“Ay, the cause. Just obsairve, jintlemen,” said Sampson, addressing imaginary students, “how startled they all are if a docker deviates from profissional habits into sceince, and takes the right eend of the stick for once b' asking for the cause.” “The cause was the will of God, I do suppose,” said Mrs. Maxley. “Stuff!” shouted Sampson angrily. “Then why come to mortal me to cure you?” Alfred put in his oar. “He does not mean the 'final cause;' he means the 'proximate cause. “My poor dear creature, I bain't no Latiner,” objected the patient. Sampson fixed his eyes sternly on the slippery dame. “What I want to know is, had you been running up-stairs? or eating fast? or drinking fast? or grizzling over twopence? or quarrelling with your husband! Come now, which was it?” “Me quarrel with my man! We haven't never been disagreeable, not once, since we went to church a pair and came back a couple. I don't say but what we mayn't have had a word or two at odd times, as married folk will.” “And the last time you had a word or two--y' infairnal quibbler--was it just before your last spasm, eh?” “Well, it might; I am not gainsaying that: but you said quarrel, says you. 'Quarrel' it were your word; and I defy all Barkton, gentle and simple, to say as how me and my master----” “Whisht! whisht! Now, jintlemen, ye see what the great coming sceince--the sceince of Healing--has to contind with. The dox are all fools, but one: and the pashints are lyres, ivery man Jack. N' listen me; y' have got a disease that you can't eradicate; but you may muzzle it for years, and die of something quite different when your time's up.” “Like enough, sir. If _you_ please, ma'am, Dr. Stephenson do blame my indigestion for it.” “Dr. Stephenson's an ass.” “Dear heart, how cantankerous you be. To be sure Dr. Osmond he says no: it's muscular, says he.” “Dr. Osmond's an ijjit. List me; You mustn't grizzle about money; you mustn't gobble, nor drink your beer too fast.” “You are wrong, doctor; I never drink no beer: it costs----” “Your catlap, then. And above all, no grizzling! Go to church whenever you can without losing a farthing. It's medicinal; soothes the brain, and takes it off worldly cares. And have no words with your husband, or he'll outlive you; it's his only chance of getting the last word. Care killed a cat, a nanimal with eight lives more than a chatterbox. If you worry or excite your brain, little Maxley, you will cook your own goose--by a quick fire.” “Dear heart, these be unked sayings. Won't ye give me nothing to make me better, sir?” “No, I never tinker; I go to the root: you may buy a vile of chlorofm and take a puff if you feel premonory symps: but a quiet brain is your only real chance. Now slope, and send the male screw.” “Anan?” “Your husband.” “That I will, sir. Your sarvant, doctor; your sarvant, ma'am; sarvant, all the company.” Mrs. Dodd hoped the poor woman had nothing very serious the matter.