LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL. CONDUCTED BY JOHN TIMBS, THIRTEEN YEARS EDITOR OF "THE MIRROR," AND No. 83. NEW SERIES.] OYSTER-DAY. SATURDAY, AUGUST 6, 1842. very "Please to remember the Grotto-only once a-year." "OYSTER-DAY," i. e. the day on which Oysters are first brought into the London market, is one of the few popular old English festivals extant. Its antiquity must be great; for every schoolboy remembers how this little island, now the mistress of the world, is referred to in classic story, by the Romans, then the world's masters, for the exquisite delicacy of its Oysters. Not, however, satisfied with the native delicacy of our Oysters, the epicures of old Rome fattened them in pits and ponds: they iced them before eating them; and one Montanus, a gourmet of great celebrity, could tell the breed of an Oyster by the first bite! The locality whence these luxurious fellows obtained the finest Oysters has been precisely ascertained: it was from Rutupa,* (Richborough,) now Sandwich, in Kent; once a harbour and place of note, but now a decayed corporate town, with echoing lanes, and grassgrown streets, Near this spot too, as may be seen in the annexed note, Cæsar first landed, nearly nineteen centuries since, to add our island to bis long list of conquests. He appears to have been a good judge as well as general; for this freak of his ambition was played off in the Oyster month, (on August 26th,) on which day Cæsar first "astonished the natives." (See the Comic Latin Grammar.) Probably, the troops, in their encampment, had what is unclassically termed a tuck-out" of Oysters prior to their drubbing the "men of Kent." This is a mere archæological speculation; but it is more probable than that Oysters were eaten in June, as Wilkie has represented them, in his picture of Chelsea Pensioners reading the Gazette of the Battle of Waterloo. 66 Without any overstrained conceit, therefore, we may regard the Oyster grotto as a classical memorial-an historical illustration,-of no mean interest. Oysters first attracted the Romans to our patch of a country, and its conquest; the splendid results of which may be read in every page of our history. Therefore, grave reader, do not pass the grotto, but drop your coin, as the case may be," only once a-year." The finest Oysters in the world are found in England. This is acknowledged even by the French, who are ever ready to dispute our national claims; for, in a brochure published at Paris, and entitled Le Manuel de l'Amateur des Huitres, the British Oysters are stated to be the best. Our opinion of French Oysters, by the way, has never been very exalted; although we have seen them at the marchands and restaurants of Paris, in the goodly company of Strasbourg pies, vols-au-vent, and savoury meats, ad nauseam. A dozen or two of Oysters is no uncommon whet for a Parisian dinner, a drop of lemon-juice being squeezed into each Oyster. In Normandy, however, Oysters are eaten raw, with vinegar, pepper, and eschalots, or mild onions, chopped fine. White wine is also drunk Portus Rutupensis, a station of importance, near the reputed place of Cæsar's landing, on August 26, 55 B. C. A fragment of its massy wall remains, and is instanced as a fine specimen of Roman skill and industry. Horsley observes :-"The particular spot on which Caesar landed and encamped, may now be washed away by the sea." VOL. IV. 66 LITERARY WORLD." [PRICE TWOPEnce. with Oysters in France. An epicurean bibber observes, that "the red wines should always precede the white, except in a French dinner, usually preceded by Oysters. In this case, the Ostreal delicacies should be saluted with libations of Pouilly, or Mont Râchet; or even with a treble volley of Chablis; or, for greater solemnity, with Sauterne, Barsac, or White Hermitage." It would not be difficult to pile up a mass of facts in the economy, natural and artificial, of Oysters. Touching those of our own country, we may state with truth, that the best English Oysters are now found at Purfleet, and the worst at Liverpool. Colchester Oysters maintain their celebrity; and it is worthy of remark, that this town is said to have been the ancient Camelodunum of the Romans; this inference, if correct, being another proof of our Ostreal fame. The finest pickled Oysters are sent from Milford Haven. The most delicate, or "native" Oysters are, however, found on the Kentish coast, as at Milton; Queenborough, in the Isle of Sheppy; and at Whitstable, opposite. In dredging at the latter place, round a rock now called "the Pudding-pan," great quantities of Roman pottery have been discovered. In the creeks