opher. He studied the idiosyncrasy
of his patients, and was aware of the fine and secret connection between
medicine and morals. One morning Dr. de Schulembourg was summoned to
Walstein. The physician looked forward to the interview with his patient
with some degree of interest. He had often heard of Walstein, but had
never yet met that gentleman, who had only recently returned from his
travels, and who had been absent from his country for several years.

When Dr. de Schulembourg arrived at the house of Walstein, he was
admitted into a circular hall containing the busts of the Caesars, and
ascending a double staircase of noble proportion, was ushered into a
magnificent gallery. Copies in marble of the most celebrated ancient
statues were ranged on each side of this gallery. Above them were
suspended many beautiful Italian and Spanish pictures, and between them
were dwarf bookcases full of tall volumes in sumptuous bindings, and
crowned with Etruscan vases and rare bronzes. Schulembourg, who was a
man of taste, looked around him with great satisfaction. And while he
was gazing on a group of diaphanous cherubim, by Murillo, an artist of
whom he had heard much and knew little, his arm was gently touched, and
turning round, Schulembourg beheld his patient, a man past the prime of
youth, but of very distinguished appearance, and with a very frank and
graceful manner. 'I hope you will pardon me, my dear sir, for permitting
you to be a moment alone,' said Walstein, with an ingratiating smile.

'Solitude, in such a scene, is not very wearisome,' replied the
physician. 'There are great changes in-this mansion since the time of
your father, Mr. Walstein.'

''Tis an attempt to achieve that which we are all sighing for,' replied
Walstein, 'the Ideal. But for myself, although I assure you not a
_pococurante_, I cannot help thinking there is no slight dash of the
commonplace.'

'Which is a necessary ingredient of all that is excellent,' replied
Schulembourg.

Walstein shrugged his shoulders, and then invited the physician to be
seated. 'I wish to consult you, Dr. Schulembourg,' he observed,
somewhat abruptly. 'My metaphysical opinions induce me to believe that
a physician is the only philosopher. I am perplexed by my own case. I
am in excellent health, my appetite is good, my digestion perfect. My
temperament I have ever considered to be of a very sanguine character.
I have nothing upon my mind. I am in very easy circumstances.