The only ornaments that the Doctor wore, were a diamond pin “set transparent,” and so pellucid as to be scarcely visible on the white neckcloth that it fastened; and a series of mourning rings on his third and little fingers, as ostentatious marks of respect from some of the most illustrious and wealthy patients he had buried; while from below his waistcoat there dangled a bunch of gold seals, almost as big as the tassel at the end of a bell-rope, and these the Doctor delighted, as he leant back in his chair, to swing up and down, like a muffin-bell, while delivering his opinion. Doctor Twaddles was wont to increase the importance of his opinion by multiplying himself into many, and substituting, in his discourse, for the plain, humble, and honest I, the pompous, imposing and presumptuous We,—the special prerogative of monarchs and editors. Certainly this style of discourse was fraught with some few attendant advantages, even beyond that of leading the hearer to believe that the verdict pronounced was not the judgment of one solitary individual, but the unanimous opinion of an indefinite number; for when the Doctor, after due feeling of pulse and knitting of brows, said to his patients that _we_ must take a blue pill and black dose, it appeared to the invalid as if the generous Physician intended to swallow half his own medicine. But, on the other hand, some of the Doctor’s plural edicts had a particularly singular sound with them; for when he told his lady-patients that _we_ must put _our_ feet in hot water, it seemed as if he intended indulging in a joint foot-bath with them. Equally strange and startling did it sound when he said, that “_we_ really must go out of town;” or, stranger still, when in a mysterious manner he declared, that “_we_ really must go to bed as quick as possible.” Dr. Twaddles was a great favourite with the ladies, by whom he was invariably described as a “loveable old man.” His manner was gentle and polite as a well-fee’d pew-opener. His voice he always subdued to a complimentary sympathy, and he was especially tender in his handling of his fair patients’ pulses. He was, moreover, “remarkably fond of children,” for whom he generally carried in his pockets a small canister filled either with acidulated drops, “refined liquorice,” or “black currant lozenges.” In his habits, too, he was quite a family man, and never failed, if in his visits he found the more healthy members of the family at a “hot lunch,” of seating himself good-humouredly at the table, and declaring that he _must_ really have a bit of the pudding, for he was happy to say that he was still quite a boy in his “love of sweets.” Nor was the “advice” usually given by Dr. Twaddles of a less attractive character.