and inlets of the Medway, are many valuable Oyster fisheries, which are under the jurisdiction of the corporation of Rochester; and a court of admiralty, consisting of the mayor and aldermen, assisted by a jury of free dredgers, possess the power of making regulations relative to the oyster bed, and the seasons for fishing. We remember hearing much from an old Rochester boatman about drudging in the Medway, but little that is worth repetition in his fresh-water logic. A very common and very mistaken opinion exists, especially among foreigners, that all English Oysters are off copper banks;" such would be quite as injurious to impregnated with copper, "which they get from feeding the animal itself as it could be to us, and the fancy could only have arisen from the strong flavour peculiar to green Oysters. This matter has, however, been taken up by "on the scientific men; for M. Valenciennes, in a paper Colorisation of the Green Oyster," maintains that the green colour lies in the four divisions of the bronchiæ, and in the intestinal canal. In parting with the varieties of Oysters, we must not forget the famous Oysters taken in the Mossul Bay, at the Cape of Good Hope, to eat which, epicures come four hundred miles from the interior. The instinct of the Oyster has furnished some Jonathanisms. Thus, in the American papers, we read of an and of another Oyster, which was so large, that it furOyster following its owner about the house like a cat; nished a meal for six persons! Oysters are very delicate creatures, by the way; for during the severe winter of 1840-41, millions of young Oysters were destroyed by the frosts. One of the earliest writers on Oysters was, oddly enough, Bishop Spratt; and his paper will be found in the History of the Royal Society. Paley has an admirable illustration of the natural economy of the Oyster, as an instance of Creative design. The bird called the Oyster-eater, takes advantage of the bivalve opening, to tear out the fish, but is sometimes caught de facto. The Irishman was more fortunate, when being set to open Oysters, he served up the shells to his G master; the faithful Patlander having, as he said, “ gutted | dishes at luncheon and dinner; but their introduction, the fish." They are not, however, fish, but Molluscs, as cold, at supper, by no means adds a leaf to the laurel of Dr. Buckland proved at one of the meetings of the British | Apicius, or Ude. Scalloped Oysters are propriora, or Association; a distinction more appreciable at Birming-"more properer," as Coleridge would say, for supper; ham, where it was opened, than at Billingsgate, by "the but they involve some nice point of flavouring: the butter ladies of the British fishery." George the Second, by the should not be spared, but the Oyster liquor and grit should way, preferred those Oysters which opened of themselves: be employed in the inverse ratio; mace or nutmeg should he thought them of finer flavour, and none of his courtiers be as charily used, for these spices, with clumsy cooks, envied him the luxury. A very droll conceit was intro- are like mercury in the hands of unskilful doctors. Oys duced, some years since, in a Christmas pantomime at ters, roasted in the shells, are savoury morsels, though they Covent-garden theatre, wherein Grimaldi, the clown, are rarely to be enjoyed but with the risk of having half sang a duet with a stupendous Oyster "crossed in love;" your fire blown into your room, by the liquor being conthe vocal Oyster being Mr. Duruset, who has survived verted into steam-an effect of "pressure" never dreamed the feat to this day. of by Dr. Lardner, the great historian of the steam-engine. When Oysters are alive and strong, the shell closes on Pottering, one day, over Swift's Letters, we were somethe knife: they may be preserved good for some time by what surprised to find the following recipe for boiling laying them bottom downwards in a tub, and covering | Oysters : " Take Oysters, wash them clean, that is, wash them with water, in which a good deal of salt has been their shells clean; then put your Oysters into an earthen dissolved; change their water every twelve hours, feed pot, with their hollow sides down, then put this pot, covered, them by sprinkling in it oatmeal, and the fish will fatten into a great kettle with water, and so let them boil. Your faster than a Scotsman upon his national stir-about. Oysters are thus boiled in their own liquor, and not mixed with water." Oysters are conceitedly said to be in season in every month of the year that has an r in its name, beginning with September, and ending with April. But this error was