But the doctor continued to ply his busy thread, and Mr. Binney, being temporarily incapable of performing any but the most elementary movements, was constrained to endure this treatment. When the doctor had completed it—Mr. Binney having several times admonished him to "keep orf the grarse!"—and we had removed that garment which exerted such a powerful influence upon the question of Mr. Binney’s freedom, that gentleman once more expressed himself in verse, saying— "Doctor Brink, Tip ’im the wink, Give ’im a drink, I don’t think. Put ’im in clink, Tiddely-wink, Tiddely-wink, Give ’im a drink. Give ’im a—— Good-bye, old pal, an’ come agin termorrer." We went again upon the morrow, and Binney expressed himself as being glad to see us. "I dunno ’oo your soft-lookin’ friend may be," said Mr. Binney, "but I know ’oo you are, Doctor, an’ you done me a power o’ good, an’ I’m grateful to you. Gettin’ on fine, I am." "That’s _right_," exclaimed the doctor, looking as if he believed it. "Keeping off the drink, of course, as I advised you?" "Keepin’ orf tadpoles!" cried Mr. Binney, with disdain. "I’ve ’ad five brandies auready this mornin’, an’ not you, nor the ole woman, nor the King ’isself would stop me. I know the cure for _my_ complaint." The next morning Dr. Brink paid his third and last visit to this patient. The patient willed it so, having reconstructed the frame of his mind. "Look ’ere, me man," said Mr. Binney upon this occasion, "I’m grateful for what you done for me, and so on. See? But I’ve ’ad enough of you. See? I’m very much obliged to you, and all that; but I don’t want you. I’m better now. I’m all right now. _I_ don’t want no blinkin’ doctors. See what I mean? You’re a clever fellow, no doubt, and I quite agree, and you ’ave my thanks. But you can ’op it. See?" Dr. Brink accordingly hopped it. But that his treatment had not been wholly useless was testified by Mrs. Binney, who, when calling in that evening for some more dark brown, announced, with a sigh of satisfaction, that "’is trembles" was as bad as ever. "It’ll be another week ’fore ever ’e can put them trousers on," she cried triumphantly. That was a week ago. This very day has witnessed Mr. Binney’s return to public life—properly habited and full of dignity. I have been watching him, as, with his finest and most benevolent air, he bestowed a can of wholesome, grass-fed nourishment upon one of the numerous Barnstein children, who live opposite. His hands, I thought, showed signs of more than usual eagerness as he hooked a trembling finger round the handle of the can. There was an expression as of reverence upon his face, and he yielded the liquid into Miss Barnstein’s keeping with a hesitancy, as of one loth to part from his treasure. His lips moved, and I could almost have believed that he had breathed a blessing—a Latin blessing. Then I heard him speak—in deep, impressive tones he spake.