been the most nauseous drug, there was such a though, when the genius slept; and then Snipemixture of kindness and authority in the manner ton-ignorant, unadvised man-was determined to of the member of parliament-the physic must have gone down. "Mr. Capstick, one word," said Tangle, and he drew the senator to a corner of the room. "Doubtless, I made a mistake. But you know we have important business to transact: and no, you never intend to go to Mr. Snipeton's in the same coach with that gentleman's maid-of-allwork?" "She won't bite, will she ?" asked Capstick. "Bite!" echoed Tangle. "Coach is at the door, sir," said Bright Jem, entering the room. "Go you first," said Capstick to Tangle in a tone not to be mistaken; "I'll bring the young woman." And if Tangle had been really a fourfooted dog, he would, as he went down stairs, have felt a great depression of the caudal member, whilst the senatorial muffin-maker tript after him with the ignominious maid-of-all-work. CHAPTER XXXI. be honest, generous. He would not countenance the fraud of false setting. No; his bird of Paradise; his lamb; his darling Clarissa; the queen flower in his life's garden-for she was this and all of these-should have the diamonds. Besides, if given to her, they were still his own; for according to the sweet rights of a husband, property so bestowed-with no parchment to bind it-might at any time be reclaimed by the lawful lord. After all, it was but lending his wife the diamonds; though-gentle simpleton!-she might still be tickled with the thought that they were wholly hers. It was the morning after the visit of Crossbone; and Snipeton, seated betimes at his cottage window-his eye first wandering among some flowers his wife's only children as he once bitterly called them-and at length fixed upon the labors of a bee that toiled among the blossoms, taking sweet percentage for its honey bank: it was at such a time that Snipeton again pondered on the diamonds. Again he revolved the special pleading of his thrifty genius; again attended to the counter-reasoning of his affections; allowing that he had them, and again allowing that affections do reason. He watched the bee-conscientious porter!-load itself to its utmost strength, and then buzz heavily through the casement. The insect had taken all it could carry. Wise, frugal, man-teaching insect. No: Snipeton would not give the diamonds. He would keep all he could in his own grasp. All. And the determination, like a cordial, mightily comforted him. At this moment Clarissa entered the room from her chamber. Snipeton suddenly rose as to an angelic visitor. His wife looked so beautiful-so very beautiful. With such new sweetness in her face; such beaming mildness in her eyes; there was such grace in her motion, that love and vanity swelled in the old man's heart; and his hand strangely trembled as it greeted her. His prudential genius was on a sudden paralyzed and dumb. Clarissa looked at her husband, as he thought, never before so lovingly-and for the moment, the miser glowed with the prodigal. For some days Snipeton had half resolved to surprise his wife with a present; a dear and touching gift-the miniature of her father. Again and again he had determined upon the graceful act; and as often put the expensive thought aside trod the weakness down as an extravagant folly. And then it would occur to his benevolence, that he might make a bargain with himself, and at the same time impart a pleasure to his spouse. The miniature was enriched with diamonds; firstwater gems, he knew, for he had lent gold upon them; though his wife-at the time of the loan she was yet unmanacled-was unconscious of the ready money kindness. Her father had withered, died, in the clutch of the usurer; who still cherished the portrait of the dead man-it was so very dear to him. The picture had been a bridal present to Clarissa's mother; it had lain warm in her wedded bosom; though Snipeton, when he grasped the precious security, knew nothing of its history. Well, he would certainly delight Clarissa with this sweet remembrance of her father. She knew not of its existence, and would bless and love her husband for his sudden goodness. He would give the wife the miniature; it was settled: he would do it. "What! with the diamonds?" cried Snipeton's careful genius, twitching his heartstrings, to pull him up in his headlong course. "With the diamonds, Ebenezer Snipeton? Are you grown lunatic-doting? Diamonds, eternal