"His admiration of your talents as an actor, is sufficient to account for Mr. Spiffard preferring your company to that of men of less experience and knowledge."

“No, no, that's not it. He has seen Sarah, and Black Jack, and all the rest of them. No, I will tell you what I suspect. He is studying the effect of wine on the human constitution; and when he sees me snug under the sod, he will give lectures on temperance, making old Cooke the foundation on which to establish his theory, and build his fortune. But I'll cheat the water-drinker by out-living him. I'll play Shylock at ninety, as Macklin did."

66

May you live to ninety, and I live to see it! But what says the doctor to the question of wine or water?"

"Pooh, pooh, what signifies what he says. Look at his face, and then turn to the mirror and look at your own pale visage. There's a complexion where madeira-always meaning in moderation-sparkles-"

"Let me see your tongue."

"That's by way of stopping its motion. As much as to say, 'hold your tongue.' But a tongue is not a member to be looked at, but listened to."

"Yet to the physician, even its appearance can tell tales. There, that will do. Mr. Spiffard, I must prohibit my patient from further exertion, or even attention to the conversation of his friends to-day. His tongue speaks of fever. Let me feel your pulse, sir. That will do. Let me place my hand-so, Are your ankles swelled?"

sir.

The doctor proceeded with his examination. Cooke was silent, but appeared less concerned than either Spiffard or Davenport; for the last-mentioned of our actors stood anxiously listening and looking on, evidently taking great interest in the fate of the patient.

"The symptoms are decided. There is water in the abdomen.'

Cooke turned his head away, and cast a look from the corners of his eyes on the physician, at the same time holding his face close to the pillow, and repeated the word "water,” in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, sir," said the doctor, and was going on seriously to prescribe certain remedies, when all gravity was set at defiance by the patient exclaiming-"How should water find its way there? No, no, doctor, never risk your reputation by telling the world that you found water in the stomach of George Frederick Cooke! What say you, you long-visaged, lank-sided

yankee philosopher? Did ever water approach these premises since they were in your keeping ?"

Davenport, thus addressed, and finding the eyes of the company turned upon him, answered with a drawling tone, and great deliberation-"If I might venture to propound an opinion upon sich a deep and profound subject-"

"As my stomach! Both deep and profound, ha? I have sometimes thought it had a double profundity. Well, Mr. wise man of the east, go on-your opinion?"

"I have a notion, (without pretending to give an opinion ;) I have a notion that that critter man, is a compound of the elements of arth, air, fire, and water; and that, for one thing, makes him sich a contrarious animal; and for another thing, it makes it necessary for his bodily health, that all these elements should be replenished as fast as they evaporate, or are exhausted. Now, if I may be permitted"

"Go on-propound-thou learned Theban."

"If a man denies admittance to water through the proper and natural door, by which it brings health and strength, it will find another inlet, and then it causes diseases and weakness: and in Mr. Cooke's case, it being always refused entrance above, it has taken advantage of the warm bath ordered for his feet, and has crept up through his toes."

"He has hit it, Doctor. The philosopher has found the cause. The disease has outwitted the physician. Most learned Doctor Davenport, see who knocks."

"I prohibit any more company this day. Mr. Cooke is not well enough to see any of his friends until to-morrow." Spiffard followed Trustworthy; and the doctor enjoining quiet for his excited patient, soon after left him to the care of the faithful, eccentric philosopher.

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CHAPTER XVIII.

A little mystery, and an old acquaintance.

"Of what incalculable influence, then, for good, or for evil, upon the dearest interests of society, inust be the estimate entertained for the character of this great body of teachers, and the consequent respectability of the individuals who compose it."-Verplanck.

"You have often begun to tell me what I am, but stop'd,

And left me to a bootless inquisition."

"Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,

That sees into the bottom of my grief."

"It is the show and seal of nature's truth,

Where love's strong passion is impressed in youth.”—Shakspeare.

"Whose power hath a true consent, With planet, or with element.-Milton.

truth shall nurse her,

Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her."

my mother you wot well,

My hazards still have been your solace."

"If that thy father live, let him repent."

"Lepidus is high-coloured. They have made him drink.”

"Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought on thought."

Shakspeare.