practically refuted so long ago as the year 1804, when M. Balaine contrived the means of sending to Paris, Oysters fresh, and in the best possible order, at all seasons alike. Balaine's predecessor in his art, was Apicius, who is said to have supplied Trajan with fresh oysters at all seasons of the year; and Apicius deserved an immortal character for such a triumph. Still, we do not enjoy this refinement in England; though the common notion is exploded, by Oysters being very fine in August. The dietetic properties of Oysters have not been overrated: they may be safely recommended where great nourishment and easy digestion are required; their valuable quality being the great quantity of gluten they contain; they are, indeed, a concentration of nutritious particles. When eaten raw, they are an excellent mid-day luncheon, and serve well to allay the cravings of hunger at that hour. Oysters are less wholesome as a supper dish, and if eaten in any quantity, they are indigestible. Nevertheless, when eaten in moderation in the morning, they restore the stomach, weakened by the previous night's "potations pottle deep," more effectually and safely than any other stimulant. It is doubtful whether Oysters, as articles of food, are improved by cooking: strange as it may appear, raw Oysters are preferred by refined epicures, whilst an uncivilized Australian will not deign to touch an Oyster, raw or cooked. We have said that Oysters are not improved by dressing: for example, either fried, boiled, or pickled, they mostly resemble hard pieces of wash-leather, and are nearly as indigestible as the nether garment which formed Paddy Fooshane's fricassee, but was detected only by one of the buttons being found in the mess. Oyster soup is an insipid affair, unless purée, i. e. a portion of the Oysters pulped to thicken the potage. Oyster sauce is apt to resemble Oysters in melted butter, the omnipresent sauce of the English kitchen. Bulwer aims a sly shaft at this failure, in his Ernest Maltravers; wherein, as a portion of the tricherie of a dinner-giving man of system - his cook put plenty of flour into the Oyster sauce." It was formerly thought a piece of epicurean cunning to boil a fowl in a bladder, putting into it, with the water, a few Oysters to flavour it; but we do not admire it: and we are somewhat sceptical as to the good effect of Oysters in meat pies or puddings, which are thereby too much fishified. Oyster Patties, warm, are very well in corner | 66 Oyster Catsup, made of the fish beat to a pulp, strained and spiced, and then mixed with white wine, and bottled, must be inferior to the flavour of fresh fish; and Oyster Powder, made of the fish, beat as above into a paste with flour, dried, powdered, and kept in bottles, is one of the absurdities of the receipt-books, such as delighted the Lady Bountifuls of other days, but are repudiated by our club committees of taste. With all the dietetic celebrity of the Oyster, its shell is worth consideration. The Roman ladies used the calcined shell as a cosmetic and depilatory; just as the fair ones, or rather the would-be-fair ones, of our days use talc, pearl-powder, &c. Such stratagems are as old as time, and ، The world is still deceived by ornament." The Ostracism of the classic ages likewise proves the importance of the shell in byegone ages; though it be reduced to a street-pastime in our day: "Pray remember the Grotto-only once a year." MAXIMS. BY ALPHONSE KARR. OPINION attaches dishonour to the husband for the misconduct of the wife. The poor husband is like the boy given as a companion to a young prince, and whipped when the prince did not know his lesson. is Love, for the most part, lasts till the moment when it becoming reasonable, and founded on something real. A woman's friend may, by the favour of circumstances, become her lover; but a man she never saw has a much greater chance of success. True female modesty ought to conceal itself as much as any thing else. The hand which adjusts the fold of a robe, draws attention more to what it wishes to conceal, than to the virtuous delicacy which prompts the concealment. Lovers have a sensible way of behaving in the presence of a formidable rival. Instead of trying to excel him in politeness, accomplishments, and attentions, they make a point of looking cross and sulky, remaining silent in a corner, or saying ungracious and impertinent things to the woman whose preference they are contending for. Those boast of abstinence who have lost their digestive powers; those boast of charity whose blood is cold and stagnant; those boast of knowing how to be silent who have nothing to say. In short, mankind make vices of the pleasures which they cannot enjoy, and virtues of the infirmities to which they are subject. The first half of our life is spent in desiring the second; the second in regretting the first.