diamonds-diamonds everlasting as the sun-the spiritualized essence of Plutus-diamonds for one flickering look; for one sick smile from withering lips? Have you forgotten the worth of wealth? Lost man! are you suddenly dead to arithmetic? Give diamonds to your wife? Pooh! pooh! As Thank-thank you, dear sir. Indeed, you women love anything that glitters-and as more- have made me very happy," answered his wife. over they love Jack-o'-lanthorns just as well as His wife! Did she answer like his wife? Was heaven's own stars-don't throw away the real it the voice of his twin soul-did the flesh of his treasure; but mock it; sham it; pass off a jew-flesh move with her lips? Was it his other incoreller's lie, and let the picture blaze with the best and brightest paste. He's a fool who throws pearls to pigs, and thinks the pork will eat the richer for the treasure. He 's no less a fool who showers diamonds upon his wife when, knowing no better, paste will make her just as grateful." And Snipeton gave all his ears to this scoundrel genius, that lived in his heart like a maggot in a nut, consuming and rotting it. There were times, "Why, you are better, love; much better. Even Crossbone's talk has revived you. Ha! and we'll have this horse, and straightway: and-and the rose of my life will bloom again. Look here, my love." It was done even at the last one spasm of the heart it cost, but it was over. The miniature-that diamond-circled piece of ivory and paint-was in Clarissa's hand. Astonished, happy, she said no word, but kissed the sudden gift ; again and again kissed it, and her tears flowed. "I have often thought-indeed, have long determined to give it you," cried Snipeton. porate self that spoke? Did he listen to the echoes of his own heart; or to the voice of an alien? When the devil jealousy begins to question, how rapid his interrogations! "I tell you," said Snipeton, "I repeat-I have all along determined that you should have it; in good season, have it. Your father's picture, who with so great a right to it? He told me 't was once your mother's. She wore it, till her death. Poor thing! He must have loved her very dearly. When he spoke of her, and never willingly, he would tremble as with the ague." Clarissa bowed her head; was silent; and again kissed the picture. "This fondness-these tears, Clarissa, must-if spirits know such matters-be precious to your father, now once more joined with your mother in heaven. Why, what 's the matter? So pale-so lily white; what is it, love?" "Nothing, sir; nothing but the surprise-the joy at this gift," faintly answered Clarissa. "Well, I see it has delighted you. I hoped so. Much delighted you: very much. You have kissed the picture fifty times, Clarissa. Is it not fifty-or have I falsely counted? Tell me. Fifty-is it not?" "I cannot tell, sir"-replied the wife, timidly. "Can they ought they to be counted?" "Why-but then, I am a cold arithmetician-I can count them; at least, all that fall to my lips. Can you not tell the number vouchsafed to the gift? Strange! I can count, aye, every one, bestowed upon the giver." Mournfully, and with some bitterness did Snipeton speak. His wife, with a slight tremor suppressed by strong, sudden will -approached him. Pale, shuddering victim! with mixed emotions fighting in her face, she bowed her head, and placing her cold arms about the old man's neck, she closed her eyes, and kissed his lips. "Indeed, sir, I thank you. Pardon me; indeed I thank you for this and all your goodness." She felt relieved she had paid the demanded debt. And Snipeton-poor old man!-was he made happy by that caress? How much real love was in it? How much truth? How much hypocrisy? Or at the best, enforced obedience? It came not from the heart: no; it wanted blood and soul. It was not the fiery eloquence of love, telling a life's devotion with a touch. It was not that sweet communing of common thoughts, and common affections; that deep, that earnest, and yet placid interchange of wedded soul with soul. In his heart, as in a crucible, the old man sought to test that kiss. Was it truth or falsehood? And as he pondered -how mysteriously are we fashioned !-a thing of forty years ago rose freshly to his mind. What brought it there?