In this mood, then, and at the time already alluded to, was the doctor employed, behind his counter, in measuring off some liquid in a graduated glass, which he held between him and the light, and on which he was looking very intently, as the liquid was precious, the quantity wanted small, and the glass but faintly marked, when a little boy entered the shop, and inquired if Dr. Dobbie was within. "Yes. What do you want?" replied the doctor gruffly, and without taking his eye off the graduated glass. "Here's a line for ye, sir," said the boy, laying a card on the counter. "Who's it from?" roared the doctor. "Frae Mr. Walkinshaw, sir," replied the boy, meekly; "and he would like to ken whether ye can come or no." "Come; oh, surely. Let me see," said the doctor. "Come; ay, certainly," he added, his tone suddenly dropping down to the mild and affable, and speaking from an intuitive knowledge of the tenor of the card. "Surely; let me see." And the doctor opened the note and read, his eyes gloating, and his countenance dissolving into smiles, as he did so:-- "DEAR DOCTOR,--A few friends at half-past eight. Just a haddock and a jug of toddy. Be as pointed as you can. Won't be kept _very_ late. Dear Doctor, yours truly, "R. WALKINSHAW." "My compliments to Mr. Walkinshaw," said the doctor, with a bland smile, and folding up the card with a sort of affectionate air as he spoke, "and tell him I will be pointed. Stop, boy," he added, on the latter's being about to depart with his message; "stop," he said, running towards his till, and thence abstracting threepence, which he put into the boy's hand, with a--"There, my boy, take that to buy marbles." The doctor always rewarded such messengers; but he did so systematically, and by a rule of his own. For an invitation to breakfast he gave a penny, thus estimating that meal at all but the lowest possible rate; for an invitation to dinner he gave sixpence; for one to supper, threepence, as exemplified in the instance above. In possession of Mr. Walkinshaw's invitation, the doctor continued in excellent spirits throughout the remainder of the day. THE GUZZLE. At the height of three stories, in a respectable-looking tenement in a certain quarter of a certain city which shall be nameless, there resided a decent widow woman of the name of Paton, who kept lodgers. At the particular time, and on the particular occasion at and on which we introduce the reader to Mrs. Paton's lodging-house, there was a certain parlour in the said house in a state of unusual tidiness. Not to say that this parlour was not always in good order: it was; but in the present instance, it displayed an extra degree both of _redding_-up and of comfort.