is, that it is not an opiate.
It kills pain without killing feeling."

"You lie! Some pains cannot be eased but by producing insensibility, and
cannot be cured but by producing death."

Beyond this the dusk giant said nothing; neither, for impairing the
other's market, did there appear much need to. After eying the rude
speaker a moment with an expression of mingled admiration and
consternation, the company silently exchanged glances of mutual sympathy
under unwelcome conviction. Those who had purchased looked sheepish or
ashamed; and a cynical-looking little man, with a thin flaggy beard, and
a countenance ever wearing the rudiments of a grin, seated alone in a
corner commanding a good view of the scene, held a rusty hat before his
face.

But, again, the herb-doctor, without noticing the retort, overbearing
though it was, began his panegyrics anew, and in a tone more assured
than before, going so far now as to say that his specific was sometimes
almost as effective in cases of mental suffering as in cases of
physical; or rather, to be more precise, in cases when, through
sympathy, the two sorts of pain cooeperated into a climax of both--in
such cases, he said, the specific had done very well. He cited an
example: Only three bottles, faithfully taken, cured a Louisiana widow
(for three weeks sleepless in a darkened chamber) of neuralgic sorrow
for the loss of husband and child, swept off in one night by the last
epidemic. For the truth of this, a printed voucher was produced, duly
signed.

While he was reading it aloud, a sudden side-blow all but felled him.

It was the giant, who, with a countenance lividly epileptic with
hypochondriac mania, exclaimed--

"Profane fiddler on heart-strings! Snake!"

More he would have added, but, convulsed, could not; so, without another
word, taking up the child, who had followed him, went with a rocking
pace out of the cabin.

"Regardless of decency, and lost to humanity!" exclaimed the
herb-doctor, with much ado recovering himself. Then, after a pause,
during which he examined his bruise, not omitting to apply externally a
little of his specific, and with some success, as it would seem, plained
to himself:

"No, no, I won't seek redress; innocence is my redress. But," turning
upon them all, "if that man's wrathful blow provokes me to no wrath,
should his evil distrust arouse you to distrust? I do devoutly hope,"
proudly raising voice and arm, "for the honor of humanity--h