Snipeton grunted something that Crossbone took as an affirmative to his appeal; and, thus encouraged, proceeded. "Ha, sir! how different is London practice among people who really are people! What's that, sir, to the-yes, I must say it-to the disgrace of being a parish doctor? Now, sir, the man-the man-midwife, sir,-in a proper walk of society, feels that he is nobly employed, He's bringing dukes and lords into the world; he 's what I call cultivating the lilies, that, as they say, neither toil nor spin; that's a pleasure-that's an honour-that's a delight. But what does a parish man-midwife do, sir? Why, he brings paupers upon the earth he does nothing but cultivate weeds, sir-weeds and if he is a man of any feeling, sir, he can't but feel it as a thing beneath him. Mr. Snipeton, I'm almost ashamed of myself to declare, that within these eight-and-forty hours I've brought three more weeds into the world.

"Humph!" said Snipeton.

"And, as a man who wishes well to my country, you may guess my feelings. How different, now, with the man who practises among people who, as I say, are people! A beautiful high-life baby is born. The practitioner may at once be proud of it. In its first little squeal he hears the voice, as I may say, of the House of Lords. In its little head he sees, if I may be allowed to use the expression, the ovaria of acts of parliament, for he 's a born law-maker. About its little, kicking, red leg, he already beholds the most noble Order of the Garter! Now, sir, this is something to make a man proud of his handiwork; but, sir, what is the reflection of the parish doctor? He never works for his country. No; when he looks upon a baby-if he 's any feelings worthy of a man-he must feel that he 's brought so much offal into the world. He looks upon a head which is to have nothing put into it; nothing, perhaps, but sedition and rebellion, and all that infamy. He sees little fingers that are born-yes, sir, bornto set wires for hares; and the fact is, if, as I say, the man has feelings, he feels that he 's an abettor of poaching and all sorts of wickedness;-of wickedness that at last-and it 's very right it should be so at last takes the creature to the gallows. Now, sir, isn't it a dreadful thing for a man-for a professional man, for a man who has had a deal of money spent upon his education-isn't it a dreadful thing for him to know, that he may be only a sort of purveyor to the gallows? I feel the wrong, sir; feel it, acutely, kere ;" and Crossbone tapped his left side with his fore-finger.

"I know that I'm an abetter in a crying evil, going about as I do, bringing weeds into the world; but I can't help it, it's my business nevertheless I feel it. Something ought to be done to put a stop to it: I'm not politician enough to say what; but unless something's done, all I know is this, the weeds will certainly overgrow the lilies."

"And your patient, his gallant and amiable lordship," said Snipeton, still eyeing his wife, "is in danger?"

"Great danger," answered Crossbone; “nevertheless, with a blessing-understand me, Mr. Snipeton, with a blessing-for however wondrous my cure, I hope I have not the presumption to take it all to myself-no, I trust, without offence be it said, to some practitioners I could name, that I have some religion-therefore, with a blessing, his lordship may be set upon his legs. But it will be a long job-a very long job-and he mustn't be removed. Just now, he's in a slight delirium: talked about travelling towards London this very day. 'Twould be death, sir; certain death." And Crossbone blew his nose.

"Indeed! Certain death?" repeated Snipeton, smiling grimly; and still watching the face of his wife. "I fear-I mean I hope -Mr. Crossbone, that your anxiety for so good, so handsome a young man-a nobleman too-may, without real cause, increase your fears. But then, as you say, we ought to be anxious for the lilies."

"I'd have given the worth of-of-I don't know what-could I have been here before. Two or three hours earlier might have made all the difference; for his lordship has great nervous irritability is most wonderfully and delicately strung. But I was away, as I say, producing the weeds, sir. Yes, I've ridden I 'm ashamed to say how many miles since ten o'clock last night; and what's my reward, sir? What, as parish doctor and midwife, is my consolation? Why this, sir: that I 've helped to bring misery and want, and I don't know how many other sorts of vices into the world, when I might-for without vanity I will say it-when I might have been employed for the future honour and glory of my country. Ha, Mr. Snipeton! happy is the professional man who labours among the lilies! Sweet is his satisfaction! Now, sir, when I ride home early in the morning-for the parish people, as I say, always make a point of knocking a man up at the most unseasonable hour; they do it on purpose, sir, to show the power they have over you-now, sir, when I'm riding home, what's my feel

ings? Why, sir, as a lover of my country, there's something in my breast that won't let me feel happy and comfortable. There's something that continually reproaches me with having helped to add to the incumbrance of the nation: as I say, that distresses me with the thought that I've been cultivating weeds, sir, nothing but weeds. Now a job like the present I look upon as a reward for my past misfortunes. It is a beautiful case !"

"Because so full of danger?" said Snipeton, still looking at his pale and silent wife.

"It is impossible that a blow could have been struck more favourable for a skilful surgeon. The sixteenth part of an inch, sir, more or less on one side or the other, and that young man must have been a very handsome corpse."

Snipeton made no answer; but with clenched teeth, and suppressed breath, still glared at his wife. Passion shook him, yet he controlled it; his eyes still upon the pale face that every moment grew whiter. Another instant, and Clarissa fell back in her chair, speechless, motionless. Her husband moved not, but groaned despairingly.

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"Fainted!" cried Crossbone, "call Mrs. Wilton," and at the same moment the housekeeper appeared. With anguish in her look she hastened to her mistress. Nothing, nothing at all "said the apothecary; and then, with a smirk towards Snipeton, "nothing, my dear sir, but what's to be expected."

