'Very kind--most gentle and affectionate.'

'Why doesn't he keep company with you? Does he ever dine with you, or drink
tea, or talk to you? Do you see much of him?'

'He is a miserable invalid--his hours and regimen are peculiar. Indeed
I wish very much you would consider his case; he is, I believe, often
insensible for a long time, and his mind in a strange feeble state
sometimes.'

'I dare say--worn out in his young days; and I saw that preparation of
opium in his bottle--he takes too much.'

'Why do you think so, Doctor Bryerly?'

'It's made on water: the spirit interferes with the use of it beyond a
certain limit. You have no idea what those fellows can swallow. Read the
"Opium Eater." I knew two cases in which the quantity exceeded De Quincy's.
Aha! it's new to you?' and he laughed quietly at my simplicity.

'And what do you think his complaint is?' I asked.

'Pooh! I haven't a notion; but, probably, one way or another, he has been
all his days working on his nerves and his brain. These men of pleasure,
who have no other pursuit, use themselves up mostly, and pay a smart price
for their sins. And so he's kind and affectionate, but hands you over to
your cousin and the servants. Are his people civil and obliging?'

'Well, I can't say much for them; there is a man named Hawkes, and his
daughter, who are very rude, and even abusive sometimes, and say they have