ng and buoyant. The beginning of the evening passed off amid
much innocent enjoyment from conversation, singing, music, and reading.
In the midst of this social pleasure, who should make his appearance
but Mr. Round, accompanied by Mrs. Blunt? She introduced him to the
company, and to be polite, as he thought, he shook hands with every one
in the room. This performance took up the best part of half an hour, as
he gave each one a brief epitome of his imaginary disorders. As he was
speaking first to one and then another, the whole party might have heard
his melancholy voice giving an account of some particular item of his
affliction. One could hear the responses at intervals to his
statements,--"Oh"--"Ah"--"A pity you are so sick"--"Why, I never"--"Dear
me"--"Is it possible?"--"Why, how can you live so?"--"I wonder how you
survived that,"--coming from various parts of the room. Not only on
entering, but during his stay, he talked about his symptoms, his fears,
his hopes, his dangers, in respect to his "dreadful sickness."
Occasionally he would point to his eyes, observing "how sunken and
bedimmed!" then to his cheeks, saying "how pale and deathly they seem!"
Then again, he would call attention to the thinness of his hands and
arms, saying, "He was not near the man he used to be, and he feared he
never should be again. Although he was out that evening, he ought not to
have been, and he expected to suffer severely through the night for it.
If he had the health he once had, or the health of his friend next him,
there was nothing he would enjoy more than that evening; but now he was
past it. His doctor had been visiting him for years; but he didn't seem
to get any better, and he thought he should have to give him up, or
lose all the money he had. O dear! the room was too warm, he could not
breathe; that door must be opened; that singing distracted him; he loved
the piano once--now his nerves could not stand it. He thought it became
young people to be very serious and devout in the prospect of an
affliction which might be as melancholy as his was. But he could not
remain any longer; he was afraid of stopping out nights, and therefore
he must wish them good-bye and retire."

This was about the substance of all he said during his visit. He was
like an iceberg rolled into the genial temperature of the social
atmosphere. What did those young people care to know about his health,
excepting the usual compliments at such times? The ro