"Dr. Lloyd," said the Queen of the Hill, "is an amiable creature,
but on this subject decidedly cracked. Cracked poets may be all the
better for being cracked,--cracked doctors are dangerous. Besides, in
deserting that old-fashioned routine, his adherence to which made his
claim to the Hill's approbation, and unsettling the mind of the Hill with
wild revolutionary theories, Dr. Lloyd has betrayed the principles on
which the Hill itself rests its social foundations. Of those principles
Dr. Fenwick has made himself champion; and the Hill is bound to support
him. There, the question is settled!"

And it was settled.

From the moment Mrs. Colonel Poyntz thus issued the word of
command, Dr. Lloyd was demolished. His practice was gone, as well as his
repute. Mortification or anger brought on a stroke of paralysis which,
disabling my opponent, put an end to our controversy. An obscure
Dr. Jones, who had been the special pupil and protege of Dr. Lloyd,
offered himself as a candidate for the Hill's tongues and pulses. The
Hill gave him little encouragement. It once more suspended its electoral
privileges, and, without insisting on calling me up to it, the Hill
quietly called me in whenever its health needed other advice than that of
its visiting apothecary. Again it invited me, sometimes to dinner,
often to tea; and again Miss Brabazon assured me by a sidelong glance
that it was no fault of hers if I were still single.

I had almost forgotten the dispute which had obtained for me so
conspicuous a triumph, when one winter's night I was roused from sleep by
a summons to attend Dr Lloyd, who, attacked by a second stroke a few
hours previously, had, on recovering sense, expressed a vehement desire