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Kingsley, Charles, 1819-1875

"Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet An Autobiography"


Suddenly he sank forward on his knees, with his hands on the bars of the
grate; we rushed forward, and caught him up. He turned his eyes up to me,
speechless, with a ghastly expression; one side of his face was all drawn
aside--and helpless as a child, he let us lift him to his bed, and there he
lay staring at the ceiling.
* * * * *
Four weary days passed by--it was the night of the ninth of April. In the
evening of that day his speech returned to him on a sudden--he seemed
uneasy about something, and several times asked Katie the day of the month.
"Before the tenth--ay, we maun pray for that. I doubt but I'm ower hearty
yet--I canna bide to see the shame o' that day--
* * * * *
"Na--I'll tak no potions nor pills--gin it were na for scruples o'
conscience, I'd apocartereeze a'thegither, after the manner o' the ancient
philosophers. But it's no' lawful, I misdoubt, to starve onesel."
"Here is the doctor," said Katie.
"Doctor? Wha ca'd for doctors? Canst thou administer to a mind diseased?
Can ye tak long nose, an' short nose, an' snub nose, an' seventeen Deuks
o' Wellington out o' my puddins? Will your castor oil, an' your calomel,
an' your croton, do that? D'ye ken a medicamentum that'll put brains into
workmen--? Non tribus Anti-cyrus! Tons o' hellebore--acres o' strait
waistcoats--a hall police-force o' head-doctors, winna do it.


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