Stories from the Diary of a Doctor.
By the Author of "The Medicine Lady."
II.—MY HYPNOTIC PATIENT.
ERY well," I said, "I will call to-morrow at the asylum, and you will show me round."
I was talking to a doctor, an old chum of mine. He had the charge of a branch hospital in connection with the County Asylum, and had asked me to take his post for a few days. His name was Poynter—he was a shrewd, clever fellow, with a keen love for his profession, and a heart by no means callous to the sufferings of his fellow-beings. In short, he was a good fellow all round, and it often puzzled me why he should take up this somewhat dismal and discouraging branch of the profession.
Poynter had been working hard, and looked, notwithstanding his apparent sang-froid, as if his nerves had been somewhat shaken.
When he begged of me to take his post, and so to secure him a few days' holiday, I could not refuse.
"But I have no practical knowledge of the insane," I said. "Of course, I have studied mental diseases generally; but practical acquaintaince with mad people I have none."
"Oh, that is nothing," answered Poynter, in his brisk voice; "there are no very violent cases in the asylum at present. If anything unforeseen occurs, you have but to consult my assistant, Symonds. What with him and the keepers and the nurses, all we really want you for is to satisfy the requirements of the authorities."
"I am abundantly willing to come," I replied. "All the ills that flesh is heir to, whether mental or physical, are of interest to me. What hour shall I arrive to-morrow?"
"I will take you round with me."
"Be here at ten to-morrow morning, and I will take you round with me. You will find some of my patients not only interesting from a medical point of view, but agreeable and even brilliant men and women of the world. We keep a mixed company, I assure you, Halifax, and when you have been present at some of our 'evenings,' you will be able to testify to the fact that, whatever we fail in, we are anything but dull."
This statement was somewhat difficult to believe, but as I should soon be in a position to test its truth, I refrained from comment.
The next morning I arrived at Norfolk House at the hour specified, and accompanied Poynter on his rounds.
We visited the different rooms, and exchanged a word or two with almost every inmate of the great establishment. The padded room was not occupied at present, but patients exhibiting all phases of mental disease were not wanting to form a graphic and very terrible picture in my mind's eye.
