lady free from personal vanity it is my Julia.
Why, your thoughts run by nature away from
yourself; you were born for others."

Her daughter kissed her gratefully, and smiled:
but, after a pause, said, sorrowfully, "Ah, that
was the old Julia, as seen with your dear eyes.
I have almost forgotten her. The new one is
what I tell you, dear mamma, and that" (with
sudden fervour) " is a dreamy, wandering, vain,
egotistical, hysterical, abominable girl."

"Let me kiss this monster that I have brought
into the world," said Mrs. Dodd. " And now let
me think." She rested her eyes calm and
penetrating upon her daughter; and at this mere
look, but a very searching one, the colour
mounted and mounted in Julia's cheek strangely.

"After all," said Mrs. Dodd, thoughtfully,
"yours is a critical age; perhaps my child is
turning to a woman; my rosebud to a rose."
And she sighed. Mothers will sigh at things
none other ever sighed at.

"To a weed, I fear," replied Julia. " What
will you say when I own I felt no real joy at
Edward's return this time? And yesterday I
cried, 'Do get away, and don't pester me!'"

"To your brother? Oh!"

"Oh no, mamma, that was to poor Spot. He
jumped on me in a reverie, all affection, poor
thing."

"Well, for your comfort, dogs do not
appreciate the niceties of our language."

"I am afraid they do; when we kick them."

Mrs. Dodd smiled at the admission implied
here, and the deep penitence it was uttered with.
But Julia remonstrated, " Oh no! no! don't
laugh at me, but help me with your advice: you
are so wise and so experienced: you must have
been a girl before you were an angel. You
must know what is the matter with me. O, do
pray cure me; or else kill me, for I cannot go
on like this, all my affections deadened, and my
peace disturbed."

And now the mother looked serious and
thoughtful enough; and the daughter watched
her furtively; " Julia," said Mrs. Dodd, very
gravely, " if it was not my child, reared under
my eye, and never separated from me a single
day, I should say, this young lady is either
afflicted with some complaint, and it affects her
nerves, and spirits; or else she has — she is — what
inexperienced young people call ' in love.' You
need not look so frightened, child; nobody in
their senses suspects you of imprudence or
indelicacy; and therefore I feel quite sure that
your constitution is at a crisis, or your health
has suffered some shock; pray Heaven it may
not be a serious one. You will have the best
advice, and without delay, I promise you."

During the pronunciation of this judgment
Julia's countenance was really a sight. Always
transparent, it was now nearly prismatic, so
swiftly did various emotions chase one another
over those vivid features, emotions that seemed
strangely disproportioned to the occasion; for
among them were hope, and fear, and shame.

But when Mrs. Dodd arrived at her prosaic
conclusion, a kaleidoscope seemed suddenly to
shut, so abruptly did the young face lose its
mobility and life; and its owner said, sadly and
almost doggedly, " My only hope was in you and
your wisdom, not in nasty doctors."

This expression, so flattering, at first sight, to
a great profession, was but a feminine ellipse;
she meant " doctors whose prescriptions are
nasty." However, the learned reader has
already seen she was not behind her sex in feats
of grammar.

That very evening, Mrs. Dodd sent a servant
into the town with a note like a cocked-hat, and
next morning Mr. Coleman the apothecary called.
Mrs. Dodd introduced the patient, and as soon
as he had examined her pulse and tongue, gave
her a signal to retire, and detailed her symptoms:
loss of sleep, unevenness of spirits, listlessness,
hysteria. Mr. Coleman listened reverentially;
then gave his opinion: that there was no sign of
consumption, nor indeed of any organic disorder;
but considerable functional derangement, which
it would be prudent to arrest. He bowed out
profoundly, and in one hour a buttoned boy
called and delivered a smart salute; a box of
twenty-eight pills; and a bottle containing six
draughts: the quantity of each was determined
by horizontal glass lines raised on the phial at
equal distances: the pills contained aloes,
colocynth, soap, and another ingredient I have
unfortunately forgotten: the draught, steel,
columba root, camphor, and cardamoms. Two
pills for every night, a draught three times a
day.

"I do not quite understand this, Julia," said
Mrs. Dodd; " here are pills for a fortnight, but
the bottle will last only two days."

The mystery was cleared by the pretty page
arriving every other day with a fresh phial, and
a military flourish of hand to cap.

After the third bottle (as topers say), Mrs.
Dodd felt uneasy. All this saluting, and firing
of phials, at measured intervals, smacked of
routine and nonchalance too much to satisfy
her tender anxiety; and some instinct whispered
that an airy creature, threatened with a mysterious
malady, would not lower herself to be cured
by machinery.

So she sent for Mr. Osmond, a consulting
surgeon, who bore a high reputation in Barkington.
He came; and proved too plump for that
complete elegance she would have desired in a
medical attendant; but had a soft hand, a gentle
touch, and a subdued manner. He spoke to the
patient with a kindness which won the mother
directly; had every hope of setting her right
without any violent or disagreeable remedies;
but, when she had retired, altered his tone, and
told Mrs. Dodd seriously she had done well to
send for him in time; it was a case of
"Hyperœsthesia" (Mrs. Dodd clasped her hands in
alarm), " or, as unprofessional persons would
say, 'excessive sensibility.'"

Mrs. Dodd was somewhat relieved.
Translation blunts thunderbolts. She told him she
had always feared for her child on that score.
But was sensibility curable? Could a nature
be changed?