an, who, having
in vain attempted all the ordinary modes of obtaining practice,
collected together the little residue of his fortune, and sailed for
Barbadoes, where he struck out for himself the following singularly
new and original plan:--He purchased all the disabled, sick, and
ailing negroes that he could find; every poor fellow whose case seemed
past hope, but yet to his critical eye was still curable, these he
bought up; they were, of course, dead bargains. The masters were
delighted to get rid of them--they were actually "eating their heads
off;" but the doctor knew, that though they looked somewhat "groggy,"
still there was a "go" in them yet.

By care, skill, and good management, they recovered under his hands,
and frequently were re-sold to the original proprietor, who was
totally unconscious that the sleek and shining nigger before him had
been the poor, decrepid, sickly creature of some weeks before.

The humanity of this proceeding is self-evident: a word need not be
said more on that subject. But it was no less profitable than
merciful. The originator of the plan retired from business with a
large fortune, amassed, too, in an inconceivably short space of time.
The shrewdest proprietor of a fast coach never could throw a more
critical eye over a new wheeler or a broken-down leader, than did he
on the object of his professional skill; detecting at a glance the
extent of his ailments, and calculating, with a Babbage-like accuracy,
the cost of keep, physic, and attendance, and setting them off, in his
mind, against the probable price of the sound man. What consummate
skill was here! Not merely, like Brodie or Crampton, anticipating the
possible recovery of the patient, but estimating the extent of the
restoration--the time it would take--ay, the very number of basins of
chicken-broth and barley-gruel that he would devour, _ad interim_.
This was the cleverest physician I ever knew. The present altered
condition of West Indian property has, however, closed this opening to
fortune, in which, after all, nothing short of first-rate ability
could have ensured success.

I have just read over the preceding "nut" to my old friend, Mr.
Synnet, of Mulloglass, whose deep knowledge of the world makes him no
mean critic on such a subject. His words are these:--

"There is some truth in what you remark--the world is too full of us.
There is, however, a very nice walk in life much neglected."

"And what may that be?" sa