-Translated in the Foreign Quarterly Review. THE MAID OF ST. ASAPH. FAREWELL to St. Asaph! Farewell!-and for ever! Shall thy mem'ry forsake my heart's innermost core. Such joys as the past shall my lone bosom feel: Oh! never, alas! shall one extacied thrill, Deep and pure as the past, o'er my dark spirit steal. For that spirit is chang'd,-the bright visions of youth Have flown, as the meteors that gleam thro' the night; And the rude wizard wand of unpitying truth Hath banished for e'er my young dreams of delight. No more through wild fancy's sweet realms can I stray, And call up illusions too blissful to last; For the sunshine of feeling hath faded away, And hope's bright horizon with clouds is o'ercast. How lone feels the heart, when its dreamings are o’er, And its sun-bright imaginings melt into air; And the young hopes that cheer'd us so sweetly before, Are blasted, and lost in the night of despair! Oh! then should the spirit break loose from its chain, And free from this world of pollution and woe; For the soul, when once blighted, can ne'er bloom again, Or revel in pleasures that earth can bestow. Yet, though those bright dreams were false and ideal, As the serah that mocks the pale traveller's thirst; Though the joys of my youth were all vain and unreal, And fleeting as bubbles that sparkle and burst; Yet, still are they dear-Oh! how fond to my heart! And sweet as the strain of the bulbul at eve; And, though sad their remembrance, it ne'er shall depart, Till this wayward breast hath forgotten to heave. But, how soon shall I be remember'd no more, Even there, where I play'd my young life's sunny game; Or, haply, if mention'd, 'twill be but to pour Cold calumny, slander, reproach, on my name. Oh! they knew not how deeply my spirit had ponder'd Where friendship and love cheer'd the fast fleeting year; And fondly farewell to the heart-witching fay, Whose smiles made that home of my happiness dear. Farewell! where'er fate shall ordain me to rove, In joy, or in sorrow, I ne'er shall forget, That THE MAID OF ST. ASAPH is pure as the dove, And though rancour and envy may raise their hoarse voice, And smile with contempt on the wretches who rail. Then list, lovely maiden, to friendship's fond strain, VIGNETTES FROM "THE REIGN OF TERROR." DANTON AND MARAT. DANTON was more genial, more even of the old French gentleman, than most of his compeers. His convivial qualities, his love of women, his very vices, tended in some degree to humanize his manners. The true personation of the mobs, of what the French still call le peuple, was Marat. Let us take the following description of him, by M. Duval : our narrator accepts an invitation to dine with Danton: * "On dinait bien chez Danton, one dined well with Danton. Politics were not always spoken; at his table one laughed often, and was bored rarely. We passed from a very elegant saloon into a dining room, looking upon the Cour du Commerce. At this moment there entered a man. A man-here is his portrait. He was, at most, from 4 feet 8 inches to 4 feet 9 inches, (French measure); his head inclined a little to the left shoulder, like Alexander the Great; the limbs were crooked, the complexion yellow and bilious, the face marked with the small pox, the lips thin, the eyes grey, and rolling continually in their orbits, the eye-lashes red, and the white, so called, of the eyes nearly the same colour, so that the pupil seemed to swim in blood. He moved his head restlessly to and fro like a Greenland bear, in his den at the Jardin des Plantes. "As to the accoutrements of the ami du peuple, behold him from head to foot: a hat à l'andromane, as one then called those hats low in the crown, with broad brims turned up, adorned with a huge tricolour cockade; an old coat, worn out at the seams, striped stockings, red, white, and blue, and bits of string in his shoes in the place of ribbons or buckles; plush breeches, a red waistcoat, turned over, and the neck all open, lank black hair plastered to the temples, with a little queue fastened with a leathern knot. "Danton,' said Marat, 'from afar I have smelt the savour of your roast, and I have come to see if there is a corner for me at your feast.' "Why not, if we crowd each other a little. I am sorry you did not let me know, that I might have ordered something more.' "Pooh! your daily fare would suffice for me.' "Well, but when one invites oneself to dinner among persons