himself Dr, G***, Perpetual President Extraordinary of the Royal and National Eye Institution. As nobody had ever heard of this most excellent, majestic, and extensive Eye Institution, it was natural that its perpetual President Extraordinary should some time or other be questioned on the subject. "Pray, Doctor, where in the world is this extraordinary Eye Institution ?" Drawing himself up, he replied, "I am the Institution!"

A Fashionable Physician seldom loses the sense of his own dignity, through any inadvertent act of private good feeling. He would see any friend die before him rather than condescend to bleed him with his own hands-for that is expressly the business of a mere surgeon— and these kinds of things are never to be thought of for a moment by a "pure physician !"

A consultation of Fashionable Physicians recently took place on the case of an elderly and very amiable lady of rank, who was undoubtedly dying. Sir Courtney Palmoile had attended her from the commencement; and when he saw that nothing more could be done, he very properly called in the assistance of the celebrated Dr. Aymen Toom, L.S.D., F.E.E.; and Sir William Sganarelle, a descendant from the famous French physician of that name, who flourished in the time of the historian Moliere. They were shown into a large room at the end of a suite; and, while passing through, a little nephew of the dying lady, spurred by a sudden curiosity to overhear the wonderful secrets and discourse of these profound magicians, slipped in at a private door, and squeezed himself behind a tall bookcase that stood at the further end. The three professors of elegant medicine entered-carefully closed the door-divested themselves of their hats and great coats, and drawing close to the fire a small refreshment table, on which some wine, cake, and hot-house grapes were placed, began to rub and toast their knees, and take something to sustain nature and strengthen them for the consultation.

"When we look at the case in all its bearings," said Sir William Sganarelle, drawing a newspaper, from his pocket, "and analyse the various thoughts and feelings called into complex activity upon the occasion, how plain it was to foresee that the mutual exactions superinduced thereby, would infallibly occasion the separation of Madame Grisi from her husband. This is a very excellent plumcake, isn't it?"

"Excellent," said Sir Courtney Palmoile: "but it's my opinion, with great deference to you, Sir William, that this separation is likely to be feigned, from policy. They both see that her reputation here is at stake. She dare not seem to sanction her husband's conduct. To think of the impertinence of a singing woman's husband actually calling out a member of the Royal College of I mean of

the British Aristocracy, merely on account of a sort of overture of passing gallantry, to which her position in this country naturally subjected her! If such audacious resentments are to be tolerated for a moment, what in the world will become of the respect due to hereditary legislation? Shocking!"

"I wish," said Dr. Aymen Toom, with a profound look-" I wish, for the sake of example and a great moral lesson, that they had shot each other.'

"And that they should have lingered for a period of fifty fees," interposed Sir Courtney, smiling with diplomatic humour. Whereat the other two rubbed their knees, and manifested sensations of additional comfort and self-complacency.

They now talked of Lord Durham; and blamed him for every thing he had offered to do; for everything he had done; for all his past political life; and for everything he might do in future. They agreed that the Radicals were a precious set-that the Whigs were a precious set-and then they laughed at the Tories. They entered seriously into the consequences of Biddle's prospective banking system in America-into the merits of the King of Oude's sauce-of L. E. Ude's ditto-and of Sir George Smart's last composition. They now insinuated a tacit understanding of drinking the health of the President of the College of Physicians-they applauded the Duke of Wellington-they touched upon "The Quarterly Review"-they criticised the Queen's horsemanship-and passed some capital jokes upon Louis Philippe's sister.

While they were all laughing in full glee at Sir Courtney's finishing touch of rather high-flavoured wit, the tall bookcase was seen to rock, and then lean forward! The next instant, down came the whole concern flat on the floor; and amidst the chaos of giltedged volumes and rising dust stood the crinched-up figure of the little imp of a nephew, with stiff-spread fingers, open mouth, and round, staring eyes!

Before they could recover the shock, or at all understand the dreadful scene, the door opened, and a footman entered with the 'patient's compliments, informing them, that "in consequence of the great relief she had experienced by a touch of the lancet from a common doctor, a brother of her nephew's private tutor, who had accidentally called, she was now seated in her dressing-gown by the fire, taking a cup of tea." She had also desired the servant to say, that although this obscure doctor had only been educated in the Edinburgh and London universities, he was evidently a most skilful and honourable practitioner, and she had, therefore, great pleasure in recommending him to their kind patronage and assistance."

THE SPOILT CHILD.

BY R. H. H.

By the side of a deep-bosomed, smouldering Christmas fire, in the oak-panelled drawing-room of an old manor-house in Herefordshire, sat two mild-featured grandmammas, awaiting, with placid dignity, the advent of the dinner hour. Their figures rose with equal state from their massy brocaded gowns, though their style and effect were different. One grandmamma was exceeding thin; the other grandmamma excelled in fat. Kind hearts looked out from both their faces; nor would this have been quite possible to any hearts less kind, for each face was surrounded and surmounted with an embattled cap, thick set with richly notched, though faded, ribbons, and five rows deep in starched point lace; so that each respected head bore a close resemblance to a bouquet of thistles exulting in a strong white frost.

They were beguiling the time with grave, yet pleasing conversation, till "papa" and "mamma" were dressed, and the rest of the family, with sundry guests, arrived; and the subject they discussed was the never-enough-to-be-repeated one, of how many perfections were displayed in the pretty person of their dear grandchild, and how many more were to be expected, from the constant care, attention, devotion, and universal` admiration and flattery, bestowed upon the beauty and "bringing up" of little Darling Petkin.

A loud scream from the excellent lungs (lungs not to be equalled, of their size, in power of announcement) of the dear child upstairs, was quickly followed by the descent of the same in the arms of his maid, to be carried to the front door to meet a carriageful of aunts, another full of friends of the family, and sundry uncles on horseback, whose approach he had seen from the nursery window. In less than a couple of minutes, the whole concourse came dancing and crowing into the drawing-room, with Darling Petkin in the centre, mounted upon the left shoulder of Uncle Benjamin, where he sat with a drum slung round his neck, which he furiously beat with both sticks, screaming in vain-glorious delight, and never caring to perceive that each blow of the drumstick in his right hand "took" his uncle's