the year, and while old earth was busy
with her flowers, the fresh wind blew, the little bird sang, and Hippias
Feverel, the Dyspepsy, amazed, felt the Spring move within him. He
communicated his delightful new sensations to the baronet, his brother,
whose constant exclamation with regard to him, was: "Poor Hippias! All
his machinery is bare!" and had no hope that he would ever be in a
condition to defend it from view. Nevertheless Hippias had that hope, and
so he told his brother, making great exposure of his machinery to effect
the explanation. He spoke of all his physical experiences exultingly, and
with wonder. The achievement of common efforts, not usually blazoned, he
celebrated as triumphs, and, of course, had Adrian on his back very
quickly. But he could bear him, or anything, now. It was such ineffable
relief to find himself looking out upon the world of mortals instead of
into the black phantasmal abysses of his own complicated frightful
structure. "My mind doesn't so much seem to haunt itself, now," said
Hippias, nodding shortly and peering out of intense puckers to convey a
glimpse of what hellish sufferings his had been: "I feel as if I had come
aboveground."

A poor Dyspepsy may talk as he will, but he is the one who never gets
sympathy, or experiences compassion: and it is he whose groaning
petitions for charity do at last rout that Christian virtue. Lady
Blandish, a charitable soul, could not listen to Hippias, though she had
a heart for little mice and flies, and Sir Austin had also small patience
with his brother's gleam of health, which was just enough to make his
disease visible. He remembered his early follies and excesses, and bent
his ear to him as one man does to another who complains of having to pay
a debt legally incurred.

"I think," said Adrian, seeing how the communications of Hippias were
received, "that when our Nemesis takes lodgings in the stomach, it's best
to act the Spartan, smile hard, and be silent."

Richard alone was decently kind to Hippias; whether from opposition, or
real affection, could not be said, as the young man was mysterious. He
advised his uncle to take exercise, walked with him, cultivated cheerful
impressions in him, and pointed out innocent pursuits. He made Hippias
visit with him some of the poor old folk of the village, who bewailed the
loss of his cousin Austin Wentworth, and did his best to waken him up,
and give the outer world a stronger hold on him. He su