“Go off now! Git out of me house! I’m not _nagerly_, but ye can’t stand here an’ dispute the docther—an’ by the same token, that’s Micky Cuff! _Dher manhim!_ Ye can’t be sick and docther beside! Go away—an’ the devil go wid ye an’ sixpence! Here’s six eggs to ye an’ half a dozen of ’em rotten!” With more of the same sort, which would make a stranger tremble; but those who knew Cuff were aware that, to those in misfortune or suffering from illness, his heart was that of a baby. When the sick man wisely kept a silent tongue in his head, and swallowed the remedies provided without word or grimace, no one could be more compassionate than Cuff. His principal reliance, in all cases—his _medicamentum_ and cure-all—was a preparation which he called “skelkeen,” and it was generally to be gulped down very hot, so that his patients denominated it—but not in his presence—“scald keen;” for they said it scalded them sharply in the taking. Cuff made his skelkeen about in this manner: Taking three fresh-laid eggs, plenty of sugar, or molasses, he broke the eggs, beat them, with the other ingredients, in a bowl, then added a generous quantity of whisky; putting all together in a pot, or tin kettle, he stirred it while it boiled until reduced to the consistency of cream, when some cayenne pepper was added, and the fiery medicine was ready for use. “Here! Take this!” he would say, holding a cupful of the steaming stuff in his hand. “If ye wor gone, clane dead, the skelkeen would bring ye to life again!” Should the patient dare refuse the draught, Cuff would call him vulgar names, not mentionable here, whip him, and end by kicking him out of doors and up the stairs, in the goodness of his heart. It was not often that his friends in this manner incurred his displeasure. Only strangers dare refuse the skelkeen. Then Cuff had his “mulled beer,” suitable for ladies, which he declared cured all the evils flesh is heir to. And many went to his house to partake of this remedy. The ladies’ cure consisted of malt beer, or ale, boiled down thick and strong, in some vessel, on the family stove, with molasses enough added to make it palatable, and drunk as hot as the sick one could bear. “Swallow this! It’ll cure you, or I’m a _gaberlunzie_, which by the same token, I never wor!” was the rough language accompanying the presentation of the vile concoction. Woe be unto the woman who dared to turn her head away from the fumes of Cuff’s mulled beer! She would be sure to hear such language from the impromptu doctor as would make her repent the act during the remainder of her life. As with the men, very few had the courage to put the cup from their lips. They generally recovered their health, however, after taking one dose of the stimulating compound.