as to how long he had been in this state. They
told me more than a year. I inquired if any member of their family had
ever died of consumption. They replied that not one, either on the
father's side or the mother's, bore the slightest trace of that malady,
and that for many generations back the members of both families had
lived to a good old age. Neither of the parents could give the slightest
account of how the disease originated.

Their son had been sent to the university two or three years before,
where he had studied hard, but without having made up his mind to follow
any particular profession. They suggested that possibly over-study had
sewn the seeds of the disease. He was not, as they assured me, given to
dissipation.

Having ascertained these particulars, I expressed a desire to see the
patient, and was shewn into the sick-room. The parents told me to
prepare for a cool reception, as their son was not over partial to
visitors, and especially doctors. They then retired, leaving me alone
with the patient, as I had previously requested them; for it has always
been my policy to work myself as much as possible into the confidence of
my patients, in order to obtain more minute particulars of their case
which otherwise they might be reserved upon. For this a _tete-a-tete_ is
absolutely necessary, as there are patients who are reserved even in
the presence of their nearest relatives and friends.

The young man, as I entered, was seated in bed, propped up by cushions.
He was in a thoughtful attitude, and for some moments seemed unconscious
of my presence. At length, hearing my footsteps, he started, glared
wildly at me, and turned his face to the wall.

"Come," I said, soothingly, "don't be frightened; I am only the new
doctor. I have come to see if I can't make something out of your case.
Come, turn round. I daresay we shall be better friends before long. What
is this?" I asked, as I laid my hand upon a volume hidden under the
clothes, and examined it. "Ah, Shakespeare!"

"Don't touch it," cried the young man, starting up with sudden energy.
"I never allow my Shakespeare to be polluted by strange hands."

I was rather startled at this sudden burst of irritability from my new
patient, especially in the exhausted state in which I found him, and not
a little amused at the oddity of his caprice.

"You are a great admirer of Shakespeare?" I observed, after a pause.

He did not deign a reply, but fell back languidly