-yet, there it was. The figure, the face of one who with proved perjury at his lips kissed the book, swearing the oath was true. Clarissa saw her husband suddenly dash with gloomy thoughts. They reproached her; and, instinctively, she returned to the old man's side, and laying her hand upon his brow-had the hand been a sunbeam, it had not lighted the face more suddenly, brightly-she spoke to him very tenderly: "Are you not well, sir?" "Quite well; always well, Clarissa, with you at my side-with you as even now." And she looked so cheerful, yes, so affectionate-he had wronged her. He was a fool-an exacting fool with no allowance for the natural reserve, the unconquerable timidity, of so gentle a creature. "And, as I was saying, you are better; much better; and we'll have this horse; and-but, Clary, love, we have forgotten breakfast." Resolved upon a full meal, Snipeton moved to the table; and whilst he strove to eat, he talked quite carelessly, and, by the way, of a matter that a little disturbed him. "And how do you find Mrs. Wilton, eh, dearest?" Clarissa, with troubled looks, answered-" Find her, sir? Is she not all we could wish?" "Oh, honest, quiet, and an excellent housekeeper, no doubt. Do you know her story?" "Story, sir?" and Clarissa trembled as she spoke. "What story?" "Her story? Has she not one? Everybody, it's my opinion, has; but here's the rub everybody won't tell it, can't tell it, mus'n't tell it. Is it not so?" "It is never my thought, sir; my wish to question your experience. You know the world, you say. For my part, I never wish to know it. My hope is, to die in my ignorance." "True; you are right; I would have it so. For it is a knowledge that-but no matter. My learning shall serve for both. Well, she never told you her story?" With this, Snipeton looked piercingly at his wife, who at first answered not. At length she asked, "Do you know it, sir?" "No: but it is plain she has a story. I am firm in the faith." "Some grief-some sacred sorrow, perhaps," said Clarissa. "We should respect it should we not?" "Why, grief and sorrow are convenient words, and often do duty for sin and shame," cried Snipeton. "Sin and shame are grief and sorrow, or should be so," replied Clarissa, mournfully. 66 Humph! Well, perhaps they are. However, Mrs. Wilton's story is no affair of ours," said Snipeton. Assuredly not," cried Clarissa, quickly. "But her melancholy is. "Tis catching; and infects you. Her bad spirits; her gloom, seem to touch all about her with mildew. A bad conscience -or a great grief-'t is no matter which, throws a black shadow about it; and to come at once to my meaning, Clarissa, I think Mrs. Wilton had better quit." "Oh, sir!" exclaimed Clarissa. " "T would break her heart-it would, indeed, sir." "It's wonderful how long people live, aye, and enjoy themselves, too, with broken hearts, Clarissa. I've often thought broken hearts were like broken china: to be put nicely together again, and-but for the look of the thing-to be quite as useful for all house-work as before. Now Mrs. Wilton's heart" "Do not speak of it. If-if you have any love for me, sir"-cried Clarissa. "If I have love! Well, what think you? Have I not even a few minutes since-given good proof?" It was somewhat distasteful to the old man, that after the gift of such diamonds, his love could be doubted. He had better have listened to his good, his wise, his profitable genius, and presented paste. How many wives-however badly used and industriously neglected-would still bestow their love! Now he, even with diamonds, could not buy it. For his wife to doubt his love, was to refuse her own. This his philosophy made certain. And this, after the diamonds! Nay, I am sure of your love, sir; certain; most confident," said Clarissa, very calm in such assurance. "And therefore you will refuse me nothing. Eh, dear sir?" Again Snipeton's heartstrings relaxed again, listening to the music of the enchantress, his darker thoughts began to pass away, and his soul enjoyed new sunlight. Nothing-nothing," he said, "that is healthful." "Then promise me that Mrs. Wilton shall remain. Indeed, you know not how much I have 66 learned of her; how much she loves me; how much the nonce St. Giles. He could not have come in she respects you." happier season. Humph! and you have known "Respect is a cold virtue, I know, Clarissa; Mr. Crossbone some time? To be sure, he told very cold. Now, with her 't is freezing. I some- me, from a child. And your father was killed, times think she looks at me, as though-but I'll trying to do good? That's hard; plaguy hard; say no more. She blights your spirits; darkens for people arn't often killed in that humor. And your