and so they are not repeated here--however, notes are given at the
appropriate places.--DP.]

Long ago I was placed by my parents under the medical treatment of a
certain Mr. Dawson, a surgeon in Edinburgh, who had obtained a
reputation for the cure of a particular class of diseases. I was
sent with my governess into lodgings near his house, in the Old Town.
I was to combine lessons from the excellent Edinburgh masters, with
the medicines and exercises needed for my indisposition. It was at
first rather dreary to leave my brothers and sisters, and to give up
our merry out-of-doors life with our country home, for dull lodgings,
with only poor grave Miss Duncan for a companion; and to exchange our
romps in the garden and rambles through the fields for stiff walks in
the streets, the decorum of which obliged me to tie my bonnet-strings
neatly, and put on my shawl with some regard to straightness.

The evenings were the worst. It was autumn, and of course they daily
grew longer: they were long enough, I am sure, when we first settled
down in those gray and drab lodgings. For, you must know, my father
and mother were not rich, and there were a great many of us, and the
medical expenses to be incurred by my being placed under Mr. Dawson's
care were expected to be considerable; therefore, one great point in
our search after lodgings was economy. My father, who was too true a
gentleman to feel false shame, had named this necessity for cheapness
to Mr. Dawson; and in return, Mr. Dawson had told him of those at No.
6 Cromer Street, in which we were finally settled. The house
belonged to an old man, at one time a tutor to young men preparing
for the University, in which capacity he had become known to Mr.
Dawson. But his pupils had dropped off; and when we went to lodge
with him, I imagine that his principal support was derived from a few