in the same vessel with him, and with his usual humanity
told him that he would take care of him, and conduct him to Antwerp, where
they were both going, which he accordingly did, and then took leave of him.
The young fellow was soon told by some arch rogues, whom he happened to
fall in with, that he must signalise himself by fighting some man of known
courage, or else he would soon be despised in the regiment. The young man
said he knew no one but Colonel Guise, and he had received great
obligations from him. "It is all one for that," said they, "in these cases.
The Colonel is the fittest man in the world, as everybody knows his
bravery." Soon afterwards the young officer accosted Colonel Guise, as he
was walking up and down the coffee room, and began, in a hesitating manner,
to tell him how much obliged he had been to him, and how sensible he was of
his obligations. "Sir," replied Colonel Guise, "I have done my duty by you,
and no more." "But Colonel," added the young officer, faltering, "I am told
that I must fight some gentleman of known courage, and who has killed
several persons, and that nobody"--"Oh, sir," interrupted the Colonel,
"your friends do me too much honour; but there is a gentleman (pointing to
a fierce-looking black fellow that was sitting at one of the tables) who
has killed half the regiment, and who will suit you much better." The
officer went up to him, and told him he had heard of his bravery, and that
for that reason he must fight him. "Who?--I, sir?" said the gentleman;
"why, I am the _apothecary_."

Dr. Moore, author of "Zeluco," used to say that at least two-thirds of a
physician's fees were for imaginary complaints. Among several instances of
this nature, he mentions one of a clothier, who, after drinking the Bath
waters, took it into his head to try Bristol hot wells. Previous, however,
to his setting off, he requested his physician to favour him with a letter,
stating his case to any brother doctor. This done, the patient got into a
chaise and started. After proceeding half way, he felt curious to see the
contents of the letter, and on opening it, read as follows:--"Dear
Sir,--The bearer is a fat Wiltshire clothier: _make the most of him_." It
is almost unnecessary to add that his cure was from that moment effected,
as he ordered the chaise to turn, and immediately proceeded _home_.

Sir Charles Wager had a sovereign contempt for physicians, though he
believed a surgeon, in some cases,