At length he could bear his pain no longer. He had been advised to go to a well-known bone-setter. No! He would not do that. He had put himself in the hands of the first surgeons of the day. Why should he go to an irregular practitioner? At length, however, he was persuaded by his friends. As the surgeons had done their best, why should he not try the bone-setter? He called upon Mr. Hutton, at his house. He looked at the shoulder. Well, he would try and put it in. This was new comfort. Mr. Hutton recommended his patient to buy some neat’s-foot oil and rub it in as hot as he could bear it. “Where can we buy the stuff?” asked Mrs. Moore. “You can take a soda-water bottle and get it at a tripe shop in Tottenham Court Road.” “We have not got a soda-water bottle with us.” “You can get one at the corner at the public-house!—you might get it at a druggist’s,” he continued, “but he will charge you three times as dear.” The neat’s-foot oil was at last got; the shoulder was duly rubbed with it; and the bone-setter arrived at Kensington Palace Gardens to do his best or his worst. He made Mr. Moore sign a paper before he proceeded with his operation, in which he agreed to be satisfied whether failure or success was the result. Hutton took the arm in his hand, gave it two or three turns, and then gave it a tremendous twist round in the socket. The shoulder-joint was got in! George Moore threw his arm out with strength straight, before him, and said, “I could fight,” whereas, a moment before he could not raise it two inches. It had been out for nearly two years. Mr. Moore was taken to task by his professional friends for going to a quack about his shoulder. “Well,” said he, “quack or no quack, he cured me, and that was all I wanted. Whereas, I was blind, now I see.” After presenting a bust of Lord Brougham and a silver claret jug to the Fishmongers’, in memory of his prime wardenship, he set out for Whitehall on the following day and invited Mr. Hutton (the bone-setter) to join him in Cumberland, as a token of his thanks to him for having relieved his sufferings. The shoulder continued to improve. When his benefactor Hutton, the bone-setter, arrived at Whitehall, he gave him a hearty welcome, and sent him away rejoicing. Mr. Moore was no more troubled with his shoulder. Hutton died soon afterwards, and Mr. Moore remarks in his diary that he was as much struck by his unworldliness as by his skill, for he refused to take any fee additional to the £5 that was at first asked. It was with great pressure that Mr. Moore prevailed upon him to take £5 more. During his repeated accessions of pain he entered, or made Mrs. Moore enter, many memoranda in his diary, of which we subjoin a few:— “We must wait until the day dawns, and the shadows flee away, to know how wise and suitable every dealing of God is with us.”