There is great danger that the society of our own watering-places is gradually copying the model, without having the same uniform, and on that account more endurable standard of division. The different coteries of a large city—the necessary consequence of the difference of refinement and education—need not necessarily conflict with each other; but they are intolerable in a small place, where the distinctions are constantly before your eyes, can hardly be kept up without rudeness. Fancy half a dozen coteries dining at the same table, meeting at least three times a day, and then spending the evening together in the same parlor. It must be a perfect little purgatory, from whose pains there is no respite, except by diving in the broad Atlantic. ----- [1] I purposely avoid the English dandyism “rail_way_.” [2] Younger sons without fortune.—_Remark of the Editors._ [3] I, of course, except the people of Liege and the Ardennes, who are descended from the Gauls, and are only politically united with Flanders and Brabant. * * * * * THE VILLAGE DOCTOR. A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY LEONARD MYERS. (_Concluded from page 167._) I arrived at Montpellier, and was well received by my uncle, who informed me that he had obtained for me an honorable situation. A rich Englishman, very old, nervous and gouty, was desirous of having a doctor constantly beneath his roof, an intelligent young man, who might attend to his disease under the direction of another physician. I had been proposed and accepted. We immediately repaired to the residence of Lord James Kysington. We entered a large and handsome mansion, filled with servants, and having passed through a suite of rooms we were ushered into the cabinet of Lord James Kysington. Lord Kysington was seated in a large arm-chair. He was a very old man, with a chilling and austere countenance. His hair, which was completely white, contrasted singularly with eye-brows that were still of the deepest black. He was tall and thin, at least as well as I could distinguish through the folds of a large linen surtout, fashioned like a dressing-gown. His hands were hidden in the sleeves, and a white bear’s fur covered his ailing feet. A table stood near him on which were placed several vials containing potions. My uncle introduced me. “My lord, this is my nephew, Doctor Barnabé,” he said. Lord Kysington bowed, that is to say, he made an almost imperceptible inclination of his head, as he looked at me. “He is well instructed,” my uncle resumed, “and I doubt not will prove useful to your lordship.” A second motion of the head was the only answer my uncle obtained. “Besides,” added the latter, “having received a good education, he can read to your lordship, or write when you wish to dictate.”