There entered into the Doctor's presence the most melancholy half-starved spectacle of humanity that he had ever seen; almost a walking skeleton,—tall, thin, gaunt, and cadaverous,—melancholy in the extreme, eyes sunken, lips drawn down so as almost to form a semi-circular mouth; long, lank, thin light hair; a rough frill of the most delicate white round his neck. His coat was buttoned round a waist as thin as any woman's could be, and his eyes were sharp, black, piercing, and poetical. "Pray, Sir Nicholas, be seated," said the good Doctor, "you seem fatigued."

"I am so indeed! I have travelled all night, with post horses, all the way from Salisbury, on purpose to consult you, Doctor; for I have heard that you are famous in the cure of all nervous debility, and I verily believe every nerve in my frame is shattered. How I have sustained the journey and its fatigue I can scarcely tell; but I suppose it was the hope of living for another, that gave me support."

Here the gentleman gave so long and so deep a drawn sigh, that it convinced the Doctor at once, that this was one of those cases of hopeless malady, disappointed love; which nothing but one thing could either kill or cure, namely matrimony. The Doctor very seldom ventured to recommend this universal specific for one thing or the other. It was not exactly in his line.

"Let me feel your pulse." This he did; he also sounded his lungs, looked into his eyes, and listened to the pulsation of his heart.

"Ah!" he said, "there is a little irregularity there. All is not exactly right in the region of the heart. It appears to me to be slightly disorganized."

"Not slightly, I assure you, Doctor; not slightly; I am afraid, severely!" And this was spoken so very solemnly, that the Doctor, though he felt disposed to smile, could not find it in his heart to treat the case slightingly.

"Have you had any advice at Salisbury? Have you been under any medical treatment?"

"O yes; yes, sir; Doctor Crosse has attended me for the last twelve months. He treats my case as one of decline, or consumption. I was once as robust as you are, Doctor; but I have wasted away to a shadow within the space of one year."

"Pray, sir, are you a married man?"

"No-o-o! No-o-o! Not exactly that, but I am an engaged man. They do tell me, I must be in better health before I marry; and that makes me very, very anxious to get better. They will scarcely allow the slightest breath of wind to blow upon me; no air, no exercise, no window down, no curtain undrawn, one even temperature,—and nothing must disturb me. Oh! Doctor, I fear I never shall marry. My intended is very careful over me. She has come up, all the way to town with me, as my nurse; and is now in my carriage at your door."

"Dear me, sir! why did you not tell me this before? It is actually necessary that I should see your good nurse, and have a few minutes' conversation with her. I am so glad you have brought her; it gives me the greatest hope that I may be able to effect a cure."

The Doctor rang the bell. "Samuel, request the lady in the carriage to step into the house. Show her into the drawing-room. With your permission, Sir Nicholas, I will speak to her myself concerning your treatment?"

The Doctor was expecting to see an elegant, lady-like woman, something slender, and answering to the attenuated gentility of the being in whom "hope deferred, evidently made the heart sick."

What was his astonishment when he beheld a blooming, buxom, short, fat, merry-looking lass! with a face that sorrow seemed never to have smitten. She wore a large hat and feathers; such a profusion of rich brown hair, sweeping down her back, as would have made the Lord Chancellor the finest wig in the land.

It is needless to relate the conversation. The Doctor soon found that she was desirous of becoming Lady Nicholas Skinner, and very soon settled the matter with great adroitness.

"He must ride on horseback! You must make him do so. There is nothing the matter with him, but over anxiety to be better; and it is all in your hands. You, and you only, have the power of making him better."

"But about the wind?—state of the weather? what is your advice? east, west, north, or south,—which is best?"

"No matter; the more wind the better gallop! Show him the way over Salisbury Plains; and make him follow you. Take no notice whatever of his feelings; but tell him, if he feels for you, he must keep pace with you. He will soon be better!"

"But, about horses? There are no good riding horses in Salisbury."

"We will arrange that for you. Sir Nicholas may leave that to me. Only assure him that he must persevere;—and let me know how he is, this day month."

At the end of the month, the Doctor received the following epistles in one cover; evidently meant to be a mutual acknowledgment.

"Dear Doctor Gambado,—Love and wind have triumphed. The horses suited admirably; though I fear the one Sir Nicholas rides is rather short-winded, as he comes to a stand still before we have had half a gallop. Still, I thank you, he is greatly improved. It was hard work, and seemed very cruel at first, but he himself will tell you the news.