The idea of the soot-emetic relieved the old lady, though it
nearly fixed the doctor's flint for him. She extolled its virtues to
the skies; she saved her daughter's life, she said, with it once, who
had been to Halifax, and was taken by an officer into a pastrycook's
shop and treated. He told her if she would eat as much as she could at
once, he would pay for it all.
Well, she did her best. She eat one loaf of plumcake, three trays of
jellies, a whole counter of little tarts, figs, raisins, and oranges,
and all sorts of things without number. Oh! it was a grand chance, she
said, and the way she eat was a caution to a cormorant; but at last
she gave out she couldn't do no more. The foolish officer, the old
lady observed, if he had let her fetch all them things home, you know
we could have helped her to eat them, and if we couldn't have eat 'em
all in one day, surely we could in one week; but he didn't think of
that I suppose. But her daughter liked to have died; too much of a
good thing is good for nothing. Well, the soot-emetic cured her, and
then she told me all its effects; and it's very surprising, it didn't
sound bad in French, but it don't do to write it in English at all;
it's the same thing, but it tells better in French. It must be a very
nice language that for a doctor, when it makes emetics sound so
pretty; you might hear of 'em while you was at dinner and not disturb
you.
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