I WILL introduce my reader to another sick chamber of a very different aspect from the last. Indeed, a greater contrast to the commodious apartments and assiduous attendants which surrounded and administered to George Frederick Cooke, could not well be imagined, than the mean and scantily furnished hovel-like house of Mrs. Johnson, and the feeble assistance which could be rendered to her, (suffering and sick as she was,) by her only permanent attendant, a poor little. negress. True, she had the occasional consolation of her son's presence, and that of Emma Portland: the consolation of duteous affection, sympathy, charity, and love. When those occupations which enabled him to procure the scanty sum necessary for his mother's support, would permit, she had the

attendance of the best of sons. But his days were passed in laborious preparation for his mother's future welfare, and even his nights were devoted to gaining the pittance required by their necessitous condition for present support; especially since a chronic disease had rendered his beloved parent incapable of those exertions which once had made their situation comfortable, and enabled her to give him the education of an enlightened, efficient citizen. She had frequently another attendant, (as noticed above,) whose sex made her more competent to know, and more skilful to perform, the offices which the sick require. Emma devoted to Mrs. Johnson as much of her time as she could; but she was wanted at home to assist her aunt and cousin ; and abroad, by others who were sick and poor.

Mrs. Johnson had one attendant in common with Mr. Cooke. Of the many physicians who exerted their skill for him, one had been led to the house of poverty, and administered that relief which his professional skill and benevolent disposition, enabled him to give. Emma Portland had a tie stronger than pity and charity, or even sympathy toward a person so like herself in disposition, and so like her lost mother in sentiments, accomplishments, knowledge, and resignation to the will of heaven. Emma had become acquainted with Henry Johnson before his mother's illness, when she, by her industry, aided by strict economy, had supported her little establishment, while her son was obtaining that knowledge in a merchant's counting-house, which might lead to a competency for her future comfort.

This young couple, (for they were already united in the purest bonds of affection) had become acquainted in a manner and in a place, of all others, most likely to create a pure union of hearts, because the employment which brought them in the presence of each other evinced the congeniality of their dispositions and the kindred feelings of well regulated minds. They were both teachers in the same sunday school: both employed in the diffusion of knowledge to those whose condition in life rendered it most difficult of attainment: both endeavouring to rescue from vice those most exposed to become its victimsthe children of the ignorant and vicious. Sunday was the only day that Henry Johnson was free from the labours of the counting house; and until his mother's illness required his presence in attendance on her, he had devoted it to the instruction of those whose avocations or situations prevented or prohibited other modes or opportunities of acquiring knowledge. The form, the face, the general appearance of Emma

Portland, were sufficient to attract the admiration of Henry; but he was captivated by her demeanor while bestowing instruction on the little ones around her; who soon learned to look upon her as a friend, and to love the lessons she bestowed, for the love they bore their beautiful and kind instructress.

Some of the same causes operated to produce the same effects in the breast of Emma Portland. She observed the punctuality with which Henry attended to his voluntary duties, and the patience he exhibited in performing them. His manly form and expressive face might have passed unnoticed; but his suavity of manners, his devoted attention to the welfare of those who were entrusted him, attracted her attention and gained her approbation. They had occasion to commune in this their benevolent employment. They mutually made inquiries respecting each other. The interchange of civility and words led to the interchange of esteem, and finally of love.

The situation of Emma, with her aunt and cousin, was by no means agreeable to Henry, and it was not until he knew the refined and just sentiments, and had learned the history of the lovely orphan, that he suffered love to lead his hopes on to the anticipation of happiness with such a partner. Love, with minds well regulated and accustomed to self-con*trol, is not that blind and irresistible passion which poets and novelists have described. Once convinced of the worth of the object of his admiration, the youth felt resolved to remove her from her present situation, and doubted not that his resources were equal to the task. Before sickness had reduced his mother to the helpless state in which we now find her, Henry had communicated his views of future domestic happiness, and had obtained her approbation of his choice: those views were at present obscured; but youth can see beyond the clouds.

They were no common clouds that enveloped the Johnsons. Loss of health had caused the gradual approach of that ex'treme penury which threatened to render the remnant of this unfortunate lady's days peculiarly cheerless. The little shop she had attended to, and in part supplied with needle-worked articles for sale by her own industry and ingenuity, had dwindled away, had been closed, and its remaining stock sold at auction. Henry had discharged all debts, paid the rent of the house they had occupied, and removed, with his parent, to the hovel they took refuge in, there to meet the winter's storms and hide from the cold looks of worldlings. All the poor were not yet thrust into the suburbs of the city or the adjoining villages, and this mean habitation was in the way of Emma