ON A SUGAR ESTATE. i 235 
From the delightful retreat at Rutland Vale I re- 
turned to town recuperated, though still shaky and 
very thin. My first visit was to the treasurer of the 
island. “Bless my soul,” said he, “ you haven’t any 
blood; itis blood you want. Come with me; I'll show 
you what you must do now, if you would build your- 
self up.” Saying which, he led me by the hand 
to the sideboard, poured out a glass of ripe old 
Madeira and handed it tome. “Isn’t that going to 
restore your vigor?” said he, as I set down the glass 
with a sigh of satisfaction. 
Then I was suddenly converted to that man’s belief. 
Since my first skirmish with doctors, many years 
agone, I had never met a physician who prescribed 
and administered so sensibly as this one. 
I looked at the old man with admiration; I thrilled 
through with hope and the effects of the potent wine. 
It was blood I wanted, was most urgently in need of, 
and I waxed blood-thirsty ; not all the Indians on all 
the plains could be fiercer for blood thanI. My 
physician smiled—a complacent smile; said he, “I 
Wnew it, hit the nail on the head that time. Bless 
your soul, take some.more, you don’t get such wine 
every day; bottled myself, imported direct; take some 
more blood!” It danced along every vein, and every 
pulse beat responsive gratulation. 
“Now,” continued my friend, “you can’t get that 
medicine anywhere else, at present; I have thought 
of that, and as we are, I think, agreed as to its efficacy, 
you must accept a few bottles, which I shall send down 
by Thomas, to-morrow. You know the dose: a wine- 
glassful every three hours, and oftener if you feel it 
necessary.” 