thoughts with her sorrow or her sin, or what-you've been kind-very kind to your mother? ever it may be; and in a word, she shall stay no longer. I am resolved." Blights me! Darkens my thoughts! Oh, sir, I would you heard her talk. I would you knew the pains she takes to make me happy; to make me cheerful; to place all things in the happiest light, shedding, as she does, the beauty of her spirit over all. Doubtless, she has suffered, but" "But-but she goes. I am resolved, Clarissa; she goes. Resolved, I say." And Ebenezer Snipeton struck the table with his fist; and threw himself back in his chair, as, he believed, a statue of humanity, hardened by resolution into flint. And very proud he felt of the petrefaction. Nor lightnings, nor thunderbolts should melt nor move him. Well, that 's something; I think I may trust you. Yes you may consider yourself engaged. When can you come?" "Directly, sir," said St. Giles; who had been duly impressed by Crossbone with the necessity of obtaining Snipeton's patronage; it was so very essential to the happiness of his lordship. "Be vigilant, be careful,"-thus had run the apothecary's counsel," and his lordship will make a man of you!" What a golden prospect for one who, with the hopes and worthy desires of a man, knew himself to be a social wolf in the human fold; a thing to be destroyed, hung up; a wholesome example to runaway vagabonds. To be made a man of, what a load must he lay down! What a joy, a blessing, to stand erect in the world-and be allowed to meet the eyes of men with confiding looks. Now, he crept and crawled; and felt that his soul went upon all-fours. Now, he at times shrunk from a sudden gaze, as from a drawn knife. And his lordship would make a man of him! Glorious labor, this; divine handiwork? And there is plenty of such labor, too, in this broad world, if we had but the earnest-hearted workers to grapple with it. How many thousand thousands of human animals; creatures of outward humanity; beings on two legs, are yet to be made men of! Again, what is a man? You, reader, may possibly have a pretty correct notion of what he is, or ought to be: now, Mr. Crossbone's ideal of a perfect man was but of a perfect rascal. He would make a man as he would have made a gin, a trap; the more perfect the snare, the nobler the humanity. And in this sense was St. Giles to be elevated into a man for the direct advantage of the young lord, and the supplementary benefit of the apothe cary. And St. Giles himself-it must not be forgotten-had some misgivings of the model-excellence after which he was to be fashioned. It just passed through his brain that the man he was to be made, might be a man, if not nearer to the gal lows than himself, at least a man more deserving (if any deserved it) the elevation. There seemed A new man, with a newer, brighter world beam-to him new peril to be made a man of. Yet, what ing about him, Snipeton that day departed from his rustic home to St. Mary Axe. His wife seemed to travel with him, he was so haunted by her looks of new-born love. And now he hummed some ancient, thoughtless song; and now he smacked his lips, as with freshened recollection of the touch that had enriched them. The mist and cloud of doubt that had hung about his life had passed away, and he saw peacefulness and beauty clearly to the end. And these thoughts went with him to his dark and dismal city nook, and imparted deeper pleasures even to the bliss of money-making. Clarissa-her suit was for a mother-rose from her chair, and stood beside her husband's. She threw her arms about his neck. Flint as he was, he felt they were not so lumpish, clay-like as when last they lay there. "Dear sir; you'll not refuse me this? You'll not refuse me?" And Clarissa for once looked full in the eyes of her husband. "Resolved," said Snipeton, thickly; and some thing rose in his throat. 66 Resolved." "No; no. You must promise me-you shall not leave me without," and the arms pressed closer; and the flint they embraced became soft as any whetstone. "You will not deprive me of her solicitude-her affection?" Snipeton answered not; when Clarissa-in such a cause, what cared she for the sacrifice ?