"She's worse, sir-much worse, I fear, than you suppose,' said Mrs. Wilton, and she trembled.

"I think, ma'am," replied Crossbone with true pill-box dignity, "I think I ought to know how ill a lady is, and how ill she ought to be. Have you no salts-no water, in the house?"

"I shall be better-in a moment, better "said Clarissa feebly, and then grasping the arm of Mrs. Wilton, she added, help me to my room." She then rose with an effort, and supported by the housekeeper, quitted the apartment. And still her husband followed her with eyes, glaring like a wild beast's. Then, looking up, he caught the relaxed, the simpering face of the apothecary. "In the name of the fiends," cried Snipeton, fiercely, "wherefore with that monkey face do you grin at me?"

"My dear sir," said Crossbone, smiling still more laboriously, dear sir, you're a happy man! "

"my

"Happy!" cried Snipeton in a hoarse voice, and with a look of deepest misery-"Happy!

"Of course.

You ought to be. What more delightful than the hope of,-ch?-a growing comfort to your declining years-a staff, as the saying is, to your old age ?

The mystic meaning of the apothecary flashed upon the husband; the old man shook, as though ague-stricken, and covering his face with his hands, he fell heavily as lead into a chair.

Mr. Crossbone was silent in his astonishment. He looked wonderingly about him. Was his practice to be so greatly enlarged in one day? Could it be possible that Snipeton-a man who wore like oak, could be ill? Snipeton, to be sure, was not, to Crossbone's thought, a lily patient; but then, how very far was he above the weeds! The apothecary was about to feel Snipeton's pulse; had the professional fingers on the wrist, when the old man snatched his arm away, and that with a vigour that well nigh carried Crossbone off his legs. The apothecary was about to pay some equivocal compliment to the old gentleman's strength, when Nicholas ran in with the medicine duly compounded by Mr. Sims, and flustered with a startling piece of news.

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They was bringing the murderer to the house, that the gentleman "for Nicholas knew not the sufferer was a lord-" might 'dentify the bloodspiller afore he died."

And Nicholas repeated truly what he had heard. Rumour had travelled and she rarely goes so fast as when drawn by lies-to the Lamb and Star. And there--not stopping to alight-she halloed into the gaping ears of the landlady the terrible intelligence that the young gentleman almost murdered last night, lay at Dovesnest that his wound was mortal; that he was dying fast; that he had already made his will, Dorothy Vale and Ebenezer Snipeton having duly witnessed it. This news, sooner than smoke, filled every corner of the house. Great was the stir throughout the Lamb and Star. Tipps, the constable, on the instant, wore a more solemn look of authority: on the instant, summoned St. Giles to prepare for his removal, at the same time cautiously feeling the handcuffs to learn if they still remained true to their trust. The barber left a pedlar half-shaved to accompany the party; and in a few minutes, the horse was put to the cart; and St. Giles, who spoke not a syllable, was seated in it between Tipps and the landlord, Mr. Blink having donned his Sunday coat and waistcoat, that he might pay proper respect to the solemnity; whilst the barber, grasping a cudgel, guarded the culprit from behind. "Stop! shall I take the blunderbuss, for

fear?" asked the landlord of Tipps, and eyeing St. Giles. "No," answered the constable, smiling confidently and looking affectionately at the manacle, "no; them dear cuffs never deceived me yet.' Crack went the whip-away started the horse; and Tipps, the landlord, and the barber, looked about them freshly, happily; smiling gaily in the morning sun-gaily as though they were carrying a sheep to market-ay, a sheep with a golden fleece !

And the landlady watched the whirling wheels, and with heartwarm wish (poor soul!) wished that the wretch might be hanged, yes, fifty feet high. And Becky, the maid, in her deep pity, braving the tongue of her mistress, stood sobbing in the road, and then, as suddenly inspired, plucked off one of her old shoes, and flung it after St. Giles, as with kindly superstition she said, for luck. "For she know'd it, and could swear it; the poor cretur's hands was as innocent of blood as any babby's." Foolish Becky! By such presumptuous pity-a pity, as Mrs. Blink thought, flying in the face of all respectability, did you fearfully risk the place of maid-of-all-work at a hedge-side hotel; a place worth a certain forty shillings a year, besides the complimentary half-pence.

Return we to Nicholas. Ere Snipeton and Crossbone were well possessed of the news, the cart drove up before the window. "And there is the murderer!" cried Crossbone. "Bless me! there's no need at all to try that man-there 's every letter of Cain all over the villain's face. A child at the horn-book might spell it. And now they're going to bring him in. Ha! my fine fellow," added the apothecary, as St. Giles alighted; "there's a cart you won't get into so quickly I can tell you. What a bold looking villain! With so much blood upon him, too! A lord's blood, too, to look so brazenly! What do you think, Mr. Snipeton?"

Now, Snipeton was not a man of overflowing charity, yet, oddly enough, he looked at St. Giles with placid eyes. The old man, to the scandal of Crossbone, merely said, "Poor fellow! He looks in sad plight. Poor fellow!"

In a few moments, Tipps, the constable, was shown to the presence of the master of Dovesnest. "He was very sorry to make a hubbub in his honour's house, but as the gentleman was dying, there was no time to be lost afore he swore to the murderer. Sam, from the Lamb and Star, had gone off to the justice to tell him all about it, and in a jiffy Mr. Wattles would be there."

"I think," observed Crossbone, "I think I had better see how