jockeys that drive John Bull's faemily coach--and they are sucking the
pashint togither, like a leash o' leeches: or else he has turned
spicialist; has tacked his name to some poplar disorder, real or
imaginary; it needn't exist to be poplar. Now, those four you have been
to are spicialists, and that means monomaniues--their buddies exspatiate
in West-ind squares, but their souls dwell in a n'alley, ivery man jack
of 'em: Aberford's in Stomich Alley, Chalmers's in Nairve Court, Short's
niver stirs out o' Liver Lane, Paul's is stuck fast in Kidney Close,
Kinyon's in Mookis Membrin Mews, and Hibbard's in Lung Passage. Look see!
nixt time y' are out of sorts, stid o' consultin' three bats an' a n'owl
at a guinea the piece, send direct to me, and I'll give y' all their
opinions, and all their prescriptions, _gratis._ And deevilich dear ye'll
find 'em at the price, if ye swallow 'm."

Mrs. Dodd thanked him coldly for the offer, but said she would be more
grateful if he would show his superiority to persons of known ability by
just curing her daughter on the spot.

"Well, I will," said he carelessly: and all his fire died out of him.
"Put out your tongue!--Now your pulse!"


Mrs. Dodd knew her man (ladies are very apt to fathom their male
acquaintance--too apt, _I_ think); and, to pin him to the only medical
theme which interested her, seized the opportunity while he was in actual
contact with Julia's wrist, and rapidly enumerated her symptoms, and also
told him what Mr. Osmond had said about Hyperaesthesia.

"GOOSE GREECE!" barked Sampson, loud, clear, and sharp as an irritated
watch-dog; but this one bow-wow vented, he was silent as abruptly.