-stooping, kissed her husband with a deep and fervent affection for her mother. And the statue was suddenly turned to thrilling flesh; had the old man's heart been stuck with thorns, his wife's lips would have drawn them all away, and made it beat with burning blood. The man was kissed for an old woman; but he set the rapture to his own account, and was directly rich with imaginary wealth. Need we say the man consented? What otherwise could strong resolution do? This once, at least, St. Giles was in luck. A few minutes only after Snipeton's arrival, with his new happiness fresh upon him, the young man presented himself with a letter from Crossbone. He looks an honest fellow; a very honest fellow," thought Snipeton, eyeing him. ""Tis a bad world; a wicked world; yet, when all 's said, there are some honest people; yes, there must be some." And this charitable thought enhanced for could he do? Nothing. He must wait; watch; and take the chances as they fell. Snipeton read the letter. Nothing could have fallen out so luckily. A friend of Crossbone's-a man of honor though he dealt in horseflesh-had a beautiful thing to sell; a thing of lamb-like gentleness and beauty. The very thing for Mrs. Snipeton. A mare that might be reined with a thread of silk. Moreover, Mr. Snipeton might have the beast at his own price; and that, of course, would be next to no price at all. "Do you understand horses, my man?" asked Snipeton, as he finished the letter. Why, yes, sir," answered St. Giles; and he must have answered yes, had the question been unicorns. "Well, then"-but at this moment, Snipeton's man brought in the names of Capstick and Tangle. To the great relief of St. Giles, he was ordered into an adjoining room, there to wait. He with drew as the new visitors entered. "Mr. Snipeton, this-this"-why did Cap-| low the muffin-maker. Ha! ha! I can only wish stick pause?"this gentleman is Mr. Tangle, you had been a chimney-sweeper. 'T would have attorney" been a sweeter triumph." "Solicitor," was Mr. Tangle's meek correction. "It's of no consequence, but-solicitor." "Pooh, pooh? It is n't my way, sir. I always say attorney,' and then we know the worst," said Capstick. 66 "I have heard of Mr. Tangle. before-but his reputation has sneered Snipeton. We never met reached me,' Reputation, sir," observed Capstick, "is sometimes like a polecat; dead or alive, its odor will spread." "Very true; it is; it has," was the corroboration of Snipeton; and Tangle, though he tried to smile, fidgetted uneasily. "You are, perhaps, not aware, Mr. Snipeton, that a petition is to be presented to the house of commons-my house-for the purpose of turning out its present patriotic member for Liquorish," said Capstick. "Indeed! Snipeton. 66 Upon what ground?" inquired Bribery. Would you imagine it? Could you think it? Charge me with bribery!" said the member. "Pardon me. Not you; oh, by no means! We never do that. We're not so ill-bred. No, sir, the crime-that is, the statutable crime-for morals and statutes, sir, are sometimes very different things-the crime of bribery is laid at the door of Mr. Capstick's agents. His agents, sir," said Tangle. "I had none none whatever. It is my pride -if, indeed, a man should be proud of anything in this dirty, iniquitous world-a world of flip-flaps and sumersets-my pride, that I was returned purely upon my own merits; if, indeed, I have merits; a matter I am sometimes inclined to doubt, when I wake up from my first sleep. I go into parliament upon bribery! I should think myself one big blotch-a human boil. No; I can lay my hand upon my breast-just where I carry my pocket-book-and answer it, before the world except the price of the hackney coach that carried me to the house, my seat did n't cost me sixpence." 66 Ha, Mr. Capstick!" cried Tangle, half clos 66 ing his eyes; you don't know what friends you had." "I am quite contented, Mr. Snipeton," said Capstick, majestically, "as it is. Not that, as one of the social arts, I despise chimney-sweeping. By no means. For there may be cases in which it would not be such dirty work to clean folk's chimneys, as to sweep their pockets." "True; very true," said Snipeton, who never selfishly took a sarcasm to himself, when, as he thought, so many of his fellow-creatures equally well deserved it. "And so to the bribery. We must meet this petition." "I thought so; and therefore waited upon Mr. Capstick to offer my professional services. You see, sir, I have peculiar advantages-very peculiar. For although, by that unfortunate and most mysterious robbery of the gold, the bribery-on the part of his lordship-was limited, rather limited; nevertheless, I have here, sir-here"--and Tangle tapped at his breast-" such facts, that""I see," said Snipeton; "and