herbalist's shop which has just been described, on a
certain Saturday evening in early December.
It was a wet, sloppy evening, when all the lamps
in all the shops and at all the stalls, besides the
street-lamps themselves, were reflected in the
pavement and the puddles, giving a double
brilliancy to the scene. Evening, and specially
Saturday evening, was a busy time in the
herbalist's shop, and both Cornelius himself and his
assistant—a youth of eighteen whom our friend
would insist on calling "boy"—were kept
actively at work till a late hour in the evening.
On Saturday evenings such streets as that in
which Vampi resided are so full of booths where
not only the necessaries, but the luxuries of poor
life are retailed, that they look almost as if a
fair were being held in them, and the poor are
lured on to commit wild excesses in the excitement
of the moment, indulging in sheep's trotters
for supper, even with the prospect before
them of a roast joint from the "bakeus" next day.
And on this particular night, too, the poor man
has time to think of his ailments. This is the
night when the fact that he is "bad in his
inside" may be confronted, and it is now that the
rheumatic limb may get a chance of being duly
embrocated.

Our herbalist's shop was pretty well filled.
Here was a gardener wanting to buy seeds, a
boy with a swelled face looking rueful. By the
counter stood a grave worn-looking woman with
an empty bottle in her hand; another, with a
sick child in her arms, was exhibiting the little
thing's wasted leg to the learned astrologer.

"She don't seem to get a bit stronger," the
poor woman said.

"No, poor little morsel," replied our
philosopher, sympathetically, "nor ever will, while
you bring her out on such a night as this. Why,
it's death to her, my good woman. Take her
home, take her home, as fast as you can go, and
get her warm, and give her a cup of warm broth,
if you can manage it. Ah! you can't?"

The poor woman shook her head sorrowfully.
"No, Mr. Vampi; not to-night, I'm afraid."

"Ah, then, give her a little gruel; here's a
packet of grits; you can pay for it next week,
you know. And here, take these herbs"—the
astrologer had been making up a collection all
this time—"and let them boil gently for a couple
of hours in a quart of water, and then pour it
off, and give her two table-spoonfuls three times
a day, and be sure you keep her in-doors and
warm, and don't bring her next time you come.
Now, ma'am, what's for you?"

This was addressed to a very little girl, who,
speaking in a very loud voice, and producing a
very large empty bottle, imperatively demanded:

"Ha'p'orth of klorrid of lime, please; and
I've been to Mr. Squills's, and he said he didn't
make ha'p'orths, so I thought I'd come here."

"Well, I don't know, I'm sure, but what he
was right," replied Cornelius, good humouredly;
"a ha'p'orth will be uncommonly little, you
know, miss."

The young lady was nothing abashed. "Well,
make as large a ha'p'orth as you can," she
said, "for mother says the drains is awful, and
she feels quite sick."

And having received what she wanted, and
paid for it on the spot, the little woman departed
in triumph, hugging her bottle.

A young girl, who might have been a milliner's
apprentice, or perhaps the daughter of a small
tradesman, was waiting her turn. Mr. Vampi
was occupied with the gardener for the
moment.

"Ah, you'll find those bulbs turn out
magnificent, I know. I wish I could find time to
go out to your place and see them when they're
in flower; yes, and here's the mignonette-seed;
and here, boy," he continued, addressing the
assistant, "get down some of those Dutch bulbs,
and show them to Mr. Green, while I attend to
this young lady. Ah, my good girl, I haven't
had time yet to finish your horoscope, but I've
begun it."

"And how do you think it looks, Mr.
Vampi?"

"Well, you know, it seems a pretty good
average one. There's a difficult bit or two to
get over. Mercury's sadly against you, but I'm
just seeing my way to an intervention on the
part of Jupiter, who's very friendly, and as long
as there's no coalition with Taurus, you may do
very well yet; but you mustn't be in a hurry,
you know; I always like to do these things
thoroughly, and I'm a great deal occupied just
now, besides being in difficulties myself with the
Ursa Major, who's got a regular spite against
me; so you see you must be patient, and you
mustn't hurry me."

"And when may I come again, Mr. Vampi?"

"Oh, in about a week, and perhaps then it
may be ready; and, in the mean time, I'd caution
you against having anything to say to anybody
with red or even reddish hair, for Mars is looking
uncommonly antagonistic, I can tell you."

The young lady gave a little start at this last
suggestion, and went on her way sorrowfully.
However, she consoled herself as she crossed
the threshold. "James is fair," she said, in a
low key, "but his 'air is not red, it's hauburn."

More and more customers came pouring in,
and our friend was applied to for advice as to
the treatment of "my good man's bad leg," or
"Charley's measles," or "Sarah Jane's" rash,
or "Betsy Slovinger's" hair that was falling
off, and all sorts of other tragedies and dilemmas.
Out of all these our learned friend came
triumphantly, but it was always when consulted
upon matters of a less earthly nature that he
seemed the most oracular, and the most in his
element. Nothing could exceed the certainty
of conviction which characterised his expressions
of opinion, or the zest with which he
entered into the subject. Nor were his
disciples few in number, or always of the weaker
sex, though it must be owned that these
preponderated, and that such lords of the creation
as were desirous of prying into hidden matters
were generally afraid of the shop, and apt to
seek out secret interviews with the astrologer
in his observatory up-stairs.