
The Project Gutenberg Etext of Doyle's The Stark Munro LettersPlease take a look at the important information in this header.We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping anelectronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this.\*\*Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts\*\*\*\*Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971\*\*\*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations\*Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, andfurther information is included below. We need your donations.The Stark Munro Lettersby Arthur Conan DoyleJuly, 1995 [Etext #290]The Project Gutenberg Etext of Doyle's The Stark Munro Letters\*\*\*\*\*This file should be named strkm10.txt or strkm10.zip\*\*\*\*\*\*Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, strkm11.txt.VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, strkm10a.txt.This etext was prepared with the use of Calera WordScan Plus 2.0Calera Recognition Systems475 PotreroSunnyvale, CA 940861-408-720-8300mikel@calera.com Mike LynchWe are now trying to release all our books one month in advanceof the official release dates, for time for better editing.Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final tillmidnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is atMidnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. Apreliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, commentand editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have anup to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizesin the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program hasa bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] alook at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see anew copy has at least one byte more or less.Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. Thefifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we taketo get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyrightsearched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Thisprojected audience is one hundred million readers. If our valueper text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $4million dollars per hour this year as we release some eight textfiles per month: thus upping our productivity from $2 million.The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion EtextFiles by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion]This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,which is 10% of the expected number of computer users by the endof the year 2001.We need your donations more than ever!All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/IBC", and aretax deductible to the extent allowable by law ("IBC" is IllinoisBenedictine College). (Subscriptions to our paper newsletter goto IBC, too)For these and other matters, please mail to:Project GutenbergP. O. Box 2782Champaign, IL 61825Email dircompg@ux1.cso.uiuc.edu for more information.When all other email fails try our Michael S. Hart, ExecutiveDirector:hart@vmd.cso.uiuc.edu (internet) hart@uiucvmd (bitnet)We would prefer to send you this information by email(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail).\*\*\*\*\*\*If you have an FTP program (or emulator), pleaseFTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives:[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type]ftp mrcnext.cso.uiuc.edulogin: anonymouspassword: your@logincd etext/etext90 through /etext95or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information]dir [to see files]get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]GET INDEX?00.GUTfor a list of booksandGET NEW GUT for general informationandMGET GUT\* for newsletters.\*\*Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor\*\*(Three Pages)\*\*\*START\*\*THE SMALL PRINT!\*\*FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS\*\*START\*\*\*Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong withyour copy of this etext, even if you got it for free fromsomeone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not ourfault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statementdisclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you howyou can distribute copies of this etext if you want to.\*BEFORE!\* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXTBy using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tmetext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and acceptthis "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receivea refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext bysending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the personyou got it from. If you received this etext on a physicalmedium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTSThis PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by ProfessorMichael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association atIllinois Benedictine College (the "Project"). Among otherthings, this means that no one owns a United States copyrighton or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy anddistribute it in the United States without permission andwithout paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forthbelow, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etextunder the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.To create these etexts, the Project expends considerableefforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domainworks. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and anymedium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among otherthings, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate orcorrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or otherintellectual property infringement, a defective or damageddisk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computercodes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGESBut for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive thisetext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims allliability to you for damages, costs and expenses, includinglegal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE ORUNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVEOR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THEPOSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days ofreceiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within thattime to the person you received it from. If you received iton a physical medium, you must return it with your note, andsuch person may choose to alternatively give you a replacementcopy. If you received it electronically, such person maychoose to alternatively give you a second opportunity toreceive it electronically.THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHERWARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU ASTO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOTLIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR APARTICULAR PURPOSE.Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties orthe exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so theabove disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and youmay have other legal rights.INDEMNITYYou will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors,officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, costand expense, including legal fees, that arise directly orindirectly from any of the following that you do or cause:[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification,or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect.DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or bydisk, book or any other medium if you either delete this"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,or:[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, thisrequires that you do not remove, alter or modify theetext or this "small print!" statement. You may however,if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readablebinary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,including any form resulting from conversion by word pro-cessing or hypertext software, but only so long asEITHER:[\*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, anddoes not contain characters other than thoseintended by the author of the work, although tilde(~), asterisk (\*) and underline (\_) characters maybe used to convey punctuation intended by theauthor, and additional characters may be used toindicate hypertext links; OR[\*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader atno expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalentform by the program that displays the etext (as isthe case, for instance, with most word processors);OR[\*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request atno additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of theetext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDICor other equivalent proprietary form).[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this"Small Print!" statement.[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of thenet profits you derive calculated using the method youalready use to calculate your applicable taxes. If youdon't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties arepayable to "Project Gutenberg Association / IllinoisBenedictine College" within the 60 days following eachdate you prepare (or were legally required to prepare)your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.WHAT IF YOU WANT TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time,scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royaltyfree copyright licenses, and every other sort of contributionyou can think of. Money should be paid to "Project GutenbergAssociation / Illinois Benedictine College".\*END\*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS\*Ver.04.29.93\*END\*THE STARK MUNRO LETTERSBEING A SERIES OF TWELVE LETTERSWRITTEN BY J. STARK MUNRO, M.B.,TO HIS FRIEND AND FORMER FELLOW-STUDENT,HERBERT SWANBOROUGH,OF LOWELL, MASSACHUSETTS,DURING THE YEARS 1881-1884EDITED AND ARRANGED BYA. CONAN DOYLEThe letters of my friend Mr. Stark Munro appear tome to form so connected a whole, and to give so plain anaccount of some of the troubles which a young man may becalled upon to face right away at the outset of hiscareer, that I have handed them over to the gentleman whois about to edit them. There are two of them, the fifthand the ninth, from which some excisions are necessary;but in the main I hope that they may be reproduced asthey stand. I am sure that there is no privilege whichmy friend would value more highly than the thought thatsome other young man, harassed by the needs of this worldand doubts of the next, should have gotten strength byreading how a brother had passed down the valley ofshadow before him.HERBERT SWANBOROUGH.LOWELL, MASS.THE STARK MUNRO LETTERS.HOME. 30th March, 1881.I have missed you very much since your return toAmerica, my dear Bertie, for you are the one man uponthis earth to whom I have ever been able to unreservedlyopen my whole mind. I don't know why it is; for, nowthat I come to think of it, I have never enjoyed verymuch of your confidence in return. But that may be myfault. Perhaps you don't find me sympathetic, eventhough I have every wish to be. I can only say that Ifind you intensely so, and perhaps I presume too muchupon the fact. But no, every instinct in my nature tellsme that I don't bore you by my confidences.Can you remember Cullingworth at the University? Younever were in the athletic set, and so it is possiblethat you don't. Anyway, I'll take it for grantedthat you don't, and explain it all from the beginning.I'm sure that you would know his photograph, however, forthe reason that he was the ugliest and queerest-lookingman of our year.Physically he was a fine athlete--one of the fastestand most determined Rugby forwards that I have everknown, though he played so savage a game that he wasnever given his international cap. He was well-grown,five foot nine perhaps, with square shoulders, an archingchest, and a quick jerky way of walking. He had a roundstrong head, bristling with short wiry black hair. Hisface was wonderfully ugly, but it was the ugliness ofcharacter, which is as attractive as beauty. His jaw andeyebrows were scraggy and rough-hewn, his nose aggressiveand red-shot, his eyes small and near set, light blue incolour, and capable of assuming a very genial and also anexceedingly vindictive expression. A slight wirymoustache covered his upper lip, and his teeth wereyellow, strong, and overlapping. Add to this that heseldom wore collar or necktie, that his throat was thecolour and texture of the bark of a Scotch fir, and thathe had a voice and especially a laugh like a bull'sbellow. Then you have some idea (if you can piece allthese items in your mind) of the outward James Cullingworth.But the inner man, after all, was what was most worthnoting. I don't pretend to know what genius is.Carlyle's definition always seemed to me to be a verycrisp and clear statement of what it is NOT. Farfrom its being an infinite capacity for taking pains, itsleading characteristic, as far as I have ever been ableto observe it, has been that it allows the possessor ofit to attain results by a sort of instinct which othermen could only reach by hard work. In this senseCullingworth was the greatest genius that I have everknown. He never seemed to work, and yet he took theanatomy prize over the heads of all the ten-hour-a-daymen. That might not count for much, for he was quitecapable of idling ostentatiously all day and then readingdesperately all night; but start a subject of your ownfor him, and then see his originality and strength. Talkabout torpedoes, and he would catch up a pencil, and onthe back of an old envelope from his pocket he wouldsketch out some novel contrivance for piercing a ship'snetting and getting at her side, which might no doubtinvolve some technical impossibility, but which would atleast be quite plausible and new. Then as he drew, hisbristling eyebrows would contract, his small eyes wouldgleam with excitement, his lips would be pressedtogether, and he would end by banging on the paper withhis open hand, and shouting in his exultation. You wouldthink that his one mission in life was to inventtorpedoes. But next instant, if you were to expresssurprise as to how it was that the Egyptian workmenelevated the stones to the top of the pyramids, out wouldcome the pencil and envelope, and he would propound ascheme for doing that with equal energy and conviction.This ingenuity was joined to an extremely sanguinenature. As he paced up and down in his jerky quick-stepping fashion after one of these flights of invention,he would take out patents for it, receive you as hispartner in the enterprise, have it adopted in everycivilised country, see all conceivable applications ofit, count up his probable royalties, sketch out the novelmethods in which he would invest his gains, and finallyretire with the most gigantic fortune that has ever beenamassed. And you would be swept along by his words,and would be carried every foot of the way with him, sothat it would come as quite a shock to you when yousuddenly fell back to earth again, and found yourselftrudging the city street a poor student, with Kirk'sPhysiology under your arm, and hardly the price ofyour luncheon in your pocket.I read over what I have written, but I can see thatI give you no real insight into the demoniac clevernessof Cullingworth. His views upon medicine were mostrevolutionary, but I daresay that if things fulfil theirpromise I may have a good deal to say about them in thesequel. With his brilliant and unusual gifts, his fineathletic record, his strange way of dressing (his hat onthe back of his head and his throat bare), his thunderingvoice, and his ugly, powerful face, he had quite the mostmarked individuality of any man that I have ever known.Now, you will think me rather prolix about this man;but, as it looks as if his life might become entwinedwith mine, it is a subject of immediate interest to me,and I am writing all this for the purpose of reviving myown half-faded impressions, as well as in the hope ofamusing and interesting you. So I must just give youone or two other points which may make his character moreclear to you.He had a dash of the heroic in him. On one occasionhe was placed in such a position that he must choosebetween compromising a lady, or springing out of a third-floor window. Without a moment's hesitation he hurledhimself out of the window. As luck would have it, hefell through a large laurel bush on to a garden plot,which was soft with rain, and so escaped with a shakingand a bruising. If I have to say anything that gives abad impression of the man, put that upon the other side.He was fond of rough horse-play; but it was better toavoid it with him, for you could never tell what it mightlead to. His temper was nothing less than infernal. Ihave seen him in the dissecting-rooms begin to skylarkwith a fellow, and then in an instant the fun would goout of his face, his little eyes would gleam with fury,and the two would be rolling, worrying each other likedogs, below the table. He would be dragged off, pantingand speechless with fury, with his wiry hair bristlingstraight up like a fighting terrier's.This pugnacious side of his character would beworthily used sometimes. I remember that an addresswhich was being given to us by an eminent Londonspecialist was much interrupted by a man in the frontrow, who amused himself by interjecting remarks. Thelecturer appealed to his audience at last. "Theseinterruptions are insufferable, gentlemen," said he;"will no one free me from this annoyance?" "Hold yourtongue--you, sir, on the front bench," criedCullingworth, in his bull's bellow. "Perhaps you'll makeme," said the fellow, turning a contemptuous face overhis shoulder. Cullingworth closed his notebook, andbegan to walk down on the tops of the desks to thedelight of the three hundred spectators. It was fine tosee the deliberate way in which he picked his way amongthe ink bottles. As he sprang down from the last benchon to the floor, his opponent struck him a smashing blowfull in the face. Cullingworth got his bulldog grip onhim, however, and rushed him backwards out of the class-room. What he did with him I don't know, but there wasa noise like the delivery of a ton of coals; and thechampion of law and order returned, with the sedateair of a man who had done his work. One of his eyeslooked like an over-ripe damson, but we gave him threecheers as he made his way back to his seat. Then we wenton with the dangers of Placenta Praevia.He was not a man who drank hard, but a little drinkwould have a very great effect upon him. Then it wasthat the ideas would surge from his brain, each morefantastic and ingenious than the last. And if ever hedid get beyond the borderland he would do the mostamazing things. Sometimes it was the fighting instinctthat would possess him, sometimes the preaching, andsometimes the comic, or they might come in succession,replacing each other so rapidly as to bewilder hiscompanions. Intoxication brought all kinds of queerlittle peculiarities with it. One of them was that hecould walk or run perfectly straight, but that therealways came a time when he unconsciously returned uponhis tracks and retraced his steps again. This had astrange effect sometimes, as in the instance which I amabout to tell you.Very sober to outward seeming, but in a frenzywithin, he went down to the station one night, and,stooping to the pigeon-hole, he asked the ticket-clerk,in the suavest voice, whether he could tell him how farit was to London. The official put forward his face toreply when Cullingworth drove his fist through the littlehole with the force of a piston. The clerk flewbackwards off his stool, and his yell of pain andindignation brought some police and railway men to hisassistance. They pursued Cullingworth; but he, as activeand as fit as a greyhound, outraced them all, andvanished into the darkness, down the long, straightstreet. The pursuers had stopped, and were gathered ina knot talking the matter over, when, looking up, theysaw, to their amazement, the man whom they were after,running at the top of his speed in their direction. Hislittle peculiarity had asserted itself, you see, and hehad unconsciously turned in his flight. They tripped himup, flung themselves upon him, and after a long anddesperate struggle dragged him to the police station. Hewas charged before the magistrate next morning, but madesuch a brilliant speech from the dock in his owndefence that he carried the Court with him, and escapedwith a nominal fine. At his invitation, the witnessesand the police trooped after him to the nearest hotel,and the affair ended in universal whisky-and-sodas.Well, now, if, after all these illustrations, I havefailed to give you some notion of the man, able,magnetic, unscrupulous, interesting, many-sided, I mustdespair of ever doing so. I'll suppose, however, that Ihave not failed; and I will proceed to tell you, my mostpatient of confidants, something of my personal relationswith Cullingworth.When I first made a casual acquaintance with him hewas a bachelor. At the end of a long vacation, however,he met me in the street, and told me, in his loud-voicedvolcanic shoulder-slapping way, that he had just beenmarried. At his invitation, I went up with him then andthere to see his wife; and as we walked he told me thehistory of his wedding, which was as extraordinary aseverything else he did. I won't tell it to you here, mydear Bertie, for I feel that I have dived down too manyside streets already; but it was a most bustlingbusiness, in which the locking of a governess into herroom and the dyeing of Cullingworth's hair playedprominent parts. Apropos of the latter he was neverquite able to get rid of its traces; and from this timeforward there was added to his other peculiarities thefact that when the sunlight struck upon his hair atcertain angles, it turned it all iridescent andshimmering.Well, I went up to his lodgings with him, and wasintroduced to Mrs. Cullingworth. She was a timid,little, sweet-faced, grey-eyed woman, quiet-voiced andgentle-mannered. You had only to see the way in whichshe looked at him to understand that she was absolutelyunder his control, and that do what he might, or say whathe might, it would always be the best thing to her. Shecould be obstinate, too, in a gentle, dove-like sort ofway; but her obstinacy lay always in the direction ofbacking up his sayings and doings. This, however, I wasonly to find out afterwards; and at that, my first visit,she impressed me as being one of the sweetest littlewomen that I had ever known.They were living in the most singular style, ina suite of four small rooms, over a grocer's shop. Therewas a kitchen, a bedroom, a sitting-room, and a fourthroom, which Cullingworth insisted upon regarding as amost unhealthy apartment and a focus of disease, thoughI am convinced that it was nothing more than the smell ofcheeses from below which had given him the idea. At anyrate, with his usual energy he had not only locked theroom up, but had gummed varnished paper over all thecracks of the door, to prevent the imaginary contagionfrom spreading. The furniture was the sparest possible.There were, I remember, only two chairs in the sitting-room; so that when a guest came (and I think I was theonly one) Cullingworth used to squat upon a pile ofyearly volumes of the British Medical Journal in thecorner. I can see him now levering himself up from hislowly seat, and striding about the room roaring andstriking with his hands, while his little wife sat mum inthe corner, listening to him with love and admiration inher eyes. What did we care, any one of the three of us,where we sat or how we lived, when youth throbbed hot inour veins, and our souls were all aflame with thepossibilities of life? I still look upon those Bohemianevenings, in the bare room amid the smell of the cheese,as being among the happiest that I have known.I was a frequent visitor to the Cullingworths, forthe pleasure that I got was made the sweeter by thepleasure which I hoped that I gave. They knew no one,and desired to know no one; so that socially I seemed tobe the only link that bound them to the world. I evenventured to interfere in the details of their littlemenage. Cullingworth had a fad at the time, that allthe diseases of civilisation were due to the abandonmentof the open-air life of our ancestors, and as a corollaryhe kept his windows open day and night. As his wife wasobviously fragile, and yet would have died before shewould have uttered a word of complaint, I took it uponmyself to point out to him that the cough from which shesuffered was hardly to be cured so long as she spent herlife in a draught. He scowled savagely at me for myinterference; and I thought we were on the verge of aquarrel, but it blew over, and he became more consideratein the matter of ventilation.Our evening occupations just about that time were ofa most extraordinary character. You are aware that thereis a substance, called waxy matter, which is deposited inthe tissues of the body during the course of certaindiseases. What this may be and how it is formed has beena cause for much bickering among pathologists.Cullingworth had strong views upon the subject, holdingthat the waxy matter was really the same thing as theglycogen which is normally secreted by the liver. But itis one thing to have an idea, and another to be able toprove it. Above all, we wanted some waxy matter withwhich to experiment. But fortune favoured us in the mostmagical way. The Professor of Pathology had come intopossession of a magnificent specimen of the condition.With pride he exhibited the organ to us in the classroombefore ordering his assistant to remove it to the ice-chest, preparatory to its being used for microscopicalwork in the practical class. Cullingworth saw hischance, and acted on the instant. Slipping out of theclassroom, he threw open the ice-chest, rolled his ulsterround the dreadful glistening mass, closed the chestagain, and walked quietly away. I have no doubt that tothis day the disappearance of that waxy liver is one ofthe most inexplicable mysteries in the career of ourProfessor.That evening, and for many evenings to come, weworked upon our liver. For our experiments it wasnecessary to subject it all to great heat in an endeavourto separate the nitrogenous cellular substance from thenon-nitrogenous waxy matter. With our limited appliancesthe only way we could think of was to cut it into finepieces and cook it in a frying pan. So night after nightthe curious spectacle might have been seen of a beautifulyoung woman and two very earnest young men busily engagedin making these grim fricassees. Nothing came of all ourwork; for though Cullingworth considered that he hadabsolutely established his case, and wrote long screedsto the medical papers upon the subject, he was never aptat stating his views with his pen, and he left, I amsure, a very confused idea on the minds of his readers asto what it was that he was driving at. Again, as he wasa mere student without any letters after his name, hegot scant attention, and I never heard that he gainedover a single supporter.At the end of the year we both passed ourexaminations and became duly qualified medical men. TheCullingworths vanished away, and I never heard any moreof them, for he was a man who prided himself upon neverwriting a letter. His father had formerly a very largeand lucrative practice in the West of Scotland, but hedied some years ago. I had a vague idea, founded uponsome chance remark of his, that Cullingworth had gone tosee whether the family name might still stand him in goodstead there. As for me I began, as you will rememberthat I explained in my last, by acting as assistant in myfather's practice. You know, however, that at its bestit is not worth more than L700 a year, with no room forexpansion. This is not large enough to keep two of us atwork. Then, again, there are times when I can see thatmy religious opinions annoy the dear old man. On thewhole, and for every reason, I think that it would bebetter if I were out of this. I applied for severalsteamship lines, and for at least a dozen housesurgeonships; but there is as much competition for amiserable post with a hundred a year as if it were theViceroyship of India. As a rule, I simply get mytestimonials returned without any comment, which is thesort of thing that teaches a man humility. Of course, itis very pleasant to live with the mater, and my littlebrother Paul is a regular trump. I am teaching himboxing; and you should see him put his tiny fists up, andcounter with his right. He got me under the jaw thisevening, and I had to ask for poached eggs for supper.And all this brings me up to the present time and thelatest news. It is that I had a telegram fromCullingworth this morning--after nine months' silence.It was dated from Avonmouth, the town where I hadsuspected that he had settled, and it said simply, "Comeat once. I have urgent need of you. "CULLINGWORTH." Ofcourse, I shall go by the first train tomorrow. It maymean anything or nothing. In my heart of hearts I hopeand believe that old Cullingworth sees an opening for meeither as his partner or in some other way. I alwaysbelieved that he would turn up trumps, and make myfortune as well as his own. He knows that if I am notvery quick or brilliant I am fairly steady and reliable.So that's what I've been working up to all along, Bertie,that tomorrow I go to join Cullingworth, and that itlooks as if there was to be an opening for me at last.I gave you a sketch of him and his ways, so that you maytake an interest in the development of my fortune, whichyou could not do if you did not know something of the manwho is holding out his hand to me.Yesterday was my birthday, and I was two and twentyyears of age. For two and twenty years have I swungaround the sun. And in all seriousness, without a touchof levity, and from the bottom of my soul, I assure youthat I have at the present moment the very vaguest ideaas to whence I have come from, whither I am going, orwhat I am here for. It is not for want of inquiry, orfrom indifference. I have mastered the principles ofseveral religions. They have all shocked me by theviolence which I should have to do to my reason to acceptthe dogmas of any one of them. Their ethics are usuallyexcellent. So are the ethics of the common law ofEngland. But the scheme of creation upon which thoseethics are built! Well, it really is to me the mostastonishing thing that I have seen in my short earthlypilgrimage, that so many able men, deep philosophers,astute lawyers, and clear-headed men of the world shouldaccept such an explanation of the facts of life. In theface of their apparent concurrence my own poor littleopinion would not dare to do more than lurk at the backof my soul, were it not that I take courage when Ireflect that the equally eminent lawyers and philosophersof Rome and Greece were all agreed that Jupiter hadnumerous wives and was fond of a glass of good wine.Mind, my dear Bertie, I do not wish to run down yourview or that of any other man. We who claim tolerationshould be the first to extend it to others. I am onlyindicating my own position, as I have often done before.And I know your reply so well. Can't I hear your gravevoice saying "Have faith!" Your conscience allows youto. Well, mine won't allow me. I see so clearly thatfaith is not a virtue, but a vice. It is a goat whichhas been herded with the sheep. If a man deliberatelyshut his physical eyes and refused to use them, youwould be as quick as any one in seeing that it wasimmoral and a treason to Nature. And yet you wouldcounsel a man to shut that far more precious gift, thereason, and to refuse to use it in the most intimatequestion of life."The reason cannot help in such a matter," you reply.I answer that to say so is to give up a battle before itis fought. My reason SHALL help me, and when it canhelp no longer I shall do without help.It's late, Bertie, and the fire's out, and I'mshivering; and you, I'm very sure, are heartily weary ofmy gossip and my heresies, so adieu until my next.II.HOME, 10th April, 1881.Well, my dear Bertie, here I am again in yourpostbox. It's not a fortnight since I wrote you thatgreat long letter, and yet you see I have news enough tomake another formidable budget. They say that the art ofletter-writing has been lost; but if quantity may atonefor quality, you must confess that (for your sins) youhave a friend who has retained it.When I wrote to you last I was on the eve of goingdown to join the Cullingworths at Avonmouth, with everyhope that he had found some opening for me. I must tellyou at some length the particulars of that expedition.I travelled down part of the way with young LeslieDuncan, whom I think you know. He was gracious enough toconsider that a third-class carriage and my company wereto be preferred to a first class with solitude. You knowthat he came into his uncle's money a little timeago, and after a first delirious outbreak, he has nowrelapsed into that dead heavy state of despair which iscaused by having everything which one can wish for. Howabsurd are the ambitions of life when I think that I, whoam fairly happy and as keen as a razor edge, should bestruggling for that which I can see has brought neitherprofit nor happiness to him! And yet, if I can read myown nature, it is not the accumulation of money which ismy real aim, but only that I may acquire so much as willrelieve my mind of sordid cares and enable me to developany gifts which I may have, undisturbed. My tastes areso simple that I cannot imagine any advantage whichwealth can give--save indeed the exquisite pleasure ofhelping a good man or a good cause. Why should peopleever take credit for charity when they must know thatthey cannot gain as much pleasure out of their guineas inany other fashion? I gave my watch to a brokenschoolmaster the other day (having no change in mypocket), and the mater could not quite determine whetherit was a trait of madness or of nobility. I could havetold her with absolute confidence that it was neither theone nor the other, but a sort of epicureanselfishness with perhaps a little dash of swagger awaydown at the bottom of it. What had I ever had from mychronometer like the quiet thrill of satisfaction whenthe fellow brought me the pawn ticket and told me thatthe thirty shillings had been useful?Leslie Duncan got out at Carstairs, and I was leftalone with a hale, white-haired, old Roman Catholicpriest, who had sat quietly reading his office in thecorner. We fell into the most intimate talk, whichlasted all the way to Avonmouth--indeed, so interestedwas I that I very nearly passed through the place withoutknowing it. Father Logan (for that was his name) seemedto me to be a beautiful type of what a priest should be--self-sacrificing and pure-minded, with a kind of simplecunning about him, and a deal of innocent fun. He hadthe defects as well as the virtues of his class, for hewas absolutely reactionary in his views. We discussedreligion with fervour, and his theology was somewhereabout the Early Pliocene. He might have chattered thematter over with a priest of Charlemagne's Court, andthey would have shaken hands after every sentence. Hewould acknowledge this and claim it as a merit. Itwas consistency in his eyes. If our astronomers andinventors and law-givers had been equally consistentwhere would modern civilisation be? Is religion the onlydomain of thought which is non-progressive, and to bereferred for ever to a standard set two thousand yearsago? Can they not see that as the human brain evolves itmust take a wider outlook? A half-formed brain makes ahalf-formed God, and who shall say that our brains areeven half-formed yet? The truly inspired priest is theman or woman with the big brain. It is not the shavenpatch on the outside, but it is the sixty ounces withinwhich is the real mark of election.You know that you are turning up your nose at me,Bertie. I can see you do it. But I'll come off the thinice, and you shall have nothing but facts now. I'mafraid that I should never do for a story-teller, for thefirst stray character that comes along puts his arm inmine and walks me off, with my poor story straggling awayto nothing behind me.Well, then, it was night when we reached Avonmouth,and as I popped my head out of the carriage window, thefirst thing that my eyes rested upon was oldCullingworth, standing in, the circle of light under agas-lamp. His frock coat was flying open, his waistcoatunbuttoned at the top, and his hat (a top hat this time)jammed on the back of his head, with his bristling hairspurting out in front of it. In every way, save that hewore a collar, he was the same Cullingworth as ever. Hegave a roar of recognition when he saw me, bustled me outof my carriage, seized my carpet bag, or grip-sack as youused to call it, and a minute later we were stridingalong together through the streets.I was, as you may imagine, all in a tingle to knowwhat it was that he wanted with me. However, as he madeno allusion to it, I did not care to ask, and, during ourlongish walk, we talked about indifferent matters. Itwas football first, I remember, whether Richmond had achance against Blackheath, and the way in which the newpassing game was shredding the old scrimmages. Then hegot on to inventions, and became so excited that he hadto give me back my bag in order that he might be able toslap all his points home with his fist upon his palm.I can see him now stopping, with his face leaning forwardand his yellow tusks gleaming in the lamplight."My dear Munro" (this was the style of the thing),"why was armour abandoned, eh? What! I'll tell you why.It was because the weight of metal that would protect aman who was standing up was more than he could carry.But battles are not fought now-a-days by men who arestanding up. Your infantry are all lying on theirstomachs, and it would take very little to protect them.And steel has improved, Munro! Chilled steel! Bessemer!Bessemer! Very good. How much to cover a man? Fourteeninches by twelve, meeting at an angle so that the bulletwill glance. A notch at one side for the rifle. Thereyou have it, laddie--the Cullingworth patent portablebullet-proof shield! Weight? Oh, the weight would besixteen pounds. I worked it out. Each company carriesits shields in go-carts, and they are served out on goinginto action. Give me twenty thousand good shots, andI'll go in at Calais and come out at Pekin. Think of it,my boy! the moral effect. One side gets home everytime and the other plasters its bullets up againststeel plates. No troops would stand it. The nation thatgets it first will pitchfork the rest of Europe over theedge. They're bound to have it--all of them. Let'sreckon it out. There's about eight million of them on awar footing. Let us suppose that only half of them haveit. I say only half, because I don't want to be toosanguine. That's four million, and I should take aroyalty of four shillings on wholesale orders. What'sthat, Munro? About three-quarters of a million sterling,eh? How's that, laddie, eh? What?"Really, that is not unlike his style of talk, nowthat I come to read it over, only you miss the queerstops, the sudden confidential whispers, the roar withwhich he triumphantly answered his own questions, theshrugs and slaps, and gesticulations. But not a word allthe time as to what it was that made him send me thaturgent wire which brought me to Avonmouth.I had, of course, been puzzling in my mind as towhether he had succeeded or not, though from his cheerfulappearance and buoyant talk, it was tolerably clearto me that all was well with him. I was, however,surprised when, as we walked along a quiet, curvingavenue, with great houses standing in their own groundsupon either side, he stopped and turned in through theiron gate which led up to one of the finest of them. Themoon had broken out and shone upon the high-peaked roof,and upon the gables at each corner. When he knocked itwas opened by a footman with red plush knee-breeches. Ibegan to perceive that my friend's success must have beensomething colossal.When we came down to the dining-room for supper, Mrs.Cullingworth was waiting there to greet me. I was sorryto see that she was pale and weary-looking. However, wehad a merry meal in the old style, and her husband'sanimation reflected itself upon her face, until at lastwe might have been back in the little room, where theMedical Journals served as a chair, instead of in thegreat oak-furnished, picture-hung chamber to which we hadbeen promoted. All the time, however, not one word as tothe object of my journey.When the supper was finished, Cullingworth ledthe way into a small sitting-room, where we both lit ourpipes, and Mrs. Cullingworth her cigarette. He sat forsome little time in silence, and then bounding up rushedto the door and flung it open. It is always one of hisstrange peculiarities to think that people areeavesdropping or conspiring against him; for, in spite ofhis superficial brusqueness and frankness, a strange veinof suspicion runs through his singular and complexnature. Having satisfied himself now that there were nospies or listeners he threw himself down into hisarmchair."Munro," said he, prodding at me with his pipe, "whatI wanted to tell you is, that I am utterly, hopelessly,and irretrievably ruined."My chair was tilted on its back legs as he spoke, andI assure you that I was within an ace of going over.Down like a pack of cards came all my dreams as to thegrand results which were to spring from my journey toAvonmouth. Yes, Bertie, I am bound to confess it: myfirst thought was of my own disappointment, and mysecond of the misfortune of my friends. He had the mostdiabolical intuitions, or I a very tell-tale face, for headded at once--"Sorry to disappoint you, my boy. That's not whatyou expected to hear, I can see.""Well," I stammered, "it IS rather a surprise,old chap. I thought from the . . . from the . . .""From the house, and the footman, and the furniture,"said he. "Well, they've eaten me up among them . . .licked me clean, bones and gravy. I'm done for, my boy,unless . . ."--here I saw a question in his eyes--"unlesssome friend were to lend me his name on a bit of stampedpaper.""I can't do it, Cullingworth," said I." It's awretched thing to have to refuse a friend; and if I hadmoney . . .""Wait till you're asked, Munro," he interrupted, withhis ugliest of expressions. "Besides, as you havenothing and no prospects, what earthly use would YOURname on a paper be?""That's what I want to know," said I, feeling alittle mortified, none the less."Look here, laddie," he went on; "d'you see that pileof letters on the left of the table?""Yes.""Those are duns. And d'you see those documentson the right? Well, those are County Court summonses.And, now, d'you see that;" he picked up a little ledger,and showed me three or, four names scribbled on the firstpage."That's the practice," he roared, and laughed untilthe great veins jumped out on his forehead. His wifelaughed heartily also, just as she would have wept, hadhe been so disposed."It's this way, Munro," said he, when he had got overhis paroxysm. "You have probably heard--in fact, I havetold you myself--that my father had the finest practicein Scotland. As far as I could judge he was a man of nocapacity, but still there you are--he had it."I nodded and smoked."Well, he's been dead seven years, and fifty netsdipping into his little fish-pond. However, when Ipassed I thought my best move was to come down to the oldplace, and see whether I couldn't piece the thingtogether again. The name ought to be worth something, Ithought. But it was no use doing the thing in a halfhearted way. Not a bit of use in that, Munro. The kindof people who came to him were wealthy, and must see afine house and a man in livery. What chance wasthere of gathering them into a bow-windowed forty pound-a-year house with a grubby-faced maid at the door? Whatdo you suppose I did? My boy, I took the governor's oldhouse, that was unlet--the very house that he kept up atfive thousand a year. Off I started in rare style, andsank my last cent in furniture. But it's no use, laddie.I can't hold on any longer. I got two accidents and anepileptic--twenty-two pounds, eight and sixpence--that'sthe lot!"What will you do, then?""That's what I wanted your advice about. That's whyI wired for you. I always respected your opinion, myboy, and I thought that now was the time to have it."It struck me that if he had asked for it nine monthsbefore there would have been more sense in it. What onearth could I do when affairs were in such a tangle?However, I could not help feeling complimented when soindependent a fellow as Cullingworth turned to me in thisway."You really think," said I, "that it is no useholding on here?"He jumped up, and began pacing the room in his swiftjerky way."You take warning from it, Munro," said he. "You'vegot to start yet. Take my tip, and go where no one knowsyou. People will trust a stranger quick enough; but ifthey can remember you as a little chap who ran about inknickerbockers, and got spanked with a hair brush forstealing plums, they are not going to put their lives inyour keeping. It's all very well to talk aboutfriendship and family connections; but when a man has apain in the stomach he doesn't care a toss about allthat. I'd stick it up in gold, letters in every medicalclassroom--have it carved across the gate of theUniversity--that if a man wants friends be must go amongstrangers. It's all up here, Munro; so there's no use inadvising me to hold on."I asked him how much he owed. It came to about sevenhundred pounds. The rent alone was two hundred. He hadalready raised money on the furniture, and his wholeassets came to less than a tenner. Of course, there wasonly one possible thing that I could advise."You must call your creditors together," said I;"they can see for themselves that you are young andenergetic--sure to succeed sooner or later. If theypush you into a corner now, they can get nothing. Makethat clear to them. But if you make a fresh startelsewhere and succeed, you may pay them all in full. Isee no other possible way out of it.""I knew that you'd say that, and it's just what Ithought myself. Isn't it, Hetty? Well, then, thatsettles it; and I am much obliged to you for your advice,and that's all we'll say about the matter to-night. I'vemade my shot and missed. Next time I shall hit, and itwon't be long either."His failure did not seem to weigh very heavily on hismind, for in a few minutes he was shouting away aslustily as ever. Whiskey and hot water were brought in,that we might all drink luck to the second venture.And this whiskey led us to what might have been atroublesome affair. Cullingworth, who had drunk off acouple of glasses, waited until his wife had left theroom, and then began to talk of the difficulty of gettingany exercise now that he had to wait in all day in thehope of patients. This led us round to the ways in whicha man might take his exercise indoors, and that toboxing. Cullingworth took a couple of pairs ofgloves out of a cupboard, and proposed that we shouldfight a round or two then and there.If I hadn't been a fool, Bertie, I should never haveconsented. It's one of my many weaknesses, that, whetherit's a woman or a man, anything like a challenge sets meoff. But I knew Cullingworth's ways, and I told you inmy last what a lamb of a temper he has. None the less,we pushed back the table, put the lamp on a high bracket,and stood up to one another.The moment I looked him in the face I smelledmischief. He had a gleam of settled malice in his eye.I believe it was my refusal to back his paper which wasrunning in his head. Anyway he looked as dangerous as hecould look, with his scowling face sunk forward a little,his hands down near his hips (for his boxing, likeeverything else about him, is unconventional), and hisjaw set like a rat-trap.I led off, and then in he came hitting with bothhands, and grunting like a pig at every blow. From whatI could see of him he was no boxer at all, but just aformidable rough and tumble fighter. I was guardingwith both hands for half a minute, and then was rushedclean off my legs and banged up against the door, with myhead nearly through one of the panels. He wouldn't stopthen, though he saw that I had no space to get my elbowsback; and he let fly a right-hander which would have putme into the hall, if I hadn't slipped it and got back tothe middle of the room."Look here, Cullingworth," said I; "there's not muchboxing about this game.""Yes, I hit pretty hard, don't I?""If you come boring into me like that, I'm bound tohit you out again," I said. "I want to play light ifyou'll let me."The words were not out of my mouth before he was onme like a flash. I slipped him again; but the room wasso small, and he as active as a cat, that there was nogetting away from him. He was on me once more with aregular football rush that knocked me off my balance.Before I knew where I was he got his left on the mark andhis right on my ear. I tripped over a footstool, andthen before I could get my balance he had me on the sameear again, and my head was singing like a tea-kettle.He was as pleased as possible with himself, blowing outhis chest and slapping it with his palms as he took hisplace in the middle of the room."Say when you've had enough, Munro," said he.This was pretty stiff, considering that I had twoinches the better of him in height, and as many stone inweight, besides being the better boxer. His energy andthe size of the room had been against me so far, but hewasn't to have all the slogging to himself in the nextround if I could help it.In he came with one of his windmill rushes. But Iwas on the look-out for him this time. I landed him withmy left a regular nose-ender as he came, and then,ducking under his left, I got him a cross-counter on thejaw that laid him flat across his own hearthrug. He wasup in an instant, with a face like a madman."You swine!" he shouted. "Take those gloves off, andput your hands up!" He was tugging at his own to getthem off."Go on, you silly ass!" said I. "What is there tofight about?"He was mad with passion, and chucked his gloves downunder the table."By God, Munro," he cried, "if you don't take thosegloves off, I'll go for you, whether you have them on ornot.""Have a glass of soda water," said I.He made a crack at me. "You're afraid of me, Munro.That's what's the matter with you," he snarled.This was getting too hot, Bertie. I saw all thefolly of the thing. I believed that I might whip him;but at the same time I knew that we were so much of amatch that we would both get pretty badly cut up withoutany possible object to serve. For all that, I took mygloves off, and I think perhaps it was the wisest courseafter all. If Cullingworth once thought he had thewhiphand of you, you might be sorry for it afterwards.But, as fate would have it, our little barney wasnipped in the bud. Mrs. Cullingworth came into the roomat that instant, and screamed out when she saw herhusband. His nose was bleeding and his chin was allslobbered with blood, so that I don't wonder that it gaveher a turn."James!" she screamed; and then to me": "What is themeaning of this, Mr. Munro?"You should have seen the hatred in her dove's eyes.I felt an insane impulse to pick her up and kiss her."We've only been having a little