Before I actually engaged passage to any foreign port I thought it wise to pay a parting visit to good Dr. Chambers. It was six months since I had last called on him, for finding that I was gaining in every way I did not care to fill myself up with medicines. His advice about abstinence from things hurtful had been religiously followed, and I presented the outward appearance of a man in fairly good health when he came into his office and took my hand. Between us there has grown up a feeling warmer than generally, I am afraid, exists between physician and patient. I am intensely grateful for the skill that changed me from a desponding invalid to one so nearly the opposite in spirits, and the odd five dollar bills I have paid seem no equivalent for the great boon he conferred upon me. In plain terms, he saved my life and more. He redeemed me from a sort of hell which I think the old romancers would have substituted for their fire and brimstone had they ever had personal experience of it, as a means of deterring the sinful from their ways. Money cannot pay for such service, and I shall feel an affection for Dr. Chambers as long as memory remains to me. If you have the pleasure of his acquaintance, you know that the Doctor is probably the handsomest man in New York. He has a good physique that has not degenerated into mere muscle and brawn; a fine color which does not lead you to suspect that too much old port and brandy is responsible for it. His hair is nearly white, though he has hardly seen fifty years, and has no other sign of age. His mustache and imperial would do credit to a trooper and yet has not that bovine appearance shown in portraits of the late Victor Immanuel. His manner is delightful, his voice musical, though by no means effeminate. I ascribe my cure partly to a perfect confidence in his powers with which he inspired me on our very first meeting. He is not one to make rash predictions, to tell you that he will bring you around all right in a week; but rest on his superior powers with the confidence of a child and the result will justify your faith. No physician can cure a man against his will or without his assistance. Go to Dr. Chambers with your heart open, tell him no more lies than you would tell your confidential attorney, obey every injunction he gives you, summon whatever of courage is left in your failing heart, take his medicines according to direction. If you do that and die, be sure your time has come and that no mortal could bring about a different result. If you recover, as you probably will, be honest and ascribe the result as much to the Doctor's intuitive knowledge of persons as to his eminent acquaintance with the best medical discoveries.