Hitherto there had been no acquaintance between Mr. Bacon and the Doctor, farther than that they knew each other by sight and by good report. This circumstance led to a growing intimacy. During the course of his attendance the Doctor fell in friendship with the father, and the father with him. “Did he fall in love with his patient?” “No, ladies.” You have already heard that he once fell in love, and how it happened. And you have also been informed that he caught love once, though I have not told you how, because it would have led me into too melancholy a tale. In this case he neither fell in love, nor caught it, nor ran into it, nor walked into it; nor was he overtaken in it, as a boon companion is in liquor, or a runaway in his flight. Yet there was love between the parties at last, and it was love for love, to the heart's content of both. How this came to pass will be related at the proper time and in the proper place. For here let me set before the judicious Reader certain pertinent remarks by the pious and well known author of a popular treatise upon the Right Use of Reason,—a treatise which has been much read to little purpose. That author observes that “those writers and speakers, whose chief business is to amuse or delight, to allure, terrify or persuade mankind, do not confine themselves to any natural order, but in a cryptical or hidden method, adapt every thing to their designed ends. Sometimes they omit those things which might injure their design, or grow tedious to their hearers, though they seem to have a necessary relation to the point in hand: sometimes they add those things which have no great reference to the subject, but are suited to allure or refresh the mind and the ear. They dilate sometimes, and flourish long upon little incidents; and they skip over, and but lightly touch the drier part of the theme.—They omit things essential which are not beautiful; they insert little needless circumstances and beautiful digressions; they invert times and actions, in order to place every thing in the most affecting light;—they place the first things last, and the last things first with wonderous art; and yet so manage it as to conceal their artifice, and lead the senses and passions of their hearers into a pleasing and powerful captivity.” CHAPTER LXXXIII. THE AUTHOR REQUESTS THE READER NOT TO BE IMPATIENT. SHEWS FROM LORD SHAFTESBURY AT WHAT RATE A JUDICIOUS WRITER OUGHT TO PROCEED. DISCLAIMS PROLIXITY FOR HIMSELF, AND GIVES EXAMPLES OF IT IN A GERMAN PROFESSOR, A JEWISH RABBI, AND TWO COUNSELLORS, ENGLISH AND AMERICAN. _Pand._ He that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding. _Troilus._ Have I not tarried? _Pand._ Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. _Troilus._ Have I not tarried? _Pand._ Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. _Troilus._ Still have I tarried.