spar, Mrs.Cullingworth," said I. "Your husband was complainingthat he never got any exercise.""It's all right, Hetty," said he, pulling his coat onagain. "Don't be a little stupid. Are the servants goneto bed? Well, you might bring some water in a basin fromthe kitchen. Sit down, Munro, and light your pipe again.I have a hundred things that I want to talk to youabout."So that was the end of it, and all went smoothly forthe rest of the evening. But, for all that, the littlewife will always look upon me as a brute and a bully;while as to Cullingworth----well, it's rather difficultto say what Cullingworth thinks about the matter.When I woke next morning he was in my room, anda funny-looking object he was. His dressing-gown lay ona chair, and he was putting up a fifty-six pound dumb-bell, without a rag to cover him. Nature didn't give hima very symmetrical face, nor the sweetest of expressions;but he has a figure like a Greek statue. I was amused tosee that both his eyes had a touch of shadow to them. Itwas his turn to grin when I sat up and found that my earwas about the shape and consistence of a toadstool.However, he was all for peace that morning, and chattedaway in the most amiable manner possible.I was to go back to my father's that day, but I hada couple of hours with Cullingworth in his consultingroom before I left. He was in his best form, and full ofa hundred fantastic schemes, by which I was to help him.His great object was to get his name into the newspapers.That was the basis of all success, according to hisviews. It seemed to me that he was confounding causewith effect; but I did not argue the point. I laugheduntil my sides ached over the grotesque suggestions whichpoured from him. I was to lie senseless in the roadway,and to be carried into him by a sympathising crowd,while the footman ran with a paragraph to the newspapers.But there was the likelihood that the crowd might carryme in to the rival practitioner opposite. In variousdisguises I was to feign fits at his very door, and sofurnish fresh copy for the local press. Then I was todie--absolutely to expire--and all Scotland was toresound with how Dr. Cullingworth, of Avonmouth, hadresuscitated me. His ingenious brain rang a thousandchanges out of the idea, and his own impending bankruptcywas crowded right out of his thoughts by the flood ofhalf-serious devices.But the thing that took the fun out of him, and madehim gnash his teeth, and stride cursing about the room,was to see a patient walking up the steps which led tothe door of Scarsdale, his opposite neighbour. Scarsdalehad a fairly busy practice, and received his people athome from ten to twelve, so that I got quite used toseeing Cullingworth fly out of his chair, and rush ravingto the window. He would diagnose the cases, too, andestimate their money value until he was hardlyarticulate."There you are!" he would suddenly yell; "see thatman with a limp! Every morning he goes. Displacedsemilunar cartilage, and a three months' job. The man'sworth thirty-five shillings a week. And there! I'mhanged if the woman with the rheumatic arthritis isn'tround in her bath-chair again. She's all sealskin andlactic acid. It's simply sickening to see how they crowdto that man. And such a man! You haven't seen him. Allthe better for you. I don't know what the devil you arelaughing at, Munro. I can't see where the fun comes inmyself."Well, it was a short experience that visit toAvonmouth, but I think that I shall remember it all mylife. Goodness knows, you must be sick enough of thesubject, but when I started with so much detail I wastempted to go. It ended by my going back again in theafternoon, Cullingworth assuring me that he would callhis creditors together as I had advised, and that hewould let me know the result in a few days. Mrs. C.would hardly shake hands with me when I said goodbye; butI like her the better for that. He must have a greatdeal of good in him, or he could not have won her loveand confidence so completely. Perhaps there is anotherCullingworth behind the scenes--a softer, tenderer man,who can love and invite love. If there is, I havenever got near him. And yet I may only have been tappingat the shell. Who knows? For that matter, it is likelyenough that he has never got at the real Johnnie Munro.But you have, Bertie; and I think that you've had alittle too much of him this time, only you encourage meto this sort of excess by your sympathetic replies.Well, I've done as much as the General Post Office willcarry for fivepence, so I'll conclude by merely remarkingthat a fortnight has passed, and that I have had no newsfrom Avonmouth, which does not in the very slightestdegree surprise me. If I ever do hear anything, which isexceedingly doubtful, you may be sure that I will put afinish to this long story.III.HOME, 15th October, 1881.Without any figure of speech I feel quite ashamedwhen I think of you, Bertie. I send you one or twoenormously long letters, burdened, as far as I canremember them, with all sorts of useless detail. Then,in spite of your kindly answers and your sympathy, whichI have done so little to deserve, I drop you completelyfor more than six months. By this J pen I swear that itshall not happen again; and this letter may serve tobridge the gap and to bring you up to date in my pooraffairs, in which, of all outer mankind, you alone takean interest.To commence with what is of most moment, you may restassured that what you said in your last letter aboutreligion has had my most earnest attention. I am sorrythat I have not got it by me to refer to (I lent it toCharlie), but I think I have the contents in my head. Itis notorious, as you say, that an unbeliever maybe as bigoted as any of the orthodox, and that a man maybe very dogmatic in his opposition to dogma. Such menare the real enemies of free thought. If anything couldpersuade me to turn traitor to my reason, it would, forexample, be the blasphemous and foolish picturesdisplayed in some of the agnostic journals.But every movement has its crowd of camp followers.who straggle and scatter. We are like a comet, bright atthe head but tailing away into mere gas behind. However,every man may speak for himself, and I do not feel thatyour charge comes home to me. I am only bigoted againstbigotry, and that I hold to be as legitimate as violenceto the violent. When one considers what effect theperversion of the religious instinct has had during thehistory of the world; the bitter wars, Christian andMahomedan, Catholic and Protestant; the persecutions, thetorturings, the domestic hatreds, the petty spites, withALL creeds equally blood-guilty, one cannot but beamazed that the concurrent voice of mankind has notplaced bigotry at the very head of the deadly sins. Itis surely a truism to say that neither smallpox northe plague have brought the same misery upon mankind.I cannot be bigoted, my dear boy, when I say from thebottom of my heart that I respect every good Catholic andevery good Protestant, and that I recognise that each ofthese forms of faith has been a powerful instrument inthe hands of that inscrutable Providence which rules allthings. Just as in the course of history one finds thatthe most far-reaching and admirable effects may proceedfrom a crime; so in religion, although a creed be foundedupon an entirely inadequate conception of the Creator andHis ways, it may none the less be the very best practicalthing for the people and age which have adopted it. Butif it is right for those to whom it is intellectuallysatisfying to adopt it, it is equally so for those towhom it is not, to protest against it, until by thisprocess the whole mass of mankind gets graduallyleavened, and pushed a little further upon their slowupward journey.Catholicism is the more thorough. Protestantism isthe more reasonable. Protestantism adapts itself tomodern civilisation. Catholicism expects civilisation toadapt itself to it. Folk climb from the one bigbranch to the other big branch, and think they have madea prodigious change, when the main trunk is rottenbeneath them, and both must in their present forms beinvolved sooner or later in a common ruin. The movementof human thought, though slow, is still in the directionof truth, and the various religions which man sheds as headvances (each admirable in its day) will serve, likebuoys dropped down from a sailing vessel, to give therate and direction of his progress.But how do I know what is truth, you ask? I don't.But I know particularly well what isn't. And surely thatis something to have gained. It isn't true that thegreat central Mind that planned all things is capable ofjealousy or of revenge, or of cruelty or of injustice.These are human attributes; and the book which ascribesthem to the Infinite must be human also. It isn't truethat the laws of Nature have been capriciously disturbed,that snakes have talked, that women have been turned tosalt, that rods have brought water out of rocks. Youmust in honesty confess that if these things werepresented to us when we were, adults for the firsttime, we should smile at them. It isn't true that theFountain of all common sense should punish a race for avenial offence committed by a person long since dead, andthen should add to the crass injustice by heaping thewhole retribution upon a single innocent scapegoat. Canyou not see all the want of justice and logic, to saynothing of the want of mercy, involved in such aconception? Can you not see it, Bertie? How can youblind yourself to it! Take your eyes away from thedetails for a moment, and look at this root idea of thepredominant Faith. Is the general conception of itconsistent with infinite wisdom and mercy? If not, whatbecomes of the dogmas, the sacraments, the whole schemewhich is founded upon this sand-bank? Courage, myfriend! At the right moment all will be laid aside, asthe man whose strength increases lays down the crutchwhich has been a good friend to him in his weakness. Buthis changes won't be over then. His hobble will becomea walk, and his walk a run. There is no finality--CAN be none since the question concerns the infinite.All this, which appears too advanced to you to-day,will seem reactionary and conservative a thousand yearshence.Since I am upon this topic, may I say just a littlemore without boring you? You say that criticism such asmine is merely destructive, and that I have nothing tooffer in place of what I pull down. This is not quitecorrect. I think that there are certain elemental truthswithin our grasp which ask for no faith for theiracceptance, and which are sufficient to furnish us witha practical religion, having so much of reason in it thatit would draw thinking men into its fold, not drive themforth from it.When we all get back to these elemental and provablefacts there will be some hopes of ending the pettybickerings of creeds, and of including the whole humanfamily in one comprehensive system of thought.When first I came out of the faith in which I hadbeen reared, I certainly did feel for a time as if mylife-belt had burst. I won't exaggerate and say that Iwas miserable and plunged in utter spiritual darkness.Youth is too full of action for that. But I wasconscious of a vague unrest, of a constant want ofrepose, of an emptiness and hardness which I had notnoticed in life before. I had so identified religionwith the Bible that I could not conceive them apart.When the foundation proved false, the whole structurecame rattling about my ears. And then good old Carlylecame to the rescue; and partly from him, and partly frommy own broodings, I made a little hut of my own, whichhas kept me snug ever since, and has even served toshelter a friend or two besides.The first and main thing was to get it thoroughlysoaked into one that the existence of a Creator and anindication of His attributes does in no way depend uponJewish poets, nor upon human paper or printing ink. Onthe contrary, all such efforts to realise Him must onlybelittle Him, bringing the Infinite down to the narrowterms of human thought, at a time when that thought wasin the main less spiritual than it is at present. Eventhe most material of modern minds would flinch atdepicting the Deity as ordering wholesale executions, andhacking kings to pieces upon the horns of altars.Then having prepared your mind for a higher (ifperhaps a vaguer) idea of the Deity, proceed to study Himin His works, which cannot be counterfeited ormanipulated. Nature is the true revelation of the Deityto man. The nearest green field is the inspired pagefrom which you may read all that it is needful for you toknow.I confess that I have never been able to understandthe position of the atheist. In fact, I have come todisbelieve in his existence, and to look upon the word asa mere term of theological reproach. It may represent atemporary condition, a passing mental phase, a defiantreaction against an anthropomorphic ideal; but I cannotconceive that any man can continue to survey Nature andto deny that there are laws at work which displayintelligence and power. The very existence of a worldcarries with it the proof of a world-maker, as the tableguarantees the pre-existence of the carpenter. Grantingthis, one may form what conception one will of thatMaker, but one cannot be an atheist.Wisdom and power and means directed to an end run allthrough the scheme of Nature. What proof do we want,then, from a book? If the man who observes the myriadstars, and considers that they and their innumerablesatellites move in their serene dignity through theheavens, each swinging clear of the other's orbit--if, Isay, the man who sees this cannot realise the Creator'sattributes without the help of the book of Job, then hisview of things is beyond my understanding. Nor is itonly in the large things that we see the ever presentsolicitude of some intelligent force. Nothing is tootiny for that fostering care. We see the minuteproboscis of the insect carefully adjusted to fit intothe calyx of the flower, the most microscopic hair andgland each with its definite purposeful function toperform. What matter whether these came by specialcreation or by evolution? We know as a matter of factthat they came by evolution, but that only defines thelaw. It does not explain it.But if this power has cared for the bee so as tofurnish it with its honey bag and its collecting forceps,and for the lowly seed so as to have a thousand devicesby which it reaches a congenial soil, then is itconceivable that we, the highest product of all, areoverlooked? It is NOT conceivable. The idea isinconsistent with the scheme of creation as we see it.I say again that no faith is needed to attain thecertainty of a most watchful Providence.And with this certainty surely we have all that isnecessary for an elemental religion. Come what may afterdeath, our duties lie clearly defined before us in thislife; and the ethical standard of all creeds agrees sofar that there is not likely to be any difference ofopinion as to that. The last reformation simplifiedCatholicism. The coming one will simplify Protestantism.And when the world is ripe for it another will come andsimplify that. The ever improving brain will give us anever broadening creed. Is it not glorious to think thatevolution is still living and acting--that if we have ananthropoid ape as an ancestor, we may have archangels forour posterity?Well, I really never intended to inflict all thisupon you, Bertie. I thought I could have made myposition clear in a page or so. But you can see how onepoint has brought up another. Even now I am leaving somuch unsaid. I can see with such certainty exactlywhat you will say. "If you deduce a good Providence fromthe good things in nature, what do you make of the evil?"That's what you will say. Suffice it that I am inclinedto deny the existence of evil. Not another word will Isay upon the subject; but if you come back to ityourself, then be it on your own head.You remember that when I wrote last I had justreturned from visiting the Cullingworths at Avonmouth,and that he had promised to let me know what steps hetook in appeasing his creditors. As I expected, I havenot had one word from him since. But in a roundabout wayI did get some news as to what happened. From thisaccount, which was second-hand, and may have beenexaggerated, Cullingworth did exactly what I hadrecommended, and calling all his creditors together hemade them a long statement as to his position. The goodpeople were so touched by the picture that he drew of aworthy man fighting against adversity that several ofthem wept, and there was not only complete unanimity asto letting their bills stand over, but even some talk ofa collection then and there to help Cullingworth onhis way. He has, I understand, left Avonmouth, but noone has any idea what has become of him. It is generallysupposed that he has gone to England. He is a strangefellow, but I wish him luck wherever he goes.When I came back I settled down once more to theroutine of my father's practice, holding on there untilsomething may turn up. And for six months I have had towait; a weary six months they have been. You see Icannot ask my father for money--or, at least, I cannotbring myself to take an unnecessary penny of his money--for I know how hard a fight it is with him to keep theroof over our heads and pay for the modest little horseand trap which are as necessary to his trade as a gooseis to a tailor. Foul fare the grasping taxman who wringsa couple of guineas from us on the plea that it is aluxury! We can just hold on, and I would not have him apound the poorer for me. But you can understand, Bertie,that it is humiliating for a man of my age to have to goabout without any money in my pocket. It affects me inso many petty ways. A poor man may do me a kindness, andI have to seem mean in his eyes. I may want a flower fora girl, and must be content to appear ungallant. Idon't know why I should be ashamed of this, since it isno fault of mine, and I hope that I don't show it to anyone else that I AM ashamed of it; but to you, my dearBertie, I don't mind confessing that it hurts my self-respect terribly.I have often wondered why some of those writingfellows don't try their hands at drawing the inner lifeof a young man from about the age of puberty until hebegins to find his feet a little. Men are very fond ofanalysing the feelings of their heroines, which theycannot possibly know anything about, while they havelittle to say of the inner development of their heroes,which is an experience which they have themselvesundergone. I should like to try it myself, but it wouldneed blending with fiction, and I never had a spark ofimagination. But I have a vivid recollection of what Iwent through myself. At the time I thought (as everybodythinks) that it was a unique experience; but since I haveheard the confidences of my father's patients I amconvinced that it is the common lot. The shrinking,horrible shyness, alternating with occasional absurd fitsof audacity which represent the reaction against it,the longing for close friendship, the agonies overimaginary slights, the extraordinary sexual doubts, thedeadly fears caused by non-existent diseases, the vagueemotion produced by all women, and the half-frightenedthrill by particular ones, the aggressiveness caused byfear of being afraid, the sudden blacknesses, theprofound self-distrust--I dare bet that you have feltevery one of them, Bertie, just as I have, and that thefirst lad of eighteen whom you see out of your window issuffering from them now.This is all a digression, however, from the fact thatI have been six months at home and am weary of it, andpleased at the new development of which I shall have totell you. The practice here, although unremunerative, isvery busy with its three-and-sixpenny visits and guineaconfinements, so that both the governor and I have hadplenty to do. You know how I admire him, and yet I fearthere is little intellectual sympathy between us. Heappears to think that those opinions of mine uponreligion and politics which come hot from my inmost soulhave been assumed either out of indifference or bravado.So I have ceased to talk on vital subjects with him,and, though we affect to ignore it, we both knowthat there is a barrier there. Now, with my mother--ah,but my mother must have a paragraph to herself.You met her, Bertie! You must remember her sweetface, her sensitive mouth, her peering, short-sightedeyes, her general suggestion of a plump little hen, whois still on the alert about her chickens. But you cannotrealise all that she is to me in our domestic life.Those helpful fingers! That sympathetic brain! Eversince I can remember her she has been the quaintestmixture of the housewife and the woman of letters, withthe highbred spirited lady as a basis for eithercharacter. Always a lady, whether she was bargainingwith the butcher, or breaking in a skittish charwoman, orstirring the porridge, which I can see her doing with theporridge-stick in one hand, and the other holding herRevue des deux Mondes within two inches of her dearnose. That was always her favourite reading, and I cannever think of her without the association of its browny-yellow cover.She is a very well-read woman is the mother; shekeeps up to date in French literature as well as inEnglish, and can talk by the hour about theGoncourts, and Flaubert, and Gautier. Yet she is alwayshard at work; and how she imbibes all her knowledge is amystery. She reads when she knits, she reads when shescrubs, she even reads when she feeds her babies. Wehave a little joke against her, that at an interestingpassage she deposited a spoonful of rusk and milk into mylittle sister's car-hole, the child having turned herhead at the critical instant. Her hands are worn withwork, and yet where is the idle woman who has read asmuch?Then, there is her family pride. That is a veryvital portion of the mother. You know how little I thinkof such things. If the Esquire were to be snipped onceand for ever from the tail of my name I should be thelighter for it. But, ma foi!--to use her ownfavourite expletive--it would not do to say this to her.On the Packenham side (she is a Packenham) the family canboast of some fairly good men--I mean on the directline--but when we get on the side branches there is nota monarch upon earth who does not roost on that hugefamily tree. Not once, nor twice, but thrice did thePlantagenets intermarry with us, the Dukes of Brittanycourted our alliance, and the Percies ofNorthumberland intertwined themselves with our wholeillustrious record. So in my boyhood she would expoundthe matter, with hearthbrush in one hand and a glove fullof cinders in the other, while I would sit swinging myknickerbockered legs, swelling with pride until mywaistcoat was as tight as a sausage skin, as Icontemplated the gulf which separated me from all otherlittle boys who swang their legs upon tables. To thisday if I chance to do anything of which she stronglyapproves, the dear heart can say no more than that I ama thorough Packenham; while if I fall away from thestraight path, she says with a sigh that there are pointsin which I take after the Munros.She is broad-minded and intensely practical in herordinary moods, though open to attacks of romance. I canrecollect her coming to see me at a junction throughwhich my train passed, with a six months' absence oneither side of the incident. We had five minutes'conversation, my head out of the carriage window. "Wearflannel next your skin, my dear boy, and never believe ineternal punishment," was her last item of advice as werolled out of the station. Then to finish herportrait I need not tell you, who have seen her, that sheis young-looking and comely to be the mother of aboutthirty-five feet of humanity. She was in the railwaycarriage and I on the platform the other day. "Yourhusband had better get in or we'll go without him," saidthe guard. As we went off, the mother was fumblingfuriously in her pocket, and I know that she was lookingfor a shilling.Ah! what a gossip I have been! And all to lead up tothe one sentence that I could not have stayed at homethis six months if it had not been for the company andthe sympathy of my mother.Well, now I want to tell you about the scrape that Igot myself into. I suppose that I ought to pull a longface over it, but for the life of me I can't helplaughing. I have you almost up to date in my historynow, for what I am going to tell you happened only lastweek. I must mention no names here even to you; for thecurse of Ernulphus, which includes eight and forty minorimprecations, be upon the head of the man who kisses andtells.You must know, then, that within the boundariesof this city there are two ladies, a mother and adaughter, whom I shall call Mrs. and Miss Laura Andrews.They are patients of the governor's, and have become tosome extent friends of the family. Madame is Welsh,charming in appearance, dignified in her manners, andHigh Church in her convictions. The daughter is rathertaller than the mother, but otherwise they are strikinglyalike. The mother is thirty-six and the daughtereighteen. Both are exceedingly charming. Had I tochoose between them, I think, entre nous, that themother would have attracted me most, for I am thoroughlyof Balzac's opinion as to the woman of thirty. However,fate was to will it otherwise.It was the coming home from a dance which firstbrought Laura and me together. You know how easily andsuddenly these things happen, beginning in playfulteasing and ending in something a little warmer thanfriendship. You squeeze the slender arm which is passedthrough yours, you venture to take the little glovedhand, you say good night at absurd length in the shadowof the door. It is innocent and very interesting, lovetrying his wings in a first little flutter. He willkeep his sustained flight later on, the better for thepractice. There was never any question of engagementsbetween us, nor any suggestion of harm. She knew that Iwas a poor devil with neither means nor prospects, and Iknew that her mother's will was her law, and that hercourse was already marked out for her. However, weexchanged our little confidences, and met occasionally byappointment, and tried to make our lives brighter withoutdarkening those of any one else. I can see you shakeyour head here and growl, like the comfortable marriedman that you are, that such relations are very dangerous.So they are, my boy: but neither of us cared, she out ofinnocence and I out of recklessness, for from thebeginning all the fault in the matter was mine.Well, matters were in this state when one day lastweek a note came up to the Dad saying that Mrs. Andrews'servant was ill, and would he come at once. The old manhad a touch of gout, so I donned my professional coatand sallied forth, thinking that perhaps I might combinepleasure with business, and have a few words with Laura.Sure enough, as I passed up the gravel drive whichcurves round to the door, I glanced through the drawing-room window, and saw her sitting painting, with her backto the light. It was clear that she had not heard me.The hall door was ajar, and when I pushed it open, no onewas in the hall. A sudden fit of roguishness came overme. I pushed the drawing-room door very slowly wider,crept in on tiptoe, stole quietly across, and bendingdown, I kissed the artist upon the nape of her neck. Sheturned round with a squeal, and it was the mother!I don't know whether you have ever been in a tightercorner than that, Bertie. It was quite tight enough forme. I remember that I smiled as I stole across thecarpet on that insane venture. I did not smile againthat evening. It makes me hot now when I think of it.Well, I made the most dreadful fool of myself. Atfirst, the good lady who (as I think I told you) is verydignified and rather reserved, could not believe hersenses. Then, as the full force of my enormity came uponher she reared herself up until she seemed the tallestand the coldest woman I had ever seen. It was aninterview with a refrigerator. She asked me what I hadever observed in her conduct which had encouraged me tosubject her to such an outrage. I saw, of course, thatany excuses upon my part would put her on the right trackand give poor Laura away; so I stood with my hairbristling and my top hat in my hand, presenting, I amsure, a most extraordinary figure. Indeed, she lookedrather funny herself, with her palette in one hand, herbrush in the other, and the blank astonishment on herface. I stammered out something about hoping that shedid not mind, which made her more angry than ever. "Theonly possible excuse for your conduct, sir, is that youare under the influence of drink," said she. "I need notsay that we do not require the services of a medical manin that condition." I did not try to disabuse her of theidea, for really I could see no better explanation; so Ibeat a retreat in a very demoralised condition. Shewrote a letter to my father about it in the evening, andthe old man was very angry indeed. As to the mother, sheis as staunch as steel, and quite prepared to provethat poor Mrs. A. was a very deep designing person, whohad laid a trap for innocent Johnnie. So there has beena grand row; and not a soul upon earth has the least ideaof what it all means, except only yourself as you readthis letter.You can imagine that this has not contributed to makelife here more pleasant, for my father cannot bringhimself to forgive me. Of course, I don't wonder at hisanger. I should be just the same myself. It does looklike a shocking breach of professional honour, and a saddisregard of his interests. If he knew the truth hewould see that it was nothing worse than a silly ill-timed boyish joke. However, he never shall know thetruth.And now there is some chance of my getting somethingto do. We had a letter to-night from Christie & Howden,the writers to the Signet, saying that they desire aninterview with me, in view of a possible appointment. Wecan't imagine what it means, but I am full of hopes. Igo tomorrow morning to see them, and I shall let youknow the result.Goodbye, my dear Bertie! Your life flows in asteady stream, and mine in a broken torrent. Yet I wouldhave every detail of what happens to you.IV.HOME, 1st December, 1881.I may be doing you an injustice, Bertie, but itseemed to me in your last that there were indicationsthat the free expression of my religious views had beendistasteful to you. That you should disagree with me Iam prepared for; but that you should object to free andhonest discussion of those subjects which above allothers men should be honest over, would, I confess, be adisappointment. The Freethinker is placed at thisdisadvantage in ordinary society, that whereas it wouldbe considered very bad taste upon his part to obtrude hisunorthodox opinion, no such consideration hampers thosewith whom he disagrees. There was a time when it took abrave man to be a Christian. Now it takes a brave mannot to be. But if we are to wear a gag, and hide ourthoughts when writing in confidence to our mostintimate----no, but I won't believe it. You andI have put up too many thoughts together and chased themwhere-ever{sic} they would double, Bertie; so just writeto me like a good fellow, and tell me that I am an ass.Until I have that comforting assurance, I shall place aquarantine upon everything which could conceivably beoffensive to you.Does not lunacy strike you, Bertie, as being a veryeerie thing? It is a disease of the soul. To think thatyou may have a man of noble mind, full of every loftyaspiration, and that a gross physical cause, such as thefall of a spicule of bone from the inner table of hisskull on to the surface of the membrane which covers hisbrain, may have the ultimate effect of turning him intoan obscene creature with every bestial attribute! Thata man's individuality should swing round from pole topole, and yet that one life should contain these twocontradictory personalities--is it not a wondrous thing?I ask myself, where is the man, the very, very inmostessence of the man? See how much you may subtract fromhim without touching it. It does not lie in the limbswhich serve him as tools, nor in the apparatus by whichhe is to digest, nor in that by which he is to inhaleoxygen. All these are mere accessories, the slaves ofthe lord within. Where, then, is he? He does not lie inthe features which are to express his emotions, nor inthe eyes and ears which can be dispensed with by theblind and deaf. Nor is he in the bony framework which isthe rack over which nature hangs her veil of flesh. Innone of these things lies the essence of the man. Andnow what is left? An arched whitish putty-like mass,some fifty odd ounces in weight, with a number of whitefilaments hanging down from it, looking not unlike themedusae which float in our summer seas. But thesefilaments only serve to conduct nerve force to musclesand to organs which serve secondary purposes. They maythemselves therefore be disregarded. Nor can we stophere in our elimination. This central mass of nervousmatter may be pared down on all sides before we seem toget at the very seat of the soul. Suicides have shotaway the front lobes of the brain, and have lived torepent it. Surgeons have cut down upon it and haveremoved sections. Much of it is merely for thepurpose of furnishing the springs of motion, and muchfor the reception of impressions. All this may be putaside as we search for the physical seat of what we callthe soul--the spiritual part of the man. And what isleft then? A little blob of matter, a handful of nervousdough, a few ounces of tissue, but there--somewherethere--lurks that impalpable seed, to which the rest ofour frame is but the pod. The old philosophers who putthe soul in the pineal gland were not right, but afterall they were uncommonly near the mark.You'll find my physiology even worse than mytheology, Bertie. I have a way of telling storiesbackwards to you, which is natural enough when youconsider that I always sit down to write under theinfluence of the last impressions which have come uponme. All this talk about the soul and the brain arisessimply from the fact that I have been spending the lastfew weeks with a lunatic. And how it came about I willtell you as clearly as I can.You remember that in my last I explained to you howrestive I had been getting at home, and how my idioticmistake had annoyed my father and had made myposition here very uncomfortable. Then I mentioned, Ithink, that I had received a letter from Christie &Howden, the lawyers. Well, I brushed up my Sunday hat,and my mother stood on a chair and landed me twice on theear with a clothes brush, under the impression that shewas making the collar of my overcoat look morepresentable. With which accolade out I sallied into theworld, the dear soul standing on the steps, peering afterme and waving me success.Well, I was in considerable trepidation when Ireached the office, for I am a much more nervous personthan any of my friends will ever credit me with being.However, I was shown in at once to Mr. James Christie, awiry, sharp, thin-lipped kind of man, with an abruptmanner, and that sort of Scotch precision of speech whichgives the impression of clearness of thought behind it."I understand from Professor Maxwell that you havebeen looking about for an opening, Mr. Munro," said he.Maxwell had said that he would give me a hand if hecould; but you remember that he had a reputation forgiving such promises rather easily. I speak of a manas I find him, and to me he has been an excellent friend."I should be very happy to hear of any opening," saidI."Of your medical qualifications there is no need tospeak," he went on, running his eyes all over me in themost questioning way. "Your Bachelorship of Medicinewill answer for that. But Professor Maxwell thought youpeculiarly fitted for this vacancy for physical reasons.May I ask you what your weight is?""Fourteen stone.""And you stand, I should judge, about six feet high?""Precisely.""Accustomed too, as I gather, to muscular exercise ofevery kind. Well, there can be no question that you arethe very man for the post, and I shall be very happy torecommend you to Lord Saltire.""You forget," said I, "that I have not yet heard whatthe position is, or the terms which you offer."He began to laugh at that. "It was a littleprecipitate on my part," said he; "but I do not thinkthat we are likely to quarrel as to position or terms.You may have heard perhaps of the sad misfortune of ourclient, Lord Saltire? Not? To put it briefly then, hisson, the Hon. James Derwent, the heir to the estates andthe only child, was struck down by the sun while fishingwithout his hat last July. His mind has never recoveredfrom the shock, and he has been ever since in a chronicstate of moody sullenness which breaks out every now andthen into violent mania. His father will not allow himto be removed from Lochtully Castle, and it is his desirethat a medical man should stay there in constantattendance upon his son. Your physical strength would ofcourse be very useful in restraining those violentattacks of which I have spoken. The remuneration will betwelve pounds a month, and you would be required to takeover your duties tomorrow."I walked home, my dear Bertie, with a bounding heart,and the pavement like cotton wool under my feet. I foundjust eightpence in my pocket, and I spent the whole of iton a really good cigar with which to celebrate theoccasion. Old Cullingworth has always had a very highopinion of lunatics for beginners. "Get a lunatic,my boy! Get a lunatic!" he used to say. Then it was notonly the situation, but the fine connection that itopened up. I seemed to see exactly what would happen.There would be illness in the family,--Lord Saltirehimself perhaps, or his wife. There would be no time tosend for advice. I would be consulted. I would gaintheir confidence and become their family attendant. Theywould recommend me to their wealthy friends. It was allas clear as possible. I was debating before I reachedhome whether it would be worth my while to give up alucrative country practice in order to take theProfessorship which might be offered me.My father took the news philosophically enough, withsome rather sardonic remark about my patient and me beingwell qualified to keep each other company. But to mymother it was a flash of joy, followed by a thunderclapof consternation. I had only three under-shirts, thebest of my linen had gone to Belfast to be refronted andrecuffed, the nightgowns were not marked yet--there werea dozen of those domestic difficulties of which the meremale never thinks. A dreadful vision of Lady Saltirelooking over my things and finding the heel out of one ofmy socks obsessed my mother. Out we trudged together,and before evening her soul was at rest, and I hadmortgaged in advance my first month's salary. She wasgreat, as we walked home, upon the grand people intowhose service I was to enter. "As a matter of fact, mydear," said she, "they are in a sense relations of yours.You are very closely allied to the Percies, and theSaltires have Percy blood in them also. They are only acadet branch, and you are close upon the main line; butstill it is not for us to deny the connection." Shebrought a cold sweat out upon me by suggesting that sheshould make things easy by writing to Lord Saltire andexplaining our respective positions. Several timesduring the evening I heard her murmur complacently thatthey were only the cadet branch.Am I not the slowest of story-tellers? But youencourage me to it by your sympathetic interest indetails. However, I shall move along a little fasternow. Next morning I was off to Lochtully, which, as youknow, is in the north of Perthshire. It stands threemiles from the station, a great gray pinnacled house,with two towers cocking out above the fir woods, like ahare's ears from a tussock of grass. As we drove up tothe door I felt pretty solemn--not at all as the mainline should do when it condescends to visit the cadetbranch. Into the hall as I entered came a grave learned-looking man, with whom in my nervousness I was about toshake hands cordially. Fortunately he forestalled theimpending embrace by explaining that he was the butler.He showed me into a small study, where everything stankof varnish and morocco leather, there to await the greatman. He proved when he came to be a much less formidablefigure than his retainer--indeed, I felt thoroughly at myease with him from the moment he opened his mouth. He isgrizzled, red-faced, sharp-featured, with a prying andyet benevolent expression, very human and just a triflevulgar. His wife, however, to whom I was afterwardsintroduced, is a most depressing person,--pale, cold,hatchet-faced, with drooping eyelids and very prominentblue veins at her temples. She froze me up again just asI was budding out under the influence of her husband.However, the thing that interested me most of all was tosee my patient, to whose room I was taken by LordSaltire after we had had a cup of tea.The room was a large bare one, at the end of a longcorridor. Near the door was seated a footman, placedthere to fill up the gap between two doctors, and lookingconsiderably relieved at my advent. Over by the window(which was furnished with a wooden guard, like that of anursery) sat a tall, yellow-haired, yellow-bearded, youngman, who raised a pair of startled blue eyes as weentered. He was turning over the pages of a bound copyof the Illustrated London News."James," said Lord Saltire, "this is Dr. Stark Munro,who has come to look after you."My patient mumbled something in his beard, whichseemed to me suspiciously like "Damn Dr. Stark Munro!"The peer evidently thought the same, for he led me asideby the elbow."I don't know whether you have been told that Jamesis a little rough in his ways at present," said he; "hiswhole nature has deteriorated very much since thiscalamity came upon him. You must not be offended byanything he may say or do.""Not in the least," said I."There is a taint of this sort upon my wife'sside," I whispered the little lord; "her uncle'ssymptoms were identical. Dr. Peterson says that thesunstroke was only the determining cause. Thepredisposition was already there. I may tell you thatthe footman will always be in the next room, so that youcan call him if you need his assistance."Well, it ended by lord and lacquey moving off, andleaving me with my patient. I thought that I should loseno time in establishing a kindly relation with him, so Idrew a chair over to his sofa and began to ask him a fewquestions about his health and habits. Not a word couldI get out of him in reply. He sat as sullen as a mule,with a kind of sneer about his handsome face, whichshowed me very well that he had heard everything. Itried this and tried that, but not a syllable could I getfrom him; so at last I turned from him and began to lookover some illustrated papers on the table. He doesn'tread, it seems, and will do nothing but look at pictures.Well, I was sitting like this with my back half turned,when you can imagine my surprise to feel somethingplucking gently at me, and to see a great brown handtrying to slip its way into my coat pocket. I caught atthe wrist and turned swiftly round, but too late toprevent my handkerchief being whisked out and concealedbehind the Hon. James Derwent, who sat grinning at melike a mischievous monkey."Come, I may want that," said I, trying to treat thematter as a joke.He used some language which was more scriptural thanreligious. I saw that he did not mean giving it up, butI was determined not to let him get the upper hand overme. I grabbed for the handkerchief; and he, with asnarl, caught my hand in both of his. He had a powerfulgrip, but I managed to get his wrist and to give it awrench round, until, with a howl, he dropped my property."What fun," said I, pretending to laugh. "Let us tryagain. Now, you take it up, and see if I can get itagain."But he had had enough of that game. Yet he appearedto be better humoured than before the incident, and I gota few short answers to the questions which I put to him.And here comes in the text which started mepreaching about lunacy at the beginning of thisletter. WHAT a marvellous thing it is! This man,from all I can learn of him, has suddenly swung cleanover from one extreme of character to the other. Everyplus has in an instant become a minus. He's anotherman, but in the same case. I am told that he used to be(only a few months ago, mind you) most fastidious indress and speech. Now he is a foul-tongued rough! Hehad a nice taste in literature. Now he stares at you ifyou speak of Shakespeare. Queerest of all, he used to bea very high-and-dry Tory in his opinions. He is fond nowof airing the most democratic views, and in a needlesslyoffensive way. When I did get on terms with him at last,I found that there was nothing on which he could be drawnon to talk so soon as on politics. In substance, I ambound to say that I think his new views are probablysaner than his old ones, but the insanity lies in hissudden reasonless change and in his violent blurts ofspeech.It was some weeks, however, before I gained hisconfidence, so far as to be able to hold a realconversation with him. For a long time he was verysullen and suspicious, resenting the constant watch whichI kept upon him. This could not be relaxed, for he wasfull of the most apish tricks. One day he got hold of mytobacco pouch, and stuffed two ounces of my tobacco intothe long barrel of an Eastern gun which hangs on thewall. He jammed it all down with the ramrod, and I wasnever able to get it up again. Another time he threwan earthenware spittoon through the window, and wouldhave sent the clock after it had I not prevented him.Every day I took him for a two hours' constitutional,save when it rained, and then we walked religiously forthe same space up and down the room. Heh! but it was adeadly, dreary, kind of life.I was supposed to have my eye upon him all day, witha two-hour interval every afternoon and an evening tomyself upon Fridays. But then what was the use of anevening to myself when there was no town near, and I hadno friends whom I could visit? I did a fair amount ofreading, for Lord Saltire let me have the run of hislibrary. Gibbon gave me a couple of enchanting weeks.You know the effect that he produces. You seem to beserenely floating upon a cloud, and looking down on allthese pigmy armies and navies, with a wise Mentor ever atyour side to whisper to you the inner meaning of all thatmajestic panorama.Now and again young Derwent introduced someexcitement into my dull life. On one occasion when wewere walking in the grounds, he suddenly snatched up aspade from a grass-plot, and rushed at an inoffensiveunder-gardener. The man ran screaming for his life, withmy patient cursing at his very heels, and me within a fewpaces of him. When I at last laid my hand on his collar,he threw down his weapon and burst into shrieks oflaughter. It was only mischief and not ferocity; butwhen that under-gardener saw us coming after that he wasoff with a face like a cream cheese. At night theattendant slept in a camp-bed at the foot of thepatient's, and my room was next door, so that I could becalled if necessary. No, it was not a very exhilaratinglife!We used to go down to family meals when there were novisitors; and there we made a curious quartette:Jimmy (as he wished me to call him) glum and silent; Iwith the tail of my eye always twisted round to him; LadySaltire with her condescending eyelids and her blueveins; and the good-natured peer, fussy and genial, butalways rather subdued in the presence of his wife. Shelooked as if a glass of good wine would do her good, andhe as if he would be the better for abstinence; and so,in accordance with the usual lopsidedness of life, hedrank freely, and she took nothing but lime-juice andwater. You cannot imagine a more ignorant, intolerant,narrow-minded woman than she. If she had only beencontent to be silent and hidden that small brain of hers,it would not have mattered; but there was no end to herbitter and exasperating clacking. What was she after allbut a thin pipe for conveying disease from one generationto another? She was bounded by insanity upon the northand upon the south. I resolutely set myself to avoid allargument with her; but she knew, with her woman'sinstinct, that we were as far apart as the poles, andtook a pleasure in waving the red flag before me. Oneday she was waxing eloquent as to the crime of aminister of an Episcopal church performing any servicein a Presbyterian chapel. Some neighbouring minister haddone it, it seems; and if he had been marked down in apot house she could not have spoken with greaterloathing. I suppose that my eyes were less under controlthan my tongue, for she suddenly turned upon me with:"I see that you don't agree with me, Dr. Munro."I replied quietly that I did not, and tried to changethe conversation; but she was not to be shaken off."Why not, may I ask?"I explained that in my opinion the tendency of theage was to break down those ridiculous doctrinal pointswhich are so useless, and which have for so long setpeople by the ears. I added that I hoped the time wassoon coming when good men of all creeds would throw thislumber overboard and join hands together.She half rose, almost speechless with indignation."I presume," said she, "that you are one of thosepeople who would separate the Church from the State?""Most certainly," I answered.She stood erect in a kind of cold fury, and swept outof the room. Jimmy began to chuckle, and his fatherlooked perplexed."I am sorry that my opinions are offensive to LadySaltire," I remarked."Yes, yes; it's a pity; a pity," said he "well, well,we must say what we think; but it's a pity you think it--a very great pity."I quite expected to get my dismissal over thisbusiness, and indeed, indirectly I may say that I did so.From that day Lady Saltire was as rude to me as she couldbe, and never lost an opportunity of making attacks uponwhat she imagined to be my opinions. Of these I nevertook the slightest notice; but at last on an evil day shewent for me point-blank, so that there was no gettingaway from her. It was just at the end of lunch, when thefootman had left the room. She had been talking aboutLord Saltire's going up to London to vote upon somequestion in the House of Lords."Perhaps, Dr. Munro," said she, turning acidlyupon me, "that is also an institution which has not beenfortunate enough to win your approval.""It is a question, Lady Saltire, which I should muchprefer not to discuss," I answered."Oh, you might just as well have the courage of yourconvictions," said she. "Since you desire to despoil theNational Church, it is natural enough that you shouldwish also to break up the Constitution. I have heardthat an atheist is always a red republican."Lord Saltire rose, wishing, I have no doubt, to putan end to the conversation. Jimmy and I rose also; andsuddenly I saw that instead of moving towards the door hewas going to his mother. Knowing his little tricks, Ipassed my hand under his arm, and tried to steer himaway. She noticed it, however, and interfered."Did you wish to speak to me, James?""I want to whisper in your ear, mother.""Pray don't excite yourself, sir," said I, againattempting to detain him. Lady Saltire arched heraristocratic eyebrows."I think, Dr. Munro, that you push your authorityrather far when you venture to interfere between a motherand her son," said she. What was it, my poor dear boy?"Jimmy bent down and whispered something in her ear.The blood rushed into her pale face, and she sprang fromhim as if he had struck her. Jimmy began to snigger."This is your doing, Dr. Munro," she cried furiously."You have corrupted my son's mind, and encouraged him toinsult his mother.""My dear! My dear!" said her husband soothingly, andI quietly led the recalcitrant Jimmy upstairs. I askedhim what it was that he had said to his mother, but gotonly chuckles in reply.I had a presentiment that I should hear more of thematter; and I was not wrong. Lord Saltire called me intohis study in the evening."The fact is, doctor," said he, "that Lady Saltirehas been extremely annoyed and grieved about whatoccurred at lunch to-day. Of course, you can imaginethat such an expression coming from her own son, shockedher more than I can tell.""I assure you, Lord Saltire," said I, "that I have noidea at all what passed between Lady Saltire and mypatient.""Well," said he, "without going into details, I maysay that what he whispered was a blasphemous wish, mostcoarsely expressed, as to the future of that Upper Houseto which I have the honor to belong.""I am very sorry," said I, "and I assure you that Ihave never encouraged him in his extreme political views,which seem to me to be symptoms of his disease.""I am quite convinced that what you say is true," heanswered; "but Lady Saltire is unhappily of the opinionthat you have instilled these ideas into him. You knowthat it is a little difficult sometimes to reason with alady. However, I have no doubt that all may be smoothedover if you would see Lady Saltire and assure her thatshe has misunderstood your views upon this point, andthat you are personally a supporter of a HereditaryChamber."It put me in a tight corner, Bertie; but my mind wasinstantly made up. From the first word I had read mydismissal in every uneasy glance of his little eyes."I am afraid," said I, "that that is rather furtherthan I am prepared to go. I think that since there hasbeen for some weeks a certain friction between LadySaltire and myself, it would perhaps be as well that Ishould resign the post which I hold in your household.I shall be happy, however, to remain here until you havefound some one to take over my duties.""Well, I am sorry it has come to this, and yet it maybe that you are right," said he, with an expression ofrelief; "as to James, there need be no difficulty aboutthat, for Dr. Patterson could come in tomorrow morning.""Then tomorrow morning let it be," I answered."Very good, Dr. Munro; I will see that you have yourcheque before you go."So there was the end of all my fine dreams aboutaristocratic practices and wonderful introductions! Ibelieve the only person in the whole house who regrettedme was Jimmy, who was quite downcast at the news. Hisgrief, however, did not prevent him from brushing mynew top-hat the wrong way on the morning that I left. Idid not notice it until I reached the station, and a mostundignified object I must have looked when I took mydeparture.So ends the history of a failure. I am, as you know,inclined to fatalism, and do not believe that such athing as chance exists; so I am bound to think that thisexperience was given to me for some end. It was apreliminary canter for the big race, perhaps. My motherwas disappointed, but tried to show it as little aspossible. My father was a little sardonic over thematter. I fear that the gap between us widens. By theway, an extraordinary card arrived from Cullingworthduring my absence. "You are my man," said he; "mind thatI am to have you when I want you." There was no date andno address, but the postmark was Bradfield in the northof England. Does it mean nothing? Or may it meaneverything? We must wait and see.Goodbye, old man. Let me hear equally fully aboutyour own affairs. How did the Rattray business go off?V.MERTON ON THE MOORS, 5th March, 1882.I was so delighted, my dear chap, to have yourassurance that nothing that I have said or could say uponthe subject of religion could offend you. It isdifficult to tell you how pleased and relieved I was atyour cordial letter. I have no one to whom I can talkupon such matters. I am all driven inwards, and thoughtturns sour when one lets it stagnate like that. It is agrand thing to be able to tell it all to a sympatheticlistener--and the more so perhaps when he looks at it allfrom another standpoint. It steadies and sobers one.Those whom I love best are those who have leastsympathy with my struggles. They talk about havingfaith, as if it could be done by an act of volition.They might as well tell me to have black hair instead ofred. I might simulate it perhaps by refusing to use myreason at all in religious matters. But I willnever be traitor to the highest thing that God has givenme. I WILL use it. It is more moral to use it andgo wrong, than to forego it and be right. It is only alittle foot-rule, and I have to measure Mount Everestwith it; but it's all I have, and I'll never give it upwhile there's breath between my lips.With all respect to you, Bertie, it is very easy tobe orthodox. A man who wanted mental peace and materialadvancement in this world would certainly choose to beso. As Smiles says--"A dead fish can float with thestream, but it takes a man to swim against it." Whatcould be more noble than the start and the starter ofChristianity? How beautiful the upward struggle of anidea, like some sweet flower blossoming out amongstrubble and cinders! But, alas! to say that this idea wasa final idea! That this scheme of thought was above thereason! That this gentle philosopher was that supremeintelligence to which we cannot even imagine apersonality without irreverence!