Judge — May 20, 1882 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE JUDGE. THIS PICTURE TELLS ITS OWN STORY. REVISED ARABIAN NIGHTS. The King and the Physician. ‘THERE was a King of Greece who was sore- ly afflicted with a disease which his physicians pronounced incurable. The King tried all the liver, lung, kidney, foot and other pads; all the electric, magnetic, «esthetic and other plasters; Balm of Life, St. Tompkins’ Oil, Magic Pellets, and all the other patent medi- cines warranted to go right to the spot; and yet, as marvelous as it may appear, he con- tinued to grow Worse. Every morning he found his post-office box crammed with medi- cal almanacs and circulars, announcing ‘An- other Life Saved!—Beware of Counterfeit!” And his doctor bills were frightful! He re- fused to go to Florida for the benefit of his health, preferring to live a few months longer, and dieathome. The faces of his heirs began to wear a very joyous expression, and the royal undertaker burnished up his hearse and nearly split his brain open in trying to con- ceive something new and nobby in coffins. About this time there came to the King’s court a strange physician named Douban, who made a diagnosis of the Royal patient's disease, signiticantly remarked ‘ Humph!” and said he could cure him without either in- ward potions or outward applications. The King said if the Doctor's charges would not necessitate the sclling of his entire kingdom to pay the bill, he might prescribe for him. Douban then handed the King an axe, and said: “In the hollow handle of this I have deposited certain drugs, You will take this implement and cut a cord of hickory wood to-morrow morning before breakfast. When the drugs are heated they will permeate your Majesty’s whole frame; then take a bath and a nap, and you will awake perfectly cured.” The King took the axe and went out next morning before breakfast and began to wrestle with a cord of hickory wood, as directed. A friend came along and saluted him with: “Hallo! Have you reached five score years that you essay to perform the feat of the old- est inhabitant? And do you intend to carry out the programme by plowing ten acres of land before noon ?” The King was displeased with the man’s levity, and mildly hinted that he would drive him into the earth like a surveyor's pin if he heard any more of it. He didn’t hear any more of it, After finishing the cord of wood, the King took a bath and a nap, according to the Doc- tor's perscription, and awoke entirely free from his malady. (For sale at all respectable hardware stores. None genuine unless the naine of Douban is blown in handle. Contains no mercury.) The King decorated the physician with the orders of the Silver Shoe-Buckle and the Green- Eyed Monster of the Royal Knee-Breeches, and invested him with so many gold medals beside, that he looked like Prince Bismarck on dress parade. He became a great favor- ite with all at Court save the King’s former physicians. These reviled him, and lost no opportunity to excite distrust of him in the royal breast. They reported that he was a graduate of Dr. Buchanan’s Philadelphia Bogus Diploma College ; that he was impli- cated in Shipherd’s Peruvian guano scheme, and wrote spring poetry. The King, albeit avery weak person, tyrannical, and easily irritated, repelled these insinuations ; but the superseded disciples of Asculapius continued to circulate campaign rumors and print Mo- rey letters reflecting on the new Doctor's churacter and intentions, and ultimately con- vinced the King that Douban was planning his death in order that he might succeed to the throne. The ungrateful and credulous King com- manded that Douban be seized and put to death. The physician asked the King if he didn’t think that was pretty rough, after having saved his life? The King said he was not good at guessing conundrums, and the physician vainly plead for mercy. He now regretted that he didn’t adopt the usual course of treatment—prescribe five dollars’ worth of bitter medicine, and change the prescription six times a day, and fool around him with an induction balance, and sink pus cavities in him, and issue daily bulletins giving the state of his respiration, perspira- tion and hallucination, and probe him until he died, and send in a bill for $25,000. But it was too late to mourn over lost opportunities. He begged and obtaincd a final interview with the King. “IT have in my library,” said the physi- cian, ‘a book which would highly please your Majesty.” “Ah!” responded the King. ‘Does it contain. an account of the killing of Jesse James, or the travels of Jumbo, or Oscar Wilde’s poetry ? or is it simply a volume of Carlyleisms and Emersonian stuff, which no king on earth has brains enough to under- stand 2” “Neither,” answered Douban. ‘It is a very curiousbook. If, after I am decapitated, you will open the volume and read the third line, my head will answer any question you shall ask.” ‘The King was delighted. He said he had long wanted just such a book, but he supposed. it was out of print, Again Douban plead for mercy, and again in vain. The cruel King said he would behead him now, merely to try the experiment with his head and the book, and if the trick was a success he would embark in the magician business, travel about the country, and make more money than Barnum’s show or a plumber. The executioner performed his duty and the physician died suddenly. ‘The King was pre- sented with his head, which he placed on the cover of the book, as directed. “Open the book,” said the head. The King proceeded to obey the command, but the leaves stuck together. ‘‘Confound it !” angrily exclaimed his Majesty; ‘‘one of the Doctor's youngsters has been handling this book while eating molasses candy.” He then wet his thumb with his tongue repeatedly, as he turned over the leaves. Presently his face assumed a ghastly appearance, as if he had been smok- ing his first cigar, and he felt griping pai in his interior department. The poison with which the leaves of the book were saturated was getting in its work, and the head laughed exultingly: ‘Ha, ha! Tyrant, you are dying —you are justly punished for your ingrati- tude. Turn on the red and blue fire, and Iet the orchestra play the ‘ Rogue's March.’” The head ceased speaking, and the King was dead. “This story,” said Scheherazade, ‘‘ teaches that nothing on earth can preventa physician from killing his patient, sooner or later.” “Well,” commented the Sultan, ‘‘I think a man who spits on his thumb to turn over the leaves of a book deserves a violent death.” The Sultan was very level-headed on some questions. J. H.W. — comicbooks.com