you'll turn yourself inside out to oblige us?" "I am a free agent; quite free. Being no longer his lordship's legal adviser-you wouldn't think that that paltry box of gold could have parted us; but so it is-there is no gratitude in the great ;-being, as I say, free, sir; and in the possession of secrets"— "If you want a cheap penny worth of dirt, you can buy it, you can buy it," said Capstick. "Mr. Capstick!" exclaimed Tangle with a darkly solemn face, "Mr. Capstick"-but the attorney thought it not profitable to be indignant; therefore he suffered a smile to overflow his cheek, as he said-" Mr. Capstick, you 're a wag." But Tangle had in this a secret consolation for in his legal opinion he had as good as called the muffin-maker "thief and housebreaker." Tangle then proceeded. "What I shall do, I shall do for justice. And public justice, with her scales" "Bless my soul! I'd quite forgot the girl. Mr. Snipeton, your maid-of-all-work from Kent is below. A droll business. Quite an escape, poor thing! But she 'll tell your wife all about it," said Capstick. "Your pardon. Just one minute;" whereupon Snipeton repaired to St. Giles. "You know my house? Mind, I don't want all the world to Yes, sir, I do; for I've been intimate with know it. Well, make the best of your way there, them all my life. Integrity, honor, out-speak-and-stop. Come down stairs." And Snipeton ing" Capstick paused; and the next moment left the room, St. Giles following him. St. Giles blushed, as though detected in some gross fault. -so Snipeton determined-should at once escort The truth is, he was ashamed of himself for the vain-boasting. Integrity and honor! Supposing that he had them-what then? Was it a matter to make a noise about? Capstick blushed; then hurriedly said "I beg your pardon. Go on with the bribery." "And so they want to turn you out, eh?" cried Snipeton. The house of St. James can't swal 66 the wench to Hampstead. Another minute, and to the joy and ill-concealed astonishment of the pair, the girl saw in St. Giles the wanderer and vagrant to whom she had given the shelter of a barn-and he beheld in his new fellow-servant, Becky, the soft-hearted maiden of the Lamb and Star. 66 From the Spectator. MR. LANE'S LIFE AT THE WATER CURE. MR. LANE, the eminent lithographic artist, was bled within an ace of his life, at the age of nineteen, by some "active practitioner ;" and his habits ever since appear to have been ill-adapted to the acquirement of robust health. As an invalid, he was often under the doctor's hands; and besides the perpetual physic of a valetudinarian, he had several attacks of acute disease. As an artist in request and loving his profession, he sacrificed too much to it. He rose early-often at five, and worked till nine, on some chocolate and toast. After breakfast he continued his labors without intermission till three or four. He then rapidly fulfilled his engagements by making calls upon the run;" and returned home excited and exhausted, " generally too late for the late dinner. After dinner he again worked, and frequently passed the evenings "in heated rooms or theatres." In addition to these physical ills, he suffered mentally from family affliction and bereavement. By the time he had reached forty or thereabout, both mind and body exhibited signs of severe derangement. His sight began to fail; he was troubled with severe neuralgic pains; a slow intermittent fever wasted him; there were symptoms which threatened palsy; and his powers of attention and exertion broke down. Change of air and scene had often been prescribed without any permanent benefit; drugs ceased to relieve him; and in fine, he was persuaded to try the cold-water cure at Dr. Wilson's. He went to Malvern, and on the very first day felt that exhilaration which we have all experienced when the mind has cast its cares behind it and the worn spirit is taking a holyday. The treatment was gradual, no doubt judicious, and it agreed with Mr. Lane. This first stimulus was supported by change of scene, good air, and the agreeable company he found at the establishment, as well as the hope which his improvement by these aids excited though we do not mean to deny the benefit to be derived from a judicious use of water. The upshot was, that after a month Mr. Lane returned home a new man with a new lease; not indeed quite cured, but, by the advice of Dr. Wilson, his own ingenuity and skill in fitting up a cold-water apparatus in his