--all this will come torank with the strangest delusions of mankind. And thenhow clouded has become that fine daybreak ofChristianity! Its representatives have risen from themanger to the palace, from the fishing smack to theHouse of Lords. Nor is that other old potentate in theVatican, with his art treasures, his guards, and hiscellars of wine in a more logical position. They are allgood and talented men, and in the market of brains areworth perhaps as much as they get. But how can theybring themselves to pose as the representatives of acreed, which, as they themselves expound it, is basedupon humility, poverty, and self-denial? Not one of themwho would not quote with approval the parable of theWedding Guest. But try putting one of them out of theirdue precedence at the next Court reception. It happenedsome little time ago with a Cardinal, and England rangwith his protests. How blind not to see how they wouldspring at one leap into the real first place if theywould but resolutely claim the last as the special badgeof their master!What can we know? What are we all? Poor silly half-brained things peering out at the infinite, with theaspirations of angels and the instincts of beasts. Butsurely all will be well with us. If not, then He whomade us is evil, which is not to be thought. Surely,then, all must go very well with us!I feel ashamed when I read this over. My mind fillsin all the trains of thought of which you have the rudeends peeping out from this tangle. Make what you can ofit, dear Bertie, and believe that it all comes from myinnermost heart. Above all may I be kept from becominga partisan, and tempering with truth in order to sustaina case. Let me but get a hand on her skirt, and she maydrag me where she will, if she will but turn her facefrom time to time that I may know her.You'll see from the address of this letter, Bertie,that I have left Scotland and am in Yorkshire. I havebeen here three months, and am now on the eve of leavingunder the strangest circumstances and with the queerestprospects. Good old Cullingworth has turned out a trump,as I always knew he would. But, as usual, I am beginningat the wrong end, so here goes to give you an idea ofwhat has been happening.I told you in my last about my lunacy adventure andmy ignominious return from Lochtully Castle. When I hadsettled for the flannel vests which my mother had orderedso lavishly I had only five pounds left out of my pay.With this, as it was the first money that I had everearned im{sic} my life, I bought her a gold bangle, sobehold me reduced at once to my usual empty pocketedcondition. Well, it was something just to feel that IHAD earned money. It gave me an assurance that Imight again.I had not been at home more than a few days when myfather called me into the study after breakfast onemorning and spoke very seriously as to our financialposition. He began the interview by unbuttoning hiswaistcoat and asking me to listen at his fifthintercostal space, two inches from the left sternal line.I did so, and was shocked to hear a well-marked mitralregurgitant murmur."It is of old standing," said he, "but of late I havehad a puffiness about the ankles and some renal symptomswhich show me that it is beginning to tell."I tried to express my grief and sympathy, but he cutme short with some asperity."The point is," said he, "that no insurance officewould accept my life, and that I have been unable, owingto competition and increased expenses, to lay anythingby. If I die soon (which, between ourselves, is byno means improbable), I must leave to your care yourmother and the children. My practice is so entirely apersonal one that I cannot hope to be able to hand overto you enough to afford a living."I thought of Cullingworth's advice about going whereyou are least known. "I think," said I, "that, mychances would be better away from here.""Then you must lose no time in establishingyourself," said he. "Your position would be one of greatresponsibility if anything were to happen to me just now.I had hoped that you had found an excellent opening withthe Saltires; but I fear that you can hardly expect toget on in the world, my boy, if you insult youremployer's religious and political view at his owntable."It wasn't a time to argue, so I said nothing. Myfather took a copy of the Lancet out of his desk, andturned up an advertisement which he had marked with ablue pencil. "Read this!" said he.I've got it before me as I write. It runs thus:Qualified Assistant. Wanted at once in a large countryand colliery practice. Thorough knowledge ofobstetrics and dispensing indispensable. Ride and drive.L70 a year. Apply Dr, Horton Merton on the Moors,Yorkshire.""There might be an opening there," said he. "I knowHorton, and I am convinced that I can get you theappointment. It would at least give you the opportunityof looking round and seeing whether there was any vacancythere. How do you think it would suit you?"Of course I could only answer that I was willing toturn my hand to anything. But that interview has left amark upon me--a heavy ever-present gloom away at theback of my soul, which I am conscious of even when thecause of it has for a moment gone out of my thoughts.I had enough to make a man serious before, when I hadto face the world without money or interest. But now tothink of the mother and my sisters and little Paul allleaning upon me when I cannot stand myself--it is anightmare. Could there be anything more dreadful in lifethan to have those whom you love looking to you for helpand to be unable to give it? But perhaps it won't cometo that. Perhaps my father may hold his own for years.Come what may, I am bound to think that all thingsare ordered for the best; though when the good is afurlong off, and we with our beetle eyes can only seethree inches, it takes some confidence in generalprinciples to pull us through.Well, it was all fixed up; and down I came toYorkshire. I wasn't in the best of spirits when Istarted, Bertie, but they went down and down as I nearedmy destination. How people can dwell in such placespasses my comprehension. What can life offer them tomake up for these mutilations of the face of Nature? Nowoods, little grass, spouting chimneys, slate-colouredstreams, sloping mounds of coke and slag, topped by thegreat wheels and pumps of the mines. Cinder-strewnpaths, black as though stained by the weary miners whotoil along them, lead through the tarnished fields to therows of smoke-stained cottages. How can any youngunmarried man accept such a lot while there's an emptyhammock in the navy, or a berth in a merchant forecastle?How many shillings a week is the breath of the oceanworth? It seems to me that if I were a poor man--well,upon my word, that "if" is rather funny when I thinkthat many of the dwellers in those smoky cottages havetwice my salary with half my expenses.Well, as I said, my spirits sank lower and loweruntil they got down into the bulb, when on lookingthrough the gathering gloom I saw "Merton" printed on thelamps of a dreary dismal station. I got out, and wasstanding beside my trunk and my hat-box, waiting for aporter, when up came a cheery-looking fellow and asked mewhether I was Dr. Stark Munro. "I'm Horton," said he;and shook hands cordially.In that melancholy place the sight of him was like afire on a frosty night. He was gaily dressed in thefirst place, check trousers, white waistcoat, a flower inhis button hole. But the look of the man was very muchto my heart. He was ruddy checked and black eyed, witha jolly stout figure and an honest genial smile. I feltas we clinched hands in the foggy grimy station that Ihad met a man and a friend.His carriage was waiting, and we drove out to hisresidence, The Myrtles, where I was speedily introducedboth to his family and his practice. The former issmall, and the latter enormous. The wife is dead; buther mother, Mrs. White, keeps house for him; and thereare two dear little girls, about five and seven. Thenthere is an unqualified assistant, a young Irish student,who, with the three maids, the coachman, and the stableboy, make up the whole establishment. When I tell youthat we give four horses quite as much as they can do,you will have an idea of the ground we cover.The house, a large square brick one, standing in itsown grounds, is built on a small hill in an oasis ofgreen fields. Beyond this, however, on every side theveil of smoke hangs over the country, with the mine pumpsand the chimneys bristling out of it. It would be adreadful place for an idle man: but we are all so busythat we have hardly time to think whether there's a viewor not.Day and night we are at work; and yet the threemonths have been very pleasant ones to look back upon.I'll give you an idea of what a day's work is like.We breakfast about nine o'clock, and immediatelyafterwards the morning patients begin to drop in. Manyof them are very poor people, belonging to the collieryclubs, the principle of which is, that the members pay alittle over a halfpenny a week all the year round, wellor ill, in return for which they get medicine andattendance free. "Not much of a catch for the doctors,"you would say, but it is astonishing what competitionthere is among them to get the appointment. You see itis a certainty for one thing, and it leads indirectly toother little extras. Besides, it amounts upsurprisingly. I have no doubt that Horton has five orsix hundred a year from his clubs alone. On the otherhand, you can imagine that club patients, since they paythe same in any case, don't let their ailments go veryfar before they are round in the consulting room.Well, then, by half-past nine we are in full blast.Horton is seeing the better patients in the consultingroom, I am interviewing the poorer ones in the waitingroom, and McCarthy, the Irishman, making up prescriptionsas hard as he can tear. By the club rules, patients arebound to find their own bottles and corks.They generally remember the bottle, but alwaysforget the cork. "Ye must pay a pinny or ilse put yourforefinger in," says McCarthy. They have an idea thatall the strength of the medicine goes if the bottle isopen, so they trot off with their fingers stuck in thenecks. They have the most singular notions aboutmedicines. "It's that strong that a spoon will stand oopin't!" is one man's description. Above all, they love tohave two bottles, one with a solution of citric acid, andthe other with carbonate of soda. When the mixturebegins to fizz, they realise that there is indeed ascience of medicine.This sort of work, with vaccinations, bandagings, andminor surgery, takes us to nearly eleven o'clock, when weassemble in Horton's room to make out the list. All thenames of patients under treatment are pinned upon a bigboard. We sit round with note books open, and distributethose who must be seen between us. By the time this isdone and the horses in, it is half-past eleven. Thenaway we all FLY upon our several tasks: Horton ina carriage and pair to see the employers; I in a dog cartto see the employed; and McCarthy on his good Irishlegs to see those chronic cases to which a qualified mancan do no good, and an unqualified no harm.Well, we all work back again by two o'clock, when wefind dinner waiting for us. We may or may not havefinished our rounds. If not away we go again. If wehave, Horton dictates his prescriptions, and strides offto bed with his black clay pipe in his mouth. He is themost abandoned smoker I have ever met with, collectingthe dottles of his pipes in the evening, and smoking themthe next morning before breakfast in the stable yard.When he has departed for his nap, McCarthy and I get towork on the medicine. There are, perhaps, fifty bottlesto put up, with pills, ointment, etc. It is quite half-past four before we have them all laid out on the shelfaddressed to the respective invalids. Then we have anhour or so of quiet, when we smoke or read, or box withthe coachman in the harness room. After tea theevening's work commences. From six to nine people arecoming in for their medicine, or fresh patients wishingadvice. When these are settled we have to see again anyvery grave cases which may be on the list; and so,about ten o'clock, we may hope to have another smoke, andperhaps a game of cards. Then it is a rare thing for anight to pass without one or other of us having to trudgeoff to a case which may take us two hours, or may take usten. Hard work, as you see; but Horton is such a goodchap, and works so hard himself, that one does not mindwhat one does. And then we are all like brothers in thehouse; our talk is just a rattle of chaff, and thepatients are as homely as ourselves, so that the workbecomes quite a pleasure to all of us.Yes, Horton is a real right-down good fellow. Hisheart is broad and kind and generous. There is nothingpetty in the man. He loves to see those around himhappy; and the sight of his sturdy figure and jolly redface goes far to make them so. Nature meant him to be ahealer; for he brightens up a sick room as he did theMerton station when first I set eyes upon him. Don'timagine from my description that he is in any way soft,however. There is no one on whom one could be lesslikely to impose. He has a temper which is easily aflameand as easily appeased. A mistake in the dispensingmay wake it up and then he bursts into the surgery likea whiff of cast wind, his checks red, his whiskersbristling, and his eyes malignant. The daybook isbanged, the bottles rattled, the counter thumped, andthen he is off again with five doors slamming behind him.We can trace his progress when the black mood is on himby those dwindling slams. Perhaps it is that McCarthyhas labelled the cough mixture as the eye-wash, or sentan empty pillbox with an exhortation to take one everyfour hours. In any case the cyclone comes and goes, andby the next meal all is peace once more.I said that the patients were very homely. Any onewho is over-starched might well come here to beunstiffened. I confess that I did not quite fall in withit at once. When on one of my first mornings a clubpatient with his bottle under his arm came up to me andasked me if I were the doctor's man, I sent him on to seethe groom in the stable. But soon one falls into thehumour of it. There is no offence meant; and why shouldany be taken? They are kindly, generous folk; and ifthey pay no respect to your profession in theabstract, and so rather hurt your dignity, they will beas leal and true as possible to yourself if you can wintheir respect. I like the grip of their greasy andblackened hands.Another peculiarity of the district is that many ofthe manufacturers and colliery owners have risen from theworkmen, and have (in some cases at least) retained theirold manners and even their old dress. The other day Mrs.White, Horton's mother-in-law, had a violent sickheadache, and, as we are all very fond of the kind oldlady, we were trying to keep things as quiet as possibledownstairs. Suddenly there came a bang! bang! bang! atthe knocker; and then in an instant another rattlingseries of knocks, as if a tethered donkey were trying tokick in the panel. After all our efforts for silence itwas exasperating. I rushed to the door to find a seedylooking person just raising his hand to commence a freshbombardment. "What on earth's the matter?" I asked,only I may have been a little more emphatic. "Pain inthe jaw," said he. "You needn't make such a noise," saidI; "other people are ill besides you." "If I pay mymoney, young man, I'll make such noise as I like." Andactually in cold blood he commenced a fresh assaultupon the door. He would have gone on with his devil'stattoo all morning if I had not led him down the path andseen him off the premises. An hour afterwards Hortonwhirled into the surgery, with a trail of banged doorsbehind him. "What's this about Mr. Usher, Munro?" heasked. "He says that you were violent towards him.""There was a club patient here who kept on banging theknocker," said I; "I was afraid that he would disturbMrs. White, and so I made him stop." Horton's eyes beganto twinkle. "My boy," said he, "that club patient, asyou call him, is the richest man in Merton, and worth ahundred a year to me." I have no doubt that he appeasedhim by some tale of my disgrace and degradation; but Ihave not heard anything of the matter since.It has been good for me to be here, Bertie. It hasbrought me in close contact with the working classes, andmade me realise what fine people they are. Because onedrunkard goes home howling on a Saturday night, we aretoo apt to overlook the ninety-nine decent folk by theirown firesides. I shall not make that mistake any more.The kindliness of the poor to the poor makes a mansick of himself. And their sweet patience! Depend uponit, if ever there is a popular rising, the wrongs whichlead to it must be monstrous and indefensible. I thinkthe excesses of the French Revolution are dreadful enoughin themselves, but much more so as an index to the slowcenturies of misery against which they were a madprotest. And then the wisdom of the poor! It is amusingto read the glib newspaper man writing about theignorance of the masses. They don't know the date ofMagna Charta, or whom John of Gaunt married; but put apractical up-to-date problem before them, and see howunerringly they take the right side. Didn't they put theReform Bill through in the teeth of the opposition of themajority of the so-called educated classes? Didn't theyback the North against the South when nearly all ourleaders went wrong? When universal arbitration and thesuppression of the liquor traffic comes, is it not sureto be from the pressure of these humble folks? They lookat life with clearer and more unselfish eyes. It's anaxiom, I think, that to heighten a nation's wisdom youmust lower its franchise.I often have my doubts, Bertie, if there is such athing as the existence of evil? If we could honestlyconvince ourselves that there was not, it would help usso much in formulating a rational religion. But don'tlet us strain truth even for such an object as that. Imust confess that there are some forms of vice, crueltyfor example, for which it is hard to find anyexplanation, save indeed that it is a degenerate survivalof that war-like ferocity which may once have been ofservice in helping to protect the community. No; let mebe frank, and say that I can't make cruelty fit into myscheme. But when you find that other evils, which seemat first sight black enough, really tend in the long runto the good of mankind, it may be hoped that those whichcontinue to puzzle us may at last be found to serve thesame end in some fashion which is now inexplicable.It seems to me that the study of life by thephysician vindicates the moral principles of right andwrong. But when you look closely it is a questionwhether that which is a wrong to the present communitymay not prove to have been a right to the interests ofposterity. That sounds a little foggy; but I will makemy meaning more clear when I say that I think rightand wrong are both tools which are being wielded by thosegreat hands which are shaping the destinies of theuniverse, that both are making for improvement; but thatthe action of the one is immediate, and that of the othermore slow, but none the less certain. Our owndistinction of right and wrong is founded too much uponthe immediate convenience of the community, and does notinquire sufficiently deeply into the ultimate effect.I have my own views about Nature's methods, though Ifeel that it is rather like a beetle giving his opinionsupon the milky way. However, they have the merit ofbeing consoling; for if we could conscientiously see thatsin served a purpose, and a good one, it would take someof the blackness out of life. It seems to me, then, thatNature, still working on the lines of evolution,strengthens the race in two ways. The one is byimproving those who are morally strong, which is done byincreased knowledge and broadening religious views; theother, and hardly less important, is by the killing offand extinction of those who are morally weak. Thisis accomplished by drink and immorality. These arereally two of the most important forces which work forthe ultimate perfection of the race. I picture them astwo great invisible hands hovering over the garden oflife and plucking up the weeds. Looked at in one's ownday, one can only see that they produce degradation andmisery. But at the end of a third generation from then,what has happened? The line of the drunkard and of thedebauchee, physically as well as morally weakened, iseither extinct or on the way towards it. Struma,tubercle, nervous disease, have all lent a hand towardsthe pruning off of that rotten branch, and the average ofthe race is thereby improved. I believe from the littlethat I have seen of life, that it is a law which actswith startling swiftness, that a majority of drunkardsnever perpetuate their species at all, and that when thecurse is hereditary, the second generation generally seesthe end of it.Don't misunderstand me, and quote me as saying thatit is a good thing for a nation that it should have manydrunkards. Nothing of the kind. What I say is, that ifa nation has many morally weak people, then it isgood that there should be a means for checking thoseweaker strains. Nature has her devices, and drink isamong them. When there are no more drunkards andreprobates, it means that the race is so advanced that itno longer needs such rough treatment. Then the all-wiseEngineer will speed us along in some other fashion.I've been thinking a good deal lately about thisquestion of the uses of evil, and of how powerful a toolit is in the hands of the Creator. Last night the wholething crystallised out quite suddenly into a small set ofverses. Please jump them if they bore you.WITH EITHER HAND.1.God's own best will bide the test,And God's own worst will fall;But, best or worst or last or first,He ordereth it all.2.For ALL is good, if understood,(Ah, could we understand!)And right and ill are tools of skillHeld in His either hand.3.The harlot and the anchorite,The martyr and the rake,Deftly He fashions each aright,Its vital part to take.4.Wisdom He makes to guide the sapWhere the high blossoms be;And Lust to kill the weaker branch,And Drink to trim the tree.5.And Holiness that so the boleBe solid at the core;And Plague and Fever, that the wholeBe changing evermore.6.He strews the microbes in the lung,The blood-clot in the brain;With test and test He picks the best,Then tests them once again.7.He tests the body and the mind,He rings them o'er and o'er;And if they crack, He throws them back,And fashions them once more.8.He chokes the infant throat with slime,He sets the ferment free;He builds the tiny tube of limeThat blocks the artery.9.He lets the youthful dreamer storeGreat projects in his brain,Until he drops the fungus sporeThat smears them out again.10.He stores the milk that feeds the babe,He dulls the tortured nerve;He gives a hundred joys of senseWhere few or none might serve.11.And still he trains the branch of goodWhere the high blossoms be,And wieldeth still the shears of illTo prune and prune His tree.12.So read I this--and as I tryTo write it clear again,I feel a second finger lieAbove mine on the pen.13.Dim are these peering eyes of mine,And dark what I have seen.But be I wrong, the wrong is Thine,Else had it never been.I am quite ashamed of having been so didactic. Butit is fine to think that sin may have an object and worktowards good. My father says that I seem to look uponthe universe as if it were my property, and can't behappy until I know that all is right with it. Well, itdoes send a glow through me when I seem to catch aglimpse of the light behind the clouds.And now for my big bit of news which is going tochange my whole life. Whom do you think I had a letterfrom last Tuesday week? From Cullingworth, no less. Ithad no beginning, no end, was addressed all wrong, andwritten with a very thick quill pen upon the back of aprescription. How it ever reached me is a wonder. Thisis what he had to say:--"Started here in Bradfield last June. Colossalsuccess. My example must revolutionise medical practice.Rapidly making fortune. Have invention which isworth millions. Unless our Admiralty take it up shallmake Brazil the leading naval power. Come down by nexttrain on receiving this. Have plenty for you to do."That was the whole of this extraordinary letter; ithad no name to it, which was certainly reasonable enough,since no one else could have written it. KnowingCullingworth as well as I did, I took it withreservations and deductions. How could he have made sorapid and complete a success in a town in which he musthave been a complete stranger? It was incredible. Andyet there must be some truth in it, or he would notinvite me to come down and test it. On the whole, Ithought that I had better move very cautiously in thematter; for I was happy and snug where I was, and kept onputting a little by, which I hoped would form a nucleusto start me in practice. It is only a few pounds up todate, but in a year or so it might mount to something.I wrote to Cullingworth, therefore, thanking him forhaving remembered me, and explaining how matters stood.I had had great difficulty in finding an opening,I said, and now that I had one I was loth to give itup save for a permanency.Ten days passed, during which Cullingworth wassilent. Then came a huge telegram."Your letter to hand. Why not call me a liar atonce? I tell you that I have seen thirty thousandpatients in the last year. My actual takings have beenover four thousand pounds. All patients come to me.Would not cross the street to see Queen Victoria. Youcan have all visiting, all surgery, all midwifery. Makewhat you like of it. Will guarantee three hundred poundsthe first year."Well, this began to look more like business--especially that last sentence. I took it to Horton, andasked his advice. His opinion was that I had nothing tolose and everything to gain. So it ended by my wiringback accepting the partnership--if it is a partnership--and tomorrow morning I am off to Bradfield with greathopes and a small portmanteau. I know how interested youare in the personality of Cullingworth--as every one iswho comes, even at second hand, within range of hisinfluence; and so you may rely upon it that I shall giveyou a very full and particular account of all thatpasses between us. I am looking forward immensely toseeing him again, and I trust we won't have any rows.Goodbye, old chap. My foot is upon the threshold offortune. Congratulate me.VI.1 THE PARADE, BRADFIELD, 7th March, 1882.It is only two days since I wrote to you, my dear oldchap, and yet I find myself loaded to the muzzle and atfull cock again. I have come to Bradfield. I have seenold Cullingworth once more, and I have found that all hehas told me is true. Yes; incredible as it sounded, thiswonderful fellow seems to have actually built up a greatpractice in little more than a year. He really is, withall his eccentricities, a very remarkable man, Bertie.He doesn't seem to have a chance of showing his truepowers in this matured civilisation. The law and customhamper him. He is the sort of fellow who would comeright to the front in a French Revolution. Or if you puthim as Emperor over some of these little South AmericanStates, I believe that in ten years he would either be inhis grave, or would have the Continent. Yes;Cullingworth is fit to fight for a higher stakethan a medical practice, and on a bigger stage than anEnglish provincial town. When I read of Aaron Burr inyour history I always picture him as a man like C.I had the kindest of leave takings from Horton. Ifhe had been my brother he could not have been moreaffectionate. I could not have thought that I shouldgrow so fond of a man in so short a time. He takes thekeenest interest in my venture, and I am to write him afull account. He gave me as we parted a black oldmeerschaum which he had coloured himself--the lastpossible pledge of affection from a smoker. It waspleasant for me to feel that if all went wrong atBradfield, I had a little harbour at Merton for which Icould make. Still, of course, pleasant and instructiveas the life there was, I could not shut my eyes to thefact that it would take a terribly long time before Icould save enough to buy a share in a practice--a longertime probably than my poor father's strength would last.That telegram of Cullingworth's in which, as you mayremember, he guaranteed me three hundred pounds in thefirst year, gave me hopes of a much more rapid career.You will agree with me, I am sure, that I did wiselyto go to him.I had an adventure upon the way to Bradfield. Thecarriage in which I was travelling contained a party ofthree, at whom I took the most casual of glances beforesettling down to the daily paper. There was an elderlylady, with a bright rosy face, gold spectacles, and adash of red velvet in her bonnet. With her were twoyounger people, who I took to be her son and herdaughter--the one a quiet, gentle-looking girl of twentyor so, dressed in black, and the other a short, thick-setyoung fellow, a year or two older. The two ladies sat byeach other in the far corner, and the son (as I presumehim to be) sat opposite me. We may have travelled anhour or more without my paying any attention to thislittle family party, save that I could not help hearingsome talk between the two ladies. The younger, who wasaddressed as Winnie, had, as I noticed, a very sweet andsoothing voice. She called the elder "mother," whichshowed that I was right as to the relationship.I was sitting, then, still reading my paper, when Iwas surprised to get a kick on the shins from the youngfellow opposite. I moved my legs, thinking that itwas an accident, but an instant afterwards I receivedanother and a harder one. I dropped my paper with agrowl, but the moment that I glanced at him I saw how thematter stood. His foot was jerking spasmodically, histwo hands clenched, and drumming against his breast,while his eyes were rolling upwards until only the rim ofhis iris was to be seen. I sprang upon him, tore openhis collar, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and pulled his headdown upon the seat. Crash went one of his heels throughthe carriage window, but I contrived to sit upon hisknees while I kept hold of his two wrists."Don't be alarmed!" I cried it's epilepsy, and willsoon pass!"Glancing up, I saw that the little girl was sittingvery pale and quiet in the corner. The mother had pulleda bottle out of her bag and was quite cool and helpful."He often has them," said she this is bromide.""He is coming out," I answered; "you look afterWinnie."I blurted it out because her head seemed to rock asif she were going off; but the absurdity of thething struck us all next moment, and the mother burstinto a laugh in which the daughter and I joined. The sonhad opened his eyes and had ceased to struggle."I must really beg your pardon," said I, as I helpedhim up again. "I had not the advantage of knowing yourother name, and I was in such a hurry that I had no timeto think what I was saying."They laughed again in the most good-humoured way,and, as soon as the young fellow had recovered, we alljoined in quite a confidential conversation. It iswonderful how the intrusion of any of the realities oflife brushes away the cobwebs of etiquette. In half anhour we knew all about each other, or at any rate I knewall about them. Mrs. La Force was the mother's name, awidow with these two children. They had given uphousekeeping, and found it more pleasant to live inapartments, travelling from one watering place toanother. Their one trouble was the nervous weakness ofthe son Fred. They were now on their way to Birchespool,where they hoped that he might get some good from thebracing air. I was able to recommend vegetarianism,which I have found to act like a charm insuch cases. We had quite a spirited conversation, and Ithink that we were sorry on both sides when we came tothe junction where they had to change. Mrs. La Forcegave me her card, and I promised to call if ever I shouldbe in Birchespool.However, all this must be stupid enough to you. Youknow my little ways by this time, and you don't expect meto keep on the main line of my story. However, I am backon the rails now, and I shall try to remain there.Well, it was nearly six o'clock, and evening was justcreeping in when we drew up in Bradfield Station. Thefirst thing I saw when I looked out of the window wasCullingworth, exactly the same as ever, striding in hisjerky way down the platform, his coat flying open, hischin thrust forward (he is the most under-hung man I haveever seen), and his great teeth all gleaming, like agood-natured blood-hound. He roared with delight when hesaw me, wrung my hand, and slapped me enthusiasticallyupon the shoulder."My dear chap!" said he. "We'll clear this townout. I tell you, Munro, we won't leave a doctor in it.It's all they can do now to get butter to their bread;and when we get to work together they'll have to eat itdry. Listen to me, my boy! There are a hundred andtwenty thousand folk in this town, all shrieking foradvice, and there isn't a doctor who knows a rhubarb pillfrom a calculus. Man, we only have to gather them in.I stand and take the money until my arm aches.""But how is it?" I asked, as we pushed our waythrough the crowd. Are there so few other doctors?""Few!" he roared. "By Crums, the streets are blockedwith them. You couldn't fall out of a window in thistown without killing a doctor. But of all the----well,there, you'll see them for yourself. You walked to myhouse at Avonmouth, Munro. I don't let my friends walkto my house at Bradfield--eh, what?"A well-appointed carriage with two fine black horseswas drawn up at the station entrance. The smart coachmantouched his hat as Cullingworth opened the door."Which of the houses, sir?" he asked.Cullingworth's eyes shot round to me to see what Ithought of such a query. Between ourselves I have notthe slightest doubt that he had instructed the man to askit. He always had a fine eye for effect, but he usuallyerred by underrating the intelligence of those aroundhim."Ah!" said he, rubbing his chin like a man in doubt."Well, I daresay dinner will be nearly ready. Drive tothe town residential.""Good gracious, Cullingworth!" said I as we started."How many houses do you inhabit? It sounds as if you hadbought the town.""Well, well," said he, laughing, "we are driving tothe house where I usually live. It suits us very well,though I have not been able to get all the roomsfurnished yet. Then I have a little farm of a fewhundred acres just outside the city. It is a pleasantplace for the week ends, and we send the nurse and thechild----""My dear chap, I did not know that you had started afamily!""Yes, it's an infernal nuisance; but still thefact remains. We get our butter and things from thefarm. Then, of course, I have my house of business inthe heart of the city.""Consulting and waiting room, I suppose?"He looked at me with a sort of half vexed, halfamused expression. "You cannot rise to a situation,Munro," said he. "I never met a fellow with such astodgy imagination. I'd trust you to describe a thingwhen you have seen it, but never to build up an idea ofit beforehand.""What's the trouble now?" I asked."Well, I have written to you about my practice, andI've wired to you about it, and here you sit asking me ifI work it in two rooms. I'll have to hire the marketsquare before I've finished, and then I won't have spaceto wag my elbows. Can your imagination rise to a greathouse with people waiting in every room, jammed in astight as they'll fit, and two layers of them squatting inthe cellar? Well, that's my house of business on anaverage day. The folk come in from the county fiftymiles off, and eat bread and treacle on the doorstep, soas to be first in when the housekeeper comes down.The medical officer of health made an officialcomplaint of the over-crowding of my waiting-rooms. Theywait in the stables, and sit along the racks and underthe horses' bellies. I'll turn some of 'em on to you, myboy, and then you'll know a little more about it."Well, all this puzzled me a good deal, as you canimagine, Bertie; for, making every allowance forCullingworth's inflated way of talking, there must besomething at the back of it. I was thinking to myselfthat I must keep my head cool, and have a look ateverything with my own eyes, when the carriage pulled upand we got out."This is my little place," said Cullingworth.It was the corner house of a line of fine buildings,and looked to me much more like a good-sized hotel thana private mansion. It had a broad sweep of steps leadingto the door, and towered away up to five or six stories,with pinnacles and a flagstaff on the top. As a matterof fact, I learned that before Cullingworth took it, ithad been one of the chief clubs in the town, but thecommittee had abandoned it on account of the heavy rent.A smart maid opened the door; and a moment later Iwas shaking hands with Mrs. Cullingworth, who was allkindliness and cordiality. She has, I think, forgottenthe little Avonmouth business, when her husband and Ifell out.The inside of the house was even huger than I hadthought from the look of the exterior. There were overthirty bedrooms, Cullingworth informed me, as he helpedme to carry my portmanteau upstairs. The hall and firststair were most excellently furnished and carpetted, butit all run to nothing at the landing. My own bedroom hada little iron bed, and a small basin standing on apacking case. Cullingworth took a hammer from themantelpiece, and began to knock in nails behind the door."These will do to hang your clothes on," said he;"you don't mind roughing it a little until we get thingsin order?""Not in the least.""You see," he explained, "there's no good my puttinga forty pound suite into a bedroom, and then having tochuck it all out of the window in order to make room fora hundred-pound one. No sense in that, Munro! Eh,what! I'm going to furnish this house as no househas ever been furnished. By Crums! I'll bring the folkfrom a hundred miles round just to have leave to look atit. But I must do it room by room. Come down with meand look at the dining-room. You must be hungry afteryour journey."It really was furnished in a marvellous way--nothingflash, and everything magnificent. The carpet was sorich that my feet seemed to sink into it as into deepmoss. The soup was on the table, and Mrs. Cullingworthsitting down, but he kept hauling me round to look atsomething else."Go on, Hetty," he cried over his shoulder. "I justwant to show Munro this. Now, these plain dining-roomchairs, what d'you think they cost each? Eh, what?""Five pounds," said I at a venture."Exactly!" he cried, in great delight; "thirty poundsfor the six. You hear, Hetty! Munro guessed the pricefirst shot. Now, my boy, what for the pair of curtains?"They were a magnificent pair of stamped crimsonvelvet, with a two-foot gilt cornice above them. Ithought that I had better not imperil my newly gainedreputation by guessing."Eighty pounds!" he roared, slapping them with theback of his hand. "Eighty pounds, Munro! What d'yethink of that? Everything that I have in this house isgoing to be of the best. Why, look at this waiting-maid!Did you ever see a neater one?"He swung the girl, towards me by the arm.Don't be silly, Jimmy," said Mrs. Cullingworthmildly, while he roared with laughter, with all his fangsflashing under his bristling moustache. The girl edgedcloser to her mistress, looking half-frightened and half-angry."All right, Mary, no harm!" he cried. "Sit down,Munro, old chap. Get a bottle of champagne, Mary, andwe'll drink to more luck."Well, we had a very pleasant little dinner. It isnever slow if Cullingworth is about. He is one of thosemen who make a kind of magnetic atmosphere, so that youfeel exhilarated and stimulated in their presence. Hismind is so nimble and his thoughts so extravagant, thatyour own break away from their usual grooves, andsurprise you by their activity. You feel pleased atyour own inventiveness and originality, when you arereally like the wren when it took a lift on the eagle'sshoulder. Old Peterson, you remember, used to have asimilar effect upon you in the Linlithgow days.In the middle of dinner he plunged off, and came backwith a round bag about the size of a pomegranate in hishand."What d'ye think this is, Munro? Eh?""I have no idea.""Our day's take. Eh, Hetty?" He undid a string, andin an instant a pile of gold and silver rattled down uponthe cloth, the coins whirling and clinking among thedishes. One rolled off the table and was retrieved bythe maid from some distant corner."What is it, Mary? A half sovereign? Put it in yourpocket. What did the lot come to, Hetty?""Thirty-one pound eight.""You see, Munro! One day's work." He plunged hishand into his trouser pocket and brought out a pile ofsovereigns, which he balanced in his palm. "Look atthat, laddie. Rather different from my Avonmouthform, eh? What?""It will be good news for them," I suggested.He was scowling at me in an instant with all his oldferocity. You cannot imagine a more savage-lookingcreature than Cullingworth is when his temper goes wrong.He gets a perfectly fiendish expression in his light blueeyes, and all his hair bristles up like a striking cobra.He isn't a beauty at his best, but at his worst he'sreally phenomenal. At the first danger signal his wifehad ordered the maid from the room."What rot you do talk, Munro!" he cried. "Do yousuppose I am going to cripple myself for years by lettingthose debts hang on to me?""I understood that you had promised," said I."Still, of course, it is no business of mine.""I should hope not," he cried. "A tradesman standsto win or to lose. He allows a margin for bad debts. Iwould have paid it if I could. I couldn't, and so Iwiped the slate clean. No one in his senses would dreamof spending all the money that I make in Bradfieldupon the tradesmen of Avonmouth.""Suppose they come down upon you?""Well, we'll see about that when they do. MeanwhileI am paying ready money for every mortal thing that comesup the door steps. They think so well of me here that Icould have had the whole place furnished like a palacefrom the drain pipes to the flagstaff, only I determinedto take each room in turn when I was ready for it.There's nearly four hundred pounds under this oneceiling."There came a tap at the door, and in walked a boy inbuttons."If you please, sir, Mr. Duncan wishes to see you.""Give my compliments to Mr. Duncan, and tell him hemay go to the devil!""My dear Jimmy!" cried Mrs. Cullingworth."Tell him I am at dinner; and if all the kings inEurope were waiting in the hall with their crowns intheir hands I wouldn't cross that door mat to see them."The boy vanished, but was back in an instant."Please, sir, he won't go.""Won't go! What d'you mean?" Cullingworth sat withhis mouth open and his knife and fork sticking up. "Whatd'you mean, you brat? What are you boggling about?""It's his bill, sir," said the frightened boy.Cullingworth's face grew dusky, and the veins beganto swell on his forehead."His bill, eh! Look here!" He took his watch outand laid it on the table. "It's two minutes to eight.At eight I'm coming out, and if I find him there I'llstrew the street with him. Tell him I'll shred him overthe parish. He has two minutes to save his life in, andone of them is nearly gone."The boy bolted from the room, and in an instantafterwards we heard the bang of the front door, with aclatter of steps down the stairs. Cullingworth lay backin his chair and roared until the tears shone on hiseyelashes, while his wife quivered all over withsympathetic merriment."I'll drive him mad," Cullingworth sobbed at last."He's a nervous, chicken-livered kind of man; and when Ilook at him he turns the colour of putty. If I passhis shop I usually just drop in and stand and look athim. I never speak, but just look. It paralyses him.Sometimes the shop is full of people; but it is just thesame.""Who is he, then?" I asked."He's my corn merchant. I was saying that I paid mytradesmen as I go, but he is the only exception. He hasdone me once or twice, you see; and so I try to take itout of him. By the way, you might send him down twentypounds tomorrow, Hetty. It's time for an instalment."What a gossip you will think me, Bertie? But when Ibegin, my memory brings everything back so clearly, andI write on and on almost unconsciously. Besides, thisfellow is such a mixture of qualities, that I could nevergive you any idea of him by myself; and so I just try torepeat to you what he says, and what he does, so that youmay build up your own picture of the man. I know that hehas always interested you, and that he does so more nowthan ever since our fates have drawn us together again.After dinner, we went into the back room, which wasthe most extraordinary contrast to the front one, havingonly a plain deal table, and half-a-dozen kitchen chairsscattered about on a linoleum floor. At one end was anelectric battery and a big magnet. At the other, apacking case with several pistols and a litter ofcartridges upon it. A rook rifle was leaning tip againstit, and looking round I saw that the walls were allpocked with bullet marks."What's this, then?" I asked, rolling my eyes round."Hetty, what's this?" he asked, with his pipe in hishand and his head cocked sideways."Naval supremacy and the command of the seas," saidshe, like a child repeating a lesson."That's it he shouted, stabbing at me with the amber."Naval supremacy and command of the seas. It's all hereright under your nose. I tell you, Munro, I could go toSwitzerland tomorrow, and I could say to them--`Lookhere, you haven't got a seaboard and you haven't got aport; but just find me a ship, and hoist your flag on it,and I'll give you every ocean under heaven.' I'd sweepthe seas until there wasn't a match-box floating onthem. Or I could make them over to a limited company,and join the board after allotment. I hold the saltwater in the cup of this hand, every drop of it."His wife put her hands on his shoulder