starred as thick with ifs as a boiled ham is with cloves. But another
friend of mine, a business man, whom I trust in making my investments,
would not let me meddle with a certain stock which I fancied, because, as
he said, "there are too many ifs in it. As it looks now, I would n't
touch it."

I noticed, the other evening, that some private conversation was going on
between the Counsellor and the two Annexes. There was a mischievous look
about the little group, and I thought they were hatching some plot among
them. I did not hear what the English Annex said, but the American
girl's voice was sharper, and I overheard what sounded to me like, "It is
time to stir up that young Doctor." The Counsellor looked very knowing,
and said that he would find a chance before long. I was rather amused to
see how readily he entered into the project of the young people. The
fact is, the Counsellor is young for his time of life; for he already
betrays some signs of the change referred to in that once familiar street
song, which my friend, the great American surgeon, inquired for at the
music-shops under the title, as he got it from the Italian minstrel,

"Silva tredi mondi goo."

I saw, soon after this, that the Counsellor was watching his chance to
"stir up the young Doctor."

It does not follow, because our young Doctor's bald spot is slower in
coming than he could have wished, that he has not had time to form many
sound conclusions in the calling to which he has devoted himself
Vesalius, the father of modern descriptive anatomy, published his great
work on that subject before he was thirty. Bichat, the great anatomist
and physiologist, who died near the beginning of this century, published