was good for the palsy. These unforeseen, these unaccountable attacks
were fearful annoyances to so retiring a personage as Dumps. Day after
day, go where he would, the same things happened. He was solicited to
cure "all the ills that flesh is heir to." He was not aware (any more
than the reader very possibly may be) that in some parts of England the
country people have an idea that a quack doctor rides a piebald horse;
_why_, I cannot explain, but so it is, and that poor Dumps felt to
his cost. Life became a burthen to him; he was a marked man; _he_,
whose only wish was to pass unnoticed, unheard, unseen; _he_, who
of all the creeping things on the earth, pitied the glowworm most,
because the spark in its tail attracted observation. He gave up his
lodgings and his piebald, and went "in his angry mood to Tewksbury."

I ought ere this to have described my hero. He was rather _embonpoint_,
but fat was not with him, as it sometimes is, twin brother to fun;
_his_ fat was weighty, he was inclined to _blubber_. He wore a wig, and
carried in his countenance an expression indicative of the seriousness
of his turn of mind.

He alighted from the coach at the principal inn at Tewksbury; the
landlady met him in the hall, started, smiled, and escorted him into a
room with much civility. He took her aside, and briefly explained that
retirement, quiet, and a back room to himself were the accommodations
he sought.

"I understand you sir," replied the landlady, with a knowing wink,
"a little quiet will be agreeable by way of change; I hope you'll find
every thing here to your liking." She then curtseyed and withdrew.

"Frank," said the hostess to the head waiter, "who _do_ you think