physicians has already displayed itself, was inveighing
specially against certain specialists, whom,
in the rapidity of his lusty eloquence, he called
the Mad Ox. He favoured Julia and Edward
with a full account of the maniform enormities
he had detected them in during thirty years'
practice; and so descended to his present
grievance. A lady, an old friend of his, was
being kept in a certain asylum month after month
because she had got money and relations, and
had once been delirious. "And why was she
delirious? because she had a brain fever: she
got well in a fortnight." This lady had thrown
a letter over the wall addressed to him;
somebody had posted it: he had asked the
Commissioners to let him visit her; they had declined
for the present. "Yon Board always sides with
the strong against the weak," said he. So now
he had bribed the gardener, and made a midnight
assignation with the patient; and was going to
it with six stout fellows to carry her off by force.
"That is my recipe for alleged Insanity," said he.
"The business will be more like a mejæval
knight carrying off a namorous nun out of a
convint, than a good physician saving a pashint
from the Mad Ox. However, Mrs. Saampson's in
the secret; I daunt say sh' approves it; for she
doesn't. She says, 'Go quitely to the Board o'
Commissioners.' Sis I, 'My dear, Boards are a
sort of cattle that go too slow for Saampson,
and no match at all for the Mad Ox.'"

At this conjuncture, or soon after, Mrs. Dodd
came in with her paper in her hand, a little
flurried for once, and, after a hasty curtsey, said,

"Oh, Doctor Sampson, oh, my dears, what
wickedness there is in the world! I'm going to
Whitehall this moment; only look at what was
pinned on my parasol at Drayton House."

The writing passed from hand to hand, and
left the readers looking very gravely at one
another. Julia was quite pale and horror-stricken.
All were too deeply moved, and even shocked, to
make any common-place comment; for it looked
and read like a cry from heart to hearts.

"If you are a Christian, if
you are human, pity a sane
man here confined by fraud,
and take this to the Board of
Lunacy at Whitehall. Torn
by treachery from her I love,
my letters all intercepted, pens
and paper kept from me, I
write this with a toothpick
and my blood on a rim of
'The Times.'  Oh direct it
to some one who has suffered,
and can feel for another's
agony."

Dr. Sampson was the first to speak. "There,"
said he, under his breath: "didn't I tell you?
This man is sane. There's sanity in every line."

"Well, but," said Edward, "do you mean to
say that in the present day——"

"Mai—dearr—sirr. Mankind niver changes.
Whativer the muscles of man can do in the light,
the mind and conscience of man will consent to
do in the dark."

Julia said never a word.

Mrs. Dodd, too, was for action not for talk.
She bade them all a hasty adieu, and went on
her good work.

Ere she got to the street door, she heard a
swift rustle behind her; and it was Julia flying
down to her, all glowing and sparkling with her
old impetuosity, that had seemed dead for ever.
"No, no," she cried, panting with generous
emotion; it is to me it was sent. I am torn from
him I love, and by some treachery I dare say: and
I have suffered, oh you shall never know what I
have suffered. Give it me, oh pray, pray, pray
give it me. I'll take it to Whitehall."

AMONG THE MORMONS.

WHILE passing through the streets of St. Louis
one lovely Sunday evening in June, luxuriating
in a fragrant cigar and cool breezes rising at the
close of an intensely hot and dusty day, I stood
under the shadow of a Primitive Methodist
church, long closed and advertised for sale, but
which was now relighted and opened for public
worship. The town was quiet, people were at
church; no sound was heard save the caliope,
which, miles distant on the river, was solemnly
playing the Old Hundredth psalm. Suddenly, I
heard a great commotion in the church, much
clapping of hands, buzzing of voices, and shuffling
of feet, and, to my astonishment, a miserable
band of five instruments struck up Hail Columbia
very vigorously and discordantly, making the
whole neighbourhood resound with its abominable
music. A brief silence ensued. The band
again essayed The Star Spangled Banner and
Yankee Doodle. At the conclusion of the service
a vast crowd flocked out; some with baskets,
books, musical instruments, &c., and the greatest
good-fellowship seemed to prevail during the
ceremony of hand-shaking. "Good night, brother."
"Farewell, sister." "Good-by, elder," were
passing from mouth to mouth. "Give my love
to Brother Brigham and all the Saints." "Happy
journey." "Cheer up for the Promised Land,
sister." "We start to-morrow; the train waits
at Fort Laramie; one thousand Saints in all;
plenty of oxen, lots to eat," &c. Such were the
snatches of conversation which fell upon my ear,
as I stood gazing on the crowd of laughing and
joking worshippers who thronged forth from the
building.

What changes had that old church seen!
The last occupants had been Primitive Methodists
of the genuine ranting type. There had
been no silence nor hypocrisy among them;
they were not ashamed to confess their sins in
public, as I could testify; for I have frequently
heard Brother Smith and Sister Jones bellowing
forth their sins and failings so loudly to the public
at large, accusing themselves of all manner
of backslidings, short-comings, infidelities, and
—till then—hidden iniquity, that I thought it
would be a matter of Christian accommodation