Martinsburg Gazette And Public Advertiser

THE PILL TAKER.

Whether it was in consequence of an epidemic prevailing, or of the season, which was Christmas, and the consequent repletion attendant to it, that had caused such an unusual influx of customers to the shop of Andrew, Chemist and Druggist in the town of Fife, certain it is that he and his boy had been more than usually employed in compounding aperients and emetics, for the inhabitants of the good city; never before had such a demand on his gallipots and bottles been made—never before had blue pill and jalap been used in such profusion, and never before had Andrew felt more sincere pleasure than he derived that evening, from the market-house clock striking eleven, his signal for closing. With alacrity his boy accepted his permission to depart, and left his master to enjoy solitude for the first time during that day; and to calculate the quantity of drugs made use of during it. This was not small—14 oz. blue pill, 4 lb. jalap, besides colocynth, senna, and rhubarb, at the lowest computation, had he prepared for the good townfolk of Fife; innumerable had been the cases of cholera morbus, and plum-pudding surfeits he had relieved that day, and the recollection of the proportion of evil he had been the means of alleviating, gave him the most pleasing sensations. The profit also accruing from his day's labor, contributed no small share of pleasing thoughts, and one half hour more has passed, ere it entered his mind the time of closing had more than arrived; he had, however, just arisen for the purpose, when a stranger entered. Now, Andrew, though an industrious man, would willingly have dispensed with any other call for his services for that evening, and not altogether so obligingly as usual did he welcome his customer, but awaited his commands without deigning a question.

The stranger was not, however, long in opening his commission, neither did he appear to take Andrew's inattention at all amiss: he seemed one of those happy beings upon whom outward circumstances make little or no impression, who could be either civil or otherwise, as should happen to suit his humor, and who cared little for any opinion but his own. His broad and ample shoulders, over which was cast a large coachman's coat, with its innumerable capes, and his hands thrust into the pockets, and his round, ruddy, good-humored face, showed that the cares and troubles of the world had made but little impression upon him. Andrew had seen many a wild Highlander in his time; but either there was something peculiar in his customer, or his nerves were a little deranged by his exertions during the day: an indefinable sensation of fear came over him, for which he could not account, and his first impulse was to run to the door for assistance. But then he bethought himself he might, perchance, fall into the hands of some of those night prowlers, who, report says, make no scruple of supplying medical students with living subjects if they cannot procure dead ones. And more, did he leave his shop, this still would be left to the tender mercies of the stranger; he was, therefore, compelled to summon courage, and demand the stranger's business. This was not so difficult to him, perhaps, as we may imagine, Andrew having formerly served in the militia; but it appeared that his fears had alarmed him far more than there was any occasion, or, on asking the stranger's business, he in the most polite manner only requested him to prepare a box of moderately strong aperient pills. This at once relieved his fears, though it did not entirely remove them, and Andrew, quickly set about the necessary preliminaries.—Blue pill and jalap once more were in request, but so much had the stranger's sudden appearance agitated him he could not recollect their places so readily as usual, and he was more than once on the point of mixing quite the reverse of what he intended.

The stranger observed to him he appeared agitated, and politely begged he would wait a little and compose himself, as he was in no hurry.—Here all Andrew's fears returned, and in spite of all his efforts his hand shook as though he had the palsy, and never had the preparation of a box of pills appear so irksome to him. It seemed as though the very medicine itself had this evening conspired to torment; three times longer than it usually took him had he now been, and tho' the town clock had already told the hour of midnight, still Andrew was at his post. grinding and pounding; and often, as he delayed for a moment through mere inability to proceed, the stranger politely besought him to rest a few minutes and compose himself, and Andrew, for very shame, was compelled to resume his occupation. At length his labors drew to an end, and he prepared the label, pasted it on, neatly covered the box with blue paper, and presented it to the stranger.

"I will thank you for a glass of water." said he, as he bowed to Andrew, on receiving the box, "and I see, Sir, you have given me a smartish dose. All these pills to be taken at bed time;" but so much the better, they will perform their required duty sooner. I have ere now, mastered a leg of mutton: and some writers affirm the human stomach can digest a ten-penny nail, so here goes."

