ed to do in the Foundling Hospital on Sunday
morning--"My godfathers and godmothers in my baptism, ma'am."

"My dear sir, I am very ill," said she, after a pause; "will you feel my
pulse?"

I touched a wrist, and looked at a hand that was worthy of being
admired. What a pity, thought I, that she should be old, ugly, and half
crazy!

"Do you not think that this pulse of mine exhibits considerable nervous
excitement? I reckoned it this morning, it was at a hundred and
twenty."

"It certainly beats quick," replied I, "but perhaps the camphor julep
may prove beneficial."

"I thank you for your advice, Mr Newland," said she laying down a
guinea, "and if I am not better, I will call again, or send for you.
Good night."

She walked out of the shop, leaving me in no small astonishment. What
could she mean? I was lost in reverie, when Timothy returned. The
guinea remained on the counter.

"I met her going home," said he. "Bless me--a guinea--why, Japhet!" I
recounted all that had passed. "Well, then, it has turned out well for
us instead of ill, as I expected."

The _us_ reminded me that we shared profits on these occasions, and I
offered Timothy his half; but Tim, with all his _espieglerie_ was not
selfish, and he stoutly refused to take his share. He dubbed me an
M.D., and said I had beaten Mr Cophagus already, for he had never taken
a physician's fee.

"I cannot understand it, Timothy," said I, after a few minutes' thought.

"I can," replied Timothy. "She has looked in at the window until she
has fallen in love with your handsome face; that's it, depend upon it."
As I could find no other cause, and Tim's opinion was backed by my own
vanity, I imagined that such must be the case. "Yes, 'tis so,"
continued Timothy,--"as the saying is, there's money bid for you."

"I wish that it had not been by so ill-favoured a person, at all events,
Tim," replied I; "I cannot return her affection."

"Never mind that, so long as you don't return the money."

The next evening she made her appearance, bought, as before, a bottle of
camphor julep--sent Timothy home with it, and asking my advice, paid me
another guinea.

"Really, madam," said I, putting it back towards her, "I am not entitled
to it."

"Yes, you are," replied she. "I know you have no friends, and I also
know that you deserve them. You must purchase books, you must study, or
you never will be a great man." She then sat down, entered into
conversati