withadmiration in her eyes. I turned to knock out my pipe,and grinned over the grate."Oh, you may grin," said he. (He was wonderfullyquick at spotting what you were doing.) "You'll grin alittle wider when you see the dividends coming in.What's the value of that magnet?""A pound?""A million pounds. Not a penny under. And dirtcheap to the nation that buys it. I shall let it go atthat, though I could make ten times as much if I held on.I shall take it up to the Secretary of the Navy in a weekor two; and if he seems to be a civil deserving sort ofperson I shall do business with him. It's not every day,Munro, that a man comes into his office with the Atlanticunder one arm and the Pacific under the other. Eh,what?"I knew it would make him savage, but I lay backin my chair and laughed until I was tired. His wifelooked at me reproachfully; but he, after a moment ofblackness, burst out laughing also, stamping up and downthe room and waving his arms."Of course it seems absurd to you," he cried. "Well,I daresay it would to me if any other fellow had workedit out. But you may take my word for it that it's allright. Hetty here will answer for it. Won't you,Hetty?""It's splendid, my dear.""Now I'll show you, Munro; what an unbelieving Jewyou are, trying to look interested, and giggling at theback of your throat! In the first place, I havediscovered a method--which I won't tell you--ofincreasing the attractive power of a magnet a hundred-fold. Have you grasped that?""Yes.""Very good. You are also aware, I presume, thatmodern projectiles are either made of or tipped withsteel. It may possibly have come to your ears thatmagnets attract steel. Permit me now to show you a smallexperiment." He bent over his apparatus, and I suddenlyheard the snapping of electricity. "This," hecontinued going across to the packing case, "is a saloonpistol, and will be exhibited in the museums of the nextcentury as being the weapon with which the new era wasinaugurated. Into the breech I place a Boxer cartridge,specialty provided for experimental purposes with a steelbullet. I aim point blank at the dab of red sealing waxupon the wall, which is four inches above the magnet. Iam an absolutely dead shot. I fire. You will nowadvance, and satisfy yourself that the bullet isflattened upon the end of the magnet, after which youwill apologise to me for that grin."I looked, and it certainly was as he had said."I'll tell you what I would do," he cried. "I amprepared to put that magnet in Hetty's bonnet, and to letyou fire six shots straight at her face. How's that fora test? You wouldn't mind, Hetty? Eh, what!""I don't think she would have objected, but Ihastened to disclaim any share in such an experiment."Of course, you see that the whole thing is toscale. My warship of the future carries at her prow andstern a magnet which shall be as much larger than that asthe big shell will be larger than this tiny bullet. OrI might have a separate raft, possibly, to carry myapparatus. My ship goes into action. What happens then,Munro? Eh, what! Every shot fired at her goes smack onto the magnet. There's a reservoir below into which theydrop when the electric circuit is broken. After everyaction they are sold by auction for old metal, and theresult divided as prize money among the crew. But thinkof it, man! I tell you it is an absolute impossibilityfor a shot to strike any ship which is provided with myapparatus. And then look at the cheapness. You don'twant armour. You want nothing. Any ship that floatsbecomes invulnerable with one of these. The war ship ofthe future will cost anything from seven pound ten.You're grinning again; but if you give me a magnet and aBrixton trawler with a seven-pounder gun I'll show sportto the finest battle-ship afloat.""Well, there must be some flaw about this," Isuggested. "If your magnet is so strong as allthat, you would have your own broadside boomerangingback upon you.""Not a bit of it! There's a big difference betweena shot flying away from you with all its muzzle velocity,and another one which is coming towards you and onlyneeds a slight deflection to strike the magnet. Besides,by breaking the circuit I can take off the influence whenI am firing my own broadside. Then I connect, andinstantly become invulnerable.""And your nails and screws?""The warship of the future will be bolted together bywood."Well, he would talk of nothing else the whole eveningbut of this wonderful invention of his. Perhaps there isnothing in it--probably there is not; and yet itillustrates the many-sided nature of the man, that heshould not say one word about his phenominal successhere--of which I am naturally most anxious to hear--nota word either upon the important subject of ourpartnership, but will think and talk of nothing but thisextraordinary naval idea. In a week he will have tossedit aside in all probability, and be immersed in some planfor reuniting the Jews and settling them inMadagascar. Yet from all he has said, and all Ihave seen, there can be no doubt that he has in someinexplicable way made a tremendous hit, and tomorrow Ishall let you know all about it. Come what may, I amdelighted that I came, for things promise to beinteresting. Regard this not as the end of a letter, butof a paragraph. You shall have the conclusion tomorrow,or on Thursday at the latest. Goodbye, and myremembrance to Lawrence if you see him. How's yourfriend from Yale?VII.1 THE PARADE, BRADFIELD, 9th March, 1882.Well, you see I am as good as my word, Bertie; andhere is a full account of this queer little sample gougedout of real life, never to be seen, I should fancy, byany eye save your own. I have written to Horton also,and of course to my mother; but I don't go into detailwith them, as I have got into the way of doing with you.You keep on assuring me that you like it; so on your ownhead be it if you find my experiences graduallydeveloping into a weariness.When I woke in the morning, and looked round at thebare walls and the basin on the packing case, I hardlyknew where I was. Cullingworth came charging into theroom in his dressing gown, however, and roused meeffectually by putting his hands on the rail at the endof the bed, and throwing a somersault over it whichbrought his heels on to my pillow with a thud. He was ingreat spirits, and, squatting on the bed, heheld forth about his plans while I dressed."I tell you one of the first things I mean to do,Munro," said he. "I mean to have a paper of my own.We'll start a weekly paper here, you and I, and we'llmake them sit up all round. We'll have an organ of ourown, just like every French politician. If any onecrosses us, we'll make them wish they had never beenborn. Eh, what, laddie? what d'you think? So clever,Munro, that everybody's bound to read it, and so scathingthat it will just fetch out blisters every time. Don'tyou think we could?""What politics?" I asked."Oh, curse the politics! Red pepper well rubbed in,that's my idea of a paper. Call it the Scorpion.Chaff the Mayor and the Council until they call ameeting and hang themselves. I'd do the snappyparagraphs, and you would do the fiction and poetry. Ithought about it during the night, and Hetty has writtento Murdoch's to get an estimate for the printing. Wemight get our first number out this day week.""My dear chap!" I gasped."I want you to start a novel this morning. Youwon't get many patients at first, and you'll have lots oftime.""But I never wrote a line in my life.""A properly balanced man can do anything he sets hishand to. He's got every possible quality inside him, andall he wants is the will to develop it.""Could you write a novel yourself?" I asked."Of course I could. Such a novel, Munro, that whenthey'd read the first chapter the folk would just sitgroaning until the second came out. They'd wait in rowsoutside my door in the hope of hearing what was comingnext. By Crums, I'll go and begin it now! "And, withanother somersault over the end of the bed, he rushedfrom the room, with the tassels of his dressing gownflying behind him.I daresay you've quite come to the conclusion by thistime that Cullingworth is simply an interestingpathological study--a man in the first stage of lunacy orgeneral paralysis. You might not be so sure about it ifyou were in close contact with him. He justifies hiswildest flights by what he does. It sounds grotesquewhen put down in black and white; but then it would havesounded equally grotesque a year ago if he had saidthat he would build up a huge practice in a twelvemonth.Now we see that he has done it. His possibilities areimmense. He has such huge energy at the back of hisfertility of invention. I am afraid, on thinking overall that I have written to you, that I may have given youa false impression of the man by dwelling too much onthose incidents in which he has shown the strange andviolent side of his character, and omitting the stretchesbetween where his wisdom and judgment have had a chance.His conversation when he does not fly off at a tangent isfull of pith and idea. "The greatest monument evererected to Napoleon Buonaparte was the British Nationaldebt," said he yesterday. Again, "We must never forgetthat the principal export of Great Britain to the UnitedStates IS the United States." Again, speaking ofChristianity, "What is intellectually unsound cannot bemorally sound." He shoots off a whole column ofaphorisms in a single evening. I should like to have aman with a note book always beside him to gather up hiswaste. No; you must not let me give you a falseimpression of the man's capacity. On the other hand, itwould be dishonest to deny that I think himthoroughly unscrupulous, and full of very sinistertraits. I am much mistaken, however, if he has not finestrata in his nature. He is capable of rising to heightsas well as of sinking to depths.Well, when we had breakfasted we got into thecarriage and drove off to the place of business."I suppose you are surprised at Hetty coming with us,said Cullingworth, slapping me on the knee. Hetty, Munrois wondering what the devil you are here for, only he istoo polite to ask."In fact, it HAD struck me as rather strange thatshe should, as a matter of course, accompany us tobusiness."You'll see when we get there," he cried chuckling."We run this affair on lines of our own."It was not very far, and we soon found ourselvesoutside a square whitewashed building, which had a huge"Dr. Cullingworth" on a great brass plate at the side ofthe door. Underneath was printed "May be consultedgratis from ten to four." The door was open, and Icaught a glimpse of a crowd of people waiting in thehall."How many here?" asked Cullingworth of the page boy."A hundred and forty, sir.""All the waiting rooms full?""Yes, sir.""Courtyard full?"Yes, sir.""Stable full?""Yes, sir.""Coach-house full?""There's still room in the coach-house, sir.""Ah, I'm sorry we haven't got a crowded day for you,Munro," said he. "Of course, we can't command thesethings, and must take them as they come. Now then, nowthen, make a gangway, can't you?"--this to his patients."Come here and see the waiting-room. Pooh! what anatmosphere! Why on earth can't you open the windows foryourselves? I never saw such folk! There are thirtypeople in this room, Munro, and not one with sense enoughto open a window to save himself from suffocation.""I tried, sir, but there's a screw through the sash,"cried one fellow."Ah, my boy, you'll never get on in the world if youcan't open a window without raising a sash," saidCullingworth, slapping him on the shoulder. He took theman's umbrella and stuck it through two of the panes ofglass."That's the way!" he said. "Boy, see that the screwis taken out. Now then, Munro, come along, and we'll getto work."We went up a wooden stair, uncarpeted, leaving everyroom beneath us, as far as I could see, crowded withpatients. At the top was a bare passage, which had tworooms opposite to each other at one end, and a single oneat the other."This is my consulting room," said he, leading theway into one of these. It was a good-sized squarechamber, perfectly empty save for two plain woodenchairs and an unpainted table with two books and astethoscope upon it. "It doesn't look like four or fivethousand a year, does it? Now, there is an exactlysimilar one opposite which you can have for yourself.I'll send across any surgical cases which may turnup. To-day, however, I think you had better staywith me, and see how I work things.""I should very much like to," said I."There are one or two elementary rules to be observedin the way of handling patients," he remarked, seatinghimself on the table and swinging his legs. "The mostobvious is that you must never let them see that you wantthem. It should be pure condescension on your partseeing them at all; and the more difficulties you throwin the way of it, the more they think of it. Break yourpatients in early, and keep them well to heel. Nevermake the fatal mistake of being polite to them. Manyfoolish young men fall into this habit, and are ruined inconsequence. Now, this is my form"--he sprang to thedoor, and putting his two hands to his mouth he bellowed:"Stop your confounded jabbering down there! I might aswell be living above a poultry show! There, you see," headded to me, "they will think ever so much more of me forthat.""But don't they get offended?" I asked."I'm afraid not. I have a name for this sort ofthing now, and they have come to expect it.But an offended patient--I mean a thoroughlyinsulted one--is the finest advertisement in the world.If it is a woman, she runs clacking about among herfriends until your name becomes a household word, andthey all pretend to sympathise with her, and agree amongthemselves that you must be a remarkably discerning man.I quarrelled with one man about the state of his gallduct, and it ended by my throwing him down the stairs.What was the result? He talked so much about it that thewhole village from which he came, sick and well, troopedto see me. The little country practitioner who had beenbuttering them up for a quarter of a century found thathe might as well put up his shutters. It's human nature,my boy, and you can't alter it. Eh, what? You makeyourself cheap and you become cheap. You put a highprice on yourself and they rate you at that price.Suppose I set up in Harley Street tomorrow, and made itall nice and easy, with hours from ten to three, do youthink I should get a patient? I might starve first. Howwould I work it? I should let it be known that I onlysaw patients from midnight until two in the morning,and that bald-headed people must pay double. That wouldset people talking, their curiosity would be stimulated,and in four months the street would be blocked all night.Eh, what? laddie, you'd go yourself. That's my principlehere. I often come in of a morning and send them allabout their business, tell them I'm going off to thecountry for a day. I turn away forty pounds, and it'sworth four hundred as an advertisement!""But I understood from the plate that theconsultations were gratis.""So they are, but they have to pay for the medicine.And if a patient wishes to come out of turn he has to payhalf-a-guinea for the privilege. There are generallyabout twenty every day who would rather pay that thanwait several hours. But, mind you, Munro, don't you makeany mistake about this! All this would go for nothing ifyou had not something, slid behind--I cure them. That'sthe point. I take cases that others have despaired of,and I cure them right off. All the rest is only to bringthem here. But once here I keep them on my merits. Itwould all be a flash in the pan but for that. Now,come along and see Hetty's department."We walked down the passage to the other room. It waselaborately fitted up as a dispensary, and there with achic little apron Mrs. Cullingworth was busy making uppills. With her sleeves turned up and a litter ofglasses and bottles all round her, she was laughing awaylike a little child among its toys."The best dispenser in the world!" criedCullingworth, patting her on the shoulder. "You see howI do it, Munro. I write on a label what the prescriptionis, and make a sign which shows how much is to becharged. The man comes along the passage and passes thelabel through the pigeon hole. Hetty makes it up, passesout the bottle, and takes the money. Now, come on andclear some of these folk out of the house."It is impossible for me to give you any idea of thatlong line of patients, filing hour after hour through theunfurnished room, and departing, some amused, and somefrightened, with their labels in their hands.Cullingworth's antics are beyond belief. I laughed untilI thought the wooden chair under me would have come topieces. He roared, he raved, he swore, he pushedthem about, slapped them on the back, shoved them againstthe wall, and occasionally rushed out to the head of thestair to address them en masse. At the same time,behind all this tomfoolery, I, watching hisprescriptions, could see a quickness of diagnosis, ascientific insight, and a daring and unconventional useof drugs, which satisfied me that he was right in sayingthat, under all this charlatanism, there lay solidreasons for his success. Indeed, "charlatanism" is amisapplied word in this connection; for it would describethe doctor who puts on an artificial and conventionalmanner with his patients, rather than one who isabsolutely frank and true to his own extraordinarynature.To some of his patients he neither said one word nordid he allow them to say one. With a loud "hush" hewould rush at them, thump them on the chests, listen totheir hearts, write their labels, and then run them outof the room by their shoulders. One poor old lady hegreeted with a perfect scream. "You've been drinking toomuch tea!" he cried. "You are suffering from teapoisoning!" Then, without allowing her to get a word in,he clutched her by her crackling black mantle,dragged her up to the table, and held out a copy of"Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence" which was lying there."Put your hand on the book," he thundered, "and swearthat for fourteen days you will drink nothing but cocoa."She swore with upturned eyes, and was instantly whirledoff with her label in her hand, to the dispensary. Icould imagine that to the last day of her life, the oldlady would talk of her interview with Cullingworth; andI could well understand how the village from which shecame would send fresh recruits to block up his waitingrooms.Another portly person was seized by the two armholesof his waistcoat, just as he was opening his mouth toexplain his symptoms, and was rushed backward down thepassage, down the stairs, and finally into the street, tothe immense delight of the assembled patients, "You eattoo much, drink too much, and sleep too much,"Cullingworth roared after him. "Knock down a policeman,and come again when they let you out." Another patientcomplained of a "sinking feeling." "My dear," said he,"take your medicine; and if that does no good, swallowthe cork, for there is nothing better when you aresinking."As far as I could judge, the bulk of the patientslooked upon a morning at Cullingworth's as a mostenthralling public entertainment, tempered only by athrill lest it should be their turn next to be made anexhibition of.Well, with half-an-hour for lunch, this extraordinarybusiness went on till a quarter to four in the afternoon.When the last patient had departed, Cullingworth led theway into the dispensary, where all the fees had beenarranged upon the counter in the order of their value.There were seventeen half-sovereigns, seventy-threeshillings, and forty-six florins; or thirty-two poundseight and sixpence in all. Cullingworth counted it up,and then mixing the gold and silver into one heap, he satrunning his fingers through it and playing with it.Finally, he raked it into the canvas bag which I had seenthe night before, and lashed the neck up with a boot-lace.We walked home, and that walk struck me as the mostextraordinary part of all that extraordinary day.Cullingworth paraded slowly through the principal streetswith his canvas bag, full of money, outstretched at thefull length of his arm. His wife and I walked on eitherside, like two acolytes supporting a priest, and sowe made our way solemnly homewards the people stopping tosee us pass."I always make a point of walking through thedoctor's quarter," said Cullingworth. "We are passingthrough it now. They all come to their windows and gnashtheir teeth and dance until I am out of sight.""Why should you quarrel with them? What is thematter with them?" I asked."Pooh! what's the use of being mealy-mouthed aboutit?" said he. "We are all trying to cut each other'sthroats, and why should we be hypocritical over it? Theyhaven't got a good word for me, any one of them; so Ilike to take a rise out of them.""I must say that I can see no sense in that. Theyare your brothers in the profession, with the sameeducation and the same knowledge. Why should you take anoffensive attitude towards them?""That's what I say, Dr. Munro," cried his wife. "Itis so very unpleasant to feel that one is surrounded byenemies on every side.""Hetty's riled because their wives wouldn't callupon her," he cried. "Look at that, my dear," jinglinghis bag. "That is better than having a lot of brainlesswomen drinking tea and cackling in our drawing-room.I've had a big card printed, Munro, saying that we don'tdesire to increase the circle of our acquaintance. Themaid has orders to show it to every suspicious person whocalls.""Why should you not make money at your practice, andyet remain on good terms with your professionalbrethren?" said I. "You speak as if the two things wereincompatible.""So they are. What's the good of beating about thebush, laddie? My methods are all unprofessional, and Ibreak every law of medical etiquette as often as I canthink of it. You know very well that the British MedicalAssociation would hold up their hands in horror if itcould see what you have seen to-day.""But why not conform to professional etiquette?""Because I know better. My boy, I'm a doctor's son,and I've seen too much of it. I was born inside themachine, and I've seen all the wires. All this etiquetteis a dodge for keeping the business in the hands ofthe older men. It's to hold the young men back, and tostop the holes by which they might slip through to thefront. I've heard my father say so a score of times. Hehad the largest practice in Scotland, and yet he wasabsolutely devoid of brains. He slipped into it throughseniority and decorum. No pushing, but take your turn.Very well, laddie, when you're at the top of the line,but how about it when you've just taken your place at thetail? When I'm on the top rung I shall look down andsay, `Now, you youngsters, we are going to have verystrict etiquette, and I beg that you will come up veryquietly and not disarrange me from my comfortableposition.' At the same time, if they do what I tellthem, I shall look upon them as a lot of infernalblockheads. Eh, Munro, what?"I could only say again that I thought he took a verylow view of the profession, and that I disagreed withevery word he said."Well, my boy, you may disagree as much as you like,but if you are going to work with me you must throwetiquette to the devil!""I can't do that.""Well, if you are too clean handed for the job youcan clear out. We can't keep you here against yourwill."I said nothing; but when we got back, I went upstairsand packed up my trunk, with every intention of goingback to Yorkshire by the night train. He came up to myroom, and finding what I was at, he burst into apologieswhich would have satisfied a more exacting man than I am."You shall do just exactly what you like, my dearchap. If you don't like my way, you may try some way ofyour own.""That's fair enough," said I. "But it's a littletrying to a man's self-respect if he is told to clear outevery time there is a difference of opinion.""Well, well, there was no harm meant, and it shan'toccur again. I can't possibly say more than that; socome along down and have a cup of tea."And so the matter blew over; but I very much fear,Bertie, that this is the first row of a series. I havea presentiment that sooner or later my position here willbecome untenable. Still, I shall give it a fairtrial as long as he will let me. Cullingworth is afellow who likes to have nothing but inferiors anddependants round him. Now, I like to stand on my ownlegs, and think with my own mind. If he'll let me dothis we'll get along very well; but if I know the man hewill claim submission, which is more than I am inclinedto give. He has a right to my gratitude, which I freelyadmit. He has found an opening for me when I badlyneeded one and had no immediate prospects. But still,one may pay too high a price even for that, and I shouldfeel that I was doing so if I had to give up myindividuality and my manhood.We had an incident that evening which was socharacteristic that I must tell you of it. Cullingworthhas an air gun which fires little steel darts. With thishe makes excellent practice at about twenty feet, thelength of the back room. We were shooting at a markafter dinner, when he asked me whether I would hold ahalfpenny between my finger and thumb, and allow him toshoot it out. A halfpenny not being forthcoming, he tooka bronze medal out of his waistcoat pocket, and Iheld that tip as a mark. Kling!" went the air gun, andthe medal rolled upon the floor."Plumb in the centre," said he."On the contrary," I answered, "you never hit it atall!""Never hit it! I must have hit it!""I am confident you didn't.""Where's the dart, then?""Here," said I, holding up a bleeding forefinger,from which the tail end of the fluff with which the dartwas winged was protruding.I never saw a man so abjectly sorry for anything inmy life. He used language of self-reproach which wouldhave been extravagant if he had shot off one of my limbs.Our positions were absurdly reversed; and it was he whosat collapsed in a chair, while it was I, with the dartstill in my finger, who leaned over him and laughed thematter off. Mrs. Cullingworth had run for hot water, andpresently with a tweezers we got the intruder out. Therewas very little pain (more to-day than yesterday), but ifever you are called upon to identify my body you maylook for a star at the end of my right forefinger.When the surgery was completed (Cullingworth writhingand groaning all the time) my eyes happened to catch themedal which I had dropped, lying upon the carpet. Ilifted it up and looked at it, eager to find some topicwhich would be more agreeable. Printed upon it was--"Presented to James Cullingworth for gallantry in savinglife. Jan. 1879.""Hullo, Cullingworth," said I. "You never told meabout this!"He was off in an instant in his most extravagantstyle."What! the medal? Haven't you got one? I thoughtevery one had. You prefer to be select, I suppose. Itwas a little boy. You've no idea the trouble I had toget him in.""Get him out, you mean.""My dear chap, you don't understand! Any one couldget a child out. It's getting one in that's the bother.One deserves a medal for it. Then there are thewitnesses, four shillings a day I had to pay them, and aquart of beer in the evenings. You see you can't pick upa child and carry it to the edge of a pier and throwit in. You'd have all sorts of complications with theparents. You must be patient and wait until you get alegitimate chance. I caught a quinsy walking up and downAvonmouth pier before I saw my opportunity. He wasrather a stolid fat boy, and he was sitting on the veryedge, fishing. I got the sole of my foot on to the smallof his back, and shot him an incredible distance. I hadsome little difficulty in getting him out, for hisfishing line got twice round my legs, but it all endedwell, and the witnesses were as staunch as possible. Theboy came up to thank me next day, and said that he wasquite uninjured save for a bruise on the back. Hisparents always send me a brace of fowls every Christmas."I was sitting with my finger in the hot waterlistening to this rigmarole. When he had finished he ranoff to get his tobacco box, and we could hear thebellowing of his laughter dwindling up the stair. I wasstill looking at the medal, which, from the dents allover it, had evidently been often used as a target, whenI felt a timid touch upon my sleeve; it was Mrs.Cullingworth, who was looking earnestly at me with a verydistressed expression upon her face."You believe far too much what James says," said she."You don't know him in the least, Mr. Munro. You don'tlook at a thing from his point of view, and you willnever understand him until you do. It is not, of course,that he means to say anything that is untrue; but hisfancy is excited, and he is quite carried away by thehumour of any idea, whether it tells against himself ornot. It hurts me, Mr. Munro, to see the only man in theworld towards whom he has any feeling of friendship,misunderstanding him so completely, for very often whenyou say nothing your face shows very clearly what youthink."I could only answer lamely that I was very sorry ifI had misjudged her husband in any way, and that no onehad a keener appreciation of some of his qualities thanI had."I saw how gravely you looked when he told you thatabsurd story about pushing a little boy into the water,"she continued; and, as she spoke, she drew from somewherein the front of her dress a much creased slip ofpaper. "Just glance at that, please, Dr. Munro."It was a newspaper cutting, which gave the trueaccount of the incident. Suffice it that it was an iceaccident, and that Cullingworth had really behaved in aheroic way and had been drawn out himself insensible,with the child so clasped in his arms that it was notuntil he had recovered his senses that they were able toseparate them. I had hardly finished reading it when weheard his step on the stairs; and she, thrusting thepaper back into her bosom, became in an instant the samesilently watchful woman as ever.Is he not a conundrum? If he interests you at adistance (and I take for granted that what you say inyour letters is not merely conventional compliment) youcan think how piquant he is in actual life. I mustconfess, however, that I can never shake off the feelingthat I am living with some capricious creature whofrequently growls and may possibly bite. Well, it won'tbe very long before I write again, and by that time Ishall probably know whether I am likely to find anypermanent billet here or not. I am so sorry to hearabout Mrs. Swanborough's indisposition. You know that Itake the deepest interest in everything that affects you.They tell me here that I am looking very fit, though Ithink they ought to spell it with an "a."VIII.1 THE PARADE, BRADFIELD, 6th April, 1882.I am writing this, my dear Bertie, at a little tablewhich has been fitted up in the window of my bedroom.Every one in the house is asleep except myself; and allthe noise of the city is hushed. Yet my own brain issingularly active, and I feel that I am better employedin sitting up and writing to you, than in tossing aboutupon my bed. I am often accused of being sleepy in thedaytime, but every now and then Nature gets level bymaking me abnormally wakeful at night.Are you conscious of the restful influence which thestars exert? To me they are the most soothing things inNature. I am proud to say that I don't know the name ofone of them. The glamour and romance would pass awayfrom them if they were all classified and ticketed inone's brain. But when a man is hot and flurried, andfull of his own little ruffled dignities andinfinitesimal misfortunes, then a star bath is the finestthing in the world. They are so big, and so serene andso lovely. They tell me that the interplanetary spacesare full of the debris of shattered asteroids; so,perhaps, even among them there are such things as diseaseand death. Yet just to look at them must remind a man ofwhat a bacillus of a thing he is--the whole human racelike some sprinkling of impalpable powder upon thesurface of one of the most insignificant fly-wheels of amonstrous machine. But there's order in it, Bertie,there's order! And where there is order there must bemind, and where there is mind there must be sense ofJustice. I don't allow that there can be any doubt as tothe existence of that central Mind, or as to thepossession by it of certain attributes. The stars helpme to realise these. It is strange, when one looks uponthem, to think that the Churches are still squabblingdown here over such questions as whether the Almighty ismost gratified by our emptying a tea-spoonful of waterover our babies' heads, or by our waiting a few years andthen plunging them bodily into a tank. It would be comicif it were not so tragic.This train of thought is the after-swell from anargument with Cullingworth this evening. He holds thatthe human race is deteriorating mentally and morally. Hecalls out at the grossness which confounds the Creatorwith a young Jewish Philosopher. I tried to show himthat this is no proof of degeneration, since the JewishPhilosopher at least represented a moral idea, and wastherefore on an infinitely higher plane than the sensualdivinities of the ancients. His own views of the Creatorseem to me to be a more evident degeneration. Hedeclares that looking round at Nature he can see nothingbut ruthlessness and brutality. "Either the Creator isnot all-powerful, or else He is not all-good," says he."Either He can stop these atrocities and won't, in whichcase He is not all-good; or else He would stop them butcan't, in which case He is not all-powerful." It was adifficult dilemma for a man who professes to stick toreason to get out of. Of course, if you plead faith, youcan always slip out of anything. I was forced to getbehind a corner of that buckler with which you have sooften turned my own thrusts. I said that the dilemmaarose from our taking it for granted that that whichseemed evil really was EVIL. "It lies with you toprove that it isn't," said he. "We may hope that itisn't," said I. "Wait until some one tells you that youhave cancer of the pyloric end of the stomach," said he;and he shouted it out again every time I tried to renewthe argument.But in all soberness, I really do think, Bertie, thatvery much which seems to be saddest in life might be verydifferent if we could focus it properly. I tried to giveyou my views about this in the case of drink andimmorality. But physically, I fancy that it applies moreobviously than it does morally. All the physical evilsof life seem to culminate in death; and yet death, as Ihave seen it, has not been a painful or terrible process.In many cases, a man dies without having incurred nearlyas much pain, during the whole of his fatal illness, aswould have arisen from a whitlow or an abscess of thejaw. And it is often those deaths which seem mostterrible to the onlooker, which are least so to thesufferer. When a man is overtaken by an express andshivered into fragments, or when he drops from a fourth-floor window and is smashed into a bag of splinters, theunfortunate spectators are convulsed with horror, andfind a text for pessimistic views about theProvidence which allows such things to be. And yet, itis very doubtful whether the deceased, could his tonguebe loosened, would remember anything at all about thematter. We know, as students of medicine, that thoughpain is usually associated with cancers and withabdominal complaints; still, in the various fevers, inapoplexy, in blood poisonings, in lung diseases, and, inshort, in the greater proportion of serious maladies,there is little suffering.I remember how struck I was when first I saw theactual cautery applied in a case of spinal disease. Thewhite hot iron was pressed firmly into the patient'sback, without the use of any anaesthetic, and what withthe sight and the nauseating smell of burned flesh I feltfaint and ill. Yet, to my astonishment, the patientnever flinched nor moved a muscle of his face, and on myinquiring afterwards, he assured me that the proceedingwas absolutely painless, a remark which was corroboratedby the surgeon. "The nerves are so completely andinstantaneously destroyed," he explained, "that they haveno time to convey a painful impression." But then ifthis be so, what becomes of all the martyrs at thestake, and the victims of Red Indians, and other poorfolk over whose sufferings and constancy we havewondered? It may be that Providence is not only notcruel itself, but will not allow man to be cruel either.Do your worst, and it will step in with a "No, I won'tallow this poor child of mine to be hurt"; and then comesthe dulling of the nerve and the lethargy which takes thevictim out of the reach of the tormentor. DavidLivingstone under the claws of the lion must have lookedlike an object lesson of the evil side of things, and yethe has left it upon record that his own sensations werepleasurable rather than otherwise. I am well convincedthat if the newly-born infant and the man who had justdied could compare their experiences, the former wouldhave proved to be the sufferer. It is not for nothingthat the first thing the newcomer into this planet doesis to open its toothless mouth and protest energeticallyagainst fate.Cullingworth has written a parable which makes aparagraph for our wonderful new weekly paper."The little cheese mites held debate," he says,"as to who made the cheese. Some thought that theyhad no data to go upon, and some that it had cometogether by a solidification of vapour, or by thecentrifugal attraction of atoms. A few surmised that theplatter might have something to do with it; but thewisest of them could not deduce the existence of a cow."We are at one, he and I, in thinking that theinfinite is beyond our perception. We differ only inthat he sees evil and I see good in the working of theuniverse. Ah, what a mystery it all is! Let us behonest and humble and think kindly of each other.There's a line of stars all winking at me over theopposite roof--winking slyly at the silly little personwith the pen and paper who is so earnest about what hecan never understand.Well, now, I'll come back to something practical. Itis nearly a month since I wrote to you last. The date isimpressed upon my memory because it was the day afterCullingworth shot the air-dart into my finger. The placefestered and prevented my writing to any one for a weekor two, but it is all right again now. I have ever somuch of different sorts to tell you, but really when Icome to think of it, it does not amount to very muchafter all.First of all, about the practice. I told you that Iwas to have a room immediately opposite toCullingworth's, and that all the surgical cases were tobe turned over to me. For a few days I had nothing todo, except to listen to him romping and scuffling withhis patients, or making speeches to them from the top ofthe stairs. However, a great "Dr. Stark Munro, Surgeon,"has been affixed to the side of the door downstairs,opposite Cullingworth's plate; and a proud man was I whenfirst my eyes lit upon it. On the fourth day, however,in came a case. He little knew that he was the firstthat I had ever had all to myself in my life. Perhaps hewould not have looked quite so cheerful if he hadrealised it.Poor chap, he had little enough to be cheery overeither. He was an old soldier who had lost a good manyteeth, but who had continued to find room between hisnose and chin for a short black clay pipe. Lately thereappeared a small sore on his nose which had spread, andbecome crusted. On feeling it I found it as hard as astreak of glue, with constant darting pains passingthrough it. Of course, there could be no questionas to diagnosis. It was epitheliomatous cancer, causedby the irritation of the hot tobacco smoke. I sent himback to his village, and two days after I drove over inCullingworth's dog-cart, and removed the growth. I onlygot a sovereign for it. But it may be a nucleus forcases. The old fellow did most admirably, and he hasjust been in (with a most aristocratic curl to hisnostrils) to tell me that he has bought a box full ofchurchwardens. It was my first operation, and I daresayI was more nervous about it than my patient, but theresult has given me confidence. I have fully made up mymind to let nothing pass me. Come what may, I amprepared to do it. Why should a man wait? Of course, Iknow that many men do; but surely one's nerve is morelikely to be strong and one's knowledge fresh now than intwenty years.Cases came dribbling in from day to day--all verypoor people, and able to pay very poor fees--but stillmost welcome to me. The first week I took (includingthat operation fee) one pound seventeen and sixpence.The second, I got two pounds exactly. The third, I hadtwo pounds five, and now I find that this last weekhas brought in two pounds eighteen; so I am movingin the right direction. Of course, it compares absurdlyenough with Cullingworth's twenty pound a day, and mylittle quiet back-water seems a strange contrast to thenoisy stream which pours for ever through his room.Still, I am quite satisfied, and I have no doubt at allthat his original estimate of three hundred pounds forthe first year will be amply justified. It would be apleasant thing to think that if anything were really tohappen at home, I should be able to be of some use tothem. If things go on as they have begun, I shall soonhave my feet firmly planted.I was compelled, by the way, to forego an openingwhich a few months ago would have been the very summit ofmy ambition. You must know (possibly I told you), thatimmediately after I passed, I put my name down as acandidate for a surgeonship on the books of several ofthe big steamship lines. It was done as a forlorn hope,for a man has usually to wait several years before histurn comes round. Well, just a week after I startedhere, I got a telegram one night from Liverpool: "Jointhe Decia tomorrow as surgeon, not later than eightin the evening." It was from Staunton & Merivale,the famous South American firm, and the Decia is afine 6000-ton passenger boat, doing the round journey byBahia and Buenos Ayres to Rio and Valparaiso. I had abad quarter of an hour, I can tell you. I don't think Iwas ever so undecided about anything in my life.Cullingworth was dead against my going, and his influencecarried the day."My dear chap," said he, "you'd knock down the chiefmate, and he'd spread you out with a handspike. You'dget tied by your thumbs to the rigging. You'd be fed onstinking water and putrid biscuits. I've been reading anovel about the merchant service, and I know."When I laughed at his ideas of modern sea-going hetried another line."You're a bigger fool than I take you for if you go,"said he. "Why, what can it lead to? All the money youearn goes to buy a blue coat, and daub it with lace. Youthink you're bound for Valparaiso, and you find yourselfat the poor-house. You've got a rare opening here, andeverything ready to your hand. You'll never get suchanother again."And so it ended by my letting them have a wireto say that I could not come. It is strange when youcome to a point where the road of your life obviouslydivides, and you take one turning or the other aftervainly trying to be sure about the finger-post. I thinkafter all I chose rightly. A ship's surgeon must remaina ship's surgeon, while here there is no horizon to mypossibilities.As to old Cullingworth, he is booming along asmerrily as ever. You say in your last, that what youcannot understand is how he got his hold of the public inso short a time. That is just the point which I havefound it hard to get light upon. He told me that afterhis first coming he had not a patient for a month, andthat he was so disheartened that he very nearly made amoonlight exodus. At last, however, a few cases came hisway--and he made such extraordinary cures of them, orelse impressed them so by his eccentricity, that theywould do nothing but talk of him. Some of his wonderfulresults got into the local press, though, after myAvonmouth experience, I should not like to guarantee thathe did not himself convey them there. He showed me analmanac, which had a great circulation in the district.It had an entry sandwiched in this way:Aug. 15. Reform Bill passed 1867.Aug. 16. Birth of Julius Caesar.Aug. 17. Extraordinary cure by Dr. Cullingworth of a case ofdropsy in Bradfield, 1881.Aug. 18. Battle of Gravelotte, 1870.It reads as if it were one of the landmarks of thelatter half of the century. I asked him how on earth itgot there; but I could only learn that the woman wasfifty-six inches round the waist, and that he had treatedher with elaterium.That leads me to another point. You ask me whetherhis cures are really remarkable, and, if so, what hissystem is. I answer unhesitatingly, that his cures arevery remarkable, indeed, and that I look upon him as asort of Napoleon of medicine. His view is that thepharmacopaeal doses are in nearly every instance much toolow. Excessive timidity has cut down the dose until ithas ceased to produce a real effect upon the disease.Medical men, according to his view, have been afraidof producing a poisonous effect with their drugs. Withhim, on the contrary, the whole art of medicine lies injudicious poisoning, and when the case is serious,his remedies are heroic. Where, in epilepsy, I shouldhave given thirty-grain doses of bromide or chloral everyfour hours, he would give two drachms every three. Nodoubt it will seem to you very kill-or-cure, and I ammyself afraid that a succession of coroners' inquests maycheck Cullingworth's career; but hitherto he has had nopublic scandal, while the cases which he has brought backto life have been numerous. He is the most fearlessfellow. I have seen him pour opium into a dysentericpatient until my hair bristled. But either his knowledgeor his luck always brings him out right.Then there are other cures which depend, I think,upon his own personal magnetism. He is so robust andloud-voiced and hearty that a weak nervous patient goesaway from him recharged with vitality. He is soperfectly confident that he can cure them, that he makesthem perfectly confident that they can be cured; and youknow how in nervous cases the mind reacts upon the body.If he chose to preserve crutches and sticks, as they doin the mediaeval churches, he might, I am sure, paper hisconsulting room with them. A favourite device ofhis with an impressionable patient is to name the exacthour of their cure. "My dear," he will say, swaying somegirl about by the shoulders, with his nose about threeinches from hers, "you'll feel better tomorrow at aquarter to ten, and at twenty past you'll be as well asever you were in your life. Now, keep your eye on theclock, and see if I am not right." Next day, as likelyas not, her mother will be in, weeping tears of joy; andanother miracle has been added to Cullingworth's record.It may smell of quackery, but it is exceedingly useful tothe patient.Still I must confess that there is nothing aboutCullingworth which jars me so much as the low view whichhe takes of our profession. I can never reconcile myselfto his ideas, and yet I can never convert him to mine; sothere will be a chasm there which sooner or later mayopen to divide us altogether. He will not acknowledgeany philanthropic side to the question. A profession, inhis view, is a means of earning a livelihood, and thedoing good to our fellow mortals, is quite a secondaryone."Why the devil should we do all the good, Munro?" heshouts. Eh, what? A butcher would do good to the race,would he not, if he served his chops out gratis throughthe window? He'd be a real benefactor; but he goes onselling them at a shilling the pound for all that. Takethe case of a doctor who devotes himself to sanitaryscience. He flushes out drains, and keeps downinfection. You call him a philanthropist! Well, I callhim a traitor. That's it, Munro, a traitor and arenegade! Did you ever hear of a congress of lawyers forsimplifying the law and discouraging litigation? Whatare the Medical Association and the General Council, andall these bodies for? Eh, laddie? For encouraging thebest interests of the profession. Do you suppose they dothat by making the population healthy? It's about timewe had a mutiny among the general practitioners. If Ihad the use of half the funds which the Association has,I should spend part of them in drain-blocking, and therest in the cultivation of disease germs, and thecontamination of drinking water."Of course, I told him that his views werediabolical; but, especially since that warning whichI had from his wife, I discount everything that he says.He begins in earnest; but as he goes on the humour ofexaggeration gets hold of him, and he winds up withthings which he would never uphold in cold blood.However, the fact remains that we differ widely in ourviews of professional life, and I fear that we may cometo grief over the question.What do you think we have been doing lately?Building a stable--no less. Cullingworth wanted to haveanother one at the business place, as much, I think, forhis patients as his horses; and, in his audacious way, hedetermined that he would build it himself. So at it wewent, he, I, the coachman, Mrs. Cullingworth, and thecoachman's wife. We dug foundations, got bricks in bythe cartload, made our own mortar, and I think that weshall end by making a very fair job of it. It's notquite as flat-chested as we could wish; and I think thatif I were a horse inside it, I should be careful aboutbrushing against the walls; but still it will keep thewind and rain out when it is finished. Cullingworthtalks of our building a new house for ourselves; butas we have three large ones already there does not seemto be any pressing need.Talking about horses, we had no end of a fuss herethe other day. Cullingworth got it into his head that hewanted a first-class riding horse; and as neither of thecarriage ones would satisfy him, he commissioned a horsedealer to get him one. The man told us of a chargerwhich one of the officers in the garrison was trying toget rid of. He did not conceal the fact that the reasonwhy he wished to sell it was because he considered it tobe dangerous; but, he added, that Captain Lucas had givenL150 for it, and was prepared to sell it at seventy.This excited Cullingworth, and he ordered the creature tobe saddled and brought round. It was a beautiful animal,coal black, with a magnificent neck and shoulders, butwith a nasty backward tilt to its ears, and an unpleasantway of looking at you. The horse dealer said that ouryard was too small to try the creature in; butCullingworth clambered up upon its back and formally tookpossession of it by lamming it between the ears with thebone handle of his whip. Then ensued one of themost lively ten minutes that I can remember. The beastjustified his reputation; but Cullingworth, although hewas no horseman, stuck to him like a limpet. Backwards,forwards, sideways, on his fore feet, on his hind feet,with his back curved, with his back sunk, bucking andkicking, there was nothing the creature did not try.Cullingworth was sitting alternately on his mane and onthe root of his tail--never by any chance in the saddle--he had lost both stirrups, and his knees were drawn upand his heels dug into the creature's ribs, while hishands clawed at mane, saddle, or ears, whichever he sawin front of him. He kept his whip, however; and wheneverthe brute eased down, Cullingworth lammed him once morewith the bone handle. His idea, I suppose, was to breakits spirit, but he had taken a larger contract than hecould carry through. The animal bunched his four feettogether, ducked down his head, arched his back like ayawning