comme il faut, one generally expects oneself clad a little less unceremoniously.' "Ah, with a laced frill, an embroidered coat, and one's hair curled à l'oiseau royal, eh! Thank you for nothing. Nature is at the cost of my toilet, and the friend of the peuple has no need of foreign ornaments.' a collar.' "But patriotism does not forbid a cravat or "I never wear them, as you well know.' "But at least a clean shirt and clean hands.' "I then perceived that Marat had in fact his hands as black as a smith's on a Saturday night, and his shirt of the same hue as his hands. May it be said without offence to his memory," &c. Yes, this was Marat! And in him appeared the friend of the populace, (peuple), because the true son of the populace. This rickety, bilious, scrofulous, diseased victim of the neglect, the ailments, the vices of his parents, represented in himself the squalid masses who formed the procession of Jourdain Couptête, or filled the gloomy pandemonium of the Jacobin club. But beneath all this external debasement moved the iron springs of an indomitable, dogged, frantic energy; a spirit of blood and vengeance which made virtue a crime, so honest was it, so sincere. Marat shrieking day after day for 300,000 heads-Marat emerging from cave and garret into a power that shook alike court and temple-the arch Alecto starting from the rage and decrepitude in which the fury had been awhile concealed-Marat was as willing to be martyr as the hangman; those filthy hands would have spurned the gold that sullied the ruffles of the corrupt Danton. Nothing could soften, nothing humanize-but nothing could intimidate, nothing bribe. For a time Marat was the peuple, and the peuple Marat. THE MASSACRE OF THE TENTH OF AUGUST. Duval, who was a witness of, and actor in, the invasion and massacre of the Tuileries, on the celebrated 10th of August, describes this scene with great truth and effect: 66 Péthion, the mayor, had been at the château at midnight, and had assured the king that the menaced insurrection should be pacified. Scarcely had the king repeated this assurance to the guards, than the tocsin, the roll of the drum, were heard. Instantly, the great gate towards the Carrousel is closed. To your posts!' is the cry. They make us take our arms, then lay them down to pile them en faisceau. The greatest confusion reigns in all the courts-every where we hear the cannoniers of the guard venting imprecations on the king and queen, and declaring they will rather point their pieces against the château than against the peuple. A little before five in the morning, Ræderer comes to us, and says: "Gentlemen, a troop of misled citizens menace this house and its inhabitants; if they resort to violence it is your duty to repel force by force. Here is the law, I will read it to you;' and he takes out a little book, bound in tri-colour paper, reads us the law, puts up the little book again, and is off. A quarter of an hour after, the king visits our posts, in a violetcoloured coat, his hat under his arm, his sword at his sidehe passes before our ranks, and addresses us d'une voix altérée: 'Well, they come, I don't know what they want, but my cause is that of good citizens; we will make a good front, eh? (nous ferons bonne contenance, n'est pas ?') and in thus speaking to us, he had the tears in his eyes, and his air and carriage were such as to take all courage from the intrepid. The queen also said a few words, scarcely articulate, struggling in vain to suppress her sob. In this moment arrived the two hundred gentlemen, (rather gentilhommes, men of noble birth,) who had kept in that part of the Louvre which now forms the museum. The queen presented them to us: Messieurs, there are our friends; they will take orders, and show you how to die for your king! As if there were not enough of ill-seasoned impudence in these words, a rumour was spread that the queen had said, "They will givenot take-orders.' This was a falsehood, but it sufficed as a pretext for the disaffected, and instantly two battalions of the national guard who had just arrived, broke rank, and marched off to take position on the Carrousel with two cannon. There they stopped the fresh battalions arriving to the succour of the château, and forced them to take part in their revolt. From that moment expired all hope in the national guard. "Such was the sad and first effect of the apparition of these two hundred gentilhommes. Most of them very aged, they seemed scarcely to bear the weight of the sword, which was their only weapon. Like the unhappy Louis, they had only snatched a few moments of repose upon benches and sofas; and their