I should not have been able to contain myself much longer, when
he began to perform the last duty of a friend, in closing my eyes
and my mouth, upon which I suddenly snapped at his fingers and
discomposed him so much that he started back, turned pale as ashes,
and stared like the picture of horror; although I could not help
laughing at his appearance, I was concerned for his situation, and
stretched out my hand, telling him I hoped to live and eat some
salmagundy of his making in England. It was some time before he
could recollect himself so far as to feel my pulse, and inquire
into the particulars of my disease; but when he found I had enjoyed
a favourable crisis, he congratulated me upon my good fortune; not
failing to ascribe it, under Cot, to the blister he had applied to
my back, at his last visit; which, by the bye, said he, must now
be removed and dressed; he was actually going to fetch dressings,
when I, feigning astonishment, said, "Bless me! sure you never
applied a blister to me--there is nothing on my back, I assure
you." But he could not be convinced till he had examined it, and
then endeavoured to conceal his confusion, by expressing his surprise
in finding the skin untouched and the plaster missing.
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