It was in vain Andrew assured him he had made a mistake in the directions, and that one pill was sufficient; in vain he remonstrated with him on the danger of taking a larger dose; pill after pill disappeared from his alarmed view, while between every three or four, in the same equable and polite tone came, "will thank you to prepare me another box, and compose yourself, Sir: I'm in no hurry"

Who could the stranger be? Andrew was now at the very climax of alarm: the perspiration stood on his brow, and his hands trembled so as to render it almost impossible to reach down his jars without damaging them. Strong doses he had certainly often prepared after a city feast, for the attendants on it; but this outdid them all. A man that could devour a leg of mutton, digest a tenpenny nail and take a box of blue pills at a mouthful, had never entered his imagination, much less did he ever expect to see such a thing in person: but be he who he might, he was again obliged to commence his labor. The stranger had now finished his box, and Andrew had no alternative but to commence again, or stare him in the face; the latter he could not do, as his imagination had now metamorphosed him into something more or less than man. Once more, therefore, did Andrew ply at the pestle, while the stranger, as if to beguile the tedium of waiting, began to grow more loquacious. Had Andrew ever sought after the Philosopher's Stone, the Universal Solvent, or Elixir of Life? Did he put much faith in Solomon's Balm of Gilead, or Garrington's Pills, or did he believe in the Metempsychosis?—In vain he assured him he studied nothing but the Edinburgh Dispensatory, that his shop bounded his researches; the stranger took for granted he must be able to give or receive information, and question after question did he put, to which Andrew assented, without knowing their purport. At length he seemed to have exhausted all his subjects, sat himself on the chair, as if to compose himself to sleep, and in a short time gave unequivocal proofs of it. Andrew now began to breathe more freely, and ventured to cast his eyes towards the strange customer; and, after all, there was nothing to be alarmed at in his appearance, except he noticed the breath from his nostrils appeared more like the steam of a tea-kettle than the breath of a human being. Still there was nothing extraordinary in his appearance; he had a good jovial English farmer's face, and a dress that well suited it, to be sure a smile or rather grin, lurked in the corner of his mouth, even while asleep, as if he mocked poor Andrew's perplexity.—He did not, however, allow much time for observation—he seemed to be intuitively aware Andrew had ceased his usual polite manner. "Oh, I see you have finished; have the goodness to prepare me one box more; but let me pray you to take your leisure and compose yourself, for I am in no hurry." Andrew, who had fondly hoped his labor at an end, now found himself obliged to renew it again with vigour, while the stranger aroused himself, rose from his chair, yawned and shook himself—spoke of the comfortable nap he had enjoyed—was sorry he had kept Andrew up so late, or early rather, for it was now morning.

Andrew, though internally wishing him anywhere but in his shop, yet constrained himself politely to answer that his commands gave him much pleasure. Again did he renew his toil. Box after box did he prepare without intermission, and the hours of one, two and three had been told in succession, by the market clock. Bitterly did he lament his destiny—long before this he ought to have been snug and comfortable in his warm bed. Anger now began to assume the place of fear, as he grew more accustomed to his visitor's company, and often did he determine in himself to refuse preparing any more: Still his courage was not yet at that pitch; probably his exertions, as I said before, may have injured his nerves—however, he could not rally himself enough to do it. The stranger, with his usual smile or grin, stood looking on, employing his time by beating the devil's tattoo on his boot, while at intervals came forth the usual phrase, "Another box, but don't hurry yourself." At length mere inability to proceed any farther supplied the place of courage; his arms and sides ached to such a degree with his labor, as to cause the perspiration to stand on his brow in great drops, and he declared he could proceed no further.

The alteration in the stranger's countenance told him he had better let it unsaid, and his hands instinctively grasped the pestle with renewed vigor, but his repentance came too late: the stranger had already crossed the counter, and in a second more had grasped Andrew's nose as firmly as if it had been in a vice. Andrew strove in vain to release himself—the stranger held him with more than human grasp; and his voice, instead of the polite tone he had before used, now sounded to his terrified ears what his imagination had pictured of the Indian yell. The pain of the gripe deprived him of voice to assure his tormentor he would compound for him as long as he would wish; still he contrived to make signs to that effect, by stretching his hands towards his mortar, and imitating the action of grinding; but his tyrant was relentless—firmer did he close his fore-finger and thumb. Andrew could not shake him off; like a person afflicted with night-mare, he in vain essayed his strength, though agonised with the fear of losing his prominent feature in the struggle. The stranger at length, as if endowed with supernatural strength, lifted him from the ground, balanced him in the air for a moment, gave him a three fold twitch, drew him head foremost over the counter, and let him fall. When he came to his senses he found himself lying outside his bed, the only injury from his fall being a broken nose.