hair, like his, was in disorder. Nearly all in embroidered coats, satin waistcoats, and white silk stockings, a few only in uniform, their faces pale and haggard, they rather resembled men for whom sleep was necessary, than champions for their imperilled king. God forbid that I should ridicule fidelity and devotion, but the truth is, that their costume, so little appropriate to the occasion, their pretensions to exclusive loyalty, made them regarded with so unfavourable an eye, that their succours brought less utility than danger. And it was not with this handful of aged gentlemen, however honourable and loyal, that Pergamus could be saved 'Non tali auxilio, non defensoribus istis.' "To complete all, one of these personages thought fit, in a swaggering tone, to say to the national guard: Now, messieurs of the national guard, now is the moment to display courage.' We shall not fail in that,' cried an officer in an extreme rage, but it is not by your side that we shall give proof of it.' And instantly he went off, and carried with him his company, to join the cannon already pointed against the château." And yet, alas, "this handful of gentlemen" in satin vests, and court swords, and silk stockings, were all the last rulers of that gallant chivalry, who had rushed against the lion of England to the cry of Mountjoice St. Denis, who had followed St. Louis to the Holy Land, who had tracked through the battle-field the white plume of Henri of Navarre, who had shaken the throne under Louis XIII., who had met the charge of Marlborough at Ramillies and Blenheim, who had filled with lance and banner that very space of the Carrousel when it received its first name, from the latest tournament held in France in the gorgeous youth of the fourteenth Louis! These now were the ashes and tinder of that aristocracy! What could a thousand Mirabeaus do to restore the departed glory; and what, without a nobility, amidst such a national guard, with such a mayoralty, invaded by such a populace, what hope for such a king! The rest is well known-Louis surrendered himself to the assembly. This was the last day of nobility and royalty, the first of the unhallowed union between the middle class and the populace-the Dantonists who had led the movement, and the Girondists who had intrigued for it. In the midst of the pæans of the Marseillaise, and the shrieks of massacre, arose the dynasty of Vergniand and the Talkers! Truly says M. Duval: "scarcely had the sceptre, so long coveted, devolved on them, than their feebleness and hesitation made their dethronement certain. The massacre of September takes place under their eyes, they are silent, or but falter out a feeble voice. From the installation of the Convention the reins of government float in their hands, and they remain impotent witnesses of the crimes of the commune, the Jacobins, and the popular societies! Members of all the committees possessing majorities in every commission, they know neither to foresee nor to prevent. If sometimes they were roused into a sudden energy, it passed like a (?) lightning, it vanished like a (?) smoke. Gladly, in a critical moment, would they have adopted some vigorous measure, but it was enough to induce them to relinquish it, if the commune appeared angry, or the roar of Danton was heard from the tribune. These were not the statesinen to intimidate the hardy conspirators with whom they had to contend." We quote these stirring scenes from a paper on M. Georges Duval's Souvenirs de la Terreur de 1788 à 1793, Paris, published. This journal, by the way, has just passed into a 4 tomes, 1841-2; in the Foreign Quarterly Review, just new editorship; and a somewhat complacent address from the publishers states, that "very great improvements, which the well-informed reader will not be slow to recognise, have been effected in all its departments." Without pretence to the qualification which the publishers advert to, we must direct their attention to the very imperfectly translated been a discredit to the Review under its former editorship, passages above quoted: indeed, their slovenliness would have which, we think, they rate too lowly; and "in the new management," we trust that idiomatic translation will in future be one of "the chief endeavours," in giving “an English interest to the treatment of general foreign literature." We say this in the best feeling towards the Review, which has been an especial favourite with us, from the ap pearance of the first number.