“I’ll admit, my worthy citizen, your case seemed to baffle my skill, last night,” the physician replies, jocosely.  “Had I taken your political enthusiasm into consideration,—­and your readiness to instruct an assemblage in the holy democracy of our south,—­and your hopes of making strong draughts do strong political work, I might have saved my opiate, and administered to your case more in accordance with the skilfully administered prescriptions of our politicians.  Notwithstanding, I am glad you are all right, and trust that whenever you get your enthusiasm fired with bad brandy, or the candidates’ bad whiskey, you will not tax other people’s feelings with your own dying affairs; nor send for a ‘nigger’ preacher to redeem your soul, who will run away when he thinks the job completed.”

Mr. M’Fadden seemed not to comprehend the nature of his physician’s language, and after a few minutes pause he must needs enquire about the weather? if a coroner’s inquest has been held over the dead men? what was its decision? was there any decision at all? and have they been buried?  Satisfied on all these points, he gets up, himself again, complaining only of a little muddled giddiness about the head, and a hip so sore that he scarcely could reconcile his mind to place confidence in it.

“Good by! good by!” says the physician, shaking him by the hand.  “Measure the stimulant carefully; and take good care of dumplin dep“t No. 1, and you’ll be all right very soon.  You’re a good democrat, and you’ll make as good a stump orator as ever took the field.”

The man of medicine, laughing heartily within himself, descends the stairs and reaches the bar-room, where are concentrated sundry of the party we have before described.  They make anxious enquiries about Mr. M’Fadden,—­how he seemed to “take it;” did he evince want of pluck? had he courage enough to fight a duel? and could his vote be taken afore he died?  These, and many other questions of a like nature, were put to the physician so fast, and with so many invitations to drink “somethin’,” that he gave a sweeping answer by saying Mac had been more frightened than hurt; that the fear of death having passed from before his eyes his mind had now centered on the loss of his nigger preacher-a valuable piece of property that had cost him no less than fifteen hundred dollars.  And the worst of it was, that the nigger had aggravatingly prayed for him when he thought he was going to sink out into the arms of father death.

So pressing were the invitations to drink, that our man of medicine advanced to the counter, like a true gentleman of the south, and with his glass filled with an aristocratic mixture, made one of his politest bows, toasted the health of all free citizens, adding his hope for the success of the favourite candidate.