The remaining act was one of unmitigated severity, but it was absolutely necessary. My sister Eliza, foreseeing what was to take place, felt her spirits sinking and retired to her room. Her maid, Lucy Barnes, bold as a little lioness, said she would see it out; whilst Mr. Harrison, a fine young gentleman, who was on a visit to me (and alas! is since dead in California), was ready in case of need. The bone setter performed his part with resolution scarcely to be contemplated, but which was really required under existing circumstances. Laying hold of the crippled arm just above the elbow with one hand, and below with the other, he smashed to atoms by main force the callus which had formed in the dislocated joint, the elbow itself cracking, as if the interior parts of it had consisted of tobacco pipe shanks. Having predetermined in my mind not to open my mouth, or to make any stir during the operation, I remained passive and silent, whilst this fierce elbow contest was raging. All being now effected as far as force and skill were concerned, the remainder became a mere work of time. So putting a five pound note by way of extra fee into this sturdy operator’s hand, the binding up of the now rectified elbow-joint was effected by him with a nicety and a knowledge truly astonishing. Health soon resumed her ancient right; sleep went hand-in-hand with a quiet mind; life was once more worth enjoying; and here I am just now sound as an acorn. Dr. Wharton Hood disparages the lucid statement and style of Mr. Waterton, but does not gainsay his testimony or facts. The testimony of Mr. George Moore, the eminent philanthropist to the skill of a “bone setter,” is duly recorded by Dr. Smiles, in the life of the Cumberland Worthy and London Merchant.[2] Mr. Moore was very fond of hunting, both as a recreation and as a means of health. “I hunt,” he says, “not only for pleasure, but for my health. The exercise does me great good. I really do not see any harm in a gallop with the hounds; if I did I would not go out again.” He hesitates and deliberates on the subject again and again. “I make my health my excuse. The fresh crisp air does me good. I am always at home when on horseback.” “In March, 1867,” says Dr. Smiles (pp. 292), “he met with an accident which put a stop to his hunting.” The meet was at Torpendow. From thence they went to the top of Binsey, a heathery fell, to the south of Whitehall. There they found a fox, and viewed him away. Always anxious to keep up with the hounds, Mr. Moore rode fast down the hill. But his bay mare got her foot in a rabbit hole, and the rider got a regular cropper. He found that his shoulder was stiff. Nevertheless, he mounted again and galloped away. The hounds were in full cry. He kept up pretty well, though his shoulder was severely hurt.