-Ed. L. S. J. * There are likewise several other slips: what, for example, is "the electric cell," in page 383; "the hatreds," at page 410, &c. LONG-WHARF LYRICS. SETH CINNAMON, OF LONG-WHARF, TO PETER PEPPERCORN, OF SALT FISH HILL, IN DEDHAM. From the Boston (U. S.) Transcript. YOURS of the 10th is just received; Accordingly, dear Peter, Here's the PRICE CURRENT that I've weaved Lemons continue to arrive, Though dealers are but piddling, A cargo brought $2 75, And proved from fair to middling. There's some advance in Southern corn, A lot at auction was withdrawn, Oil has remained quite dull of sale, And prices-more's the pity Have now declined, three cents on whale, But hops are up two cents a pound, Drugs have become alarming cheap, And speculators plunge quite deep But yet there's nothing in them. As loud reports make certain. Molasses every hour; That codfish story's all a hoax, But hooked as wondrous clever; Brandy and gin go at a pinch, But we've got used to nippers; Some think the whole concern is DISHED, "Tis heavy with light cotton stuffs, Chip hats have not DECLINED A SHADE, And I should think the blanket trade Bear skins have taken upward strides, In short-we've blazing times in town; And mercury is rising. A DULL MAN'S OFFER OF MARRIAGE. OF all the matter-of-fact, straight-forward people, Dr. Drinkwater was the most obtuse. In spite of all that was going on, in defiance of looks, and compliments, and hints, the doctor neither saw nor heard any thing extraordinary, and was quite surprised when his neighbours asked information from him upon the match Miss Partington was going to make. It never occurred to his unsuspicious soul that Sir James Langham's sudden visit could be connected with matrimony. "To be sure Sir James dined there every day, and so on," he told Miss Bates, "but he saw nothing, and thought nothing if he gave the subject any consideration at all, he supposed it might be one of Miss Louisa's flirtations, but he had no right to say even that." Yet Sir James Langham's courtship had to effect a powerful event, and carry fire and sword into the doctor's heart. The moment he was completely assured Miss Partington was engaged, and Sir James off to town to complete arrangements for his marriage-that moment changed the aspect of things to Mary and Dr. Drinkwater. He had severe twitches of gout in every limb; his knee grew stiff, his elbows were all pulsation, and his right hand was consigned to its flannel bag. Miss Bates heard the whole business from Jenkins; his master, he thought, would be a week in his room, for the attack was sharper than usual. Miss Bates had a remark for every one. "A pretty beau to dangle after Miss Vansittart, when he was one day alive, and dead the next." 66 Dr. Drinkwater came to life again, however, and was dangling after Miss Vansittart "before Miss Bates was aware of it. He came in two days to his arm-chair, close by Mary's work-table, and though he was in my eyes a sad sober dog," after the discipline of the two previous days, he was to marry an object of powerful interest, and she sat well pleased to listen to that voice which had not soothed her ear for many hours. I was glad to drive with Miss Partington to Gloucester, and dissipate my dulness among the hats and caps in Miss Lovel's show-rooms. During our drive, much was transpiring at home. Dr. Drinkwater sat in silence for some time, pondering things in his inmost soul. His long meditation struck Mary as something singular. "You are still poorly, I fear, doctor?" "I have had a severe attack, Miss Mary, and I feel as if I should be worse shortly." "Oh, I hope not." "Any mental agitation is sure to bring on gout, and I have been disturbed lately a good deal." Mary looked at him in pity. "Nothing, I hope, of consequence: you must not allow yourself to be disturbed. Nothing wrong at the Grange, surely, with Jenkins in the midst." "Is not Miss Partington engaged to Sir James Langham ?” "To be sure. Surely, doctor, you found that out the first day Sir James dined here-you who are generally so quick at making discoveries." Poor Mary! she had made a surprising discovery herself; she had found out the doctor's quickness, when no mole could be more blind to what was passing round him. "Indeed I did not suspect any thing; but he has managed it very quietly, as those things should be managed. very happy man." He is a "Any one must be happy with dear Anne, she is so kind and good." "He has no gout to plague her with." Dr. Drinkwater's cheeks became scarlet as the words escaped him. "Nay, doctor, you don't suppose that had any influence upon Anne. You don't do her the justice to think a little gout would have altered her sentiments. You don't know Anne, Dr. Drink water." "I should think gout was very disagreeable to ladies," |