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Show ...Our Soys and Girls... EDITED EY AUNT BUSY. This department Is conducted solely la the Inter ,ts of our girl and boy readers. Aunt Busy Is plad to hear any tlmo from th rlrces and nephews who read this page, and to girt .em all the advice and help In her power. Writ on one side of the paper only. Do not have letters too lont. Criminal stories and verses will be gladly received nd carefully edited. Xbe manuscripts of contributions not accepted wia be returned. Address ell Jetters to Aunt Busy. IntermountaJa Catholic, Salt Lake City. DRIFTWOOD. Oh, the wild waves roar On the sullen shore, And leap again to sea; As I silent stand On the voiceless sand, They scoff and mock at ine. On the darkling1 crest, Where the waves ne'er rest, The driftwood's tossed and tossed; And is dragged along, To the siren song, And is forever lost. With a screaming cry Sweeps and swoops me by, A great gull's circling form, And on pinions strong, Whirls and wheels along To meet the coming storm. Oh, to mount the sky. Like the great gull, fly And soar to heights above; Where the poising spheres Speed the fleeting years To seek eternal love. Xow the soul in me Beats with instancy Its dull clay-shuttered door, And it seeks to gain, Hut it seeks in vain, The Kingdom of the Shore. Bernard F. Dooley. The Great Doctor and the Little Priest. P.uroii Dupuytren, a famous French doctor in ihv hitler years of Xapoleon's reign, was for a long lime Mirgeon-in-ehief at the Hotel Dieu, the principal prin-cipal hospital in Paris, probably in the world, where every morning in the year a free consultation of ilie most rminent surgeons in eixstence is still open iiiid free to all, rich or poor, black or white, French r foreigner. Wonderfully keen at diagnosis, extremely ex-tremely nxm of nerve, remarkably ingenious in the invention of operating instruments for the alleviation allevia-tion of human suffering, Dupuytren had the reputation repu-tation of being habitually brusque and even unfeel-inp unfeel-inp towards most of his numberless patients. Nevertheless, Nev-ertheless, the following story is told of him by one who knew him well: Few men have had a life more busily occupied ihan Dupuytren. Winter and summer he rose at . o'clock; at 7 o'clock he was in the hospital, which lir never left before 11. He then made his appointed ap-pointed visits through the city, and on his return home usually found his office packed with the patients pa-tients that had come from all directions to consult the- famous doctor. In spite of his unseemly haste in getting rid of most of them, they were so numerous numer-ous that it was long after nightfall when the last one was packed off. One evening, when the consultation had lasted Lng beyond the ordinary hour, the doctor, half -dead with fatigue, was retiring for a little rest, when the door of his office suddenly opened and a belated visitor vis-itor appeared. Ho was of a small, stout figure, evidently advanced ad-vanced in years, but regarding his exact age you would have some difficulty in coming to a decided opinion. On a face resembling a net-work of wrinkles wrin-kles you could discern the line of a small mouth and tin prominence of a small nose, slightly aquiline. Hands and feet, in miniature, were quite in accordance ac-cordance with the rest of the body. When a child lie would have reminded you of one of those plump cherub faces that we see in church pictures, floating float-ing on wings around a head of the Madonna. In his Hue eyes, in his gestures, in his whole physiognomy, physiog-nomy, there was a timidity, a gentleness and benignity be-nignity altogether touching. His was one of those fortunate faces on which our eyes can long rest vi'h delighted satisfaction. While looking at the calm and peaceful countenance of that little old wan you would have felt yourself almost becoming better, irresistibly attracted towards him, and forced, as it were, to love him. He held in his right hand a black raven-headed cane, and his small body wore a small suit of clothes, completely black. While bowing in salutation to the doctor, he revealed re-vealed a wide tonsure round his head. It was easy ' see that the attractive little man was a priest. I hipuvtren's eyes rested on him with a cold, uary. almost forbidding look. "WTiat is the mat-'' mat-'' with your'' he asked in a harsh voice. "Doctor," replied the priest gently, 'I must !' -ally ask your permission to take a seat; my poor 1 s are already rather stiff and pretty weak. Two V ars atro I felt a swelling in the neck under the ' It jaw. The health officer of our village I am '1 ' cure of La Madeline, near Nemours told me '' tii that it was of no account. But it grew WnM'. and at the end of five months the gathering l rol.o (,f itself. I kept in bed a long time, but without the trouble ever getting better. Then I 1 ad to pet up, because you see, I am the only priest 1 ' "ftioiate in four villages, and " "Show me your neck." "Xot, doctor," continued the old man while duti-:y duti-:y obeying orders ''not that these good people were unwilling to come together every Sunday, the "'hole four congregations, to hear Mass in La M ; ii lo'me. But I know poor people work hard all week; they are often sick themselves, and they I aw only Sundays for a quiet rest. So I said to II 'f : lt is not fair to have so many put to 3n-' 3n-' '"s : ei.ience on my account.' And then, yoti know, do'-tur, there is the catechism the First Commu-i Commu-i '"i'S. Monseigneur the Bishop certainly prom-;,i'd prom-;,i'd to send me an assistant in a short time, but i" parishioners insisted on my coming at once