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When Dr. S–came, we conversed aside for a few minutes, and I gave him my views of the case, and stated what I had done and why I had done it. We then proceeded to the bedside of our patient; there were still no signs of approaching consciousness.

“Don’t you think his head ought to be shaved and blistered?” asked the wife, anxiously. Dr. S–thought a moment, and then said–“Yes, by all means. Send for a barber; and also for a fresh fly-blister, four inches by nine.”

I looked into the face of Dr. S–with surprise; it was perfectly grave and earnest. I hinted to him my doubt of the good that mode of treatment would do; but he spoke confidently of the result, and said that it would not only cure the disease, but, he believed, take away the predisposition thereto, with which Mr. H–was affected in a high degree.

The barber came. The head of H–was shaved, and Dr. S–applied the blister with his own hands, which completely covered the scalp from forehead to occiput.

“Let it remain on for two hours, and then make use of the ordinary dressing,” said Dr. S–. “If he should not recover during the action of the blister, don’t feel uneasy; sensibility will be restored soon after.”

I did not call again, but I heard from Dr. S–the result.

After we left, the friends stood anxiously around the bed upon which the sick man lay; but though the blister began to draw, no signs of returning consciousness showed themselves, further than an occasional low moan, or an uneasy tossing of the arms. For full two hours the burning plaster parched the tender skin of H–‘s shorn head, and was then removed; it had done good service. Dressings were then applied; repeated and repeated again; but still the sick man lay in a deep stupor.

“It has done no good; hadn’t we better send for the doctor?” suggested the wife.

Just then the eyes of H–opened, and he looked with half-stupid surprise from face to face of the anxious group that surrounded the bed.

“What in the mischief’s the matter?” he at length said. At the same time, feeling a strange sensation about his head, he placed his hand rather heavily thereon.

“Heavens and earth!” He was now fully in his senses. “Heavens and earth! what ails my head?”

“For mercy’s sake, keep quiet,” said the wife, the glad tears gushing over her face. “You have been very ill; there, there, now!” And she spoke soothingly. “Don’t say a word, but lie very still.”

“But my head! What’s the matter with my head? It feels as if scalded. Where’s my hair? Heavens and earth! Sarah, I don’t understand this. And my arm? What’s my arm tied up in this way for?”

“Be quiet, my dear husband, and I’ll explain it all. Oh, be very quiet; your life depends upon it.” Mr. H–sank back upon the pillow from which he had arisen, and closed his eyes to think. He put his hand to his head, and felt it, tenderly, all over, from temple to temple, and from nape to forehead.

“Is it a blister?” he at length asked.

“Yes, dear. You have been very ill; we feared for your life,” said Mrs. H–, affectionately; “there have been two physicians in attendance.”

H–closed his eyes again; his lips moved. Those nearest were not much edified by the whispered words that issued therefrom. They would have sounded very strangely in a church, or to ears polite and refined. After this, he lay for some time quiet.

“Threatened with apoplexy, I suppose?” he then said, interrogatively.

“Yes, dear,” replied his wife. “I found you lying insensible upon the floor, on happening to come into your room. It was most providential that I discovered you when I did, or you would certainly have died.”

H–shut his eyes and muttered something, with an air of impatience; but its meaning was not understood. Finding him out of danger, friends and relatives retired, and the sick man was left alone with his family.