"Then do me the favour to send the boy with a bottle to my house directly." I handed down the bottle, she paid for it, and putting it into Timothy's hands, desired him to take it to the direction which she gave him. Timothy put on his hat, cocked his eye at me, and left us alone. "What is your name?" said she, in the same melodious voice. "Japhet Newland, madam," replied I. "Japhet--it is a good, a scriptural name," said the lady, musing in half soliloquy, "Newland--that sounds of mammon." "This mystery is unravelled," thought I, and I was right in my conjectures. "She is some fanatical methodist;" but I looked at her again, and her dress disclaimed the idea, for in it there was much taste displayed. "Who gave you that name?" said she, after a pause. The question was simple enough, but it stirred up a host of annoying recollections; but not wishing to make a confidant of her, I gently replied, as I used to do in the Foundling Hospital on Sunday morning--"My godfathers and godmothers in my baptism, ma'am." "My dear sir, I am very ill," said she, after a pause; "will you feel my pulse?" I touched a wrist, and looked at a hand that was worthy of being admired. What a pity, thought I, that she should be old, ugly, and half crazy! "Do you not think that this pulse of mine exhibits considerable nervous excitement? I reckoned it this morning, it was at a hundred and twenty." "It certainly beats quick," replied I, "but perhaps the camphor julep may prove beneficial." "I thank you for your advice, Mr Newland," said she laying down a guinea, "and if I am not better, I will call again, or send for you. Good night." She walked out of the shop, leaving me in no small astonishment. What could she mean? I was lost in reverie, when Timothy returned. The guinea remained on the counter. "I met her going home," said he. "Bless me--a guinea--why, Japhet!" I recounted all that had passed. "Well, then, it has turned out well for us instead of ill, as I expected." The _us_ reminded me that we shared profits on these occasions, and I offered Timothy his half; but Tim, with all his _espieglerie_ was not selfish, and he stoutly refused to take his share. He dubbed me an M.D., and said I had beaten Mr Cophagus already, for he had never taken a physician's fee. "I cannot understand it, Timothy," said I, after a few minutes' thought. "I can," replied Timothy. "She has looked in at the window until she has fallen in love with your handsome face; that's it, depend upon it." As I could find no other cause, and Tim's opinion was backed by my own vanity, I imagined that such must be the case. "Yes, 'tis so," continued Timothy,--"as the saying is, there's money bid for you." "I wish that it had not been by so ill-favoured a person, at all events, Tim," replied I; "I cannot return her affection." "Never mind that, so long as you don't return the money."