verous, pale, chalky expression on
it, and the crow's feet near the eyes, and wrinkles on her forehead, I
should have sooner expected to have heard a burst of heavenly symphony
from a thundercloud, than such music as issued from her parted lips.

"Good heavens, madam!" said I eagerly and respectfully, "allow me to
send for Mr Cophagus."

"By no means," replied she. "I come to you. I am aware," continued she
in an undertone, "that you dispense medicines, give advice, and receive
money yourself."

I felt very much agitated, and the blush of detection mounted up to my
forehead. Timothy, who heard what she said, showed his uneasiness in a
variety of grotesque ways. He drew up his legs alternately, as if he
were dancing on hot plates; he slapped his pockets, grinned, clenched
his fists, ground his teeth, and bit his lips till he made the blood
come. At last he sidled up to me, "She has been peeping and screwing
those eyes of hers into this shop for something. It is all up with both
of us, unless you can buy her off."

"I have, madam," said I, at last, "ventured to prescribe in some trivial
cases, and, as you say, receive money when my master is not here; but I
am entrusted with the till."

"I know--I know--you need not fear me. You are too modest. What I
would request is, that you would prescribe for me, as I have no great
opinion of your master's talents."

"If you wish it, madam," said I, bowing respectfully.

"You have camphor julep ready made up, have you not?"

"Yes, madam," replied I.

"Then do me the favour to send the boy with a bottle to my house
directly." I handed down the bottle, she paid for it, and putting it
into Timothy's hands, desired him to take it to the direction which she
gave him. Timothy put on his hat, cocked his eye at me, and left us
alone.

"What is your name?" said she, in the same melodious voice.

"Japhet Newland, madam," replied I.

"Japhet--it is a good, a scriptural name," said the lady, musing in half
soliloquy, "Newland--that sounds of mammon."

"This mystery is unravelled," thought I, and I was right in my
conjectures. "She is some fanatical methodist;" but I looked at her
again, and her dress disclaimed the idea, for in it there was much taste
displayed.

"Who gave you that name?" said she, after a pause.

The question was simple enough, but it stirred up a host of annoying
recollections; but not wishing to make a confidant of her, I gently
replied, as I us