house, and above all by resolutely persisting in morning exercise in all weathers, he is now a perfect cure. His neuralgic and all other pains have left him; his appetite is capital; he has discarded under-clothing and top-coats; he rarely has occasion to use glasses at his work; and he seems confident that he shall contradict the prophecy of the last medico he consulted, and "make old bones." Life at the Water Cure consists of Mr. Lane's experience, observations, and outpourings during his month at Malvern, mingled with sketches of the company and doings of the place. He tells how he felt on waking in the morning, and what sensations he experienced under the different water processes from the "shallow bath" to the douche. His walks, his water-drinkings, his rides, the aspects of nature, and the incidents of the road, are all chronicled, along with the sayings and doings of his fellow-patients at Malvern; the persons, excepting Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, being concealed under fictitious names. These topics Mr. Lane varies by reminiscences and remarks connected with different subjects in literature and art. What he calls the sequel, or the story of his case till the time of publication, contains a similar freedom in the choice of topics, but with less range, as he has not in the Regent's Park the variety of Malvern's walks or patients. With many, perhaps with most men, such a book would have been insufferably tedious, or offensive from its flimsiness, levity, pertness, or artifice. None of these failings are felt in Mr. Lane's Life at the Water Cure; everything is so obviously natural, and full of good feeling and animal spirits. Mr. Lane must have been the very kind of patient that any medical man would have chosen for an experiment, where it was sought by change of air and the stimulus of novelties to tone a relaxed system, renovate shattered nerves, and give a fillip to the constitutional springs, whatever and wherever they may be. With his cheerfulness, his bonhommie, his disposition to be pleased with everything and everybody, his eye for natural beauties, his facility in depicting to the eye the various operations of the Cold Water House, and such incidents or effects as struck him during the morning-walks, he must have been as great an acquisition to the patients as to the physician. Even the distant reader cannot altogether resist the heartiness which imparts a freshness and charm to the manner of the book; its matter, as may be inferred, is not of a very solid kind; and the style is somewhat diffuse. The sketches of life at Malvern are best read as a whole, when we are gradually introduced to the persons, and feel an interest in their characters and discourse. Some of their doings admit of separate presentation; and we will take one of the most important, for those who may contemplate a trip thither. The supplies are not so much amiss for patients “given over by the faculty," and who are under regimen. BREAKFAST AND DINNER AT THE COLD WATER CURE. "Another glass of this exquisite water, and home to breakfast at nine. Several sorts of bread, all in perfection, and excellent butter; bottles of the brightest water and tumblers, duly arranged on the table; jugs of milk for those who like it, and to whom it is allowed. One jug smokes, and the well-known fragrant flavor soon suggests to the nose tea? Surely this is irregular, or why the disguise? Why not a teapot? * "At the head of the table, where the Doctor presides, was the leg of mutton, which, I believe, is every day's head dish. I forget what Mrs. Wilson dispensed, but it was something savory, of fish. I saw veal cutlets-with bacon, and a companion dish, maccaroni-with gravy (a very delicate concoction;) potatoes, plain boiled, or mashed and browned; spinach, and other green vegetables. Then followed rice-pudding, tapioca, or other farinaceous ditto, rhubarb tarts, &c. much for what I have heard of the miserable diet of water patients. The cooking of all is perfection, and something beyond, in Neddy's [his son's] opinion, for he eats fat! some So "After dinner the ladies did not immediately retire, but made up groups for conversation, both in the dining and withdrawing room. A most happy arrangement this, which admits the refreshing influence of the society of ladies in such a house." There is something sadly pleasing in the fatal termination of the following case, and the good feeling which attended it. |