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“Has he been eating any thing improper?” asked Doctor L–, after administering such remedies, and ordering such treatment as he deemed the case required.

“Has he eaten no green fruit?”

“None.”

“Nothing, to my knowledge, replied Mrs. Hobart. “We have been very careful in regard to food.”

“Nor unripe vegetables?”

Mrs. Hobart shook her head.

“Nor fish?”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“That is strange. He was well a few days ago.”

“Yes, perfectly, until he began to take a little brandy every day as a preventive.”

“Ah!” The doctor looked thoughtful. “But it couldn’t have been that. I take a little pure brandy every day, and find it good. I recommend it to all my patients.”

Mrs. Hobart sighed. Then she asked–“Do you think him dangerous?”

“I hope not. The attack is sudden and severe. But much worse cases recover. I will call round again before bed time.”

The doctor went away feeling far from comfortable. Only a few hours before he, had left a man sick with cholera beyond recovery, who had, to his certain knowledge, adopted the brandy-drinking-preventive-system but a week before; and that at his recommendation. And here was another case.

At eleven o’clock Dr. L–called to see Mr. Hobart again, and found him rapidly sinking. Not a single symptom had been reached by his treatment. The poor man was in great pain. Every muscle in his body seemed affected by cramps and spasms. His mind, however, was perfectly clear. As the doctor sat feeling his pulse, Hobart said to him–

“Doctor L–, it is too late!”

“Oh, no. It is never too late,” replied the doctor. “Don’t think of death; think of life, and that will help to sustain you. You are not, by any means, at the last point. Hundreds, worse than you now are, come safely through. I don’t intend to let you slip through my hands.”

“Doctor,” said the sick man, speaking in a solemn voice, “I feel that I am beyond the reach of medicine. I shall die. What I now say I do not mean as a reproach. I speak it only as a truth right for you to know. Do you see my poor wife?”

The doctor turned his eyes upon Mrs. Hobart, who stood weeping by the bedside.

“When she is left a widow, and my children orphans,” continued the patient, “remember that you have made them such!”

“Me! Why do you say that, Mr. Hobart?” The doctor looked startled.

“Because it is the truth. I was a well man, when you, as my medical adviser, recommended me to drink brandy as a protection against disease. I was in fear of the infection, and followed your prescription. From the moment I took the first draught my body lost its healthy equilibrium; and not only my body, but my mind. I was a reformed man, and the taste inflamed the old appetite. From that time until now I have not been really sober.”

The doctor was distressed and confounded by this declaration. He had feared that such was the case; but now it was charged unequivocally.

“I am pained at all this,” he replied, “In sinning I sinned ignorantly.”

But, ere he could finish his reply, the sick man became suddenly worse, and sunk into a state of insensibility.

“If it be in human power to save his life,” murmured the doctor–“I will save it.”

Through the whole night he remained at the bed-side, giving, with his own hands, all the remedies, and applying every curative means within reach. But, when the day broke, there was little, if any change for the better. He then went home, but returned in a couple of hours.

“How is your husband?” he asked of the pale-faced wife as he entered. She did not reply, and they went up to the chamber together. A deep silence reigned in the room as they entered.

“Is he asleep?” whispered the doctor.

“See!” The wife threw back the sheet.

“O!” was the only sound that escaped the doctor’s lips. It was a prolonged sound, and uttered in a tone of exquisite distress. The white and ghastly face of death was before him.

“It is your work!” murmured the unhappy woman, half beside herself in her affliction.

“Madam! do not say that!” ejaculated the physician. “Do not say that!”

“It is the truth! Did he not charge it upon you with his dying breath?”

“I did all for the best, madam! all for the best! It was an error in his case. But I meant him no harm.”

“You put poison to his lips, and destroyed him. You have made his wife a widow and his children orphans!”

“Madam!–“The doctor knit his brows and spoke in a stern voice. But, ere he had uttered a word more, the stricken-hearted woman gave a wild scream and fell upon the floor. Nature had been tried beyond the point of endurance, and reason was saved at the expense of physical prostration.

A few weeks later, and Doctor L–, in driving past the former residence of Mr. Hobart, saw furniture cars at the door. The family were removing. Death had taken the husband and father, and the poor widow was going forth with her little ones from the old and pleasant home, to gather them around her in a smaller and poorer place. His feelings at the moment none need envy.

How many, like Mr. Hobart, have died through the insane prescription of brandy as a preventive to cholera! and how many more have fallen back into old habits, and become hopeless drunkards! Brandy is not good for health at any time; how much less so, when the very air we breathe is filled with a subtle poison, awaiting the least disturbance in the human economy to affect it with disease.