n once reared by
the banks of the Nile, whose welcome and real waters greeted my eye
after a fourteen days' journey, which I trust I may never be called upon
to repeat.

* * * * *

XLVII.

A FORBIDDEN TOPIC.

WHICH SOME PEOPLE PERSIST IN INTRODUCING.

Why don't they stop it? Why do some people persist, spite of my hopes
and prayers, my silent tears and protestations, in asking if "I'm well,"
when I'm before their eyes apparently the personification of health?

Why am I of that unfortunate class of beings who are afflicted with
friends ("Heaven defend me from such friends") who appear to take a
fiendish delight in recounting to me my real or (by them) imagined
ill-looks; who come into my presence, and scrutinizing me closely,
inquire, with what looks to me like a shade of anxiety, "Are you sick?"
and if I, in astonishment, echo, "Sick? why, no; I never felt better in
my life," observe, with insulting mock humility, "O, excuse me; I
thought you looked badly," and turn again to other subjects.

But I do not flatter myself they are done with me. I know their
evil-working dispositions are far from satisfied; and, presently they
renew the attack by asking, still more obnoxiously, "My dear, are you
sure you are quite well today? you certainly are pale;" and if I, thus
severely cross-questioned, am induced to admit, half sarcastically, and,
perhaps, just to note the effect, that I have--as who has not--a little
private ache somewhere about me (that, by the way, I considered was only
mine to bear, and therefore nobody's business but my own, and which may
have been happily forgotten for a few moments), I have removed the
barrier, given the opportunity desired, and the flood rushes in. "I knew
you were not well," they cry, triumphantly. "Your complexion is very
sallow; your lips are pale; your eyes look dull, and have dark rings
under them; and surely you are thinner than when I saw you
last"--concerning all which I may have doubts, though I have none that a
frantic desire is taking possession of me to get away, and investigate
these charges; and when, finally, I am released from torture, I fly to
my good friend, the mirror; and, having obtained from it the blissful
reassurance that these charges are without foundation in my features, I
feel like girding on my armor and confronting my disagreeable ex-callers
and all their kind with a few pertinent (or impertinent) questions.

I wa