WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN 

Author:       S. WEIR MITCHELL

Illustrations:         Illustrated frontispiece plate protected with tissue guard

Publisher:         The Century Co.

Copyright Date:         1905

Pages:        419

Classic Americana Historical Vintage Book -

SILAS WEIR MITCHELL was almost a genius. His contem
poraries believed that he was one, an opinion Mitchell came
to share. The reasons for this belief were impressive: his book
on Gunshot Wounds and Other Injuries of the Nerves (1864)
was still in use by the French in World War I; his "rest cure"
for nervous diseases was famous throughout Europe and
America; his discovery of the nature of rattlesnake venom
was the foundation stone for later research in the fields of
toxicology and immunology; his Hugh Wynne was compared
to Henry Emond, his Ode on a Lytim Tomb to Lycidas.
No wonder he was regarded as the most
versatile American since Franklin,

Silas Weir Mitchell (February 15, 1829 – January 4, 1914) was an American physician and writer.

He was son of a physician, John Kearsley Mitchell (1798–1858), and was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

He studied at the University of Pennsylvania in that city, and received the degree of M.D. at Jefferson Medical College in 1850. During the Civil War he had charge of nervous injuries and maladies at Turners Lane Hospital, Philadelphia, and at the close of the war became a specialist in neurology. In this field Weir Mitchell's name became prominently associated with his introduction of the rest cure, subsequently taken up by the medical world, for nervous diseases, particularly hysteria; the treatment consisting primarily in isolation, confinement to bed, dieting and massage. His medical texts include Injuries of Nerves and Their Consequences (1872) and Fat and Blood (1877). Mitchell's disease (erythromelalgia) is named after him.

In 1863 he wrote a clever short story, combining physiological and psychological problems, entitled "The Case of George Dedlow", in the Atlantic Monthly. Thenceforward, Mitchell, as a writer, divided his attention between professional and literary pursuits. In the former field, he produced monographs on rattlesnake poison, on intellectual hygiene, on injuries to the nerves, on neurasthenia, on nervous diseases of women, on the effects of gunshot wounds upon the nervous system, and on the relations between nurse, physician, and patient; while in the latter, he wrote juvenile stories, several volumes of respectable verse, and prose fiction of varying merit, which, however, gave him a leading place among the American authors of the close of the 19th century. His historical novels, Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker (1897), The Adventures of François (1898) and The Red City (1909), take high rank in this branch of fiction.

He was also Charlotte Perkins Gilman's doctor and his use of a rest cure on her provided the idea for "The Yellow Wallpaper", a short story in which the narrator is driven insane by her rest cure.

On the bank of this wide Canadian river, a little
above the margin, stood under the yet dripping trees
a group of diverse people, but all of one household.
Travel- weary and silent, for a time they looked down
on the dimly lit stream, and heard, as they waited, the
murmur and hum of its waters, or, with eyes as yet
unused to the gloom, strove to see the group of men
about the boats on the beach below them.
...

to the cabin of the Maybrooks. It was closed. He
passed around it, and saw no sign of its inhabitants.
He knocked and got no reply. Then he said a
naughty word, and went and sat down on the edge
of the well and reflected. He was more disappointed
than he felt willing to admit. By and by he acquired
wisdom, and went to the brook, where would have
been the grilse if Rose and her attendant had come
and gone. Seeing no fish lying in this cool larder,
he felt better and went back to the well. There
doubt awaited him with the possibility of Dory
having gone to the Cliff Camp, which would have
made needless Miss Rose s intended visit. He had
been stupid in not anticipating this contingency. At
least he would wait awhile.

And now there was a sudden gleam far away
among the trees, unseen by this young man who was
gazing down into the cool depths of the well. Had
he looked that other way this flutter of color in the
trampled ox-road would soon have become to him a
pink muslin gown. The wearer carried a basket in
her right hand, and in the left, swinging it gaily as
she walked, a broad straw hat. At the wood skirt
she paused to change her burden to the less tired
hand, for she had been of a mind to come alone,
and now found her five-pound fish to have gained in
weight. As she looked up, she was aware of Mr.
......

Carington smiled. "I fancy dumb folks are as
bad sinners as we. After all, one slanders the
tongue. One does not know half how naughty a
thought is until we have put it into speech."

" Lord ! Mr. Carington ! There s a heap of wise-
ness in that you said. Guess I 11 be set up about
talking after that ! "

Here she took up her half-dozen roses, nourished
with care on the south end of the cabin, which Dor
othy had whitewashed to get more heat upon the
scanty children of her garden. She considered them
with affectionate care, touching a leaf here and there,
her head on one side.

