does anything to earn his money, if he does not pour down some
dirty brown or black stuff very nasty in flavor. Some, still more
exacting, wish for that sort of testimony which depends on internal
convulsions, and will not be satisfied unless they suffer torments and
expel stuff enough to quiet the inside of Mount Vesuvius or
Popocatepetl.

"He's a good doctor," was the verdict of one of this class of
leather-boweled fellows--"he'll work your innards for you!"

It is a milder form of this same method to give what the learned faculty
term a placebo. This is a thing in the outward form of medicine, but
quite harmless in itself. Such is a bread-pill, for instance; or a
draught of colored water, with a little disagreeable taste in it. These
will often keep the patient's imagination headed in the right direction,
while good old Dame Nature is quietly mending up the damages in "the
soul's dark cottage."

One might almost fancy that, in proportion as the physician is more
skillful, by so much he gives less medicine, and relies more on
imagination, nature, and, above all, regimen and nursing. Here is a
story in point. There was an old gentleman in Paris, who sold a famous
eye-water, and made much gain thereby. He died, however, one fine day,
and unfortunately forgot to leave the recipe on record. "His
disconsolate widow continued the business at the old stand," however--t