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Carol tried to look at him, yet not look at the seeping blood, the crimson slash, the vicious scalpel. The ether fumes were sweet, choking. Her head seemed to be floating away from her body. Her arm was feeble. It was not the blood but the grating of the surgical saw on the living bone that broke her, and she knew that she had been fighting off nausea, that she was beaten.
"Well, gentlemen, you are all wrong," said the wielder of the scalpel, "and I shall operate to-morrow." "No, you won't," said the patient, as he rose in his bed; "six to one is a good majority; gimme my clothes." Ready to Accommodate Her
He had been a barber, and had gone directly from the razor to the scalpel; but that did not matter: he had more calls in a week than Dr. Lively had during the winter. "The idea of being beaten by a barber!" exclaimed Mrs. Lively. "Why don't you advertise yourself?" "There's no paper here to advertise in."
Yet even these, our sacred treasures, we gladly share with those who, in humility and in the life of meditation, seek with us the universal truths. And truth, what is it? It eludes the scalpel of reason. It is the master and not the servant of logic. The only truths worthy to be known are those which are to be experienced by the soul in her hours of solitude. Then does she cease to think.
She will know less of abstract ideas, of philosophies and speculations. They will interest her less. The chances are that she will be less skillful with microscope and scalpel, though this is not certain. She will show less enthusiasm for technical problems, for machinery and engineering; more for social problems, particularly when it is a question of meeting them with preventives or remedies.
Mary Walker, though she could boast of having gone through the American war, went through it with a scalpel, and not with a sword.
But what are they finding, more and more, below their facts, below all phenomena which the scalpel and the microscope can show?
Chalmers Mitchell presently comes to this most definite and interesting statement: "Writing as a hard-shell Darwinian evolutionist, a lover of the scalpel and microscope, and of patient, empirical observation, as one who dislikes all forms of supernaturalism, and who does not shrink from the implications even of the phrase that thought is a secretion of the brain as bile is a secretion of the liver, I assert as a biological fact that the moral law is as real and as external to man as the starry vault.
De Launay, being younger, was more hasty of judgment and quick in action; but Von Glauben too had been known to draw his sword with unexpected rapidity on occasion, to the discomfiture of those who deemed him only at home with the scalpel.
He showed up the speculative fever which, like an epidemic, had swept over the higher ranks of Parisian society under the Second Empire.* No weakness could be sure of escaping his satire. But in dealing with all this the scalpel of the cynic was concealed under the graceful touch of the man of the world. He did not assume the tone of a moralist or of a misanthrope.
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