cat, and gave three convulsive springs into theair. At the first, Cullingworth's knees were above thesaddle flaps, at the second his ankles were retaining aconvulsive grip, at the third he flew forward likea stone out of a sling, narrowly missed the coping of thewall, broke with his head the iron bar which held somewire netting, and toppled back with a thud into the yard.Up he bounded with the blood streaming down his face, andrunning into our half-finished stables he seized ahatchet, and with a bellow of rage rushed at the horse.I caught him by the coat and put on a fourteen-stonedrag, while the horse dealer (who was as white as acheese) ran off with his horse into the street.Cullingworth broke away from my grip, and cursingincoherently, his face slobbered with blood, and hishatchet waving over his head, he rushed out of the yard--the most diabolical looking ruffian you can imagine.However, luckily for the dealer, he had got a good start,and Cullingworth was persuaded to come back and wash hisface. We bound up his cut, and found him little theworse, except in his temper. But for me he would mostcertainly have paid seventy pounds for his insaneoutburst of rage against the animal.I daresay you think it strange that I should write somuch about this fellow and so little about anybodyelse; but the fact is, that I know nobody else, and thatmy whole circle is bounded by my patients, Cullingworthand his wife. They visit nobody, and nobody visits them.My living with them brings the same taboo from my brotherdoctors upon my head, although I have never done anythingunprofessional myself. Who should I see in the streetthe other day but the McFarlanes, whom you will rememberat Linlithgow? I was foolish enough to propose to MaimieMcFarlane once, and she was sensible enough to refuse me.What I should have done had she accepted me, I can'timagine; for that was three years ago, and I have moreties and less prospect of marriage now than then. Well,there's no use yearning for what you can't have, andthere's no other man living to whom I would speak aboutthe matter at all; but life is a deadly, lonely thingwhen a man has no one on his side but himself. Why isit that I am sitting here in the moonlight writing toyou, except that I am craving for sympathy andfellowship? I get it from you, too--as much as onefriend ever got from another--and yet there are somesides to my nature with which neither wife nor friend norany one else can share. If you cut your own path, youmust expect to find yourself alone upon it.Heigh ho! it's nearly dawn, and I as wakeful as ever.It is chilly, and I have draped a blanket round me. I'veheard that this is the favourite hour of the suicide, andI see that I've been tailing off in the direction ofmelancholy myself. Let me wind up on a lighter chord byquoting Cullingworth's latest article. I must tell youthat he is still inflamed by the idea of his own paper,and his brain is in full eruption, sending out aperpetual stream of libellous paragraphs, doggerel poems,social skits, parodies, and articles. He brings them allto me, and my table is already piled with them. Here ishis latest, brought up to my room after he had undressed.It was the outcome of some remarks I had made about thedifficulty which our far-off descendants may have indetermining what the meaning is of some of the commonestobjects of our civilisation, and as a corollary howcareful we should be before we become dogmatic about theold Romans or Egyptians."At the third annual meeting of the New GuineaArchaeological Society a paper was read upon recentresearches on the supposed site of London, together withsome observations upon hollow cylinders in use among theancient Londoners. Several examples of these metalliccylinders or tubings were on exhibition in the hall, andwere passed round for inspection among the audience. Thelearned lecturer prefaced his remarks by observing thaton account of the enormous interval of time whichseparated them from the days when London was aflourishing city, it behoved them to be very guarded inany conclusions to which they might come as to the habitsof the inhabitants. Recent research appeared to havesatisfactorily established the fact that the date of thefinal fall of London was somewhat later than that of theerection of the Egyptian Pyramids. A large building hadrecently been unearthed near the dried-up bed of theriver Thames; and there could be no question fromexisting records that this was the seat of the law-makingcouncil among the ancient Britons--or Anglicans, as theywere sometimes called. The lecturer proceeded topoint out that the bed of the Thames had beentunnelled under by a monarch named Brunel, who issupposed by some authorities to have succeeded Alfred theGreat. The open spaces of London, he went on to remark,must have been far from safe, as the bones of lions,tigers, and other extinct forms of carnivora had beendiscovered in the Regent's Park. Having briefly referredto the mysterious structures known as `pillar-boxes,'which are scattered thickly over the city, and which areeither religious in their origin, or else may be taken asmarking the tombs of Anglican chiefs, the lecturer passedon to the cylindrical piping. This had been explained bythe Patagonian school as being a universal system oflightning-conductors. He (the lecturer) could not assentto this theory. In a series of observations, extendingover several months, he had discovered the important factthat these lines of tubing, if followed out, invariablyled to large hollow metallic reservoirs which wereconnected with furnaces. No one who knew how addictedthe ancient Britons were to the use of tobacco coulddoubt what this meant. Evidently large quantities of theherb were burned in the central chamber, and thearomatic and narcotic vapour was carried through thetubes to the house of every citizen, so that he mightinhale it at will. Having illustrated his remarks by aseries of diagrams, the lecturer concluded by sayingthat, although true science was invariably cautious andundogmatic, it was none the less an incontestable factthat so much light had been thrown upon old London, thatevery action of the citizens' daily life was known, fromthe taking of a tub in the morning, until after a draughtof porter he painted himself blue before retiring torest."After all, I daresay this explanation of the Londongas pipes is not more absurd than some of our shots aboutthe Pyramids, or ideas of life among the Babylonians.Well, goodbye, old chap; this is a stupidinconsequential letter, but life has been more quiet andless interesting just of late. I may have something alittle more moving for my next.IX.1 THE PARADE, BRADFIELD, 23rd April, 1882.I have some recollection, my dear Bertie, that whenI wrote you a rambling disconnected sort of letter aboutthree weeks ago, I wound up by saying that I might havesomething more interesting to tell you next time. Well,so it has turned out! The whole game is up here, and Iam off upon a fresh line of rails altogether.Cullingworth is to go one way and I another; and yet I amglad to say that there has not been any quarrel betweenus. As usual, I have begun my letter at the end, butI'll work up to it more deliberately now, and let youknow exactly how it came about.And first of all, a thousand thanks for your two longletters, which lie before me as I write. There is littleenough personal news in them, but I can quite understandthat the quiet happy routine of your life reels off verysmoothly from week to week. On the other hand,you give me plenty of proof of that inner life which isto me so very much more interesting. After all, we mayvery well agree to differ. You think some things areproved which I don't believe in. You think some thingsedifying which do not appear to me to be so. Well, Iknow that you are perfectly honest in your belief. I amsure you give me credit for being the same. The futurewilt decide which of us is right. The survival of thetruest is a constant law, I fancy, though it must beacknowledged that it is very slow in action.You make a mistake, however, in assuming that thosewho think as I do are such a miserable minority. Thewhole essence of our thought is independence andindividual judgment; so that we don't get welded intosingle bodies as the churches do, and have no opportunityof testing our own strength. There are, no doubt, allshades of opinion among us; but if you merely includethose who in their private hearts disbelieve thedoctrines usually accepted, and think that sectarianchurches tend to evil rather than good, I fancy that thefigures would be rather surprising. When I readyour letter, I made a list of all those men with whom Iever had intimate talk upon such matters. I gotseventeen names, with four orthodox. Cullingworth triedand got twelve names, with one orthodox. From all sides,one hears that every church complains of the absence ofmen in the congregations. The women predominate three toone. Is it that women are more earnest than men? Ithink it is quite the other way. But the men arefollowing their reason, and the women their emotion. Itis the women only who keep orthodoxy alive.No, you mustn't be too sure of that majority ofyours. Taking the scientific, the medical, theprofessional classes, I question whether it exists atall. The clergy, busy in their own limited circles, andcoming in contact only with those who agree with them,have not realised how largely the rising generation hasoutgrown them. And (with exceptions like yourself) it isnot the most lax, but the BEST of the younger men,the larger-brained and the larger-hearted, who haveshaken themselves most clear of the old theology. Theycannot abide its want of charity, it's limitationsof God's favours, its claims for a special Providence,its dogmatism about what seems to be false, its conflictwith what we know to be true. We KNOW that man hasascended, not descended; so what is the value of a schemeof thought which depends upon the supposition of hisfall? We KNOW that the world was not made in sixdays, that the sun could never be stopped since it wasnever moving, and that no man ever lived three days in afish; so what becomes of the inspiration of a book whichcontains such statements? "Truth, though it crush me!"There, now, you see what comes of waving the red rag!Let me make a concession to appease you. I do believethat Christianity in its different forms has been thevery best thing for the world during all this longbarbarous epoch. Of course, it has been the best thing,else Providence would not have permitted it. Theengineer knows best what tools to use in strengtheninghis own machine. But when you say that this is the bestand last tool which will be used, you are laying down thelaw a little too much.Now, first of all, I want to tell you about howthe practice has been going on. The week after Iwrote last showed a slight relapse. I only took twopounds. But on the next I took a sudden jump up to threepounds seven shillings, and this last week I took threepounds ten. So it was steadily creeping up; and I reallythought that I saw my road clear in front of me, when thebolt suddenly fell from the blue. There were reasons,however, which prevented my being very disappointed whenit did come down; and these I must make clear to you.I think that I mentioned, when I gave you a shortsketch of my dear old mother, that she has a very highstandard of family honour. She really tries to live upto the Percy-Plantagenet blend which is said to flow inour veins; and it is only our empty pockets which preventher from sailing through life, like the grande damethat she is, throwing largesse to right and left,with her head in the air and her soul in the clouds. Ihave often heard her say (and I am quite convinced thatshe meant it) that she would far rather see any one of usin our graves than know that we had committed adishonourable action. Yes; for all her softness andfemininity, she could freeze iron-hard at thesuspicion of baseness; and I have seen the blood flushfrom her white cap to her lace collar when she has heardof an act of meanness.Well, she had heard some details about theCullingworths which displeased her when I first knewthem. Then came the smash-up at Avonmouth, and my motherliked them less and less. She was averse to my joiningthem in Bradfield, and it was only by my sudden movementat the end that I escaped a regular prohibition. When Igot there, the very first question she asked (when I toldher of their prosperity) was whether they had paid theirAvonmouth creditors. I was compelled to answer that theyhad not. In reply she wrote imploring me to come away,and saying that, poor as our family was, none of them hadever fallen so low as to enter into a businesspartnership with a man of unscrupulous character anddoubtful antecedents. I answered that Cullingworth spokesometimes of paying his creditors, that Mrs. Cullingworthwas in favour of it also, and that it seemed to me to beunreasonable to expect that I should sacrifice a goodopening on account of things with which I had noconnection. I assured her that if Cullingworth didanything from then onwards which seemed to medishonourable, I would disassociate myself from him, andI mentioned that I had already refused to adopt some ofhis professional methods. Well, in reply to this, mymother wrote a pretty violent letter about what shethought of Cullingworth, which led to another from medefending him, and showing that there were some deep andnoble traits in his character. That produced anotherstill more outspoken letter from her; and so thecorrespondence went on, she attacking and I defending,until a serious breach seemed to be opening between us.I refrained from writing at last, not out of ill temper,but because I thought that if she were given time shewould cool down, and take, perhaps, a more reasonableview of the situation. My father, from the short notewhich he sent me, seemed to think the whole businessabsolutely irregular, and to refuse to believe myaccounts of Cullingworth's practice and receipts. Thisdouble opposition, from the very people whose interestshad really been nearest my heart in the whole affair,caused me to be less disappointed than I shouldotherwise have been when it all came to an end. Infact, I was quite in the humour to finish it myself whenFate did it for me.Now about the Cullingworths. Madam is as amiable asever; and yet somehow, unless I am deceiving myself, shehas changed somewhat of late in her feelings towards me.I have turned upon her suddenly more than once, andcaught the skirt of a glance which was little less thanmalignant. In one or two small matters I have alsodetected a hardness in her which I had never observedbefore. Is it that I have intruded too much into theirfamily life? Have I come between the husband and thewife? Goodness knows I have striven with all my littlestock of tact to avoid doing so. And yet I have oftenfelt that my position was a false one. Perhaps a youngman attaches too much importance to a woman's glances andgestures. He wishes to assign a definite meaning toeach, when they may be only the passing caprice of themoment. Ah, well, I have nothing to blame myself with;and in any case it will soon be all over now.And then I have seen something of the same sort inCullingworth; but he is so strange a being that Inever attach much importance to his variations. Heglares at me like an angry bull occasionally; and thenwhen I ask him what is the matter, he growls out, "Oh,nothing!" and turns on his heel. Then at other times heis so cordial and friendly that he almost overdoes it,and I find myself wondering whether he is not acting. Itmust seem ungracious to you that I should speak so of aman who has been my benefactor; and it seems so to mealso, but still that IS the impression which heleaves upon me sometimes. It's an absurd idea, too; forwhat possible object could his wife and he have inpretending to be amiable, if they did not really feel so?And yet you know the feeling that you get when a mansmiles with his lips and not with his eyes.One day we went to the Central Hotel billiard-room inthe evening to play a match. Our form is just about thesame, and we should have bad an enjoyable game if it hadnot been for that queer temper of his. He had been in asullen humour the whole day, pretending not to hear whatI said to him, or else giving snappy answers, and lookinglike a thunder-cloud. I was determined not to have arow, so I took no notice at all of his continualprovocations, which, instead of pacifying him, seemed toencourage him to become more offensive. At the end ofthe match, wanting two to win, I put down the white whichwas in the jaws of the pocket. He cried out that thiswas bad form. I contended that it was folly to refrainfrom doing it when one was only two off game, and, on hiscontinuing to make remarks, I appealed to the marker, whotook the same view as I did. This opposition onlyincreased his anger, and he suddenly broke out into mostviolent language, abusing me in unmeasured terms. I saidto him, "If you have anything to say to me, Cullingworth,come out into the street and say it there. It's acaddish thing to speak like that before the marker." Helifted his cue, and I thought he was going to strike mewith it; but he flung it clattering on the floor, andchucked half a crown to the man. When we got out in thestreet, he began at once in as offensive a tone as ever."That's enough, Cullingworth," I said. "I've stoodalready rather more than I can carry."We were in the bright light of a shop window at thatmoment. He looked at me, and looked a second time,uncertain what to do. At any moment I might have foundmyself in a desperate street row with a man who was mymedical partner. I gave no provocation, but kept myselfkeenly on the alert. Suddenly, to my relief, he burstout laughing (such a roar as made the people stop on theother side of the road), and passing his arm throughmine, he hurried me down the street."Devil of a temper you've got, Munro," said he. "ByCrums, it's hardly safe to go out with you. I never knowwhat you're going to do next. Eh, what? You mustn't bepeppery with me, though; for I mean well towards you, asyou'll see before you get finished with me."I have told you this trivial little scene, Bertie, toshow the strange way in which Cullingworth springsquarrels upon me; suddenly, without the slightestpossible provocation, taking a most offensive tone, andthen when he sees he has goaded me to the edge of myendurance, turning the whole thing to chaff. This hasoccurred again and again recently; and, when coupled withthe change in Mrs. Cullingworth's demeanour, makes onefeel that something has happened to change one'srelations. What that something may be, I give you myword that I have no more idea than you have. Betweentheir coldness, however, and my unpleasant correspondencewith my mother, I was often very sorry that I had nottaken the South American liner.Cullingworth is preparing for the issue of our newpaper. He has carried the matter through with his usualenergy, but he doesn't know enough about local affairs tobe able to write about them, and it is a question whetherhe can interest the people here in anything else. Atpresent we are prepared to run the paper single-handed;we are working seven hours a day at the practice; we arebuilding a stable; and in our odd hours we are practisingat our magnetic ship-protector, with which Cullingworthis still well pleased, though he wants to get it moreperfect before submitting it to the Admiralty.His mind runs rather on naval architecture atpresent, and he has been devising an ingenious method ofpreventing wooden-sided vessels from being crippled byartillery fire. I did not think much of hismagnetic attractor, because it seemed to me that even ifit had all the success that he claimed for it, it wouldmerely have the effect of substituting some other metalfor steel in the manufacture of shells. This new projecthas, however, more to recommend it. This is the idea, asput in his own words; and, as he has been speaking oflittle else for the last two days, I ought to rememberthem."If you've got your armour there, laddie, it will bepierced," says he. "Put up forty feet thick of steel;and I'll build a gun that will knock it into tooth-powder. It would blow away, and set the folk coughingafter I had one shot at it. But you can't pierce armourwhich only drops after the shot has passed through.What's the good of it? Why it keeps out the water.That's the main thing, after all. I call it theCullingworth spring-shutter screen. Eh, what, Munro? Iwouldn't take a quarter of a million for the idea. Yousee how it would work. Spring shutters are furled allalong the top of the bulwarks where the hammocks used tobe. They are in sections, three feet broad, we will say,and capable when let down of reaching the keel.Very well! Enemy sends a shot through Section A of theside. Section A shutter is lowered. Only a thin film,you see, but enough to form a temporary plug. Enemy'sram knocks in sections B, C, D of the side. What do youdo? Founder? Not a bit; you lower sections B, C, and Dof Cullingworth's spring-shutter screen. Or you knock ahole on a rock. The same thing again. It's a ludicroussight to see a big ship founder when so simple aprecaution would absolutely save her. And it's equallygood for ironclads also. A shot often starts theirplates and admits water without breaking them. Down goyour shutters, and all is well."That's his idea, and he is busy on a model made outof the steels of his wife's stays. It sounds plausible,but he has the knack of making anything plausible when heis allowed to slap his hands and bellow.We are both writing novels, but I fear that theresults don't bear out his theory that a man may doanything which he sets his will to. I thought mine wasnot so bad (I have done nine chapters), but Cullingworthsays he has read it all before, and that it is muchtoo conventional. We must rivet the attention of thepublic from the start, he says. Certainly, his own iscalculated to do so, for it seems to me to be wildrubbish. The end of his first chapter is the onlytolerable point that he has made. A fraudulent oldbaronet is running race-horses on the cross. His son,who is just coming of age, is an innocent youth. Thenews of the great race of the year has just beenreceived."Sir Robert tottered into the room with dry lips anda ghastly face."`My poor boy!' he cried. `Prepare for the worst!'"`Our horse has lost!' cried the young heir,springing from his chair."The old man threw himself in agony upon the rug.`No, no!' he screamed. `IT HAS WON!'"Most of it, however, is poor stuff, and we are eachagreed that the other was never meant for a novelist.So much for our domestic proceedings, and all theselittle details which you say you like to hear of. Now Imust tell you of the great big change in my affairs,and how it came about.I have told you about the strange, sulky behaviour ofCullingworth, which has been deepening from day to day.Well, it seemed to reach a climax this morning, and onour way to the rooms I could hardly get a word out ofhim. The place was fairly crowded with patients, but myown share was rather below the average. When I hadfinished I added a chapter to my novel, and waited untilhe and his wife were ready for the daily bag-carryinghomewards.It was half-past three before he had done. I heardhim stamp out into the passage, and a moment later hecame banging into my room. I saw in an instant that somesort of a crisis had come."Munro," he cried, "this practice is going to thedevil!""Ah!" said I. "How's that?"It's going to little pieces, Munro. I've beentaking figures, and I know what I am talking about. Amonth ago I was seeing six hundred a week. Then Idropped to five hundred and eighty; then to five-seventy-five; and now to five-sixty. What do you thinkof that?""To be honest, I don't think much of it," I answered."The summer is coming on. You are losing all your coughsand colds and sore throats. Every practice must dwindleat this time of year.""That's all very well," said he, pacing up and downthe room, with his hands thrust into his pockets, and hisgreat shaggy eyebrows knotted together. "You may put itdown to that, but I think quite differently about it.""What do you put it down to, then?""To you.""How's that?" I asked."Well," said he, "you must allow that it is a veryqueer coincidence--if it is a coincidence--that from theday when your plate was put up my practice has taken aturn for the worse.""I should be very sorry to think it was cause andeffect," I answered. "How do you think that my presencecould have hurt you?""I'll tell you frankly, old chap," said he, puttingon suddenly that sort of forced smile which always seemsto me to have a touch of a sneer in it. "You see,many of my patients are simple country folk, halfimbecile for the most part, but then the half-crown of animbecile is as good as any other half-crown. They cometo my door, and they see two names, and their silly jawsbegin to drop, and they say to each other, `There's twoof 'em here. It's Dr. Cullingworth we want to see, butif we go in we'll be shown as likely as not to Dr.Munro.' So it ends in some cases in their not coming atall. Then there are the women. Women don't care a tosswhether you are a Solomon, or whether you are hot from anasylum. It's all personal with them. You fetch them, oryou don't fetch them. I know how to work them, but theywon't come if they think they are going to be turned overto anybody else. That's what I put the falling away downto.""Well," said I, "that's easily set right." I marchedout of the room and downstairs, with both Cullingworthand his wife behind me. Into the yard I went, and,picking up a big hammer, I started for the front door,with the pair still at my heels. I got the forked end ofthe hammer under my plate, and with a good wrench Ibrought the whole thing clattering on to thepavement."That won't interfere with you any more," said I."What do you intend to do now?" he asked."Oh, I shall find plenty to do. Don't you worryabout that," I answered."Oh, but this is all rot," said he, picking up theplate. "Come along upstairs and let us see where westand."We filed off once more, he leading with the hugebrass "Dr. Munro" under his arm; then the little woman,and then this rather perturbed and bemuddled young man.He and his wife sat on the deal table in the consultingroom, like a hawk and a turtle-dove on the same perch,while I leaned against the mantelpiece with my hands inmy pockets. Nothing could be more prosaic and informal;but I knew very well that I was at a crisis of my life.Before, it was only a choosing between two roads. Now mymain track had run suddenly to nothing, and I must goback or find a bye-path."It's this way, Cullingworth," said I. "I am verymuch obliged to you, and to you, Mrs. Cullingworth,for all your kindness and good wishes, but I did not comehere to spoil your practice; and, after what you havetold me, it is quite impossible for me to work with youany more.""Well, my boy," said he, "I am inclined myself tothink that we should do better apart; and that's Hetty'sidea also, only she is too polite to say so.""It is a time for plain speaking," I answered, it andwe may as well thoroughly understand each other. If Ihave done your practice any harm, I assure you that I amheartily sorry, and I shall do all I can to repair it.I cannot say more.""What are you going to do, then?" asked Cullingworth."I shall either go to sea or else start a practice onmy own account.""But you have no money.""Neither had you when you started.""Ah, that was different. Still, it may be that youare right. You'll find it a stiff pull at first.""Oh, I am quite prepared for that.""Well, you know, Munro, I feel that I am responsibleto you to some extent, since I persuaded you not to takethat ship the other day.""It was a pity, but it can't be helped.""We must do what we can to make up. Now, I tell youwhat I am prepared to do. I was talking about it withHetty this morning, and she thought as I did. If we wereto allow you one pound a week until you got your legsunder you, it would encourage you to start for yourself,and you could pay it back as soon as you were able.""It is very kind of you," said I. "If you would letthe matter stand just now, I should like just to take ashort walk by myself, and to think it all over."So the Cullingworths did their bag-procession throughthe doctors' quarter alone to-day, and I walked to thepark, where I sat down on one of the seats, lit a cigar,and thought the whole matter over. I was down on my luckat first; but the balmy air and the smell of spring andthe budding flowers soon set me right again. I began mylast letter among the stars, and I am inclined to finishthis one among the flowers, for they are rare companionswhen one's mind is troubled. Most things on this earth,from a woman's beauty to the taste of a nectarine, seemto be the various baits with which Nature lures her sillygudgeons. They shall eat, they shall propagate, and forthe sake of pleasing themselves they shall hurrydown the road which has been laid out for them. Butthere lurks no bribe in the smell and beauty of theflower. It's charm has no ulterior motive.Well, I sat down there and brooded. In my heart Idid not believe that Cullingworth had taken alarm at sotrifling a decrease. That could not have been his realreason for driving me from the practice. He had found mein the way in his domestic life, no doubt, and he haddevised this excuse for getting rid of me. Whatever thereason was, it was sufficiently plain that all my hopesof building up a surgical practice, which should keepparallel with his medical one, were for ever at an end.On the whole, bearing in mind my mother's opposition, andthe continual janglings which we had had during the lastfew weeks, I was not very sorry. On the contrary, asudden curious little thrill of happiness took mesomewhere about the back of the midriff, and, as a driftof rooks passed cawing over my head, I began cawing alsoin the overflow of my spirits.And then as I walked back I considered how far Icould avail myself of this money from Cullingworth. Itwas not much, but it would be madness to startwithout it, for I had sent home the little which I hadsaved at Horton's. I had not more than six pounds in thewhole world. I reflected that the money could make nodifference to Cullingworth, with his large income, whileit made a vast one to me. I should repay him in a yearor two at the latest. Perhaps I might get on so well asto be able to dispense with it almost at once. Therecould be no doubt that it was the representations ofCullingworth as to my future prospects in Bradfield whichhad made me refuse the excellent appointment in theDecia. I need not therefore have any scruples ataccepting some temporary assistance from his hands. Onmy return, I told him that I had decided to do so, andthanked him at the same time for his generosity."That's all right," said he. "Hetty, my dear, get abottle of fez in, and we shall drink success to Munro'snew venture."It seemed only the other day that he had beendrinking my entrance into partnership; and here we were,the same three, sipping good luck to my exit from it!I'm afraid our second ceremony was on both sides theheartier of the two."I must decide now where I am to start," I remarked."What I want is some nice little town where all thepeople are rich and ill.""I suppose you wouldn't care to settle here inBradfield?" asked Cullingworth."Well, I cannot see much point in that. If I harmedyou as a partner, I might do so more as a rival. If Isucceeded it might be at your expense.""Well," said he, "choose your town, and my offerstill holds good."We hunted out an atlas, and laid the map of Englandbefore us on the table. Cities and villages lay beneathme as thick as freckles, and yet there was nothing tolead me to choose one rather than another."I think it should be some place large enough to giveyou plenty of room for expansion," said he."Not too near London," added Mrs. Cullingworth."And, above all, a place where I know nobody," saidI. "I can rough it by myself, but I can't keep upappearances before visitors.""What do you say to Stockwell?" saidCullingworth, putting the amber of his pipe upon atown within thirty miles of Bradfield.I had hardly heard of the place, but I raised myglass. "Well, here's to Stockwell!" I cried; "I shall gothere tomorrow morning and prospect." We all drank thetoast (as you will do at Lowell when you read this); andso it is arranged, and you may rely upon it that I shallgive you a full and particular account of the result.X.1 CADOGAN TERRACE, BIRCHESPOOL, i 21st May, 1882.My dear old chap, things have been happening, and Imust tell you all about it. Sympathy is a strange thing;for though I never see you, the mere fact that you overthere in New England are keenly interested in what I amdoing and thinking, makes my own life in old England verymuch more interesting to me. The thought of you is likea good staff in my right hand.The unexpected has happened so continually in my lifethat it has ceased to deserve the name. You rememberthat in my last I had received my dismissal, and was onthe eve of starting for the little country town ofStockwell to see if there were any sign of a possiblepractice there. Well, in the morning, before I came downto breakfast, I was putting one or two things into a bag,when there came a timid knock at my door, and therewas Mrs. Cullingworth in her dressing-jacket, with herhair down her back."Would you mind coming down and seeing James, Dr.Munro?" said she. "He has been very strange all night,and I am afraid that he is ill."Down I went, and found Cullingworth looking ratherred in the face, and a trifle wild about the eyes. Hewas sitting up in bed, with the neck of his nightgownopen, and an acute angle of hairy chest exposed. He hada sheet of paper, a pencil, and a clinical thermometerupon the coverlet in front of him."Deuced interesting thing, Munro," said he. "Comeand look at this temperature chart. I've been taking itevery quarter of an hour since I couldn't sleep, and it'sup and down till it looks like the mountains in thegeography books. We'll have some drugs in--eh, what,Munro?--and by Crums, we'll revolutionise all their ideasabout fevers. I'll write a pamphlet from personalexperiment that will make all their books clean out ofdate, and they'll have to tear them up and wrapsandwiches in them."He was talking in the rapid slurring way of a man whohas trouble coming. I looked at his chart, and saw thathe was over 102 degrees. His pulse rub-a-dubbed under myfingers, and his skin sent a glow into my hand."Any symptoms?" I asked, sitting down on the side ofhis bed."Tongue like a nutmeg-grater," said he, thrusting itout. "Frontal headache, renal pains, no appetite, and amouse nibbling inside my left elbow. That's as far aswe've got at present.""I'll tell you what it is, Cullingworth," said I."You have a touch of rheumatic fever, and you will haveto lie by for a bit.""Lie by be hanged!" he cried. "I've got a hundredpeople to see to-day. My boy, I must be down there if Ihave the rattle in my throat. I didn't build up apractice to have it ruined by a few ounces of lacticacid.""James dear, you can easily build up another one,"said his wife, in her cooing voice. "You must do whatDr. Munro tells you.""Well," said I, "you'll want looking after, and yourpractice will want looking after, and I am quite ready todo both. But I won't take the responsibility unlessyou give me your word that you will do what you aretold.""If I'm to have any doctoring it must come from you,laddie," he said; "for if I was to turn my toes up in thepublic square, there's not a man here who would do morethan sign my certificate. By Crums, they might get thesalts and oxalic acid mixed up if they came to treat me,for there's no love lost between us. But I want to godown to the practice all the same.""It's out of the question. You know the sequel ofthis complaint. You'll have endocarditis, embolism,thrombosis, metastatic abscesses--you know the danger aswell as I do."He sank back into his bed laughing."I take my complaints one at a time, thank you," saidhe. "I wouldn't be so greedy as to have all those--eh,Munro, what?--when many another poor devil hasn't got anache to his back." The four posts of his bed quiveredwith his laughter. "Do what you like, laddie--but I say,mind, if anything should happen, no tomfoolery over mygrave. If you put so much as a stone there, by Crums,Munro, I'll come back in the dead of the night andplant it on the pit of your stomach."Nearly three weeks passed before he could set hisfoot to the ground again. He wasn't such a bad patient,after all; but he rather complicated my treatment bygetting in all sorts of phials and powders, and tryingexperiments upon his own symptoms. It was impossible tokeep him quiet, and our only means of retaining him inbed was to allow him all the work that he could do there.He wrote copiously, built up models of his patentscreen, and banged off pistols at his magnetic target,which he had rigged tip on the mantelpiece. Nature hasgiven him a constitution of steel, however, and he shookoff his malady more quickly and more thoroughly than themost docile of sufferers.In the meantime, Mrs. Cullingworth and I ran thepractice together. As a substitute for him I was adreadful failure. They would not believe in me in theleast. I felt that I was as flat as water afterchampagne. I could not address them from the stairs, norpush them about, nor prophesy to the anaeemic women. Iwas much too solemn and demure after what they hadbeen accustomed to. However, I held the thing togetheras best I could, and I don't think that he found thepractice much the worse when he was able to take it over.I could not descend to what I thought was unprofessional,but I did my very best to keep the wheels turning.Well, I know that I am a shocking bad story-teller,but I just try to get things as near the truth as I canmanage it. If I only knew how to colour it up, I couldmake some of this better reading. I can get along whenI am on one line, but it is when I have to bring in asecond line of events that I understand what C. meanswhen he says that I will never be able to keep myself innibs by what I earn in literature.The second line is this, that I had written to mymother on the same night that I wrote to you last,telling her that there need no longer be a shadow of adisagreement between us, because everything was arranged,and I was going to leave Cullingworth at once. Thenwithin a couple of posts I had to write again andannounce that my departure was indefinitely postponed,and that I was actually doing his whole practice.Well, the dear old lady was very angry. I don'tsuppose she quite understood how temporary the necessitywas, and how impossible it would have been to leaveCullingworth in the lurch. She was silent for nearlythree weeks, and then she wrote a very stinging letter(and she handles her adjectives most deftly when shelikes). She went so far as to say that Cullingworth wasa "bankrupt swindler," and that I had dragged the familyhonour in the dirt by my prolonged association with him.This letter came on the morning of the very last day thatmy patient was confined to the house. When I returnedfrom work I found him sitting in his dressing-gowndownstairs. His wife, who had driven home, was besidehim. To my surprise, when I congratulated him on beingfit for work again, his manner (which had been mostgenial during his illness) was as ungracious as beforeour last explanation. His wife, too, seemed to avoid myeye, and cocked her chin at me when she spoke."Yes, I'll take it over tomorrow," said he. "Whatdo I owe you for looking after it?""Oh, it was all in the day's work," said I."Thank you, I had rather have strict business,"he answered. "You know where you are then, but afavour is a thing with no end to it. What d'you put itat?""I never thought about it in that light.""Well, think about it now. A locum would have costme four guineas a week. Four fours sixteen. Make ittwenty. Well, I promised to allow you a pound a week,and you were to pay it back. I'll put twenty pounds toyour credit account, and you'll have it every week assure as Saturday.""Thank you," said I. "If you are so anxious to makea business matter of it, you can arrange it so." I couldnot make out, and cannot make out now, what had happenedto freeze them up so; but I supposed that they had beentalking it over, and came to the conclusion that I wassettling down too much upon the old lines, and that theymust remind me that I was under orders to quit. Theymight have done it with more tact.To cut a long story short, on the very day thatCullingworth was able to resume his work I started offfor Stockwell, taking with me only a bag, for it wasmerely a prospecting expedition, and I intended to returnfor my luggage if I saw reason for hope. Alas!there was not the faintest. The sight of the place wouldhave damped the most sanguine man that ever lived. It isone of those picturesque little English towns with ahistory and little else. A Roman trench and a Normankeep are its principal products. But to me the mostamazing thing about it was the cloud of doctors which hadsettled upon it. A double row of brass plates flankedthe principal street. Where their patients came from Icould not imagine, unless they practised upon each other.The host of the "Bull" where I had my modest lunchexplained the mystery to some extent by saying that, asthere was pure country with hardly a hamlet for nearlytwelve miles in every direction, it was in thesescattered farm-houses that the Stockwell doctors foundtheir patients. As I chatted with him a middle-aged,dusty-booted man trudged up the street. "There's Dr.Adam," said he. "He's only a newcomer, but they saythat some o' these days he'll be starting his carriage.""What do you mean by a newcomer?" I asked. "Oh, he'sscarcely been here ten years," said the landlord. "Thankyou," said I. "Can you tell me when the next trainleaves for Bradfield?" So back I came, rather heavyat heart, and having spent ten or twelve shillings whichI could ill afford. My fruitless journey seemed a smallthing, however, when I thought of the rising Stockwellitewith his ten years and his dusty boots. I can trudgealong a path, however rough, if it will but lead tosomething; but may kindly Fate keep me out of all cul-de-sacs!The Cullingworths did not receive me cordially uponmy return. There was a singular look upon both theirfaces which seemed to ME to mean that they weredisappointed at this hitch in getting rid of me. When Ithink of their absolute geniality a few days ago, andtheir markedly reserved manner now, I can make no senseout of it. I asked Cullingworth point blank what itmeant, but he only turned it off with a forced laugh, andsome nonsense about my thin skin. I think that I am thelast man in the world to take offence where none ismeant; but at any rate I determined to end the matter byleaving Bradfield at once. It had struck me, during myjourney back from Stockwell, that Birchespool would be agood place; so on the very next day I started off, takingmy luggage with me, and bidding a final goodbye toCullingworth and his wife."You rely upon me, laddie," said C. with something ofhis old geniality, as we shook hands on parting. "Youget a good house in a central position, put up your plateand hold on by your toe-nails. Charge little or nothinguntil you get a connection, and none of your professionalhaw-dammy or you are a broken man. I'll see that youdon't stop steaming for want of coal."So with that comforting assurance I left them on theplatform of the Bradfield station. The words seem kind,do they not? and yet taking this money jars every nervein my body. When I find that I can live on bread andwater without it, I will have no more of it. But to dowithout it now would be for the man who cannot swim tothrow off his life-belt.I had plenty of time on my way to Birchespool toreflect upon my prospects and present situation. Mybaggage consisted of a large brassplate, a small leathertrunk, and a hat-box. The plate with my name engravedupon it was balanced upon the rack above my head. In mybox were a stethoscope, several medical books, asecond pair of boots, two suits of clothes, my linenand my toilet things. With this, and the five poundseighteen shillings which remain in my purse, I wassallying out to clear standing-room, and win the right tolive from my fellow-men. But at least there was somechance of permanency about this; and if there was thepromise of poverty and hardship, there was also that offreedom. I should have no Lady Saltire to toss up herchin because I had my own view of things, no Cullingworthto fly out at me about nothing. I would be my own--myvery own. I capered up and down the carriage at thethought. After all, I had everything to gain and nothingin the whole wide world to lose. And I had youth andstrength and energy, and the whole science of medicinepacked in between my two ears. I felt as exultant asthough I were going to take over some practice which layready for me.It was about four in the afternoon when I reachedBirchespool, which is fifty-three miles by rail fromBradfield. It may be merely a name to you, and, indeed,until I set foot in it I knew nothing of it myself; butI can tell you now that it has a population of a hundredand thirty thousand souls (about the same asBradfield), that it is mildly manufacturing, that it iswithin an hour's journey of the sea, that it has anaristocratic western suburb with a mineral well, and thatthe country round is exceedingly beautiful. It is smallenough to have a character of its own, and large enoughfor solitude, which is always the great charm of a city,after the offensive publicity of the country.When I turned out with my brass plate, my trunk, andmy hat-box upon the Birchespool platform, I sat down andwondered what my first move should be. Every penny wasgoing to be of the most vital importance to me, and Imust plan things within the compass of that tiny purse.As I sat pondering, there came a sight of interest, forI heard a burst of cheering with the blare of a band uponthe other side of the station, and then the pioneers andleading files of a regiment came swinging on to theplatform. They wore white sun-hats, and were leaving forMalta, in anticipation of war in Egypt. They were youngsoldiers--English by the white facings--with a colonelwhose moustache reached his shoulders, and a numberof fresh-faced long-legged subalterns. I chieflyremember one of the colour-sergeants, a man of immensesize and ferocious face, who leaned upon his Martini,with two little white kittens peeping over eithershoulder from the flaps of his knapsack. I was so movedat the sight of these youngsters going out to do theirbest for the dear old country, that I sprang up on mybox, took off my hat, and gave them three cheers. Atfirst the folk on my side looked at me in their bovinefashion--like a row of cows over a wall. At the seconda good many joined, and at the third my own voice wasentirely lost. So I turned to go my way, and the soldierladdies to go theirs; and I wondered which of us had thestiffest and longest fight before us.I left my baggage at the office, and jumped into atramcar which was passing the station, with the intentionof looking for lodgings, as I judged that they would becheaper than an hotel. The conductor interested himselfin my wants in that personal way which makes me thinkthat the poorer classes in England are one of thekindliest races on earth. Policemen, postmen, railwayguards, busmen, what good helpful fellows they all are!This one reckoned the whole thing out, how this streetwas central but dear, and the other was out-of-the-waybut cheap, and finally dropped me at a medium shabby-genteel kind of thoroughfare called Cadogan Terrace, withinstructions that I was to go down there and see how Iliked it.I could not complain of a limited selection, for a"to let " or "apartments" was peeping out of every secondwindow. I went into the first attractive house that Isaw, and interviewed the rather obtuse and grasping oldlady who owned it. A sitting-bed-room was to be had forthirteen shillings a week. As I had never hired roomsbefore, I had no idea whether this was cheap or dear; butI conclude it was the latter, since on my raising myeyebrows as an experiment she instantly came down to tenshillings and sixpence. I tried another look and anexclamation of astonishment; but as she stood firm, Igathered that I had touched the bottom."Your rooms are quite clean?" I asked, for therewas a wooden panelling which suggested possibilities."Quite clean, Sir.""No vermin?""The officers of the garrison come sometimes."This took some thinking out. It had an ugly sound,but I gathered that she meant that there could be noquestion about the cleanliness since these gentlemen weresatisfied. So the bargain was struck, and I ordered teato be ready in an hour, while I went back to the stationto fetch up my luggage. A porter brought it up foreightpence (saving fourpence on a cab, my boy!) and so Ifound myself in the heart of Birchespool with a base ofoperations secured. I looked out of the little window ofmy lodgings at the reeking pots and grey sloping roofs,with a spire or two spurting up among them, and I shookmy teaspoon defiantly at them. "You've got to conquerme," said I, "or else I'm man enough to conquer you."Now, you would hardly expect that a fellow would havean adventure on his very first night in a strangetown; but I had--a trivial one, it is true, but fairlyexciting while it lasted. Certainly it reads more likewhat might happen to a man in a book, but you may take itfrom me that it worked out just as I set it down here.When I had finished my tea, I wrote a few letters--one to Cullingworth, and one to Horton. Then, as it wasa lovely evening, I determined to stroll out and see whatsort of a place it was upon which Fate had washed me up."Best begin as you mean to go on," thought I; so I donnedmy frock-coat, put on my carefully-brushed top-hat, andsallied forth with my very respectable metal-headedwalking stick in my hand.I walked down to the Park, which is the chief centreof the place, and I found that I liked everything I sawof it. It was a lovely evening, and the air was freshand sweet. I sat down and listened to the band for anhour, watching all the family parties, and feelingparticularly lonely. Music nearly always puts me intothe minor key; so there came a time when I could stand itno longer, and I set off to find my way back to mylodgings. On the whole, I felt that Birchespool wasa place in which a man might very well spend a happylife.At one end of Cadogan Terrace (where I am lodging)there is a wide open space where several streets meet.In the centre of this stands a large lamp in the middleof a broad stone pedestal, a foot or so high, and ten ortwelve across. Well, as I strolled along I saw there wassomething going on round this lamppost. A crowd ofpeople had gathered, with a swirl in the centre. I was,of course, absolutely determined not to get mixed up inany row; but I could not help pushing my way through thecrowd to see what was the matter.It wasn't a pretty sight. A woman, pinched andbedraggled, with a baby on her arm, was being knockedabout by a burly brute of a fellow whom I judged to beher husband from the way in which he cherished her. Hewas one of those red-faced, dark-eyed men who can lookpeculiarly malignant when they choose. It was clear thathe was half mad with drink, and that she had been tryingto lure him