says that he has often seen a turquoise
become darker and paler, in sympathy with
the state of health of the person wearing
it. Here we have direct testimony again, to
a delusion, and yet the witness is a highly
educated man. There is hardly any gem that
does not lose lustre (Dr. Lemne likewise
knows) if it be worn by an intemperate man.
So the faces of some women dim their
mirrors. The cold moist origin of pearls
was held to justify a considerable use of
them in medicine. The toad draws to itself
all poisons that it touches, and like property
has the toad-stone—a stone with markings
which suggest the image of a toad. The
doctor names a family possessing such a
stone, which he has often found to remove
swellings caused by stings or venomous
bites. One has only to rub it over the
afflicted part.

The humours, Dr. Lemne says, are
accountable for the fact that every one of
us is in special peril at the age of seven,
and afterwards at every age which is a
multiple of seven, up to the most perilous
climacteric: which is the age of nine times
seven, or sixty-three. In the course of
nature it takes seven years to produce a
dangerous accumulation of the humours;
but if, by getting bled every year in
spring and autumn, one were to thin the
humours, and delay the time of accumulation
to some date which is not a multiple
of seven in the years of life, danger would
then be greatly lessened.

Shaving away the beard to the skin
weakens character by exposure of so much
of the surface of the head to cold. By
cooling and enfeebling the lively humours
there, it takes from the heart a great part
of the stimulus which gives it courage at the
approach of danger. Thus nations degenerate
when their citizens and soldiers go
with shaven chins. Neither is it good,
says the learned doctor of three centuries
ago, that we should exhaust our heads
by washing them. What suited men's
humours was a hearty rub at the face with a
rough dry towel and a soaking of the beard
in cleansing liquid. That makes the eyes
clear, and the mind brisk. What this old
doctor would have said of a daily tubbing
and scrubbing is not known, because nobody
was bold enough to imagine such a rash and
wholesale interference with the coolings,
stoppings, runnings, balancings, collisions,
boilings, and smokings, of his four humours.
He writes as if it were not safe for any one
in delicate health to wash his feet without
summoning a consultation of physicians.
"We must observe," he says, "when it is
expedient to wash the feet, or desist from
the business: in which the unskilled
multitude sins at its own great peril, when
with no choice or discrimination it busies
itself about this, and will, even when a
disease is coming on, insist on having the
feet washed." So there was good old
philosophy to dignify the good old dirt of
the good old times.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.

A YACHTING STORY.

CHAPTER XIV. WAVERING.

On the next morning the town had really
something to talk about. The encounter
between the two gentlemen seemed to go
round to every house like the post, and
before twelve o'clock was known to every one
in the place. Wildest speculation was
afloat as to what was to—what must in
decency—happen next. Conway was not
at all displeased at an adventure which had
turned out so fortunately, and made him
into a temporary hero, though he was
uncertain as to what would be the next step.
Above all, his eyes wandered back to that
delightful night to those two unique girls
—each of whom had her charm, and each
of whom seemed to draw him away with a
special attraction of her own. He would
have liked this present dreamy indecision to
endure for weeks, and even months.

It was now about one o'clock. He
saw a boat coming out towards his yacht,
and his mate came to tell him that it was
"the chap has had attacked his honour
last night." Seeming to wait instructions
as to how they were to deal with the
aggressor, Conway restrained them
pettishly, for he foresaw that there was to be
an attempt " to get up the burlesque of a
duel," &c. Dudley came on board, asked
him to go down to the cabin, and there
closing the door, put out his hand with a
sort of gloomy, enforced air, which did not
escape the other. " I am sorry for last
night," he said, "I should not have
interfered with you. It was wrong to you and
to her."

Conway received the amende cordially.
"I am glad you have done this," he said.
"It would not do either to have her name
mixed up in a quarrel."

"That is just the reason," said the other.
"I tell you so frankly. They had heard of it
by this morning, and sent for me. You
will guess the rest. You may congratulate
yourself on such interest. Not a hair of