“An old woman soon came in, and addressing Timothy, said that she ‘wanted something for her poor grandchild’s sore throat’. “‘I don’t mix up the medicines, ma’am,’ replied Timothy; ‘you must apply to that gentleman, Mr. Newland, who is behind the counter; he understands what is good for everybody’s complaints.’ “‘Bless his handsome face—and so young, too! Why, be you a doctor, sir?’ “‘I should hope so,’ replied I. ‘What is it you require—a lotion or an embrocation?’ “‘I don’t understand those hard words, but I want some doctor’s stuff.’ “‘Very well, my good woman; I know what is proper,’ replied I, assuming an important air. ‘Here, Timothy, wash out this phial very clean.’ “‘Yes, sir,’ replied Timothy very respectfully. “I took one of the measures, and putting in a little green, a little blue, and a little white liquid from the medicine bottles generally used by Mr. Brookes, filled it up with water, poured the mixture into the phial, corked, and labelled it _haustus statim sumendus_, and handed it over to the old woman. “‘Is the poor child to take it, or is it to rub outside?’ inquired the old woman. “‘The directions are on the label; but you don’t read Latin?’ “‘Deary me, no! Latin! and do you understand Latin? What a nice clever boy!’ “‘I should not be a good doctor if I did not,’ replied I. On second thoughts I considered it advisable and safer that the application should be _external_, so I translated the label to her: _haustus_, rub it in; _statim_, on the throat; _sumendus_, with the palm of the hand.” Their next effort at doctoring is humorously described by the novelist in the following words:— “An Irish labourer, more than half-tipsy, came in one evening and asked whether we had such a thing as was called ‘_A poor man’s plaister_’. ‘By the powers, it will be a poor man’s plaister when it belongs to me; but they tell me that it is a sure and sartain cure for the thumbago, as they call it, which I’ve at the small of my back, and which is a hinder to my mounting up the ladder; so as it’s Saturday night, and I’ve just got the money, I’ll buy the plaister first, and then try what a little whisky inside will do. The devil is in’t if it won’t be driven out of me between the two.’ “We had not that plaister in the shop, but we had blister plaisters, and Timothy, handing one to me, I proffered it to him. ‘And what may you be after asking for the same?’ inquired he. “The blisters were sold at a shilling each, when spread on paper, so I asked him eighteen-pence, that we might pocket the extra sixpence. “‘By the powers, one would think that you had made a mistake, and handed me the rich man’s plaister instead of the poor one’s. It’s less whisky I’ll have to drink, any how; but here’s the money, and the top of the morning to ye, seeing as how it’s jist getting late.’