In which the Doctor pays a Visit and receives no Fee; and I am
obliged to work very hard to procure myself a Livelihood.


I did not forget my father's injunctions, for I was very much
frightened. There was a doctor who lived half-way up Church Street, a
short distance from Fisher's Alley. He was a little man with a large
head sunk down between two broad shoulders. His eyes were small and
twinkling, his nose snubbed, his pate nearly bald; but on the sides of
his head the hair was long and flowing. But if his shoulders were broad
the rest of his body was not in the same proportion--for he narrowed as
he descended, his hips being very small, and his legs as thin as those
of a goat. His real name was Todpoole, but the people invariably called
him Tadpole, and he certainly in appearance somewhat reminded you of
one. He was a facetious little fellow, and, it was said, very clever in
his profession.

"Dr. Tadpole," cried I, out of breath with running, "come quick, my
mother is very bad indeed."

"What's the matter?" said he, peering over a mortar in which he was
rubbing up something with the pestle. "External or internal?"

Although I did not know what he meant, I replied, "Both, doctor, and a
great deal more besides."

"That's bad indeed," replied Tadpole, still rubbing away.

"But you must come directly," cried I. "Come along--quick!"