to J'aris to consult you. I was pretty slow in decid-J"g. decid-J"g. because traveling costs a good bit of money and T have a good many really poor people in my parish. But, having to do as they wished, I took 'he train, and here is my trouble, doctor," he con-,:iiued. con-,:iiued. showing his neck. Dupuytren looked at it long and fixedly. The 'j ek showed a hole nearly an inch wide and very "loop. t Avag a pothering of the gland of the under complicated by an ugly tumor of the artery. Ike wound was already mortified in many places. It was indeed so serious a case that Dupuytren was profoundly amazed at the sufferer's indomitable fortitude in maintaining for any time a standing Position. T he doctor lost no time. He separated at once Tko lips of the wound and touched the neighboring parts with a pressure painful enough to make an "t'dinary sufferer faint with the agony, but the little lit-tle priest never winced, though the doctor himself, es he afterwards expressed it, felt the little frame J under his hands quivering and convulsed, as if set in motion by wires from an electric battery. The examination over, Dupuytren, still holding the head with both hands, turned it roughly around so as to bring the face opposite his own and, looking straight into the two eyes, said in a voice that was low and of a sinister tone: "Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, with such a thing as that, the only certainty is death!" The priest took up the cloths that he had laid on the chair and wrapped them quietly round his neck without saying a word. Dupuytren eyeing him sharply the whole time. When the cloths were replaced and the knots carefully tied, the little priest took out of his pocket a five-franc piece wrapped in a paper and laid it on the chimney. "I am not rich, doctor," he said with a timid smile, "and my poor people are very poor indeed. Excuse me, then, if I cannot pay much better for a consultation with the celebrated Dr. Dupuytren. I am, however, very glad to have come to see you, and more ready than ever for what awaits me. Only," he added in tones extremely sweet and gentle, gen-tle, "you could have given me this important information in-formation without the slightest precaution. I am sixty-five, and at such an age we can estimate the full value of life. But, doctor, your announcement announce-ment has not surprised me the least bit. I expected it long ago, and was getting ready. Goodby, doctor, doc-tor, I am going home now to die quietly." Saluting, he disappeared, and his steps were soon heard as he slowly and with difficulty made his way down the stairs. Dupuytren remained standing in the room, motionless, but full of thought. His iron soul was melting; his brilliant genius was breaking to bits like brittle glass before the simple words of the poor, old, miserable and dying dy-ing man whose head he had just now been holding in his large and powerful hands. In that weak little lit-tle body he had recognized a heart stronger than his own, a will more energetic than his own. He had found a being stronger than himself. He started quickly for the stairway; perhaps he was unwilling to acknowledge himself defeated. He soon reached the little priest, who was slowly moving down, carefully clutching the banisters. "Monsieur l'Abbe," he cried, "won't you please come back?" The priest turned round at once and began to ascend. "There may be a possibility of saving jrour life," continued the doctor, "if you are willing to undergo an operation." My gracious! cried the priest, hurrying back to the office and quickly getting rid of his cloak and cane, "Why, that's the very thing I came to Paris for. Operate, my dear doctor; operate as much as you please." "But our attempt may be useless. The operation opera-tion will be long and painful, you know." "Operate, operate, doctor. I shall be able to bear it all. My poor people would be so delighted." "Well, then, go at once to the Hotel Dieu. You will be perfectly comfortable in the St. Agnes ward. The Sisters won't let you be in want of anything. Rest there tonight and all tomorrow. On the morning morn-ing after " "All right, doctor. On the morning after it will be, as you say. Thank you." Dupuytren scribbled a few words on a paper, which he handed to the little priest. The patient accepted it most gratefully, and was not long in reaching the great hospital. Almost the whole community at once flocked to welcome him, and they soon had ready a little resting place provided with every comfort. The good Sisters were indeed almost in each other's way, bringing pillows, foot-warmers, foot-warmers, night-caps, fruits and other dainties relished rel-ished by invalids. The little priest felt himself unable un-able to express his gratitude, but rested well that night and all the next day. On the morning after, the medical students, numbering five or six hundred, that attended the clinics cf the great master every day were hardly assembled when Dupuytren arrived. Closely followed fol-lowed by the imposing crowd, he went directly to the priest's bed, and the operation began. The operator cut and carved and separated with knife and scissors. His steel forceps plunged into the depths of the wound, seizing and twisting them together. Then the saw cut off, with a grating sound, the decayed fragments of the lower jaw. The sponges, squeezed every moment, gave out torrents tor-rents of blood. The operation lasted twenty-five minutes, but the little priest never winced, never shivered for an instant in the middle of the agony. It was only when the breasts that had surrounded him, gasping with intentness and terror, expanded at last with a