rare, too. Allow me to look closely
at that discoloration once more for a moment. Cutis cenea, bronze skin,
they call it sometimes--extraordinary pigmentation--a little more to
the light, if you please--ah! now I get the bronze coloring admirably,
beautifully! Would you have any objection to showing your case to the
Societies of Medical Improvement and Medical Observation?

[--My case! O dear!] May I ask if any vital organ is commonly involved
in this interesting complaint?--I said, faintly.

--Well, sir,--the young Doctor replied,--there is an organ which is
--sometimes--a little touched, I may say; a very curious and ingenious
little organ or pair of organs. Did you ever hear of the Capsulae,
Suprarenales?

--No,--said I,--is it a mortal complaint?--I ought to have known better
than to ask such a question, but I was getting nervous and thinking
about all sorts of horrid maladies people are liable to, with horrid
names to match.

--It is n't a complaint,--I mean they are not a complaint,--they are two
small organs, as I said, inside of you, and nobody knows what is the use
of them. The most curious thing is that when anything is the matter with
them you turn of the color of bronze. After all, I didn't mean to say I
believed it was Morbus Addisonii; I only thought of that when I saw the
discoloration.

So he gave me a recipe, which I took care to put where it could do no
hurt to anybody, and I paid him his fee (which he took with the air of a
man in the receipt of a great income) and said Good-morning.

--What in the name of a thousand diablos is the reason these confounded
doctors will mention their guesses about "a case," as they call it, and
all its conceivable possibilities, out loud before their patients? I
don't suppose there is anything in all this nonsense about "Addison's
Disease," but I wish he hadn't spoken of that very interesting ailment,
and I should feel a little easier if that discoloration would leave my
forehead. I will ask the Landlady about it,--these old women often
know more than the young doctors just come home with long names for
everything they don't know how to cure. But the name of this complaint
sets me thinking. Bronzed skin! What an odd idea! Wonder if it spreads
all over one. That would be picturesque and pleasant, now, wouldn't it?
To be made a living statue of,--nothing to do but strike an attitude.
Arm up--so--like the one in the Garden. John of Bologna's Mercury--thus
on one foo