part of our countrymen should eat diseased
meat. The practicable remedy lies in new meat
markets and in extended education in Common
Things; but it is satisfactory to learn, that
Dr. Greenhow, although favoured with many
general and positive statements by officers of
health as to the poisonous effects of unsound
meat, "found on inquiry that none of the
gentlemen were able to furnish any specific
facts on the subject." From which we may
conclude that cooking generally neutralises
the injurious effects which might be expected
from the meat of diseased animals.

Dr. Greenhow concludes his report by
giving a résumé of the result of his
investigations, which, as regards the murrain, is
entirely confirmed by Professor Simmonds's
personal investigations on the continent. As
to meat, he says that although "meat derived
from animals suffering from pulmonary murrain
and probably other diseases, is commonly
and extensively sold both in London and
elsewhere for human food, there is no
satisfactory proof that the consumption has been
productive of injurious consequences to those
who have eaten it."

Thus it would seem that, as regards London,
well-arranged dead-meat markets are of more
importance than an increased army of
inspectors, and that, as regards the country,
generally good drainage and sufficient
ventilation in our cattle byres will do more to
prevent disease than the most stringent
quarantine laws. This seems to be the
common sense of the question.

DOCTOR GARRICK.

THE Germans have, in their repository of
plays, an ingenious little piece, founded on an
imaginary incident in the career of one of the
greatest of actors—David Garrick.

The plot and story are simply these:
Shortly after Garrick's genius had astounded
the play-going world, and attracted persons
of all ranks to witness his performances, a
country baronet—a widower—came to London
with his daughter, an only child, and a
rich heiress, for the purpose of introducing
the young lady at court.

During Sir John's stay in town he
took his daughter to the theatre, where she
saw Garrick, then a young man, play the
part of Romeo; before the performance
was over, she fell in love with the actor.
On her return to the country the girl
began to pine, and eventually became ill.
A physician was called in, but to no purpose.
The young lady became worse instead of
better, and it was now feared that she was
in a rapid decline. One day, however, a
suspicion crossed the mind of the doctor,
which he communicated to Sir John. He
suspected that the girl was in love. Sir
John employed a lady friend to question
her, and endeavour to ascertain the
truth. The lady friend succeeded. The
fair Amelia confessed she was in love with
Romeo.

The baronet's horror and disgust knew no
bounds. He was, upon all occasions, violent
when angry; but upon this occasion he
stormed and raved like a madman. Sir John
raved when he contemplated the idea that
his Amelia, upon whose brow he had hoped
to see a coronet, should have fallen in
love with a poor player, on the boards
of a theatre. It would have been idle
to inform Sir John that Garrick's birth
was quite equal, if not superior, to his own;
and that he was a gentleman by education,
as well as by birth. Sir John, however, soon
became sensible that his anger, so far from
effecting a cure, only made matters worse,
and he accordingly consulted several friends
whom he considered best qualified to advise
him and guide him in his difficulty, or calamity,
as he described it. One of his shrewdest
friends, suggested that "he who had caused
the malady could alone devise a cure for it."

"How?" inquired Sir John.

"Let Garrick see her."

"See her? But what if he should take
advantage of the knowledge that she loves
him? What if he should encourage her
passion? Is she not beautiful and
accomplished? Has she not, apart from this folly,
ability and sense? Is she not rich, and a
person of rank? Would not the temptation
be too great for the actor to withstand?"

"It is a difficult position, truly," conceded
the baronet's adviser, "but you must either
do what I have recommended, or be prepared
shortly to follow your daughter's remains to
the grave."

In despair, Sir John consented. But then
came the difficulty, how and where was the
meeting to take place? This was eventually
managed by the baronet's adviser, who knew
intimately a barrister, named Bingham, who
had studied under the same professor with
Garrick, at Cambridge,* and who subsequently
lived with him in the same chambers
in Lincoln's Inn, when Garrick was studying
for the bar.
* Garrick read at Cambridge; but, query, if he
matriculated?

Garrick, at first, thought that his old
friend and fellow-student was jesting with
him, and resorted to a playful sarcasm:

"You say that it is not with me, but with
the part of Romeo that she is in love?"

"Yes."

"Then the remedy is in your hands, rather
than in mine."

"How so?"

"Come upon the boards, and play the part
yourself."

When assured, however, of the truth,
Garrick willingly undertook to cure the fair
Amelia of her fancy, and set his ingenuity
to work, in order to devise the means.

Sir John, with his lovesick daughter, came