g, but he has found his object in existence--he lives
to be cured. His mind is fully occupied; his fancy eternally on the
wing. Formerly he had travelled much, but without any pleasure in
movement: he might as well have stayed at home. Now, when he travels, it
is for an end; it is delightful to witness the cheerful alertness with
which he sets about it. He is going down the Rhine;--for its scenery?
Pshaw! he never cared a button about scenery; but he has great hopes of
the waters at Kreuznach. He is going into Egypt;--to see the Pyramids?
Stuff! the climate on the Nile is so good for the mucous membrane! Set
him down at the dullest of dull places, and he himself is never dull.
The duller the place the better; his physician has the more time to
attend to him. When you meet him he smiles on you, and says, poor
fellow, "The doctor assures me that in two years I shall be quite set
up." He has said the same thing the last twenty years, and will say it
the day before his death!...

What a busy, anxious, fidgety creature Ned Worrell was? That iron frame
supported all the business of all society! Every man who wanted any
thing done, asked Ned Worrell to do it. And do it Ned Worrell did! You
remember how feelingly he was wont to sigh,--"Upon my life I'm a perfect
slave." But now Ned Worrell has snapped his chain; obstinate dyspepsia,
and a prolonged nervous debility, have delivered him from the carks and
cares of less privileged mortals. Not Ariel under the bough is more
exempt from humanity than Edward Worrell. He is enjoined to be kept in a
state of perfect repose, free from agitation, and hermetically shut out
from grief. His wife pays his bills, and he is only permitted to see his
banker's accounts when the balance in his favor is more than usually
cheerful. His eldest daughter, an intelligent young lady, reads his
letters, and only presents to him those which are calculated to make a
pleasing impression. Call now on your old friend, on a question of life
and death, to ask his advice, or request his interference--you may as
well call on King Cheops under the Great Pyramid. The whole houseguard
of tender females block the way.

"Mr. Worrell is not to be disturbed on any matter of business whatever,"
they will tell you. "But, my dear ma'am, he is trusted to my marriage
settlement; his signature is necessary to a transfer of my wife's
fortune from those cursed railway shares. To-morrow they will be down at
zero. We shall be ru