sense of relief at Dupuytren's words: "It is done!" it was then, and only then, that the sufferer looked a little pale. Dupuytren dressed the wound himself. "Yes,M he observed in a kindly tone to the priest, "I think that it will come out all right. Have you suffered suf-fered much?" "T tried to think of something else," replied the priest as he sank away in a heavy doze. Dupuytren gazed at him for an instant in profound pro-found silence, then, slipping the white curtains long the iron rods of the bedstead, he started off for the other clinics, closely followed by his attentive atten-tive students. The little priest was saved. Every morning at Dupuytren's arrival, the doctor, doc-tor, infringing strangely on one of his own strictest strict-est rules, passed the nearest beds by and began his lectures at the side of his favorite patient. Later, when the invalid was so far recovered that he could get up and move about a little, Dupuytren used to come to him at the close of the clinic, link arms with him and, measuring his paces with those of the convalescent, make him take a turn or two around the ward. To those who knew the thoughtless indifference, sometimes the cruel repugnance, with which Dupuytren Du-puytren usually treated his other patients, this complete change of conduct was absolutely inexplicable. inex-plicable. As soon as the little priest could bear the journey jour-ney he took leave of the Sisters and the great doctor doc-tor and returned happy and in good health, to his beloved parishioners. A few months afterwards Dupuytren, on a visit to the Hotel Dieu, saw himself unexpectedly approached ap-proached by the little priest, who had been waiting for him in the St. Agnes tvard. He -still wore his little black clerical suit, but it was rather dusty, and his silver-buckled shoes were somewhat speckled speck-led with mud. It was plain that he had been taking tak-ing a long walk. He carried on his arm a large wicker basket, well fastened with fringes, but letting let-ting a few blades of grass stick out here and there on the edges. Dupuytren welcomed him with real pleasure, and, after making sure that the operation had not been attended by any unpleasant consequences, asked him what he was coming to do in Paris. "Doctor," replied the priest, "today is the anniversary anni-versary of your great operation. I could not let the 6th of May pass without coming to see you. and I had an idea at the same time of bringing you . a little present. I have in this basket two finf, plump chickens of my own poultry yard and some juicy pears of my own garden ; the like of them you can hardly find in all Paris. The, only condition is that you will taste a little of both pears and the chickens." Dupuytren took the little hand and squeezed it with the warmest affection. He eagerly desired the good old man to dine with him. But the little priest had to refuse, though unwillingly. His mo- J ments were counted, he said, and he was obliged to return to his dear people of La Madeleine. For two years longer, every sixth of May, Dupuytren Du-puytren was regularly visited by the little priest with the inevitable basket and the inevitable sweet pears and plump chickens. But it was just about this time that Dupuytren felt the first approach of the fatal disease before which all his science, however immense, was bound soon to succumb. Ho started for Italy, but without with-out the slightest hope of being benefited by the journey, which the united faculty of Paris had compelled him to undertake. On his return to France in March, 1834, his condition seemed somewhat some-what improved, but it only seemed so, as nobody knew better than Dupuytren himself. He felt that he was dying, he could count the days of his life. His disposition seemed to become not more morose but certainly more impervious and gloomy as the fatal hour drew nigh. Perhaps during these last mournful days the state of moral isolation which so long and so cruelly cruel-ly he had been bringing on himself, and which now left him alone, face to face with death, was giving him a final and indisputable warning. Suddenly he rings the bell and calls on Henri, his adopted son, who was waiting on him night and day in an adjoining room. "Henri," he says quickly, "take a seat at once and write as I dictate: " 'Rev. L. Champvert, Cure of La Madeleine, near Xemours, Seine et Marne: "'My Dear Abbe It is this time the doctor's turn to need the priest. Come at once. You may be too late. Your friend. DUPUYTREX.' " The little priest was soon at hand. He remained re-mained a long time closeted in Dupuytren's room. What they said to each other no living mortal knows, buf when the abbe left the room of the dying man, though his eyes were moist, his face glowed with quiet ecstasy. Xext morning, February 8, 1835, Dupuytren summoned the Archbishop of Paris to his bedside. The evening papers of the came date announced the death of the great surgeon. On the day of the funeral heavily piled gray clouds darkened the sky. A thin, persistent rain, accompanied with snow, chilled the immense and silent crowd that made almost impassable the vast spaces surrounding the Church of St. Germain L'Auxerrois and extended along to the Louvre. After the church service the students carried the body of their honored master to the cemetery, the little priest plunged in grief, keeping closest to the coffin. (Note by the writer. I tell this story as it was told to me, with no design either to prove or to instruct, in-struct, but simply because it is true and intimately connected with a great name. Nadar) Translated Translat-ed from the French for the Catholic Standard and Times. |