away from some den. I was just in time tosee him take a flying kick at her, amid cries of "Shame!"from the crowd, and then lurch forward again, withthe evident intention of having another, the mob stillexpostulating vaguely.If, Bertie, it had been old student days, I shouldhave sailed straight in, as you or any other fellow wouldhave done. My flesh crept with my loathing for thebrute. But I had also to think of what I was and whereI was, and what I had come there to do. However, thereare some things which a man cannot stand, so I took acouple of steps forward, put my hand on the fellow'sshoulder, and said in as conciliatory and genial a voiceas I could muster: "Come, come, my lad! Pull yourselftogether."Instead of "pulling himself together," he very nearlyknocked me asunder. I was all abroad for an instant. Hehad turned on me like a flash, and had struck me on thethroat just under the chin, my head being a little backat the moment. It made me swallow once or twice, I cantell you. Sudden as the blow was, I had countered, inthe automatic sort of way that a man who knows anythingof boxing does. It was only from the elbow, with no bodybehind it, but it served to stave him off for the moment,while I was making inquiries about my windpipe.Then in he came with a rush; and the crowd swarming roundwith shrieks of delight, we were pushed, almost locked ineach other's arms on to that big pedestal of which I havespoken. "Go it, little 'un!" "Give him beans!" yelledthe mob, who had lost all sight of the origin of thefray, and could only see that my opponent was two inchesthe shorter man. So there, my dear Bertie, was I, withina few hours of my entrance into this town, with my top-hat down to my ears, my highly professional frock-coat,and my kid gloves, fighting some low bruiser on apedestal in one of the most public places, in the heartof a yelling and hostile mob! I ask you whether that wascruel luck or not?Cullingworth told me before I started thatBirchespool was a lively place. For the next few minutesit struck me as the liveliest I had ever seen. Thefellow was a round hand hitter, but so strong that heneeded watching. A round blow is, as you know, moredangerous than a straight one if it gets home; for theangle of the jaw, the ear, and the temple, are the threeweakest points which you present. However, I tookparticular care that my man did not get home; but, on theother hand, I fear that I did not do him much harmeither. He bored in with his head down; and I, like afool, broke my knuckles over the top of his impenetrableskull. Of course, theoretically I should either havestepped back and tried an undercut, or else taken himinto chancery; but I must confess to feeling flurried andrattled from the blow I had had, as well as from thesuddenness of the whole affair. However, I was coolingdown, and I daresay should in time have done somethingrational, when the affray came to a sudden and unexpectedend.This was from the impatience and excitement of thecrowd. The folk behind, wishing to see all that wasgoing on, pushed against those in front, until half-a-dozen of the foremost (with, I think, a woman among them)were flung right up against us. One of these, a rough,sailor-like fellow in a jersey, got wedged between us;and my antagonist, in his blind rage, got one of hisswinging blows home upon this newcomer's ear. "What,you----!" yelled the sailor; and in an instant he hadtaken over the whole contract, and was at it hammer andtongs with my beauty. I grabbed my stick, which hadfallen among the crowd, and backed my way out,rather dishevelled, but very glad to get off so cheaply.From the shouting which I could hear some time after Ireached the door of my lodgings, I gathered that a goodbattle was still raging.You see, it was the merest piece of luck in the worldthat my first appearance in Birchespool was not in thedock of the police-court. I should have had no one toanswer for me, if I had been arrested, and should havebeen put quite on a level with my adversary. I daresayyou think I made a great fool of myself, but I shouldlike to know how I could have acted otherwise. The onlything that I feel now is my loneliness. What a luckyfellow you are with your wife and child!After all, I see more and more clearly that both menand women are incomplete, fragmentary, mutilatedcreatures, as long as they are single. Do what they mayto persuade themselves that their state is the happiest,they are still full of vague unrests, of dim, ill-defineddissatisfactions, of a tendency to narrow ways andselfish thoughts. Alone each is a half-made being, withevery instinct and feeling yearning for its missingmoiety. Together they form a complete and symmetricalwhole, the minds of each strongest where that of theother needs reinforcing. I often think that if our soulssurvive death (and I believe they do, though I base mybelieve on very different grounds from yours), every malesoul will have a female one attached to or combined withit, to round it off and give it symmetry. So thought theold Mormon, you remember, who used it as an argument forhis creed. "You cannot take your railway stocks into thenext world with you," he said. "But with all our wivesand children we should make a good start in the world tocome."I daresay you are smiling at me, as you read this,from the vantage ground of your two years of matrimony.It will be long before I shall be able to put my viewsinto practice.Well, goodbye, my dear old chap! As I said at thebeginning of my letter, the very thought of you is goodfor me, and never more so than at this moment, when I amalone in a strange city, with very dubious prospects, andan uncertain future. We differ as widely as the poles,you and I, and have done ever since I have known you.You are true to your faith, I to my reason--you to yourfamily belief, I to my own ideas; but our friendshipshows that the real essentials of a man, and his affinityfor others, depends upon quite other things than views onabstract questions. Anyway, I can say with all my heartthat I wish I saw you with that old corncob of yoursbetween your teeth, sitting in that ricketty American-leather armchair, with the villanous lodging-houseantimacassar over the back of it. It is good of you totell me how interested you are in my commonplaceadventures; though if I had not KNOWN that you wereso, you may be sure that I should never have ventured toinflict any of them upon you. My future is now allinvolved in obscurity, but it is obvious that the firstthing I must do is to find a fitting house, and my secondto cajole the landlord into letting me enter intopossession of it without any prepayment. To that I willturn myself tomorrow morning, and you shall know theresult. Whom should I hear from the other day but ArchieMcLagan? Of course it was a begging letter. You canjudge how far I am in a state to lose money; but in a hotfit I sent him ten shillings, which now, in my cold, Ibitterly regret. With every good wish to you and yours,including your town, your State, and your great country,yours as ever.XI.1 OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 29th May, 1882.Birchespool is really a delightful place, dearBertie; and I ought to know something about it, seeingthat I have padded a good hundred miles through itsstreets during the last seven days. Its mineral springsused to be quite the mode a century or more ago; and itretains many traces of its aristocratic past, carrying itwith a certain grace, too, as an emigre countessmight wear the faded dress which had once rustled inVersailles. I forget the new roaring suburbs with theirout-going manufactures and their incoming wealth, and Ilive in the queer health-giving old city of the past.The wave of fashion has long passed over it, but adeposit of dreary respectability has been left behind.In the High Street you can see the long ironextinguishers upon the railings where the link-boys usedto put out their torches, instead of stamping upon themor slapping them on the pavement, as was the customin less high-toned quarters. There are the very highcurbstones too, so that Lady Teazle or Mrs. Sneerwellcould step out of coach or sedan chair without soilingher dainty satin shoes. It brings home to me what anunstable chemical compound man is. Here are the stageaccessories as good as ever, while the players have allsplit up into hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen andcarbon, with traces of iron and silica and phosphorus.A tray full of chemicals and three buckets of water,--there is the raw material of my lady in the sedan chair!It's a curious double picture, if one could but conjureit up. On the one side, the high-born bucks, the mincingladies, the scheming courtiers, pushing and planning, andstriving every one of them to attain his own pettyobject. Then for a jump of a hundred years. What isthis in the corner of the old vault? Margarine andchlesterine, carbonates, sulphates, and ptomaines! Weturn from it in loathing, and as we go we carry with usthat from which we fly.But, mind you, Bertie, I have a very high respect forthe human body, and I hold that it has been undulysnubbed and maligned by divines and theologians:"our gross frames" and "our miserable mortal clay" arephrases which to my mind partake more of blasphemy thanof piety. It is no compliment to the Creator todepreciate His handiwork. Whatever theory or belief wemay hold about the soul, there can, I suppose, be nodoubt that the body is immortal. Matter may betransformed (in which case it may be re-transformed), butit can never be destroyed. If a comet were to strikethis globule of ours, and to knock it into a billionfragments, which were splashed all over the solarsystem--if its fiery breath were to lick up the earth'ssurface until it was peeled like an orange, still at theend of a hundred millions of years every tiniest particleof our bodies would exist--in other forms andcombinations, it is true, but still those very atomswhich now form the forefinger which traces these words.So the child with the same wooden bricks will build awall, then strew them on the table; then a tower, thenstrew once more, and so ever with the same bricks.But then our individuality? I often wonder whethersomething of that wilt cling to our atoms--whether thedust of Johnnie Munro will ever have something ofhim about it, and be separable from that of BertieSwanborough. I think it is possible that we DOimpress ourselves upon the units of our own structure.There are facts which tend to show that every tinyorganic cell of which a man is composed, contains in itsmicrocosm a complete miniature of the individual of whichit forms a part. The ovum itself from which we are allproduced is, as you know, too small to be transfixed uponthe point of a fine needle; and yet within that narrowglobe lies the potentiality, not only for reproducing thefeatures of two individuals, but even their smallesttricks of habit and of thought. Well, if a single cellcontains so much, perhaps a single molecule and atom hasmore than we think.Have you ever had any personal experience of dermoidcysts? We had one in Cullingworth's practice just beforehis illness, and we were both much excited about it.They seem to me to be one of those wee little chinksthrough which one may see deep into Nature's workings.In this case the fellow, who was a clerk in the postoffice, came to us with a swelling over his eyebrow. Weopened it under the impression that it was anabscess, and found inside some hair and arudimentary jaw with teeth in it. You know that suchcases are common enough in surgery, and that nopathological museum is without an example.But what are we to understand by it? So startling aphenomenon must have a deep meaning. That can only be,I think, that EVERY cell in the body has the powerlatent in it by which it may reproduce the wholeindividual--and that occasionally under some specialcircumstances--some obscure nervous or vascularexcitement--one of these microscopic units of structureactually does make a clumsy attempt in that direction.But, my goodness, where have I got to? All thiscomes from the Birchespool lampposts and curbstones.And I sat down to write such a practical letter too!However, I give you leave to be as dogmatic and didacticas you like in return. Cullingworth says my head is likea bursting capsule, with all the seeds getting loose.Poor seed, too, I fear, but some of it may lodgesomewhere--or not, as Fate pleases.I wrote to you last on the night that I reached here.Next morning I set to work upon my task. You would besurprised (at least I was) to see how practical andmethodical I can be. First of all I walked down to thepost-office and I bought a large shilling map of thetown. Then back I came and pinned this out upon thelodging-house table. This done, I set to work to studyit, and to arrange a series of walks by which I shouldpass through every street of the place. You have no ideawhat that means until you try to do it. I used to havebreakfast, get out about ten, walk till one, have a cheapluncheon (I can do well on three-pence), walk till four,get back and note results. On my map I put a cross forevery empty house and a circle for every doctor. So atthe end of that time I had a complete chart of the wholeplace, and could see at a glance where there was apossible opening, and what opposition there was at eachpoint.In the meantime I had enlisted a most unexpectedally. On the second evening a card was solemnly broughtup by the landlady's daughter from the lodger whooccupied the room below. On it was inscribed "CaptainWhitehall"; and then underneath, in brackets, "ArmedTransport." On the back of the card was written,"Captain Whitehall (Armed Transport) presents hiscompliments to Dr. Munro, and would be glad of hiscompany to supper at 8.30." To this I answered, "Dr.Munro presents his compliments to Captain Whitehall(Armed Transport), and will be most happy to accept hiskind invitation." What "Armed Transport" might mean Ihad not an idea, but I thought it well to include it, ashe seemed so particular about it himself.On descending I found a curious-looking figure in agray dressing-gown with a purple cord. He was an elderlyman--his hair not quite white yet, but well past mousecolour. His beard and moustache, however, were of ayellowish brown, and his face all puckered and shot withwrinkles, spare and yet puffy, with hanging bags underhis singular light blue eyes."By God, Dr. Munro, sir," said he, as he shook myhand. "I take it as very kind of you that you shouldaccept an informal invitation. I do, sir, by God!"This sentence was, as it proved, a very typical one,for he nearly always began and ended each with an oath,while the centre was, as a rule, remarkable for acertain suave courtesy. So regular was his formula thatI may omit it and you suppose it, every time that heopened his mouth. A dash here and there will remind you.It's been my practice, Dr. Munro, sir, to makefriends with my neighbours through life; and some strangeneighbours I have had. By ----, sir, humble as you seeme, I have sat with a general on my right, and an admiralon my left, and my toes up against a British ambassador.That was when I commanded the armed transport Hegirain the Black Sea in '55. Burst up in the great gale inBalaclava Bay, sir, and not as much left as you couldpick your teeth with."There was a strong smell of whisky in the room, andan uncorked bottle upon the mantelpiece. The captainhimself spoke with a curious stutter, which I put down atfirst to a natural defect; but his lurch as he, turnedback to his armchair showed me that he had had as much ashe could carry."Not much to offer you, Dr. Munro, sir. The hind legof a ---- duck, and a sailor's welcome. Not RoyalNavy, sir, though I have a ---- sight better manners thanmany that are. No, sir, I fly no false colours, and putno R. N. after my name; but I'm the Queen's servant, by----! No mercantile marine about me! Have a wet, sir!It's the right stuff, and I have drunk enough to know thedifference."Well, as the supper progressed I warmed with theliquor and the food, and I told my new acquaintance allabout my plans and intentions. I didn't realise howlonely I had been until I found the pleasure of talking.He listened to it all with much sympathy, and to myhorror tossed off a whole tumbler-full of neat whisky tomy success. So enthusiastic was he that it was all Icould do to prevent him from draining a second one."You'll do it, Dr. Munro, sir!" he cried. "I know aman when I see one, and you'll do it. There's my hand,sir! I'm with you! You needn't be ashamed to grasp it,for by ----, though I say it myself, it's been open tothe poor and shut to a bully ever since I could suckmilk. Yes, sir, you'll make a good shipmate, andI'm ---- glad to have you on my poop.For the remainder of the evening his fixed delusionwas that I had come to serve under him; and he read melong rambling lectures about ship's discipline, stillalways addressing me as "Dr. Munro. sir." At last,however, his conversation became unbearable--a foul youngman is odious, but a foul old one is surely the mostsickening thing on earth. One feels that the white uponthe hair, like that upon the mountain, should signify aheight attained. I rose and bade him good-night, with alast impression of him leaning back in his dressing-gown,a sodden cigar-end in the corner of his mouth, his beardall slopped with whisky, and his half-glazed eyes lookingsideways after me with the leer of a satyr. I had to gointo the street and walk up and down for half-an-hourbefore I felt clean enough to go to bed.Well, I wanted to see no more of my neighbour, but inhe came as I was sitting at breakfast, smelling like abar-parlour, with stale whisky oozing at every pore."Good morning, Dr. Munro, sir," said he, holdingout a twitching hand. "I compliment you, sir! You lookfresh, ---- fresh, and me with a head like a toy-shop.We had a pleasant, quiet evening, and I took nothing tohurt, but it is the ---- relaxing air of this place thatsettles me. I can't bear up against it. Last year itgave me the horrors, and I expect it will again. You'reoff house-hunting, I suppose?""I start immediately after breakfast.""I take a cursed interest in the whole thing. Youmay think it a ---- impertinence, but that's the way I'mmade. As long as I can steam I'll throw a rope towhoever wants a tow. I'll tell you what I'll do, Dr.Munro, sir. I'll stand on one tack if you'll stand onthe other, and I'll let you know if I come acrossanything that will do."There seemed to be no alternative between taking himwith me, or letting him go alone; so I could only thankhim and let him have carte blanche. Every night he wouldturn up, half-drunk as a rule, having, I believe, walkedhis ten or fifteen miles as conscientiously as I haddone. He came with the most grotesque suggestions.Once he had actually entered into negotiations withthe owner of a huge shop, a place that had been araper's, with a counter about sixty feet long. Hisreason was that he knew an innkeeper who had done verywell a little further down on the other side. Poor old"armed transport" worked so hard that I could not helpbeing touched and grateful; yet I longed from my heartthat he would stop for he was a most unsavoury agent, andI never knew what extraordinary step he might take in myname. He introduced me to two other men, one of them asingular-looking creature named Turpey, who wasstruggling along upon a wound-pension, having, when onlya senior midshipman, lost the sight of one eye and theuse of one arm through the injuries he received at someunpronounceable Pah in the Maori war. The other was asad-faced poetical-looking man, of good birth as Iunderstood, who had been disowned by his family on theoccasion of his eloping with the cook. His name wasCarr, and his chief peculiarity, that he was so regularin his irregularities that he could always tell the timeof day by the state of befuddlement that he was in. Hewould cock his head, think over his own symptoms,and then give you the hour fairly correctly. An unusualdrink would disarrange him, however; and if you forcedthe pace in the morning, he would undress and go to bedabout tea-time, with a full conviction that all theclocks had gone mad. These two strange waifs were amongthe craft to whom old Whitehall had in his own words,"thrown a rope"; and long after I had gone to bed I couldhear the clink of their glasses, and the tapping of theirpipes against the fender in the room below.Well, when I had finished my empty-house-and-doctorchart, I found that there was one villa to let, whichundoubtedly was far the most suitable for my purpose. Inthe first place it was fairly cheap-forty pounds, orfifty with taxes. The front looked well. It had nogarden. It stood with the well-to-do quarter upon theone side, and the poorer upon the other. Finally, it wasalmost at the intersection of four roads, one of whichwas a main artery of the town. Altogether, if I hadordered a house for my purpose I could hardly have gotanything better, and I was thrilled with apprehensionlest some one should get before me to the agent. Ihurried round and burst into the office with aprecipitancy which rather startled the demure clerkinside.His replies, however, were reassuring. The house wasstill to let. It was not quite the quarter yet, but Icould enter into possession. I must sign an agreement totake it for one year, and it was usual to pay a quarter'srent in advance.I don't know whether I turned colour a little."In advance!" I said, as carelessly as I could."It is usual.""Or references?""Well, that depends, of couse{sic}, upon thereferences.""Not that it matters much," said I. (Heaven forgiveme!) "Still, if it is the same to the firm, I may aswell pay by the quarter, as I shall do afterwards.""What names did you propose to give?" he asked.My heart gave a bound, for I knew that all was right.My uncle, as you know, won his knighthood in theArtillery, and though I have seen nothing of him, I knewthat he was the man to pull me out of this tight corner."There's my uncle, Sir Alexander Munro, LismoreHouse, Dublin," said I. "He would be happy to answer anyinquiry, and so would my friend Dr. Cullingworth ofBradfield."I brought him down with both barrels. I could see itby his eyes and the curve of his back."I have no doubt that that will be quitesatisfactory," said he. "Perhaps you would kindly signthe agreement."I did so, and drew my hind foot across the Rubicon.The die was cast. Come what might, 1 Oakley Villas wason my hand for a twelvemonth."Would you like the key now?"I nearly snatched it out of his hands. Then away Iran to take possession of my property. Never shall Iforget my feelings, my dear Bertie, when the key clickedin the lock, and the door flew open. It was my ownhouse--all my very own! I shut the door again, the noiseof the street died down, and I had, in that empty, dust-strewn hall, such a sense of soothing privacy as hadnever come to me before. In all my life it was the firsttime that I had ever stood upon boards which were notpaid for by another.Then I proceeded to go from room to room with adelicious sense of exploration. There were two upon theground floor, sixteen feet square each, and I saw withsatisfaction that the wall papers were in fair condition.The front one would make a consulting room, the other awaiting room, though I did not care to reflect who wasmost likely to do the waiting. I was in the highestspirits, and did a step dance in each room as an officialinauguration.Then down a winding wooden stair to the basement,where were kitchen and scullery, dimly lit, and asphalt-floored. As I entered the latter I stood staring. Inevery corner piles of human jaws were grinning at me.The place was a Golgotha! In that half light the effectwas sepulchral. But as I approached and picked up one ofthem the mystery vanished. They were of plaster-of-Paris, and were the leavings evidently of the dentist,who had been the last tenant. A more welcome sight wasa huge wooden dresser with drawers and a fine cupboard inthe corner. It only wanted a table and a chair to be afurnished room.Then I ascended again and went up the first flight ofstairs. There were two other good sized apartmentsthere. One should be my bedroom, and the other a spareroom. And then another flight with two more. One forthe servant, when I had one, and the other for a guest.From the windows I had a view of the undulating grayback of the city, with the bustle of green tree tops. Itwas a windy day, and the clouds were drifting swiftlyacross the heavens, with glimpses of blue between. Idon't know how it was, but as I stood looking through thegrimy panes in the empty rooms a sudden sense of my ownindividuality and of my responsibility to some higherpower came upon me, with a vividness which wasoverpowering. Here was a new chapter of my life about tobe opened. What was to be the end of it? I hadstrength, I had gifts. What was I going to do with them?All the world, the street, the cabs, the houses, seemedto fall away, and the mite of a figure and theunspeakable Guide of the Universe were for an instantface to face. I was on my knees--hurled down all againstmy own will, as it were. And even then I could find nowords to say. Only vague yearnings and emotions and aheartfelt wish to put my shoulder to the great wheel ofgood. What could I say? Every prayer seemed basedon the idea that God was a magnified man--that He neededasking and praising and thanking. Should the cog of thewheel creak praise to the Engineer? Let it rather cogharder, and creak less. Yet I did, I confess, try to putthe agitation of my soul into words. I meant it for aprayer; but when I considered afterwards the "supposingthats" and "in case ofs" with which it was sprinkled, itmust have been more like a legal document. And yet Ifelt soothed and happier as I went downstairs again.I tell you this, Bertie, because if I put reasonabove emotion I would not have you think that I am notopen to attacks of the latter also. I feel that what Isay about religion is too cold and academic. I feel thatthere should be something warmer and sweeter and morecomforting. But if you ask me to buy this at the priceof making myself believe a thing to be true, which allthat is nearest the divine in me cries out against, thenyou are selling your opiates too high. I'm a volunteerfor "God's own forlorn hope," and I'll clamber up thebreech as long as I think I can see the flag oftruth waving in front of me.Well, my next two cares were to get drugs andfurniture. The former I was sure that I could obtain onlong credit; while the latter I was absolutely determinednot to get into debt over. I wrote to the Apothecaries'Company, giving the names of Cullingworth and of myfather, and ordering twelve pounds' worth of tinctures,infusions, pills, powders, ointments, and bottles.Cullingworth must, I should think, have been one of theirvery largest customers, so I knew very well that my orderwould meet with prompt attention.There remained the more serious matter of thefurniture. I calculated that when my lodgings were paidfor I might, without quite emptying my purse, expend fourpounds upon furniture--not a large allowance for a goodsized villa. That would leave me a few shillings to goon with, and before they were exhausted Cullingworth'spound would come in. Those pounds, however, would beneeded for the rent, so I could hardly reckon upon themat all, as far as my immediate wants went. I found inthe columns of the Birchespool Post that therewas to be a sale of furniture that evening, and I wentdown to the auctioneer's rooms, accompanied, much againstmy will, by Captain Whitehall, who was very drunk andaffectionate."By God, Dr. Munro, sir, I'm the man that's going tostick to you. I'm only an old sailor-man, sir, withperhaps more liquor than sense; but I'm the Queen'sservant, and touch my pension every quarter day. I don'tclaim to be R. N., but I'm not merchant service either.Here I am, rotting in lodgings, but by ----, Dr. Munro,sir, I carried seven thousand stinking Turks from Varnato Balaclava Bay. I'm with you, Dr. Munro, and we putthis thing through together."We came to the auction rooms and we stood on thefringe of the crowd waiting for our chance. Presently upwent a very neat little table. I gave a nod and got itfor nine shillings. Then three rather striking lookingchairs, black wood and cane bottoms. Four shillings eachI gave for those. Then a metal umbrella-stand, four andsixpence. That was a mere luxury, but I was warming tothe work. A job lot of curtains all tied togetherin a bundle went up. Somebody bid five shillings. Theauctioneer's eye came round to me, and I nodded. Mineagain for five and sixpence. Then I bought a square ofred drugget for half-a-crown, a small iron bed for nineshillings, three watercolour paintings, "Spring," "TheBanjo Player," and "Windsor Castle," for five shillings;a tiny fender, half-a-crown; a toilet set, fiveshillings; another very small square-topped table, threeand sixpence. Whenever I bid for anything, Whitehallthrust his black-thorn up into the air, and presently Ifound him doing so on my behalf when I had no intentionof buying. I narrowly escaped having to give fourteenand sixpence for a stuffed macaw in a glass case."It would do to hang in your hall, Dr. Munro, sir,"said he when I remonstrated with him."I should have to hang myself in my hall soon if Ispent my money like that," said I. "I've got as much asI can afford now, and I must stop."When the auction was over, I paid my bill and had mygoods hoisted on to a trolly, the porter undertakingto deliver them for two shillings. I found that I hadover-estimated the cost of furnishing, for the totalexpense was little more than three pounds. We walkedround to Oakley Villa, and I proudly deposited all mygoods in the hall. And here came another extraordinaryexample of the kindness of the poorer classes. Theporter when I had paid him went out to his trolly andreturned with a huge mat of oakum, as ugly a thing as Ihave ever set eyes upon. This he laid down inside mydoor, and then without a word, brushing aside everyremonstrance or attempt at thanks, he vanished away withhis trolly into the night.Next morning I came round to my house--MY house,my boy!--for good and all, after paying off my landlady.Her bill came to more than I expected, for I only hadbreakfast and tea, always "dining out" as I majesticallyexpressed it. However, it was a relief to me to get itsettled, and to go round with my box to Oakley Villas.An ironmonger had fixed my plate on to the railings forhalf-a-crown the evening before, and there it was,glittering in the sun, when I came round. It mademe quite shy to look at it, and I slunk into the housewith a feeling that every window in the street had a facein it.But once inside, there was so much to be done thatI did not know what I should turn to first. I bought aone-and-ninepenny broom and set to work. You notice thatI am precise about small sums, because just there liesthe whole key of the situation. In the yard I found azinc pail with a hole in it, which was most useful, forby its aid I managed to carry up all the jaws with whichmy kitchen was heaped. Then with my new broom, my coathung on a gas-bracket and my shirt sleeves turned to theelbow, I cleaned out the lower rooms and the hall,brushing the refuse into the yard. After that I did asmuch for the upper floor, with the result that I broughtseveral square yards of dust down into the hall again,and undid my previous cleaning. This was disheartening,but at least it taught me to begin at the furthest pointin future. When I had finished, I was as hot and dirtyas if it were half-time at a football match. I thoughtof our tidy charwoman at home, and realised whatsplendid training she must be in.Then came the arranging of the furniture. The hallwas easily managed, for the planks were of a dark colour,which looked well of themselves. My oakum mat and myumbrella stand were the only things in it; but I boughtthree pegs for sixpence, and fastened them up at theside, completing the effect by hanging my two hats uponthem. Finally, as the expanse of bare floor wasdepressing, I fixed one of my curtains about halfway downit, draping it back, so that it had a kind of orientallook, and excited a vague idea of suites of apartmentsbeyond. It was a fine effect, and I was exceedinglyproud of it.From that I turned to the most important point ofall--the arrangement of my consulting room. Myexperience with Cullingworth had taught me one thing atleast,--that patients care nothing about your house ifthey only think that you can cure them. Once get thatidea into their heads, and you may live in a vacant stallin a stable and write your prescriptions on the manger.Still, as this was, for many a day to come, to be theonly furnished room in my house, it was worth alittle planning to get it set out to the best advantage.My red drugget I laid out in the centre, and fastenedit down with brass-headed nails. It looked much smallerthan I had hoped,--a little red island on an ocean ofdeal board, or a postage stamp in the middle of anenvelope. In the centre of it I placed my table, withthree medical works on one side of it, and mystethoscope and dresser's case upon the other. One chairwent with the table, of course; and then I spent the nextten minutes in trying to determine whether the other twolooked better together--a dense block of chairs, as itwere--or scattered so that the casual glance would getthe idea of numerous chairs. I placed them finally oneon the right, and one in front of the table. Then I putdown my fender, and nailed "Spring," "The Banjo Players,"and "Windsor Castle" on to three of the walls, with themental promise that my first spare half-crown should buya picture for the fourth. In the window I placed mylittle square table, and balanced upon it a photographwith an ivory mounting and a nice plush frame which I hadbrought in my trunk. Finally, I found a pair ofdark brown curtains among the job lot which I had boughtat the sale, and these I put up and drew pretty closetogether, so that a subdued light came into the room,which toned everything down, and made the dark cornerslook furnished. When I had finished I really do notbelieve that any one could have guessed that the totalcontents of that room came to about thirty shillings.Then I pulled my iron bed upstairs and fixed it inthe room which I had from the first determined upon as mybedchamber. I found an old packing case in the yard--arelic of my predecessor's removal--and this made a verygood wash-hand stand for my basin and jug. When it wasall fixed up I walked, swelling with pride, through myown chambers, giving a touch here and a touch there untilI had it perfect. I wish my mother could see it--or, onsecond thoughts, I don't; for I know that her first actwould be to prepare gallons of hot water, and toholystone the whole place down, from garret to cellar--and I know by my own small experience what that means.Well, that's as far as I've got as yet. Whattrivial, trivial stuff, interesting to hardly a soulunder heaven, save only about three! Yet it pleases meto write as long as I have your assurance that it pleasesyou to read. Pray, give my kindest remembrances to yourwife, and to Camelford also, if he should happen to comeyour way. He was on the Mississippi when last I heard.XII.1 OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 5th June, 1882.When I had made all those dispositions which Idescribed with such painful prolixity in my last letter,my dear Bertie, I sat down on my study chair, and I laidout the whole of my worldly wealth upon the table infront of me. I was startled when I looked at it,--threehalf-crowns, a florin, and four sixpences, or eleven andsixpence in all. I had expected to hear fromCullingworth before this; but at least he was alwaysthere, a trusty friend, at my back. Immediately uponengaging the house I had written him a very full letter,telling him that I had committed myself to keeping it forone year, but assuring him that I was quite convincedthat with the help which he had promised me I should beable to hold my own easily. I described the favourableposition of the house, and gave him every detail of therent and neighbourhood. That letter would, Iwas sure, bring a reply from him which would contain myweekly remittance. One thing I had, above all,determined upon. That was that, whatever hardships mightlie before me, I would fight through them without helpfrom home. I knew, of course, that my mother would havesold everything down to her gold eye-glasses to help me,and that no thought of our recent disagreement would haveweighed with her for an instant; but still a man has hisfeelings, you know, and I did not propose to act againsther judgment and then run howling for help.I sat in my house all day, with that ever-presentsense of privacy and novelty which had thrilled me whenI first shut the street door behind me. At evening Isallied out and bought a loaf of bread, half a pound oftea ("sweepings," they call it, and it cost eightpence),a tin kettle (fivepence), a pound of sugar, a tin ofSwiss milk, and a tin of American potted meat. I hadoften heard my mother groan over the expenses ofhousekeeping, and now I began to understand what shemeant. Two and ninepence went like a flash, but at leastI had enough to keep myself going for some days.There was a convenient gas bracket in the back room.I hammered a splinter of wood into the wall above it, andso made an arm upon which I could hang my little kettleand boil it over the flame. The attraction of the ideawas that there was no immediate expense, and many thingswould have happened before I was called upon to pay thegas bill. The back room was converted then into bothkitchen and dining room. The sole furniture consisted ofmy box, which served both as cupboard, as table, and aschair. My eatables were all kept inside, and when Iwished for a meal I had only to pick them out and laythem on the lid, leaving room for myself to sit besidethem.It was only when I went to my bedroom that I realisedthe oversights which I had made in my furnishing. Therewas no mattress and no pillow or bed-clothes. My mindhad been so centred upon the essentials for the practice,that I had never given a thought to my own private wants.I slept that night upon the irons of my bed, and rose uplike St. Lawrence from the gridiron. My second suit ofclothes with Bristowe's "Principles of Medicine" made anexcellent pillow, while on a warm June night a mancan do well wrapped in his overcoat. I had no fancy forsecond-hand bed-clothes, and determined until I could buysome new ones, to make myself a straw pillow, and to puton both my suits of clothes on the colder nights. Twodays later, however, the problem was solved in moreluxurious style by the arrival of a big brown tin boxfrom my mother, which was as welcome to me, and as muchof a windfall, as the Spanish wreck to Robinson Crusoe.There were too pairs of thick blankets, two sheets, acounterpane, a pillow, a camp-stool, two stuffed bears'paws (of all things in this world!), two terra-cottavases, a tea-cosy, two pictures in frames, several books,an ornamental ink-pot, and a number of antimacassars andcoloured tablecloths. It is not until you own a tablewith a deal top and mahogany legs, that you understandwhat the true inner meaning of an ornamental cloth is.Right on the top of this treasure came a huge hamper fromthe Apothecaries' Society with the drugs which I hadordered. When they were laid out in line, the bottlesextended right down one side of the dining-room andhalf down the other. As I walked through my house andviewed my varied possessions, I felt less radical in myviews, and begun to think that there might be somethingin the rights of property after all.And I added to my effects in a marvellous way. Imade myself an excellent mattress out of some sacking andthe straw in which the medicine bottles had been packed.Again, out of three shutters which belonged to theroom, I rigged up a very effective side-table for my ownden, which when covered with a red cloth, and ornamentedwith the bears' paws, might have cost twenty guineas forall that the patient could say to the contrary. I haddone all this with a light heart and a good spirit beforethe paralysing blow which I shall have to tell you about,came upon me.Of course it was obvious from the first that aservant was out of the question. I could not feed one,far less pay one, and I had no kitchen furniture. I mustopen my door to my own patients--let them think what theywould of it. I must clean my own plate and brush down myown front; and these duties must be thoroughly done,come what might, for I must show a presentable outside tothe public. Well, there was no great hardship in that,for I could do it under the cover of night. But I hadhad a suggestion from my mother which simplified mattersimmensely. She had written to say that if I wished shewould send my little brother Paul to keep me company. Iwrote back eagerly to agree. He was a hardy cheerylittle fellow of nine, who would, I knew, gladly sharehard times with me; while, if they became unduly so, Icould always have him taken home again. Some weeks mustpass before he could come, but it cheered me to think ofhim. Apart from his company, there were a thousand waysin which he might be useful.Who should come in on the second day but old CaptainWhitehall? I was in the back room, trying how manyslices I could make out of a pound of potted beef, whenhe rang my bell, and I only just shut my mouth in time toprevent my heart jumping out.How that bell clanged through the empty house! I sawwho it was, however, when I went into the hall; for themiddle panels of my door are of glazed glass, sothat I can always study a silhouette of my visitorsbefore coming to closer quarters.I was not quite sure yet whether I loathed the man orliked him. He was the most extraordinary mixture ofcharity and drunkenness, lechery and self-sacrifice thatI had ever come across. But he brought into the housewith him a whiff of cheeriness and hope for which I couldnot but be grateful. He had a large brown paper parcelunder his arm, which he unwrapped upon my table,displaying a great brown jar. This he carried over anddeposited on the centre of my mantelpiece."You will permit me, Dr. Munro, sir, to place thistrifle in your room. It's lava, sir; lava from Vesuvius,and made in Naples. By ----, you may think its empty,Dr. Munro, sir, but it is full of my best wishes; andwhen you've got the best practice in this town you maypoint to that vase and tell how it came from a skipper ofan armed transport, who backed you from the start."I tell you, Bertie, the tears started to my eyes, andI could hardly gulp out a word or two of thanks.What a crisscross of qualities in one human soul! It wasnot the deed or the words; but it was the almost womanlylook in the eyes of this broken, drink-sodden oldBohemian--the sympathy and the craving for sympathy whichI read there. Only for an instant though, for hehardened again into his usual reckless and half defiantmanner."There's another thing, sir. I've been thinking forsome time back of having a medical opinion on myself.I'd be glad to put myself under your hands, if you wouldtake a survey of me.""What's the matter?" I asked."Dr. Munro, sir," said he, "I am a walking museum.You could fit what ISN'T the matter with me on to theback of a ---- visiting card. If there's any complaintyou want to make a special study of, just you come to me,sir, and see what I can do for you. It's not every onethat can say that he has had cholera three times, andcured himself by living on red pepper and brandy. If youcan only set the ---- little germs sneezing they'll soonleave you alone. That's my theory about cholera, and youshould make a note of it, Dr. Munro, sir, for I wasshipmates with fifty dead men when I was commanding thearmed transport Hegira in the Black Sea, and I know---- well what I am talking about."I fill in Whitehall's oaths with blanks because Ifeel how hopeless it is to reproduce their energy andvariety. I was amazed when he stripped, for his wholebody was covered with a perfect panorama of tattooings,with a big blue Venus right over his heart."You may knock," said he, when I began to percuss hischest, "but I am ---- sure there's no one at home.They've all gone visiting one another. Sir John Huttonhad a try some years ago. `Why, dammy, man, where's yourliver?' said he. `Seems to me that some one has stirredyou up with a porridge stick,' said he. `Nothing is inits right place.' `Except my heart, Sir John,' said I.`Aye, by ----, that will never lose its moorings while ithas a flap left.'"Well, I examined him, and I found his own account notvery far from the truth. I went over him carefully fromhead to foot, and there was not much left as Nature madeit. He had mitral regurgitation, cirrhosis of theliver, Bright's disease, an enlarged spleen, andincipient dropsy. I gave him a lecture about thenecessity of temperance, if not of total abstinence; butI fear that my words made no impression. He chuckled,and made a kind of clucking noise in his throat all thetime that I was speaking, but whether in assent orremonstrance I cannot say.He pulled out his purse when I had finished, but Ibegged him to look on my small service as a mere littleact of friendship. This would not do at all, however,and he seemed so determined about it that I was forced togive way."My fee is five shillings, then, since you insistupon making it a business matter.""Dr. Munro, sir," he broke out, "I have beenexamined by men whom I wouldn't throw a bucket of waterover if they were burning, and I never paid them lessthan a guinea. Now that I have come to a gentleman anda friend, stiffen me purple if I pay one farthing less."So, after much argument, it ended in the kind fellowgoing off and leaving a sovereign and a shilling on theedge of my table. The money burned my fingers, for Iknew that his pension was not a very large one; andyet, since I could not avoid taking it, there was nodenying that it was exceedingly useful. Out I salliedand spent sixteen shillings of it upon a new palliassewhich should go under the straw mattress upon my bed.Already, you see, I was getting to a state of enervatingluxury in my household arrangements, and I could onlylull my conscience by reminding myself that little Paulwould have to sleep with me when he came.However, I had not quite got to the end ofWhitehall's visit yet. When I went back I took down thebeautiful lava jug, and inside I found his card. On theback was written, "You have gone into action, sir. Itmay be your fate to sink or to swim, but it can never beyour degradation to strike. Die on the last plank and bedamned to you, or come into port with your ensign flyingmast-high."Was it not fine? It stirred my blood, and the wordsrang like a bugle call in my head. It braced me, and thetime was coming when all the bracing I could get wouldnot be too much. I copied it out, and pinned it on oneside of my mantelpiece. On the other I stuck up a chipfrom Carlyle, which I daresay is as familiar to youas to me. "One way or another all the light, energy, andavailable virtue which we have does come out of us, andgoes very infallibly into God's treasury, living andworking through eternities there. We are not lost--nota single atom of us--of one of us." Now, there is areligious sentence which is intellectually satisfying,and therefore morally sound.This last quotation leads to my second visitor. Sucha row we had! I make a mistake in telling you about it,for I know your sympathies will be against me; but atleast it will have the good effect of making you boilover into a letter of remonstrance and argument thanwhich nothing could please me better.Well, the second person whom I admitted through mydoor was the High Church curate of the parish--at least,I deduced High Church from his collar and the cross whichdangled from his watch chain. He seemed to be a fineupstanding manly fellow--in fact, I am bound in honestyto admit that I have never met the washy tea-party curateoutside the pages of Punch. As a body, I think theywould compare very well in manliness (I do not sayin brains) with as many young lawyers or doctors. Still,I have no love for the cloth. Just as cotton, which isin itself the most harmless substance in the world,becomes dangerous on being dipped into nitric acid, sothe mildest of mortals is to be feared if he is oncesoaked in sectarian religion. If he has any rancour orhardness in him it will bring it out. I was therefore byno means overjoyed to see my visitor, though I trust thatI received him with fitting courtesy. The quick littleglance of surprise which he shot round him as he enteredmy consulting-room, told me that it was not quite what hehad expected."You see, the Vicar has been away for two years," heexplained, "and we have to look after things in hisabsence. His chest is weak, and he can't standBirchespool. I live just opposite, and, seeing yourplate go up, I thought I would call and welcome you intoour parish."I told him that I was very much obliged for theattention. If he had stopped there all would have beenwell, and we should have had a pleasant little chat. ButI suppose it was his sense of duty which would not permitit."I trust," said he, "that we shall see you at St.Joseph's."I was compelled to explain that it was not probable."A Roman Catholic?" he asked, in a not unfriendlyvoice.I shook my head, but nothing would discourage him."Not a dissenter!" he exclaimed, with a suddenhardening of his genial face.I shook my head again."Ah, a little lax--a little remiss!" he saidplayfully, and with an expression of relief."Professional men get into these ways. They have much todistract them. At least, you cling fast, no doubt, tothe fundamental truths of Christianity?""I believe from the bottom of my heart," said I,"that the Founder of it was the best and sweetestcharacter of whom we have any record in the history ofthis planet."But instead of soothing him, my conciliatory answerseemed to be taken as a challenge. "I trust," said heseverely, "that your belief goes further than that. You,are surely prepared to admit that He was anincarnation of the God-head."I began to feel like the old badger in his hole wholongs to have a scratch at the black muzzle which is soeager to draw him."Does it not strike you," I said, "that if He werebut a frail mortal like ourselves, His life assumes amuch deeper significance? It then becomes a standardtowards which we might work. If, on the other hand, Hewas intrinsically of a different nature to ourselves,then His existence loses its point, since we and He startupon a different basis. To my mind it is obvious thatsuch a supposition takes away the beauty and the moral ofHis life. If He was divine then He COULD not sin,and there was an end of the matter. We who are notdivine and can sin, have little to learn from a life likethat.""He triumphed over sin," said my visitor, as if atext or a phrase were an argument."A cheap triumph!" I said. "You remember that Romanemperor who used to descend into the arena fully armed,and pit himself against some poor wretch who had only aleaden foil which would double up at a thrust.According to your theory of your Master's life, you wouldhave it that He faced the temptations of this world atsuch an advantage that they were only harmless leadenthings, and not the sharp assailants which we find them.I confess, in my own case, that my sympathy is as strongwhen I think of His weaknesses as of His wisdom and Hisvirtue. They come more home to me, I suppose, since I amweak myself.""Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me what hasimpressed you as weak in His conduct?" asked my visitorstiffly."Well, the more human traits--`weak' is hardly theword I should have used. His rebuke of the Sabbatarians,His personal violence to the hucksters, His outburstsagainst the Pharisees, His rather unreasoning petulanceagainst the fig-tree because it bore no fruit at thewrong season of the year, His very human feeling towardsthe housewife who bustled about when He was talking, hisgratification that the ointment should have been used forHim instead of being devoted to the poor, His self-distrust before the crisis--these make me realiseand love the man.""You are a Unitarian, then, or rather, perhaps, amere Deist?" said the curate, with a combative flush."You may label me as you like," I answered (and bythis time I fear that I had got my preaching stop fairlyout); "I don't pretend to know what truth is, for it isinfinite, and I finite; but I know particularly well whatit is NOT. It is not true that religion reached itsacme nineteen hundred years ago, and that we are forever to refer back to what was written and said in thosedays. No, sir; religion is a vital living thing, stillgrowing and working, capable of endless extension anddevelopment, like all other fields of thought. Therewere many eternal truths spoken of old and handed down tous in a book, some parts of which may indeed be calledholy. But there are others yet to be revealed; and if weare to reject them because they are not in those pages,we should act as wisely as the scientist who would takeno notice of Kirschoff's spectral analysis because thereis no mention of it in Albertus Magnus. A modernprophet may wear a broadcloth coat and write to themagazines; but none the less he may be the little pipewhich conveys a tiny squirt from the reservoirs of truth.Look at this!" I cried, rising and reading my Carlyletext. "That comes from no Hebrew prophet, but from aratepayer in Chelsea. He and Emerson are also among theprophets. The Almighty has not said His last say to thehuman race, and He can speak through a Scotchman or a NewEnglander as easily as through a Jew. The Bible, sir, isa book which comes out in instalments, and `To becontinued,' not `Finis,' is written at the end of it."My visitor had been showing every sign of acuteuneasiness during this long speech of mine. Finally, hesprang to his feet, and took his hat from the table."Your opinions are highly dangerous, sir," said he."It is my duty to tell you so. You believe in nothing.""Nothing which limits the power or the goodness ofthe Almighty," I answered."You have evolved all this from your ownspiritual pride and self-sufficiency," said he,hotly. "Why do you not turn to that Deity whose name youuse. Why do you not humble yourself before Him?""How do you know I don't?""You said yourself that you never went to church.""I carry my own church about under my own hat," saidI. "Bricks and mortar won't make a staircase to heaven.I believe with your Master that the human heart is thebest temple. I am sorry to see that you differ from Himupon the point."Perhaps it was too bad of me to say that. I mighthave guarded without countering. Anyhow; it had theeffect of ending an interview which was becomingoppressive. My visitor was too indignant to answer, andswept out of the room without a word. From my window Icould see him hurry down the street, a little black angrything, very hot and troubled because he cannot measurethe whole universe with his pocket square and compasses.Think of it, and think of what he is, an atom amongatoms, standing at the meeting point of twoeternities! But what am I, a brother atom, that Ishould judge him?After all, I own to you, that it might have beenbetter had I listened to what he had to say, and refusedto give my own views. On the other hand, truth MUSTbe as broad as the universe which it is to explain, andtherefore far broader than anything which the mind of mancan conceive. A protest against sectarian thought mustalways be an aspiration towards truth. Who shall dare toclaim a monopoly of the Almighty? It would be aninsolence on the part of a solar system, and yet it isdone every day by a hundred little cliques of mysterymongers. There lies the real impiety.Well, the upshot of it all is, my dear Bertie, thatI have begun my practice by making an enemy of the manwho, of the whole parish, has the most power to injureme. I know what my father would think about it, if heknew.And now I come to the great event of this morning,from which I am still gasping. That villain Cullingworthhas cut the painter, and left me to drift as best I may.My post comes at eight o'clock in the morning, and Iusually get my letters and take them into bed to readthem. There was only one this morning, addressed in hisstrange, unmistakable hand. I made sure, of course, thatit was my promised remittance, and I opened it with apleasurable feeling of expectation. This is a copy ofwhat I read:--"When the maid was arranging your room after yourdeparture, she cleared some pieces of torn paper fromunder the grate. Seeing my name upon them, she broughtthem, as in duty bound, to her mistress, who pasted themtogether and found that they formed a letter from yourmother to you, in which I am referred to in the vilestterms, such as `a bankrupt swindler' and `theunscrupulous Cullingworth.' I can only say that we areastonished that you could have been a party to such acorrespondence while you were a guest under our roof, andwe refuse to have anything more to do with you in anyshape or form."That was a nice little morning greeting was it not,after I had, on the strength of his promise,started in practice, and engaged a house for a year witha few shillings in my pocket? I have given up smokingfor reasons of economy; but I felt that the situation wasworthy of a pipe, so I climbed out of bed, gathered alittle heap of tobacco-dust from the linings of mypocket, and smoked the whole thing over. That life-beltof which I had spoken so confidingly had burst, and leftme to kick as best I might in very deep water. I readthe note over and over again; and for all my dilemma, Icould not help laughing at the mingled meanness andstupidity of the thing. The picture of the host andhostess busying themselves in gumming together the tornletters of their departed guest struck me as one of thefunniest things I could remember. And there was thestupidity of it, because surely a child could have seenthat my mother's attack was in answer to my defence. Whyshould we write a duet each saying the same thing? Well,I'm still very confused about it all, and I don't in theleast know what I am going to do--more likely to die onthe last plank, than to get into port with my ensignmast-high. I must think it out and let you know theresult. Come what may, one thing only is sure, and thatis that, in weal or woe, I remain, ever, youraffectionate and garrulous friend.XIII.1 OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 12th June, 1882.When I wrote my last letter, my dear Bertie, I wasstill gasping, like a cod on a sand-bank, after my finaldismissal by Cullingworth. The mere setting of it alldown in black and white seemed to clear the matter up,and I felt much more cheery by the time I had finished myletter. I was just addressing the envelope (observe whata continuous narrative you get of my proceedings!) whenI was set jumping out of my carpet slippers by a ring atthe bell. Through the glass panel I observed that it wasa respectable-looking bearded individual with a top-hat.It was a patient. It MUST be a patient! Then firstI realised what an entirely different thing it is totreat the patient of another man (as I had done withHorton) or to work a branch of another man's practice (asI had done with Cullingworth), and to have to dowith a complete stranger on your own account. I had beenthrilling to have one. Now that he had come I felt foran instant as if I would not open the door. But ofcourse that was only a momentary weakness. I answeredhis ring with, I fear, rather a hypocritical air ofinsouciance, as though I had happened to find myself inthe hall, and did not care to trouble the maid to ascendthe stairs."Dr. Stark Munro?" he asked."Pray step in," I answered, and waved him into theconsulting-room. He was a pompous, heavy-stepping,thick-voiced sort of person, but to me he was an angelfrom on high. I was nervous, and at the same time soafraid that he should detect my nervousness and loseconfidence in me, that I found myself drifting into anextravagant geniality. He seated himself at myinvitation and gave a husky cough."Ah," said I--I always prided myself on being quickat diagnosis--"bronchial, I perceive. These summer coldsare a little trying.""Yes," said he. "I've had it some time."With a little care and treatment----"I suggested.He did not seem sanguine, but groaned and shook hishead. "It's not about that I've come," said he."No?" My heart turned to lead."No, doctor." He took out a bulging notebook. "It'sabout a small sum that's due on the meter."You'll laugh, Bertie, but it was no laughing matterto me. He wanted eight and sixpence on account ofsomething that the last tenant either had or had notdone. Otherwise the company would remove the gas-meter.How little he could have guessed that the alternative hewas presenting to me was either to pay away more thanhalf my capital, or to give up cooking my food! I atlast appeased him by a promise that I should look intothe matter, and so escaped for the moment, badly shakenbut still solvent. He gave me a good deal of informationabout the state of his tubes (his own, not the gascompany's) before he departed; but I had rather lostinterest in the subject since I had learned that he wasbeing treated by his club doctor.That was the first of my morning incidents. Mysecond followed hard upon the heels of it. Another ringcame, and from my post of observation I saw that agipsy's van, hung with baskets and wickerwork chairs, haddrawn up at the door. Two or three people appeared to bestanding outside. I understood that they wished me topurchase some of their wares, so I merely opened the doorabout three inches, said "No, thank you," and closed it.They seemed not to have heard me for they rang again,upon which I opened the door wider and spoke moredecidedly. Imagine my surprise when they rang again. Iflung the door open, and was about to ask them what theymeant by their impudence, when one of the little groupupon my doorstep said, "If you please, sir, it's thebaby." Never was there such a change--from the outragedhouseholder to the professional man. "Pray step in,madam," said I, in quite my most courtly style; and inthey all came--the husband, the brother, the wife and thebaby. The latter was in the early stage of measles.They were poor outcast sort of people, and seemed not tohave sixpence among them; so my demands for a fee at theend of the consultation ended first in my giving themedicine for nothing, and finally adding fivepence incoppers, which was all the small change I had. A fewmore such patients and I am a broken man.However, the two incidents together had the effect oftaking up my attention and breaking the blow which I hadhad in the Cullingworth letter. It made me laugh tothink that the apparent outsider should prove to be apatient, and the apparent patient an outsider. So backI went, in a much more judicial frame of mind, to readthat precious document over again, and to make up my mindwhat it was that I should do.And now I came to my first real insight into thedepths which lie in the character of Cullingworth. Ibegan by trying to recall how I could have torn up mymother's letters, for it is not usual for me to destroypapers in this manner. I have often been chaffed aboutthe way in which I allow them to accumulate until mypockets become unbearable. The more I thought about itthe more convinced I was that I could not have doneanything of the sort; so finally I got out the littlehouse jacket which I had usually worn at Bradfield, andI examined the sheaves of letters which itcontained. It was there, Bertie! Almost the very firstone that I opened was the identical one from whichCullingworth was quoting in which my mother had describedhim in those rather forcible terms.Well, this made me sit down and gasp. I am, I think,one of the most unsuspicious men upon earth, and througha certain easy-going indolence of disposition I nevereven think of the possibility of those with whom I ambrought in contact trying to deceive me. It does notoccur to me. But let me once get on that line ofthought--let me have proof that there is reason forsuspicion--and then all faith slips completely away fromme. Now I could see an explanation for much which hadpuzzled me at Bradfield. Those sudden fits of illtemper, the occasional ill-concealed animosity ofCullingworth--did they not mark the arrival of each of mymother's letters? I was convinced that they did. He hadread them then--read them from the pockets of the littlehouse coat which I used to leave carelessly in the hallwhen I put on my professional one to go out. I couldremember, for example, how at the end of his illness hismanner had suddenly changed on the very day whenthat final letter of my mother's had arrived. Yes, itwas certain that he had read them from the beginning.But a blacker depth of treachery lay beyond. If hehad read them, and if he had been insane enough to thinkthat I was acting disloyally towards him, why had he notsaid so at the time? Why had he contented himself withsidelong scowls and quarrelling over trivialities--breaking, too, into forced smiles when I had asked himpoint blank what was the matter? One obvious reason wasthat he could not tell his grievance without telling alsohow he had acquired his information. But I knewenough of Cullingworth's resource to feel that he couldeasily have got over such a difficulty as that. In fact,in this last letter he HAD got over it by his taleabout the grate and the maid. He must have had somestronger reason for restraint. As I thought over thecourse of our relations I was convinced that his schemewas to lure me on by promises until I had committedmyself, and then to abandon me, so that I should myselfhave no resource but to compound with my creditors-to be, in fact, that which my mother had called him.But in that case he must have been planning it outalmost from the beginning of my stay with him, for mymother's letters stigmatising his conduct had begun veryearly. For some time he had been uncertain how toproceed. Then he had invented the excuse (which seemedto me at the time, if you remember, to be quiteinadequate) about the slight weekly decline in thepractice in order to get me out of it. His next move wasto persuade me to start for myself; and as this would beimpossible without money, he had encouraged me to it bythe promise of a small weekly loan. I remembered how hehad told me not to be afraid about ordering furniture andother things, because tradesmen gave long credit tobeginners, and I could always fall back upon him ifnecessary. He knew too from his own experience that thelandlord would require at least a year's tenancy. Thenhe waited to spring his mine until I had written to saythat I had finally committed myself, on which by returnof post came his letter breaking the connection. It wasso long and so elaborate a course of deceit, that Ifor the first time felt something like fear as I thoughtof Cullingworth. It was as though in the guise and dressof a man I had caught a sudden glimpse of something sub-human--of something so outside my own range of thoughtthat I was powerless against it.Well, I wrote him a little note--only a short one,but with, I hope, a bit of a barb to it. I said that hisletter had been a source of gratification to me, as itremoved the only cause for disagreement between my motherand myself. She had always thought him a blackguard, andI had always defended him; but I was forced now toconfess that she had been right from the beginning. Isaid enough to show him that I saw through his wholeplot; and I wound up by assuring him that if he thoughthe had done me any harm he had made a great mistake; forI had every reason to believe that he had unintentionallyforced me into the very opening which I had most desiredmyself.After this bit of bravado I felt better, and Ithought over the situation. I was alone in a strangetown, without connections, without introductions,with less than a pound in my pocket, and with nopossibility of freeing myself from my responsibilities.I had no one at all to look to for help, for all myrecent letters from home had given a dreary account ofthe state of things there. My poor father's health andhis income were dwindling together. On the other hand,I reflected that there were some points in my favour. Iwas young. I was energetic. I had been brought up hard,and was quite prepared to rough it. I was well up in mywork, and believed I could get on with patients. Myhouse was an excellent one for my purpose, and I hadalready put the essentials of furniture into it. Thegame was not played out yet. I jumped to my feet andclenched my hand, and swore to the chandelier that itnever should be played out until I had to beckon for helpfrom the window.For the next three days I had not a single ring atthe bell of any sort whatever. A man could not be moreisolated from his kind. It used to amuse me to situpstairs and count how many of the passers-by stopped tolook at my plate. Once (on a Sunday morning) there wereover a hundred in an hour, and often I could seefrom their glancing over their shoulders as they walkedon, that they were thinking or talking of the new doctor.This used to cheer me up, and make me feel thatsomething was going on.Every night between nine and ten I slip out and do mymodest shopping, having already made my MENU for thecoming day. I come back usually with a loaf of bread, apaper of fried fish, or a bundle of saveloys. Then whenI think things are sufficiently quiet, I go out and brushdown the front with my broom, leaning it against the walland looking up meditatively at the stars whenever anyonepasses. Then, later still, I bring out my polishingpaste, my rag, and my chamois leather; and I assure youthat if practice went by the brilliancy of one's plate,I should sweep the town.Who do you think was the first person who broke thisspell of silence? The ruffian whom I had fought underthe lamppost. He is a scissors-grinder it seems, andrang to know if I had a job for him. I could not helpgrinning at him when I opened the door and saw who itwas. He showed no sign of recognising me, however,which is hardly to be wondered at.The next comer was a real bona fide patient, albeita very modest one. She was a little anaemic old maid, achronic hypochondriac I should judge, who had probablyworked her way round every doctor in the town, and wasanxious to sample this novelty. I don't know whether Igave her satisfaction. She said that she would comeagain on Wednesday, but her eyes shifted as she said it.One and sixpence was as much as she could pay, but it wasvery welcome. I can live three days on one and sixpence.I think that I have brought economy down to itsfinest point. No doubt, for a short spell I could manageto live on a couple of pence a day; but what I am doingnow is not to be a mere spurt, but my regular mode oflife for many a month to come. My tea and sugar and milk(Swiss) come collectively to one penny a day. The loafis at twopence three-farthings, and I consume one a day.My dinner consists in rotation of one third of a pound ofbacon, cooked over the gas (twopence halfpenny), ortwo saveloys (twopence), or two pieces of fried fish(twopence), or a quarter of an eightpenny tin of Chicagobeef (twopence). Any one of these, with a due allowanceof bread and water, makes a most substantial meal.Butter I have discarded for the present. My actual boardtherefore comes well under sixpence a day, but I am apatron of literature to the extent of a halfpenny a day,which I expend upon an evening paper; for with eventshurrying on like this in Alexandria, I cannot bear to bewithout the news. Still I often reproach myself withthat halfpenny, for if I went out in the evening andlooked at the placards I might save it, and yet have ageneral idea of what is going on. Of course, a halfpennya night sounds nothing, but think of a shilling a month!Perhaps you picture me as bloodless and pulled down onthis diet! I am thin, it is true, but I never felt morefit in my life. So full of energy am I that I start offsometimes at ten at night and walk hard until two orthree in the morning. I dare not go out during the day,you see, for fear that I should miss a patient. I haveasked my mother not to send little Paul down yetuntil I see my way more clearly.Old Whitehall came in to see me the other day. Theobject of his visit was to invite me to dinner, and theobject of the dinner to inaugurate my starting inpractice. If I were the kind old fellow's son he couldnot take a deeper interest in me and my prospects."By ----, Dr. Munro, sir," said he, "I've asked every---- man in Birchespool that's got anything the matterwith him. You'll have the lot as patients within a week.There's Fraser, who's got a touch of Martell's threestar. He's coming. And there's Saunders, who talksabout nothing but his spleen. I'm sick of his ----spleen! But I asked him. And there's Turpey's wound!This wet weather sets it tingling, and his own surgeoncan do nothing but dab it with vaseline. He'll be there.And there's Carr, who is drinking himself to death. Hehas not much for the doctors, but what there is you mayas well have."All next day he kept popping in to ask me questionsabout the dinner. Should we have clear soup or ox-tail?Didn't I think that burgundy was better than portand sherry? The day after was the celebration itself,and he was in with a bulletin immediately afterbreakfast. The cooking was to be done at a neighbouringconfectioner's. The landlady's son was coming in towait. I was sorry to see that Whitehall was alreadyslurring his words together, and had evidently beenpriming himself heavily. He looked in again in theafternoon to tell me what a good time we should have.So-and-so could talk well, and the other man could singa song. He was so far gone by now, that I ventured (inthe capacity of medical adviser) to speak to him aboutit.It's not the liquor, Dr. Munro, sir," said heearnestly. It's the ---- relaxing air of this town. ButI'll go home and lie I'll down, and be as fresh as paintto welcome my guests."But the excitement of the impending event must havebeen too much for him. When I arrived at five minutes toseven, Turpey, the wounded lieutenant, met me in the hallwith a face of ill omen."It's all up with Whitehall," said he."What's the matter?""Blind, speechless and paralytic. Come and look."The table in his room was nicely laid for dinner, andseveral decanters with a large cold tart lay upon thesideboard. On the sofa was stretched our unfortunatehost, his head back, his forked beard pointing to thecornice, and a half finished tumbler of whisky upon thechair beside him. All our shakes and shouts could notbreak in upon that serene drunkenness."What are we to do?" gasped Turpey."We must not let him make an exhibition of himself.We had better get him away before any one else arrives."So we bore him off, all in coils and curves like adead python, and deposited him upon his bed. When wereturned three other guests had arrived."You'll be sorry to hear that Whitehall is not verywell," said Turpey. Dr. Munro thought it would be betterthat he should not come down.""In fact, I have ordered him to bed," said I."Then I move that Mr. Turpey be called upon toact as host," said one of the new comers; and so it wasat once agreed.Presently the other men arrived; but there was nosign of the dinner. We waited for a quarter of an hour,but nothing appeared. The landlady was summoned, butcould give no information."Captain Whitehall ordered it from a confectioner's,sir," said she, in reply to the lieutenant's cross-examination. "He did not tell me which confectioner's.It might have been any one of four or five. He only saidthat it would all come right, and that I should bake anapple tart."Another quarter of an hour passed, and we were allravenous. It was evident that Whitehall had made somemistake. We began to roll our eyes towards the applepie, as the boat's crew does towards the boy in thestories of shipwreck. A large hairy man, with an anchortattooed upon his hand, rose and set the pie in front ofTurpey."What d'you say, gentlemen,--shall I serve it out?"We all drew up at the table with a decisionwhich made words superfluous. In five minutes thepie dish was as clean as when the cook first saw it. Andour ill-luck vanished with the pie. A minute later thelandlady's son entered with the soup; and cod's head,roast beef, game and ice pudding followed in duesuccession. It all came from some misunderstandingabout time. But we did them justice, in spite of thecurious hors d'oeuvre with which we had started; anda pleasanter dinner or a more enjoyable evening I haveseldom had."Sorry I was so bowled over, Dr. Munro, sir," saidWhitehall next morning. "I need hilly country and abracing air, not a ---- croquet lawn like this. Well,I'm ---- glad to hear that you gentlemen enjoyedyourselves, and I hope you found everything to yoursatisfaction."I assured him that we did; but I had not the heart totell him about the apple pie.I tell you these trivial matters, my dear Bertie,just to show you that I am not down on my luck, and thatmy life is not pitched in the minor key altogether, inspite of my queer situation. But, to turn to graverthings: I was right glad to get your letter, and toread all your denunciations about dogmatic science.Don't imagine that my withers are wrung by what you say,for I agree with almost every word of it.The man who claims that we can know nothing is, to mymind, as unreasonable as he who insists that everythinghas been divinely revealed to us. I know nothing moreunbearable than the complacent type of scientist whoknows very exactly all that he does know, but has notimagination enough to understand what a speck his littleaccumulation of doubtful erudition is when compared withthe immensity of our ignorance. He is the person whothinks that the universe can be explained by laws, as ifa law did not require construction as well as a world!The motion of the engine can be explained by the laws ofphysics, but that has not made the foregoing presence ofan engineer less obvious. In this world, however, partof the beautiful poise of things depends upon the factthat whenever you have an exaggerated fanatic of anysort, his exact opposite at once springs up to neutralisehim. You have a Mameluke: up jumps a Crusader. Youhave a Fenian: up jumps an Orangeman. Every force hasits recoil. And so these more hide-bound scientists mustbe set against those gentlemen who still believe that theworld was created in the year 4004 B. C.After all, true science must be synonymous withreligion, since science is the acquirement of fact; andfacts are all that we have from which to deduce what weare and why we are here. But surely the more we pry intothe methods by which results are brougt{sic} about, themore stupendous and wonderful becomes the great unseenpower which lies behind, the power which drifts the solarsystem in safety through space, and yet adjusts thelength of the insects proboscis to the depth of thehoney-bearing flower. What is that central intelligence?You may fit up your dogmatic scientist with a 300-diameter microscope, and with a telescope with a six-footspeculum, but neither near nor far can he get a trace ofthat great driving power.What should we say of a man who has a great andbeautiful picture submitted to him, and who, havingsatisfied himself that the account given of the paintingof the picture is incorrect, at once concludes thatno one ever painted it, or at least asserts that he hasno possible means of knowing whether an artist hasproduced it or not? That is, as it seems to me, a fairstatement of the position of some of the more extremeagnostics. "Is not the mere existence of the picture initself a proof that a skilful artist has been busied uponit? one might ask. "Why, no," says the objector. It ispossible that the picture produced itself by the aid ofcertain rules. Besides, when the picture was firstsubmitted to me I was assured that it had all beenproduced within a week, but by examining it I am able tosay with certainty that it has taken a considerable timeto put together. I am therefore of opinion that it isquestionable whether any one ever painted it at all."Leaving this exaggerated scientific caution on theone side, and faith on the other, as being equallyindefensible, there remains the clear line of reasoningthat a universe implies the existence of a universemaker, and that we may deduce from it some of Hisattributes, His power, His wisdom, His forethought forsmall wants, His providing of luxuries for His creatures.On the other hand, do not let us be disingenuous enoughto shirk the mystery which lies in pain, in cruelty,in all which seems to be a slur upon His work. The bestthat we can say for them is to hope that they are not asbad as they seem, and possibly lead to some higher end.The voices of the illused child and of the torturedanimal are the hardest of all for the philosopher toanswer.Goodbye, old chap! It is quite delightful to thinkthat on one point at least we are in agreement.XIV.1 OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 15th January, 1883.You write reproachfully, my dear Bertie, and you saythat absence must have weakened our close friendship,since I have not sent you a line during this long sevenmonths. The real truth of the matter is that I had notthe heart to write to you until I could tell yousomething cheery; and something cheery has been terriblylong in coming. At present I can only claim that thecloud has perhaps thinned a little at the edges.You see by the address of this letter that I stillhold my ground, but between ourselves it has been aterrible fight, and there have been times when that lastplank of which old Whitehall wrote seemed to be slippingout of my clutch. I have ebbed and flowed, sometimeswith a little money, sometimes without. At my best I wasliving hard, at my worst I was very close uponstarvation. I have lived for a whole day upon the crustof a loaf, when I had ten pounds in silver inthe drawer of my table. But those ten pounds had beenmost painfully scraped together for my quarter's rent,and I would have tried twenty-four hours with a tightleather belt before I would have broken in upon it. Fortwo days I could not raise a stamp to send a letter. Ihave smiled when I have read in my evening paper of theprivations of our fellows in Egypt. Their brokenvictuals would have been a banquet to me. However, whatodds how you take your carbon and nitrogen and oxygen, aslong as you DO get it? The garrison of Oakley Villahas passed the worst, and there is no talk of surrender.It was not that I have had no patients. They havecome in as well as could be expected. Some, like thelittle old maid, who was the first, never returned. Ifancy that a doctor who opened his own door forfeitedtheir confidence. Others have become warm partisans.But they have nearly all been very poor people; and whenyou consider how many one and sixpences are necessary inorder to make up the fifteen pounds which I must findevery quarter for rent, taxes, gas and water, you willunderstand that even with some success, I have stillfound it a hard matter to keep anything in theportmanteau which serves me as larder. However, my boy,two quarters are paid up, and I enter upon a third onewith my courage unabated. I have lost about a stone, butnot my heart.I have rather a vague recollection of when it wasexactly that my last was written. I fancy that it musthave been a fortnight after my start, immediately aftermy breach with Cullingworth. It's rather hard to knowwhere to begin when one has so many events to narrate,disconnected from each other, and trivial in themselves,yet which have each loomed large as I came upon them,though they look small enough now that they are so farastern. As I have mentioned Cullingworth, I may as wellsay first the little that is to be said about him. Ianswered his letter in the way which I have, I think,already described. I hardly expected to hear from himagain; but my note had evidently stung him, and I had abrusque message in which he said that if I wished him tobelieve in my "bona-fides" (whatever he may have meant bythat), I would return the money which I had had duringthe time that I was with him at Bradfield. To thisI replied that the sum was about twelve pounds; that Istill retained the message in which he had guaranteed methree hundred pounds if I came to Bradfield, that thebalance in my favour was two hundred and eighty-eightpounds; and that unless I had a cheque by return, Ishould put the matter into the hands of my solicitor.This put a final end to our correspondence.There was one other incident, however. One day afterI had been in practice about two months, I observed abearded commonplace-looking person lounging about on theother side of the road. In the afternoon he was againvisible from my consulting-room window. When I saw himthere once more next morning, my suspicions were aroused,and they became certainties when, a day or so afterwards,I came out of a patient's house in a poor street, and sawthe same fellow looking into a greengrocer's shop uponthe other side. I walked to the end of the street,waited round the corner, and met him as he came hurryingafter."You can go back to Dr. Cullingworth, and tell himthat I have as much to do as I care for," said I. "Ifyou spy upon me after this it will be at your own risk."He shuffled and coloured, but I walked on and saw himno more. There was no one on earth who could have had amotive for wanting to know exactly what I was doingexcept Cullingworth; and the man's silence was enough initself to prove that I was right. I have heard nothingof Cullingworth since.I had a letter from my uncle in the Artillery, SirAlexander Munro, shortly after my start, telling me thathe had heard of my proceedings from my mother, and thathe hoped to learn of my success. He is, as I think youknow, an ardent Wesleyan, like all my father's people,and he told me that the chief Wesleyan minister in thetown was an old friend of his own, that he had learnedfrom him that there was no Wesleyan doctor, and that,being of a Wesleyan stock myself, if I would present theenclosed letter of introduction to the minister, I shouldcertainly find it very much to my advantage. I thoughtit over, Bertie, and it seemed to me that it would beplaying it rather low down to use a religiousorganisation to my own advantage, when I condemned themin the abstract. It was a sore temptation, but Idestroyed the letter.I had one or two pieces of luck in the way ofaccidental cases. One (which was of immense importanceto me) was that of a grocer named Haywood, who fell downin a fit outside the floor of his shop. I was passing onmy way to see a poor labourer with typhoid. You maybelieve that I saw my chance, bustled in, treated theman, conciliated the wife, tickled the child, and gainedover the whole household. He had these attacksperiodically, and made an arrangement with me by which Iwas to deal with him, and we were to balance billsagainst each other. It was a ghoulish compact, by whicha fit to him meant butter and bacon to me, while a spellof health for Haywood sent me back to dry bread andsaveloys. However, it enabled me to put by for the rentmany a shilling which must otherwise have gone in food.At last, however, the poor fellow died, and there was ourfinal settlement.Two small accidents occurred near my door (it was abusy crossing), and though I got little enough fromeither of them, I ran down to the newspaper office oneach occasion, and had the gratification of seeing in theevening edition that "the driver, though much shaken, ispronounced by Dr. Stark Munro, of Oakley Villa, tohave suffered no serious injury." As Cullingworth usedto say, it is hard enough for the young doctor to pushhis name into any publicity, and he must take what littlechances he has. Perhaps the fathers of the professionwould shake their heads over such a proceeding in alittle provincial journal; but I was never able to seethat any of them were very averse from seeing their ownnames appended to the bulletin of some sick statesman inThe Times.And then there came another and a more seriousaccident. This would be about two months after thebeginning, though already I find it hard to put things intheir due order. A lawyer in the town named Dickson wasriding past my windows when the horse reared up and fellupon him. I was eating saveloys in the back room at thetime, but I heard the noise and rushed to the door intime to meet the crowd who were carrying him in. Theyflooded into my house, thronged my hall, dirtied myconsulting room, and even pushed their way into my backroom, which they found elegantly furnished with aportmanteau, a lump of bread, and a cold sausage.However, I had no thought for any one but mypatient, who was groaning most dreadfully. I sawthat his ribs were right, tested his joints, ran my handdown his limbs, and concluded that there was no break ordislocation. He had strained himself in such a way,however, that it was very painful to him to sit or towalk. I sent for an open carriage, therefore, andconveyed him to his home, I sitting with my mostprofessional air, and he standing straight up between myhands. The carriage went at a walk, and the crowdtrailed behind, with all the folk looking out of thewindows, so that a more glorious advertisement could notbe conceived. It looked like the advance guard of acircus. Once at his house, however, professionaletiquette demanded that I should hand the case over tothe family attendant, which I did with as good a grace aspossible--not without some lingering hope that the oldestablished practitioner might say, "You have taken suchvery good care of my patient, Dr. Munro, that I shouldnot dream of removing him from your hands." On thecontrary, he snatched it away from me with avidity, andI retired with some credit, an excellent advertisement,and a guinea.These are one or two of the points of interestwhich show above the dead monotony of my life--smallenough, as you see, but even a sandhill looms large inHolland. In the main, it is a dreary sordid record ofshillings gained and shillings spent--of scraping forthis and scraping for that, with ever some fresh slip ofblue paper fluttering down upon me, left so jauntily bythe tax-collector, and meaning such a dead-weight pull tome. The irony of my paying a poor-rate used to amuse me.I should have been collecting it. Thrice at a crisis Ipawned my watch, and thrice I rallied and rescued it.But how am I to interest you in the details of such acareer? Now, if a fair countess had been so good as toslip on a piece of orange peel before my door, or if thechief merchant in the town had been saved by sometour-de-force upon my part, or if I had been summonedout at midnight to attend some nameless person in alonely house with a princely fee for silence--then Ishould have something worthy of your attention. But thelong months and months during which I listened to thethrob of the charwoman's heart and the rustle of thegreengrocer's lungs, present little which is not dull anddreary. No good angels came my way.Wait a bit, though! One did. I was awakened at sixin the morning one day by a ringing at my bell, andcreeping to the angle of the stair I saw through theglass a stout gentleman in a top-hat outside. Muchexcited, with a thousand guesses capping one another inmy head, I ran back, pulled on some clothes, rushed down,opened the door, and found myself in the grey morninglight face to face with Horton. The good fellow had comedown from Merton in an excursion train, and had beentravelling all night. He had an umbrella under his arm,and two great straw baskets in each hand, whichcontained, when unpacked, a cold leg of mutton, half-a-dozen of beer, a bottle of port, and all sorts of pastiesand luxuries. We had a great day together, and when herejoined his excursion in the evening he left a very muchcheerier man than he had found.Talking of cheeriness, you misunderstand me, Bertie,if you think (as you seem to imply) that I take a darkview of things. It is true that I discard someconsolations which you possess, because I cannot convincemyself that they are genuine; but in this world, atleast, I see immense reason for hope, and as to the nextI am confident that all will be for the best. Fromannihilation to beatification I am ready to adapt myselfto whatever the great Designer's secret plan my be.But there is much in the prospects of this world toset a man's heart singing. Good is rising and evilsinking like oil and water in a bottle. The race isimproving. There are far fewer criminal convictions.There is far more education. People sin less and thinkmore. When I meet a brutal looking fellow I often thinkthat he and his type may soon be as extinct as the greatauk. I am not sure that in the interest of the 'ologieswe ought not to pickle a few specimens of Bill Sykes, toshow our children's children what sort of a person hewas.And then the more we progress the more we tend toprogress. We advance not in arithmetical but ingeometrical progression. We draw compound interest onthe whole capital of knowledge and virtue which has beenaccumulated since the dawning of time. Some eightythousand years are supposed to have existed betweenpaleolithic and neolithic man. Yet in all that time heonly learned to grind his flint stones instead ofchipping them. But within our father's lives whatchanges have there not been? The railway and thetelegraph, chloroform and applied electricity. Ten yearsnow go further than a thousand then, not so much onaccount of our finer intellects as because the light wehave shows us the way to more. Primeval man stumbledalong with peering eyes, and slow, uncertain footsteps.Now we walk briskly towards our unknown goal.And I wonder what that goal is to be! I mean, ofcourse, as far as this world is concerned. Ever sinceman first scratched hieroglyphics upon an ostracon, orscribbled with sepia upon papyrus, he must have wondered,as we wonder to-day. I suppose that we DO know alittle more than they. We have an arc of about threethousand years given us, from which to calculate out thecourse to be described by our descendants; but that arcis so tiny when compared to the vast ages whichProvidence uses in working out its designs that ourdeductions from it must, I think, be uncertain. Willcivilisation be swamped by barbarism? It happened oncebefore, because the civilised were tiny specks of lightin the midst of darkness. But what, for example, couldbreak down the great country in which you dwell? No, ourcivilisation will endure and grow more complex. Manwill live in the air and below the water. Preventivemedicine will develop until old age shall become the solecause of death. Education and a more socialistic schemeof society will do away with crime. The English-speakingraces will unite, with their centre in the United States.Gradually the European States will follow their example.War will become rare, but more terrible. The forms ofreligion will be abandoned, but the essence will bemaintained; so that one universal creed will embrace thewhole civilised earth, which will preach trust in thatcentral power, which will be as unknown then as now.That's my horoscope, and after that the solar system maybe ripe for picking. But Bertie Swanborough and StarkMunro will be blowing about on the west wind, anddirtying the panes of careful housewives long before thehalf of it has come to pass.And then man himself will change, of course. Theteeth are going rapidly. You've only to count thedentists' brass plates in Birchespool to be sure of that.And the hair also. And the sight. Instinctively, whenwe think of the more advanced type of young man, wepicture him as bald, and with double eye-glasses.I am an absolute animal myself, and my only sign ofadvance is that two of my back teeth are going. On theother hand, there is some evidence in favour of thedevelopment of a sixth sense-that of perception. If Ihad it now I should know that you are heartily weary ofall my generalisations and dogmatism.And certainly there must be a spice of dogmatism init when we begin laying down laws about the future; forhow do we know that there are not phases of nature comingupon us of which we have formed no conception? Afterall, a few seconds are a longer fraction of a day than anaverage life is of the period during which we know thatthe world has been in existence. But if a man lived onlyfor a few seconds of daylight, his son the same, and hisson the same, what would their united experiences aftera hundred generations tell them of the phenomenon whichwe call night? So all our history and knowledge is noguarantee that our earth is not destined for experiencesof which we can form no conception.But to drop down from the universe to my own gnat'sbuzz of an existence, I think I have told you everythingthat might interest you of the first six months ofmy venture. Towards the end of that time my littlebrother Paul came down--and the best of companions heis! He shares the discomforts of my little menage inthe cheeriest spirit, takes me out of my blacker humours,goes long walks with me, is interested in all thatinterests me (I always talk to him exactly as if he wereof my own age), and is quite ready to turn his hand toanything, from boot-blacking to medicine-carrying. Hisone dissipation is cutting out of paper, or buying inlead (on the rare occasion when we find a surplus), anarmy of little soldiers. I have brought a patient intothe consulting room, and found a torrent of cavalry,infantry, and artillery pouring across the table. I havebeen myself attacked as I sat silently writing, and havelooked up to find fringes of sharp-shooters pushing uptowards me, columns of infantry in reserve, a troop ofcavalry on my flank, while a battery of pea muzzle-loaders on the ridge of my medical dictionary has rakedmy whole position--with the round, smiling face of thegeneral behind it all. I don't know how many regimentshe has on a peace footing; but if serious trouble wereto break out, I am convinced that every sheet ofpaper in the house would spring to arms.One morning I had a great idea which has had theeffect of revolutionising our domestic economy. It wasat the time when the worst pinch was over, and when wehad got back as far as butter and occasional tobacco,with a milkman calling daily; which gives you a greatsense of swagger when you have not been used to it."Paul, my boy," said I, "I see my way to fitting upthis house with a whole staff of servants for nothing."He looked pleased, but not surprised. He had awholly unwarranted confidence in my powers; so that if Ihad suddenly declared that I saw my way to tilting QueenVictoria from her throne and seating myself upon it, hewould have come without a question to aid and abet.I took a piece of paper and wrote, "To Let. Abasement floor, in exchange for services. Apply 1 OakleyVillas.""There, Paul," said I, "run down to theEvening News office, and pay a shilling forthree insertions."There was no need of three insertions. One wouldhave been ample. Within half an hour of the appearanceof the first edition, I had an applicant at the end of mybell-wire, and for the remainder of the evening Paul wasushering them in and I interviewing them with hardly abreak. I should have been prepared at the outset to takeanything in a petticoat; but as we saw the demandincrease, our conditions went up and up; white aprons,proper dress for answering door, doing beds and boots,cooking,--we became more and more exacting. So at lastwe made our selection; a Miss Wotton, who asked leave tobring her sister with her. She was a hard-faced brusque-mannered person, whose appearance in a bachelor'shousehold was not likely to cause a scandal. Her nosewas in itself a certificate of virtue. She was to bringher furniture into the basement, and I was to give herand her sister one of the two upper rooms for a bedroom.They moved in a few days later. I was out at thetime, and the first intimation I had was findingthree little dogs in my hall when I returned. I had herup, and explained that this was a breach of contract, andthat I had no thoughts of running a menagerie. Shepleaded very hard for her little dogs, which it seems area mother and two daughters of some rare breed; so I atlast gave in on the point. The other sister appeared tolead a subterranean troglodytic sort of existence; for,though I caught a glimpse of her whisking round thecorner at times, it was a good month before I could havesworn to her in a police court.For a time the arrangement worked well, and thenthere came complications. One morning, coming downearlier than usual, I saw a small bearded man undoing theinside chain of my door. I captured him before he couldget it open. "Well," said I, "what's this?""If you please, sir," said he, "I'm Miss Wotton'shusband."Dreadful doubts of my housekeeper flashed across mymind, but I thought of her nose and was reassured. Anexamination revealed everything. She was a marriedwoman. The lines were solemnly produced. Her husbandwas a seaman. She had passed as a miss, because shethought I was more likely to take a housekeeper withoutencumbrances. Her husband had come home unexpectedlyfrom a long voyage, and had returned last night. Andthen--plot within plot--the other woman was not hersister, but a friend, whose name was Miss Williams.She thought I was more likely to take two sisters thantwo friends. So we all came to know who the other was;and I, having given Jack permission to remain, assignedthe other top room to Miss Williams. From absolutesolitude I seemed to be rapidly developing into thekeeper of a casual ward.It was a never-failing source of joy to us to see theprocession pass on the way to their rooms at night.First came a dog; then Miss Williams, with a candle; thenJack; then another dog; and finally, Mrs. Wotton, withher candle in one hand and another dog under her arm.Jack was with us for three weeks; and as I made himholystone the whole place down twice a week until theboards were like a quarter deck, we got something out ofhim in return for his lodging.About this time, finding a few shillings over and noexpense imminent, I laid down a cellar, in the shape ofa four and a half gallon cask of beer, with a firmresolution that it should never be touched save on highdays and holidays, or when guests had to be entertained.Shortly afterwards Jack went away to sea again; andafter his departure there were several furious quarrelsbetween the women down below, which filled the wholehouse with treble reproaches and repartees. At last oneevening Miss Williams--the quiet one--came to me andannounced with sobs that she must go. Mrs. Wotton madeher life unbearable, she said. She was determined to beindependent, and had fitted up a small shop in a poorquarter of the town. She was going now, at once, to takepossession of it.I was sorry, because I liked Miss Williams, and Isaid a few words to that effect. She got as far as thehall door, and then came rustling back again into theconsulting room. "Take a drink of your own beer!" shecried, and