" I guess they ; re nice enough, even for Miss Anne.
Mind, there s six of ? em. Don t you lose any, Miss
Rose ! "

" Shall I carry them ? " said Carington. "And the
basket ? Where is it ? "

" Oh, I 11 smudge that a bit to get the fish smell
out, and I 11 fetch it to-morrow. I 7 m coming after
Mrs. Macbeth, or whatever her name is. No, Miss
Rose is to take the bouquet. They re sort of rela
tions, you see. Men can t be trusted with flowers,
and roses are scarce up here."

"You might p int me, Mrs. May brook," said Caring-
ton, laughing, as he followed Rose at a little distance.

.....
Then she asked, quite naturally, if Mr. Ellett had
been told, and learning that he had not, sent Jack
to find Polycarp, that he might take a note to the
Island. "When Jack came back with the Indian,
Rose said :

"I must see papa about the note for Mr. Ellett.
Ah, here he comes." She did not wait to complete
this business, but turned to the canoe where Caring-
ton still lay, and said :

" Good night, and good-by, too, for a few days.
Mama will keep you well caged. You may rest as
sured of that ! "

In the very dim light she saw him put out the
hand nearest to her. She took it, felt the lingering
grasp, already fever-hot, that would have delayed the
moment s soft prisoner, but dared not. She said
again :

" Good night. Here is papa/ and moved away, at
first slowly, and then quickly.

When Mr. Lyndsay entered the cabin his wife
looked up.

" What is it, Archie ? "

" Don t be alarmed, Margaret. Mr. Carington has
been shot badly wounded."

" Not by Jack ! " cried the mother.

"Oh, no! No. It s a queer story. I have not
heard it fully. He bled a good deal, and n

" Do you think him in danger, Archie ? "

" It is hard to say, especially so soon."

" Surely you did not leave him at their camp ? "
said Margaret.
"Then the joint is safe. I have known fellows
brevetted for things no worse."

" But my puzzle is, why what is only a flesh-wound
should have made me drop as if I were dead. I can
not understand it."

" The doctors call it shock, 7 " said his host. " At
times it affects the head, and a man hit in the foot or
arm goes crazy for a time, or else it stops the heart,
and he faints. 77

" That was it, I suppose. 77

As they talked Lyndsay put on a wet compress,
and, with the skill learned long since, where bullets
were many and bigger, he made his patient reason
ably comfortable, and left him at last under Mrs.
Lyndsay s despotic care.

In the mean time, Anne, anxious to know more,
had looked for Jack. At ease concerning Carington,
he was off somewhere, busy about the preservation
of his precious bearskin, and Rose, too, had dis
appeared. Anne felt that she must wait, and, as
usual, went to her room, to rest a little before their



WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN 391

retarded dinner. She opened the door, and instantly
went in and shut it. Eose was lying on the bed, try
ing hard to suppress her sobs, knowing well that she
would be but too easily heard.

" Dear child, what is it ? n said Anne.

" I don t know. Oh, do, please, let me alone ! "

" But I must know. It is so unlike you. Mr.
Carington is in no danger."

"I know. I don t care whether he is in danger
or not. I do care! It is n t he! It s it s me
it s I. I can t tell. I am ashamed. Are all women
this way ? Oh, I hate to be such a fool ! "

Anne sat down. " I don t quite understand, dear j
but, no matter. "What is clear is that you are going
to have hysterics."

" I am not going to have hysterics."

" Then keep quiet, and don t talk."

" You made me talk ! "

" I did. I am an ass."

"No no! Kiss me, aunty. I am so miserable!
Could n t I get to bed quietly 1 "

" Yes. Your mother is busy. Come." And thus,
when at last dinner was on the table, and Mrs. Lynd-
say asked for her daughter, she was told that Rose
had a headache, and then, when she got up to go to
her, that she was asleep, which may or may not have
been true.

At dinner, between what Carington had told Lynd-
say and Jack s very clear statement, the story came
out plainly enough. The boy was praised to his
heart s content, and when Anne had said that this was
courage in the right place, and Carington refused to

,,,

Book Condition  

Corners / Outer Boards:  Slight bumped corners, slight scuffing and rubbing, with slight darkened spine edges overall nice condition for the age of the book, see photos

Binding:  Overall tight solid binding for the age

Pages:  Overall appears to be clean good "collectible" condition.