newly arrived from London. The doctor was a stout good-humoured
gentleman of the middle height, with a cheerful and healthy-looking
countenance. He was, in truth, a jovial man, as well as a great
snuff-taker. The incumbent offered me a chair, and placed a decanter of
wine before me. His own glass of port was untouched, and he looked
serious and dejected.

"Well, sir, how does London look?" enquired the doctor, "are the folks
as mad as they used to be? What new invention is the rage now? What
bubble is going to burst? What lord committed forgery last? Who was the
last woman murdered before you started?"

I confessed my inability to answer.

"Well, never mind. There isn't much lost. I am almost ashamed of old
England, that's the truth on't. I have given over reading the
newspapers, for they are about as full of horrors as Miss
What's-her-name's tales of the Infernals. What an age this is! all crime
and fanaticism! Everyman and everything is on the rush. Come, Fairman,
take your wine."

Mr Fairman sat gazing on the fire, quietly, and took no notice of the
request. "People's heads," continued the medical gentleman, "seem turned
topsy-turvy. Dear me, how different it was in my time! What men are
about, I can't think. The very last newspaper I read had an
advertisement that I should as soon have expected to see there when my
father was alive, as a ship sailing along this coast keel upwards. You
saw it, Fairman. It was just under the Everlasting Life Pill
advertisement; and announced that the Reverend Mr Somebody would preach
on the Sunday following, at some conventicle, when the public were