vanished.It sounded like some sort of slang imprecation. Ifshe had said "Oh, pull up your socks!" I shouldhave been less surprised. And then suddenly the wordstook a dreadful meaning in my mind, and I rushed to thecellar. The cask was tilted forward on the trestles. Istruck it and it boomed like a drum. I turned the tap,and not one drop appeared. Let us draw a veil over thepainful scene. Suffice it that Mrs. Wotton got hermarching orders then and there--and that next day Pauland I found ourselves alone in the empty house once more.But we were demoralised by luxury. We could nolonger manage without a helper--especially now in thewinter time, when fires had to be lit--the most heart-breaking task that a man can undertake. I bethought meof the quiet Miss Williams, and hunted her up in hershop. She was quite willing to come, and saw how shecould get out of the rent; but the difficulty lay withher stock. This sounded formidable at first, but when Icame to learn that the whole thing had cost elevenshillings, it did not appear insurmountable. In half anhour my watch was pawned, and the affair concluded. Ireturned with an excellent housekeeper, and with a largerbasketful of inferior Swedish matches, bootlaces,cakes of black lead, and little figures made of sugarthan I should have thought it possible to get for themoney. So now we have settled down, and I hope that aperiod of comparative peace lies before us.Goodbye, old chap, and never think that I forgetyou. Your letters are read and re-read with avidity. Ithink I have every line you ever wrote me. You simplyknock Paley out every time. I am so glad that you gotout of that brewery business all right. For a time I wasreally afraid that you must either lose your money orelse risk more upon the shares. I can only thank you foryour kind offer of blank cheques.It is wonderful that you should have slipped backinto your American life so easily after your Englishhiatus. As you say, however, it is not a change but onlya modification, since the root idea is the same in each.Is it not strange how the two great brothers are led tomisunderstand each other? A man is punished for privatelibel (over here at any rate), although the consequencescan only be slight. But a man may perpetrateinternational libel, which is a very heinous andfar-reaching offence, and there is no law in the worldwhich can punish him. Think of the contemptible crew ofjournalists and satirists who for ever picture theEnglishman as haughty and h-dropping, or the American asvulgar and expectorating. If some millionaire would givethem all a trip round the world we should have somerest--and if the plug came out of the boat midway itwould be more restful still. And your vote-huntingpoliticians with their tail-twisting campaigns, and oureditors of the supercilious weeklies with their inanetone of superiority, if they were all aboard how muchclearer we should be! Once more adieu, and good luck!XV.1 OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 3rd August, 1883.Do you think that such a thing as chance exists?Rather an explosive sentence to start a letter with; butpray cast your mind back over your own life, and tell meif you think that we really are the sports of chance.You know how often the turning down this street or that,the accepting or rejecting of an invitation, may deflectthe whole current of our lives into some other channel.Are we mere leaves, fluttered hither and thither by thewind, or are we rather, with every conviction that we arefree agents, carried steadily along to a definite andpre-determined end? I confess that as I advance throughlife, I become more and more confirmed in that fatalismto which I have always had an inclination.Look at it in this way. We know thatmany of the permanent facts of the universe areNOT chance. It is not chance that the heavenlybodies swing clear of each other, that the seed isfurnished with the apparatus which will drift it to acongenial soil, that the creature is adapted to itsenvironment. Show me a whale with its great-coat of fat,and I want no further proof of design. But logically, asit seems to me, ALL must be design, or all must bechance. I do not see how one can slash a line rightacross the universe, and say that all to the right ofthat is chance, and all to the left is pre-ordained. Youwould then have to contend that things which on the faceof them are of the same class, are really divided by animpassable gulf, and that the lower are regulated, whilethe higher are not. You would, for example, be forced tocontend that the number of articulations in a flea's hindleg has engaged the direct superintendence of theCreator, while the mischance which killed a thousandpeople in a theatre depended upon the dropping of a waxvesta upon the floor, and was an unforeseen flaw in thechain of life. This seems to me to be unthinkable.It is a very superficial argument to say that ifa man holds the views of a fatalist he will thereforecease to strive, and will wait resignedly for what fatemay send him. The objector forgets that among the otherthings fated is that we of northern blood SHOULDstrive and should NOT sit down with folded hands.But when a man has striven, when he has done all heknows, and when, in spite of it, a thing comes to pass,let him wait ten years before he says that it is amisfortune. It is part of the main line of his destinythen, and is working to an end. A man loses his fortune;he gains earnestness. His eyesight goes; it leads him toa spirituality. The girl loses her beauty; she becomesmore sympathetic. We think we are pushing our own waybravely, but there is a great Hand in ours all the time.You'll wonder what has taken me off on this line.Only that I seem to see it all in action in my own life.But, as usual, I have started merrily off with anappendix, so I shall go back and begin my report asnearly as possible where I ended the last. First of all,I may say generally that the clouds were thinning then,and that they broke shortly afterwards. During thelast few months we have never once quite lost sightof the sun.You remember that we (Paul and I) had just engaged acertain Miss Williams to come and keep house for us. Ifelt that on the basement-lodger principle I had notcontrol enough; so we now entered upon a more business-like arrangement, by which a sum (though, alas! anabsurdly small one) was to be paid her for her services.I would it had been ten times as much, for a better anda more loyal servant man never had. Our fortunes seemedto turn from the hour that she re-entered the house.Slowly, week by week, and month by month, thepractice began to spread and to strengthen. There werespells when never a ring came to the bell, and it seemedas though all our labour had gone for nothing--but thenwould come other days when eight and ten names wouldappear in my ledger. Where did it come from you willask. Some from old Whitehall and his circle ofBohemians. Some from accident cases. Some from newcomers to the town who drifted to me. Some from peoplewhom I met first in other capacities. An insurancesuperintendent gave me a few cases to examine, andthat was a very great help. Above all, I learned a factwhich I would whisper in the ear of every other man whostarts, as I have done, a stranger among strangers. Donot think that practice will come to you. You must go toit. You may sit upon your consulting room chair until itbreaks under you, but without purchase or partnership youwill make little or no progress. The way to do it is togo out, to mix everywhere with men, to let them know you.You will come back many a time and be told by areproachful housekeeper that some one has been for you inyour absence. Never mind! Go out again. A noisysmoking concert where you will meet eighty men is betterfor you than the patient or two whom you might have seenat home. It took me some time to realise, but I speaknow as one who knows.But--there is a great big "but" in the case. You mustride yourself on the curb the whole time. Unless you aresure--absolutely sure--that you can do this, you are farbest at home. You must never for one instant forgetyourself. You must remember what your object is inbeing there. You must inspire respect. Befriendly, genial, convivial--what you will--but preservethe tone and bearing of a gentleman. If you can makeyourself respected and liked you will find every club andsociety that you join a fresh introduction to practice.But beware of drink! Above everything, beware of drink!The company that you are in may condone it in each other,but never in the man who wishes them to commit theirlives to his safe keeping. A slip is fatal--a half slipperilous. Make your rule of life and go by it, in spiteof challenge or coaxers. It will be remembered in yourfavour next morning.And of course I do not mean merely festive societies.Literary, debating, political, social, athletic, everyone of them is a tool to your hands. But you must showthem what a good man you are. You must throw yourselfinto each with energy and conviction. You will soon findyourself on the committee--possibly the secretary, oreven in the presidential chair. Do not grudge labourwhere the return may be remote and indirect. Those arethe rungs up which one climbs.That was how, when I had gained some sort of opening,I set to work to enlarge it. I joined this. I joinedthat. I pushed in every direction. I took up athleticsagain much to the advantage of my health, and found thatthe practice benefited as well as I. My cricket form forthe season has been fair, with an average of about 20with the bat and 9 with the ball.It must be allowed, however, that this system ofsallying out for my patients and leaving my consultingroom empty might be less successful if it were not for mytreasure of a housekeeper. She is a marvel ofdiscretion, and the way in which she perjures her soulfor the sake of the practice is a constant weight upon myconscience. She is a tall, thin woman, with a grave faceand an impressive manner. Her standard fiction, impliedrather than said (with an air as if it were souniversally known that it would be absurd to put it intowords) is, that I am so pressed by the needs of myenormous practice, that any one wishing to consult memust make their appointment very exactly and a long timein advance."Dear me, now!" she says to some applicant.He's been hurried off again. If you'd been here half-an-hour ago he might have given you a minute. I never sawsuch a thing" (confidentially). "Between you and me Idon't think he can last at it long. He's bound to breakdown. But come in, and I'll do all I can for you."Then, having carefully fastened the patient up in theconsulting room, she goes to little Paul."Run round to the bowling green, Master Paul," saysshe. "You'll find the doctor there, I think. Just tellhim that a patient is waiting for him."She seems in these interviews to inspire them with akind of hushed feeling of awe, as if they had found theirway into some holy of holies. My own actual appearanceis quite an anti-climax after the introduction by MissWilliams.Another of her devices is to make appointments withan extreme precision as to time, I being at the momentworked to death (at a cricket match)."Let us see!" says she, looking at the slate. "Hewill be clear at seven minutes past eight this evening.Yes, he could just manage it then. He has no one at allfrom seven past to the quarter past"--and so at theappointed hour I have my patient precipitating himselfinto my room with the demeanour of the man who charges infor his bowl of hot soup at a railway station. If heknew that he is probably the only patient who has openedmy door that evening he would not be in such a hurry--orthink so much of my advice.One curious patient has come my way who has been ofgreat service to me. She is a stately looking widow,Turner by name, the most depressingly respectable figure,as of Mrs. Grundy's older and less frivolous sister. Shelives in a tiny house, with one small servant to scale.Well, every two months or so she quite suddenly goes ona mad drink, which lasts for about a week. It ends asabruptly as it begins, but while it is on the neighboursknow it. She shrieks, yells, sings, chivies the servant,and skims plates out of the window at the passers-by. Ofcourse, it is really not funny, but pathetic anddeplorable--all the same, it is hard to keep fromlaughing at the absurd contrast between her actions andher appearance. I was called in by accident in the firstinstance; but I speedily acquired some control over her,so that now the neighbours send for me the moment thecrockery begins to come through the window. She hasa fair competence, so that her little vagaries are a helpto me with my rent. She has, too, a number of curiousjugs, statues, and pictures, a selection of which shepresents to me in the course of each of her attacks,insisting upon my carrying them away then and there; sothat I stagger out of the house like one of Napoleon'sgenerals coming out of Italy. There is a good deal ofmethod in the old lady, however, and on her recovery sheinvariably sends round a porter, with a polite note tosay that she would be very glad to have her pictures backagain.And now I have worked my way to the point where I canshow you what I mean when I talk about fate. The medicalpractitioner who lives next me--Porter is his name--is akindly sort of man, and knowing that I have had a longuphill fight, he has several times put things in my way.One day about three weeks ago he came into my consultingroom after breakfast."Could you come with me. to a consultation?" heasked."With pleasure.""I have my carriage outside."He told me something of the case as we went. It wasa young fellow, an only son, who had been suffering fromnervous symptoms for some time, and lately fromconsiderable pain in his head. "His people are livingwith a patient of mine, General Wainwright," said Porter."He didn't like the symptoms, and thought he would havea second opinion."We came to the house, a great big one, in its owngrounds, and had a preliminary talk with the dark-faced,white-haired Indian soldier who owns it. He wasexplaining the responsibility that he felt, the patientbeing his nephew, when a lady entered the room. "This ismy sister, Mrs. La Force," said he, "the mother of thegentleman whom you are going to see."I recognised her instantly. I had met her before andunder curious circumstances. (Dr. Stark Munro hereproceeds to narrate again how he had met the La Forces,having evidently forgotten that he had already done so inLetter VI.) When she was introduced I could see that shehad not associated me with the young doctor in the train.I don't wonder, for I have started a beard, in the hopeof making myself look a little older. She wasnaturally all anxiety about her son, and we went up withher (Porter and I) to have a look at him. Poor fellow!he seemed peakier and more sallow than when I had seenhim last. We held our consultation, came to an agreementabout the chronic nature of his complaint, and finallydeparted without my reminding Mrs. La Force of ourprevious meeting.Well, there the matter might have ended; but aboutthree days afterwards who should be shown into myconsulting room but Mrs. La Force and her daughter. Ithought the latter looked twice at me, when her motherintroduced her, as if she had some recollection of myface; but she evidently could not recall where she hadseen it, and I said nothing to help her. They bothseemed to be much distressed in mind--indeed, the tearswere brimming over from the girl's eyes, and her lip wasquivering."We have come to you, Doctor Munro, in the greatestdistress," said Mrs. La Force; "we should be very glad ofyour advice.""You place me in rather a difficult position, Mrs.La Force," said I. "The fact is, that I look upon you asDr. Porter's patients, and it is a breach of etiquetteupon my part to hold any communication with you exceptthrough him.""It was he who sent us here," said she."Oh, that alters the matter entirely.""He said he could do nothing to help us, and thatperhaps you could.""Pray let me know what you wish done."She set out valorously to explain; but the effort ofputting her troubles into words seemed to bring them morehome to her, and she suddenly blurred over and becameinarticulate. Her daughter bent towards her, and kissedher with the prettiest little spasm of love and pity."I will tell you about it, doctor," said she. "Poormother is almost worn out. Fred--my brother, that is tosay, is worse. He has become noisy, and will not bequiet.""And my brother, the general," continued Mrs. LaForce, "naturally did not expect this when he kindlyoffered us a home, and, being a nervous man, it is verytrying to him. In fact, it cannot go on. He says sohimself.""But what is mother to do?" cried the girl, taking upthe tale again. "No hotel or lodging-house would take usin while poor Fred is like that. And we have notthe heart to send him to an asylum. Uncle will not haveus any longer, and we have nowhere to go to." Her greyeyes tried to look brave, but her mouth would go down atthe corners.I rose and walked up and down the room, trying tothink it all out."What I wanted to ask you," said Mrs. La Force, "waswhether perhaps you knew some doctor or some privateestablishment which took in such cases--so that we couldsee Fred every day or so. The only thing is that he mustbe taken at once, for really my brother has reached theend of his patience."I rang the bell for my housekeeper."Miss Williams," said I, "do you think we can furnisha bedroom by to-night, so as to take in a gentleman whois ill?"Never have I so admired that wonderful woman's self-command."Why, easily, sir, if the patients will only let mealone. But with that bell going thirty times an hour,it's hard to say what you are going to do."This with her funny manner set the ladieslaughing, and the whole business seemed lighter andeasier. I promised to have the room ready by eighto'clock. Mrs. La Force arranged to bring her son roundat that hour, and both ladies thanked me a very greatdeal more than I deserved; for after all it was abusiness matter, and a resident patient was the verything that I needed. I was able to assure Mrs. La Forcethat I had had a similar case under my charge before--meaning, of course, poor "Jimmy," the son of LordSaltire. Miss Williams escorted them to the door, andtook occasion to whisper to them that it was wonderfulhow I got through with it, and that I was within sight ofmy carriage."It was a short notice, but we got everything ready bythe hour. Carpet, bed, suite, curtains--all cametogether, and were fixed in their places by the unitedefforts of Miss Williams, Paul, and myself. Sharp ateight a cab arrived, and Fred was conducted by me intohis bedroom. The moment I looked at him I could see thathe was much worse than when I saw him with Dr. Porter.The chronic brain trouble had taken a sudden acute turn.His eyes were wild, his cheeks flushed, his lipsdrawn slightly away from his teeth. His temperature was102@, and he muttered to himself continually, and paid noattention to my questions. It was evident to me at aglance that the responsibility which I had taken uponmyself was to be no light one.However, we could but do our best. I undressed himand got him safely to bed, while Miss Williams preparedsome arrowroot for his supper. He would eat nothing,however, but seemed more disposed to dose, so having seenhim settle down we left him. His room was the one nextto mine, and as the wall was thin, I could hear the leastmovement. Two or three times he muttered and groaned,but finally he became quiet, and I was able to drop tosleep.At three in the morning, I was awakened by a dreadfulcrash. Bounding out of bed I rushed into the other room.Poor Fred was standing in his long gown, a patheticlittle figure in the grey light of the dawning day. Hehad pulled over his washing-stand (with what object onlyhis bemuddled mind could say), and the whole place was amorass of water with islands of broken crockery. Ipicked him up and put him back into his bed again--his body glowing through his night-dress, and his eyesstaring wildly about him. It was evidently impossible toleave him, and so I spent the rest of the night noddingand shivering in the armchair. No, it was certainly nota sinecure that I had undertaken.In the morning I went round to Mrs. La Force and gaveher a bulletin. Her brother had recovered his serenitynow that the patient had left. He had the Victoria Crossit seems, and was one of the desperate little garrisonwho held Lucknow in that hell-whirl of a mutiny. And nowthe sudden opening of a door sets him shaking, and adropped tongs gives him palpitations. Are we not thestrangest kind of beings?Fred was a little better during the day, and evenseemed in a dull sort of way to recognise his sister, whobrought him flowers in the afternoon. Towards eveninghis temperature sank to 101.5@, and he fell into a kindof stupor. As it happened, Dr. Porter came in aboutsupper-time, and I asked him if he would step up and havea look at my patient. He did so, and we found him dozingpeacefully. You would hardly think that that smallincident may have been one of the most momentous in mylife. It was the merest chance in the world that Porterwent up at all.Fred was taking medicine with a little chloral in itat this time. I gave him his usual dose last thing atnight; and then, as he seemed to be sleeping peacefully,I went to my own room for the rest which I badly needed.I did not wake until eight in the morning, when I wasroused by the jingling of a spoon in a saucer, and thestep of Miss Williams passing my door. She was takinghim the arrowroot which I had ordered over-night. Iheard her open the door, and the next moment my heartsprang into my mouth as she gave a hoarse scream, and hercup and saucer crashed upon the floor. An instant latershe had burst into my room, with her face convulsed withterror."My God!" she cried, "he's gone!"I caught up my dressing-gown and rushed into the nextroom.Poor little Fred was stretched sideways across hisbed, quite dead. He looked as if he had been rising andhad fallen backwards. His face was so peaceful andsmiling that I could hardly have recognised the worried,fever-worn features of yesterday. There is greatpromise, I think, on the faces of the dead. They say itis but the post-mortem relaxation of the muscles, butit is one of the points on which I should like to seescience wrong.Miss Williams and I stood for five minutes without aword, hushed by the presence of that supreme fact. Thenwe laid him straight, and drew the sheet over him. Sheknelt down and prayed and sobbed, while I sat on the bed,with the cold hand in mine. Then my heart turned to leadas I remembered that it lay for me to break the news tothe mother.However, she took it most admirably. They were allthree at breakfast when I came round, the general, Mrs.La Force, and the daughter. Somehow they seemed to knowall that I had to say at the very sight of me; and intheir womanly unselfishness their sympathy was all forme, for the shock I had suffered, and the disturbance ofmy household. I found myself turned from the consolerinto the consoled. For an hour or more we talked itover, I explaining what I hope needed noexplanation, that as the poor boy could not tell me hissymptoms it was hard for me to know how immediate was hisdanger. There can be no doubt that the fall oftemperature and the quietness which both Porter and I hadlooked upon as a hopeful sign, were really the beginningto the end.Mrs. La Force asked me to see to everything, theformalities, register, and funeral. It was on aWednesday, and we thought it best that the burial shouldbe on the Friday. Back I hurried, therefore, not knowingwhat to do first, and found old Whitehall waiting for mein my consulting room, looking very jaunty with a cameliain his button-hole. Not an organ in its right place, anda camelia in his button-hole!Between ourselves, I was sorry to see him, for I wasin no humour for his company; but he had heard all aboutit from Miss Williams, and had come to stop. Only thendid I fully realise how much of the kindly, delicate-minded gentleman remained behind that veil of profanityand obscenity which he so often held before him."I'll trot along with you, Dr. Munro, sir. Aman's none the worse for a companion at such times. I'llnot open my mouth unless you wish it, sir; but I am anidle man, and would take it as a kindness if you wouldlet me come round with you."Round he came, and very helpful he was. He seemed toknow all about the procedure--"Buried two wives, Dr.Munro, sir! "I signed the certificate myself, conveyed itto the registrar, got the order for burial, took it roundto the parish clerk, arranged an hour, then off to theundertaker's, and back to my practice. It was a kind ofnightmare morning to look back upon, relieved only by thefigure of my old Bohemian, with his pea jacket, his blackthorn, his puffy, crinkly face, and his camelia.To make a long story short, then, the funeral cameoff as arranged, General Wainwright, Whitehall, and Ibeing the sole mourners. The captain had never seen poorFred in the flesh, but he "liked to be in at the finish,sir," and so he gave me his company. It was at eight inthe morning, and it was ten before we found ourselves atOakley Villa. A burly man with bushy whiskers waswaiting for us at the door."Are you Dr. Munro, sir?" he asked."I am.""I am a detective from the local office. I wasordered to inquire into the death of the young man inyour house lately."Here was a thunderbolt! If looking upset is a signof guilt, I must have stood confessed as a villain. Itwas so absolutely unexpected. I hope, however, that Ihad command of myself instantly."Pray step in!" said I. Any information I can giveyou is entirely at your service. Have you any objectionto my friend Captain Whitehall being present?"Not in the least." So in we both went, taking thisbird of ill-omen.He was, however, a man of tact and with a pleasantmanner."Of course, Dr. Munro," said he, "you are much toowell known in the town for any one to take this matterseriously. But the fact is that we had an anonymousletter this morning saying that the young man had diedyesterday and was to be buried at an unusual hour to-day,and that the circumstances were suspicious."He died the day before yesterday. He was buried ateight to-day," I explained; and then I told him the wholestory from the beginning. He listened attentively andtook a note or two."Who signed the certificate?" he asked."I did," said I.He raised his eyebrows slightly. "There is really noone to check your statement then?" said he."Oh yes, Dr. Porter saw him the night before he died.He knew all about the case."The detective shut his notebook with a snap. "Thatis final, Dr. Munro," said he. "Of course I must see Dr.Porter as a matter of form, but if his opinion agreeswith yours I can only apologise to you for thisintrusion.""And there is one more thing, Mr. Detective, sir,"said Whitehall explosively. "I'm not a rich man, sir,only the ---- half-pay skipper of an armed transport; butby ----, sir, I'd give you this hat full of dollars toknow the name of the ---- rascal who wrote that anonymousletter, sir. By ---- sir, you'd have a real case to lookafter then." And he waved his black thorn ferociously.So the wretched business ended, Bertie. But on whattrifling chances do our fortunes depend! If Porter hadnot seen him that night, it is more than likely thatthere would have been an exhumation. And then,--well,there would be chloral in the body; some money interestsDID depend upon the death of the lad--a sharp lawyermight have made much of the case. Anyway, the firstbreath of suspicion would have blown my little risingpractice to wind. What awful things lurk at the cornersof Life's highway, ready to pounce upon us as we pass!And so you really are going a-voyaging! Well, Iwon't write again until I hear that you are back from theIslands, and then I hope to have something a little morecheery to talk about.XVI.1 OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 4th November, 1884.I face my study window as I write, Bertie. Slate-coloured clouds with ragged fringes are drifting slowlyoverhead. Between them one has a glimpse of higherclouds of a lighter gray. I can hear the gentle swishof the rain striking a clearer note on the gravel pathand a duller among the leaves. Sometimes it fallsstraight and heavy, till the air is full of the delicategray shading, and for half a foot above the ground thereis a haze from the rebound of a million tiny globules.Then without any change in the clouds it cases off again.Pools line my walk, and lie thick upon the roadway, theirsurface pocked by the falling drops. As I sit I cansmell the heavy perfume of the wet earth, and the laurelbushes gleam where the light strikes sideways upon them.The gate outside shines above as though it werenew varnished, and along the lower edge of theupper bar there hangs a fringe of great clear drops.That is the best that November can do for us in ourdripping little island. You, I suppose, sitting amongthe dying glories of an American fall, think that thismust needs be depressing. Don't make any mistake aboutthat, my dear boy. You may take the States, from Detroitto the Gulf, and you won't find a happier man than thisone. What do you suppose I've got att his{sic-- at this}moment in my consulting room? A bureau? A bookcase?No, I know you've guessed my secret already. She issitting in my big armchair; and she is the best, thekindest, the sweetest little woman in England.Yes, I've been married six months now--the almanacksays months, though I should have thought weeks. Ishould, of course, have sent cake and cards, but had anidea that you were not home from the Islands yet. It isa good year since I wrote to you; but when you give anamorphous address of that sort, what can you expect?I've thought of you, and talked of you often enough.Well, I daresay, with the acumen of an old marriedman, you have guessed who the lady is as well. We surelyknow by some nameless instinct more about our futuresthan we think we know. I can remember, for example, thatyears ago the name of Bradfield used to strike with acauseless familiarity upon my ear; and since then, as youknow, the course of my life has flowed through it. Andso when I first saw Winnie La Force in the railwaycarriage, before I had spoken to her or knew her name, Ifelt an inexplicable sympathy for and interest in her.Have you had no experience of the sort in your life? Orwas it merely that she was obviously gentle and retiring,and so made a silent claim upon all that was helpful andmanly in me? At any rate, I was conscious of it; andagain and again every time that I met her. How good isthat saying of some Russian writer that he who loves onewoman knows more of the whole sex than he who has hadpassing relations with a thousand! I thought I knewsomething of women. I suppose every medical studentdoes. But now I can see that I really knew nothing. Myknowledge was all external. I did not know thewoman soul, that crowning gift of Providence to man,which, if we do not ourselves degrade it, will set anedge to all that is good in us. I did not know how thelove of a woman will tinge a man's whole life and everyaction with unselfishness. I did not know how easy it isto be noble when some one else takes it for granted thatone will be so; or how wide and interesting life becomeswhen viewed by four eyes instead of two. I had much tolearn, you see; but I think I have learned it.It was natural that the death of poor Fred La Forceshould make me intimate with the family. It was reallythat cold hand which I grasped that morning as I sat byhis bed which drew me towards my happiness. I visitedthem frequently, and we often went little excursionstogether. Then my dear mother came down to stay with mefor a spell, and turned Miss Williams gray by looking fordust in all sorts of improbable corners; or advancingwith a terrible silence, a broom in one hand and a shovelin the other, to the attack of a spider's web which shehad marked down in the beer cellar. Her presenceenabled me to return some of the hospitality which I hadreceived from the La Forces, and brought us still nearertogether.I had never yet reminded them of our previousmeeting. One evening, however, the talk turned uponclairvoyance, and Mrs. La Force was expressing the utmostdisbelief in it. I borrowed her ring, and holding it tomy forehead, I pretended to be peering into her past."I see you in a railway carriage," said I. "You arewearing a red feather in your bonnet. Miss La Force isdressed in something dark. There is a young man there.He is rude enough to address your daughter as Winniebefore he has ever been----""Oh, mother," she cried, "of course it is he! Theface haunted me, and I could not think where we had metit."Well, there are some things that we don't talk aboutto another man, even when we know each other as well asI know you. Why should we, when that which is mostengrossing to us consists in those gradual shades ofadvance from friendship to intimacy, and from intimacy tosomething more sacred still, which can scarcely bewritten at all, far less made interesting to another?The time came at last when they were to leaveBirchespool, and my mother and I went round the nightbefore to say goodbye. Winnie and I were thrown togetherfor an instant."When will you come back to Birchespool?" I asked."Mother does not know.""Will you come soon, and be my wife?"I had been turning over in my head all the eveninghow prettily I could lead up to it, and how neatly Icould say it--and behold the melancholy result! Well,perhaps the feeling of my heart managed to make itselfclear even through those bald words. There was but oneto judge, and she was of that opinion.I was so lost in my own thoughts that I walked as faras Oakley Villa with my mother before I opened my mouth."Mam," said I at last, "I have proposed to Winnie LaForce, and she has accepted me.""My boy," said she, "you are a true Packenham." Andso I knew that my mother's approval had reached the pointof enthusiasm. It was not for days--not until Iexpressed a preference for dust under the bookcase withquiet, against purity and ructions--that the dear oldlady perceived traces of the Munros.The time originally fixed for the wedding was sixmonths after this; but we gradually whittled it down tofive and to four. My income had risen to about twohundred and seventy pounds at the time; and Winnie hadagreed, with a somewhat enigmatical smile, that we couldmanage very well on that--the more so as marriage sendsa doctor's income up. The reason of her smile becamemore apparent when a few weeks before that date Ireceived a most portentous blue document in which "We,Brown & Woodhouse, the solicitors for the herein andhereafter mentioned Winifred La Force, do hereby"--statea surprising number of things, and use some remarkablybad English. The meaning of it, when all the "whereas'sand aforesaids" were picked out, was, that Winnie hadabout a hundred a year of her own. It could not make melove her a shade better than I did; but at the same timeI won't be so absurd as to say that I was not glad,or to deny that it made our marriage much easier than itwould otherwise have been.Poor Whitehall came in on the morning of theceremony. He was staggering under the weight of a fineJapanese cabinet which he had carried round from hislodgings. I had asked him to come to the church, and theold gentleman was resplendent in a white waistcoat and asilk tie. Between ourselves, I had been just a littleuneasy lest his excitement should upset him, as in thecase of the dinner; but nothing could be more exemplarythan his conduct and appearance. I had introduced him toWinnie some days before."You'll forgive me for saying, Dr. Munro, sir, thatyou are a ---- lucky fellow," said he. "You've put yourhand in the bag, sir, and taken out the eel first time,as any one with half an eye can see. Now, I've had threedips, and landed a snake every dip. If I'd had a goodwoman at my side, Dr. Munro, sir, I might not be thebroken half-pay skipper of an armed transport to-day.""I thought you had been twice married, captain.""Three times, sir. I buried two. The other lives atBrussels. Well, I'll be at the church, Dr. Munro, sir;and you may lay that there is no one there who wishes youbetter than I do."And yet there were many there who wished me well. Mypatients had all got wind of it; and they assembled bythe pew-full, looking distressingly healthy. Myneighbour, Dr. Porter, was there also to lend me hissupport, and old General Wainwright gave Winnie away. Mymother, Mrs. La Force, and Miss Williams were all in thefront pew; and away at the back of the church I caught aglimpse of the forked beard and crinkly face ofWhitehall, and beside him the wounded lieutenant, the manwho ran away with the cook, and quite a line of thestrange Bohemians who followed his fortunes. Then whenthe words were said, and man's form had tried to sanctifythat which was already divine, we walked amid thepealings of the "Wedding March" into the vestry, where mydear mother relieved the tension of the situation bysigning the register in the wrong place, so that to allappearance it was she who had just married the clergyman.And then amid congratulations and kindly faces, wewere together, her hand on my forearm, upon the steps ofthe church, and saw the familiar road stretching beforeus. But it was not that road which lay before my eyes,but rather the path of our lives;--that broader path onwhich our feet were now planted, so pleasant to tread,and yet with its course so shrouded in the mist. Was itlong, or was it short? Was it uphill, or was it down?For her, at least, it should be smooth, if a man's lovecould make it so.We were away for several weeks in the Isle of Man,and then came back to Oakley Villa, where Miss Williamswas awaiting us in a house in which even my mother couldhave found no dust, and with a series of cheering legendsas to the crowds of patients who had blocked the streetin my absence. There really was a marked increase in mypractice; and for the last six months or so, withoutbeing actually busy, I have always had enough to occupyme. My people are poor, and I have to work hard for asmall fee; but I still study and attend the localhospital, and keep my knowledge up-to-date, so as to beready for my opening when it comes. There are timeswhen I chafe that I may not play a part upon some largerstage than this; but my happiness is complete, and iffate has no further use for me, I am content now from myheart to live and to die where I am.You will wonder, perhaps, how we get on--my wife andI--in the matter of religion. Well, we both go our ownways. Why should I proselytise? I would not for thesake of abstract truth take away her child-like faithwhich serves to make life easier and brighter to her. Ihave made myself ill-understood by you in thesediscursive letters if you have read in them anybitterness against the orthodox creeds. Far from sayingthat they are all false, it would express my positionbetter to say that they are all true. Providence wouldnot have used them were they not the best availabletools, and in that sense divine. That they are final Ideny. A simpler and more universal creed will take theirplace, when the mind of man is ready for it; and Ibelieve it will be a creed founded upon those lines ofabsolute and provable truth which I have indicated. Butthe old creeds are still the best suited to certainminds, and to certain ages. If they are good enoughfor Providence to use, they are good enough for us toendure. We have but to wait upon the survival of thetruest. If I have seemed to say anything aggressiveagainst them, it was directed at those who wish to limitthe Almighty's favour to their own little clique, or whowish to build a Chinese wall round religion, with noassimilation of fresh truths, and no hope of expansion inthe future. It is with these that the pioneers ofprogress can hold no truce. As for my wife, I would assoon think of breaking in upon her innocent prayers, asshe would of carrying off the works of philosophy from mystudy table. She is not narrow in her views; but if onecould stand upon the very topmost pinnacle of broad-mindedness, one would doubtless see from it that even thenarrow have their mission.About a year ago I had news of Cullingworth fromSmeaton, who was in the same football team at college,and who had called when he was passing through Bradfield.His report was not a very favourable one. The practicehad declined considerably. People had no doubtaccustomed themselves to his eccentricities, and thesehad ceased to impress them. Again, there had beenone or two coroner's inquests, which had spread theimpression that he had been rash in the use of powerfuldrugs. If the coroner could have seen the hundreds ofcures which Cullingworth had effected by that samerashness he would have been less confident with hiscensures. But, as you can understand, C.'s rival medicalmen were not disposed to cover him in any way. He hadnever had much consideration for them.Besides this decline in his practice, I was sorry tohear that Cullingworth had shown renewed signs of thatcurious vein of suspicion which had always seemed to meto be the most insane of all his traits. His whole frameof mind towards me had been an example of it, but as farback as I can remember it had been a characteristic.Even in those early days when they lived in four littlerooms above a grocer's shop, I recollect that he insistedupon gumming up every chink of one bedroom for fear ofsome imaginary infection. He was haunted, too, with aperpetual dread of eavesdroppers, which used to make himfly at the door and fling it open in the middle of hisconversation, pouncing out into the passage with theidea of catching somebody in the act. Once it wasthe maid with the tea tray that he caught, I remember;and I can see her astonished face now, with an aureole offlying cups and lumps of sugar.Smeaton tells me that this has now taken the form ofimagining that some one is conspiring to poison him withcopper, against which he takes the most extravagantprecautions. It is the strangest sight, he says, to seeCullingworth at his meals; for he sits with an elaboratechemical apparatus and numerous retorts and bottles athis elbow, with which he tests samples of every course.I could not help laughing at Smeaton's description, andyet it was a laugh with a groan underlying it. Of allruins, that of a fine man is the saddest.I never thought I should have seen Cullingworthagain, but fate has brought us together. I have alwayshad a kindly feeling for him, though I feel that he usedme atrociously. Often I have wondered whether, if I wereplaced before him, I should take him by the throat or bythe hand. You will be interested to hear what actuallyoccurred.One day, just a week or so back, I was startingon my round, when a boy arrived with a note. It fairlytook my breath away when I saw the familiar writing, andrealised that Cullingworth was in Birchespool. I calledWinnie, and we read it together."Dear Munro," it said, "James is in lodgings here fora few days. We are on the point of leaving England. Hewould be glad, for the sake of old times, to have a chatwith you before he goes."Yours faithfully,"HETTY CULLINGWORTH."The writing was his and the style of address, so thatit was evidently one of those queer little bits oftransparent cunning which were characteristic of him, tomake it come from his wife, that he might not lay himselfopen to a direct rebuff. The address, curiously enough,was that very Cadogan Terrace at which I had lodged, buttwo doors higher up.Well, I was averse from going myself, but Winnie wasall for peace and forgiveness. Women who claim nothinginvariably get everything, and so my gentle little wifealways carries her point. Half an hour later I was inCadogan Terrace with very mixed feelings, but thekindlier ones at the top. I tried to think thatCullingworth's treatment of me had been pathological--theresult of a diseased brain. If a delirious man hadstruck me, I should not have been angry with him. Thatmust be my way of looking at it.If Cullingworth still bore any resentment, heconcealed it most admirably. But then I knew byexperience that that genial loud-voiced John-Bull mannerof his COULD conceal many things. His wife was moreopen; and I could read in her tightened lips and coldgrey eyes, that she at least stood fast to the oldquarrel. Cullingworth was little changed, and seemed tobe as sanguine and as full of spirits as ever."Sound as a trout, my boy!" he cried, drumming onhis chest with his hands. "Played for the LondonScottish in their opening match last week, and was on theball from whistle to whistle. Not so quick on a sprint--you find that yourself, Munro, eh what?--but a good hard-working bullocky forward. Last match I shall have formany a day, for I am off to South America next week.""You have given up Bradfield altogether then?""Too provincial, my boy! What's the good of avillage practice with a miserable three thousand or so ayear for a man that wants room to spread? My head wassticking out at one end of Bradfield and my feet at theother. Why, there wasn't room for Hetty in the place,let alone me! I've taken to the eye, my boy. There's afortune in the eye. A man grudges a half-crown to curehis chest or his throat, but he'd spend his last dollarover his eye. There's money in ears, but the eye is agold mine.""What!" said I, "in South America?""Just exactly in South America," he cried, pacingwith his quick little steps up and down the dingy room."Look here, laddie! There's a great continent from theequator to the icebergs, and not a man in it who couldcorrect an astigmatism. What do they know of modern eye-surgery and refraction? Why, dammy, they don't know muchabout it in the provinces of England yet, let aloneBrazil. Man, if you could only see it, there's a fringeof squinting millionaires sitting ten deep round thewhole continent with their money in their handswaiting for an oculist. Eh, Munro, what? By Crums, I'llcome back and I'll buy Bradfield, and I'll give it awayas a tip to a waiter.""You propose to settle in some large city, then?""City! What use would a city be to me? I'm there tosqueeze the continent. I work a town at a time. I sendon an agent to the next to say that I am coming. I`Here's the chance of a lifetime,' says he, `no need togo back to Europe. Here's Europe come to you. Squints,cataracts, iritis, refractions, what you like; here's thegreat Signor Cullingworth, right up to date and ready foranything!' In they come of course, droves of them, andthen I arrive and take the money. Here's my luggage!" hepointed to two great hampers in the corner of the room."Those are glasses, my boy, concave and convex, hundredsof them. I test an eye, fit him on the spot, and sendhim away shouting. Then I load up a steamer and comehome, unless I elect to buy one of their little Statesand run it."Of course it sounded absurd as he put it; but Icould soon see that he had worked out his details, andthat there was a very practical side to his visions."I work Bahia," said he. "My agent preparesPernambuco. When Bahia is squeezed dry I move on toPernambuco, and the agent ships to Monte Video. So wework our way round with a trail of spectacles behind us."It'll go like clock-work.""You will need to speak Spanish," said I."Tut, it does not take any Spanish to stick a knifeinto a man's eye. All I shall want to know is, `Moneydown--no credit.' That's Spanish enough for me."We had a long and interesting talk about all that hadhappened to both of us, without, however, any allusion toour past quarrel. He would not admit that he had leftBradfield on account of a falling-off in his practice, orfor any reason except that he found the place too small.His spring-screen invention had, he said, been favourablyreported upon by one of the first private shipbuildingfirms on the Clyde, and there was every probability oftheir adopting it."As to the magnet," said he, " I'm very sorryfor my country, but there is no more command of theseas for her. I'll have to let the thing go to theGermans. It's not my fault. They must not blame mewhen the smash comes. I put the thing before theAdmiralty, and I could have made a board schoolunderstand it in half the time. Such letters, Munro!Colney Hatch on blue paper. When the war comes, and Ishow those letters, somebody will be hanged. Questionsabout this--questions about that. At last they asked mewhat I proposed to fasten my magnet to. I answered toany solid impenetrable object, such as the head of anAdmiralty official. Well, that broke the whole thing up.They wrote with their compliments, and they werereturning my apparatus. I wrote with my compliments, andthey might go to the devil. And so ends a greathistorical incident, Munro--eh, what? "We parted very good friends, but with reservations,I fancy, on both sides. His last advice to me was toclear out of Birchespool."You can do better--you can do better, laddie!" saidhe. "Look round the whole world, and when you see alittle round hole, jump in feet foremost. There'sa lot of 'em about if a man keeps himself ready."So those were the last words of Cullingworth, and thelast that I may ever see of him also, for he startsalmost immediately upon his strange venture. He mustsucceed. He is a man whom nothing could hold down. Iwish him luck, and have a kindly feeling towards him, andyet I distrust him from the bottom of my heart, and shallbe just as pleased to know that the Atlantic rollsbetween us.Well, my dear Bertie, a happy and tranquil, if notvery ambitious existence stretches before us. We areboth in our twenty-fifth year, and I suppose thatwithout presumption we can reckon that thirty-five moreyears lie in front of us. I can foresee the graduallyincreasing routine of work, the wider circle of friends,the indentification with this or that local movement,with perhaps a seat on the Bench, or at least in theMunicipal Council in my later years. It's not a verystartling programme, is it? But it lies to my hand, andI see no other. I should dearly love that the worldshould be ever so little better for my presence. Even onthis small stage we have our two sides, andsomething might be done by throwing all one's weight onthe scale of breadth, tolerance, charity, temperance,peace, and kindliness to man and beast. We can't allstrike very big blows, and even the little ones count forsomething.So goodbye, my dear boy, and remember that when youcome to England our home would be the brighter for yourpresence. In any case, now that I have your address, Ishall write again in a very few weeks. My kindestregards to Mrs. Swanborough.Yours ever,J. STARK MUNRO.[This is the last letter which I was destined toreceive from my poor friend. He started to spend theChristmas of that year (1884) with his people, and on thejourney was involved in the fatal railroad accident atSittingfleet, where the express ran into a freight trainwhich was standing in the depot. Dr. and Mrs. Munro werethe only occupants of the car next the locomotive, andwere killed instantly, as were the brakesman and oneother passenger. It was such an end as both he andhis wife would have chosen; and no one who knew themwould regret that neither was left to mourn the other.His insurance policy of eleven hundred pounds wassufficient to provide for the wants of his own family,which, as his father was sick, was the one worldly matterwhich could have caused him concern.--H. S.End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Stark Munro Letters

