parations that
came from the shop were harmful,--that teeth decayed that had been made
pearly white by the use of the young chemist's dentifrice,--that cheeks
were freckled that had been changed to damask roses by his
cosmetics,--that hair turned gray or fell off that had become black,
glossy, and luxuriant from the application of his mixtures,--that breath
which his drugs had sweetened had now a sulphurous smell. Moreover, all
the money heretofore amassed by the sale of them had been exhausted by
Edward Dolliver in his lavish expenditure for the processes of his
study; and nothing was left for Pansie, except a few valueless and
unsalable bottles of medicine, and one or two others, perhaps more
recondite than their inventor had seen fit to offer to the public.
Little Pansie's mother lived but a short time after the shock of the
terrible catastrophe; and, as we began our story with saying, she was
left with no better guardianship or support than might be found in the
efforts of a long superannuated man.

Nothing short of the simplicity, integrity, and piety of Grandsir
Dolliver's character, known and acknowledged as far back as the oldest
inhabitants remembered anything, and inevitably discoverable by the
dullest and most prejudiced observers, in all its natural
manifestations, could have protected him in still creeping about the
streets. So far as he was personally concerned, however, all bitterness
and suspicion had speedily passed away; and there remained still the
careless and neglectful good-will, and the prescriptive reverence, not
altogether reverential, which the world heedlessly awards to the
unfortunate individual who outlives his generation.

And now that we have shown the reader sufficiently, or at least to the
best of our knowledge, and perhaps at tedious length, what was the
present position of Grandsir Dolliver, we may let our story pass onward,
though at such a pace as suits the feeble gait of an old man.

The peculiarly brisk sensation of this morning, to which we have more
than once alluded, enabled the Doctor to toil pretty vigorously at his
medicinal herbs,--his catnip, his vervain, and the like; but he did not
turn his attention to the row of mystic plants, with which so much of
trouble and sorrow either was, or appeared to be, connected. In truth,
his old soul was sick of them, and their very fragrance, which the warm
sunshine made strongly perceptible, was odious to his nostrils. But the
spicy,