lost his passage if you had not administered the horse-whipping-it was some act of skulking, you may depend upon it."

Well," said Peregrine, “if I acknowledge the loss of the passage, I surely have had nothing to do with the fever."

"Not, perhaps, with the immediate cause of it,” returned Julian; "but a great deal, I am afraid, with keeping it on him. He might have had the fever, if you had not thrashed him, though you may depend upon it, that the irritation, produced by the annoyances he has been subjected to of late, has been a predisposing cause of the fever; but it is evident, beyond all shadow of doubt, that the present irritability under which he is labouring, and which prevents the least diminution of the alarming symptoms of the disease, is most certainly the effect of that horse-whipping. I know you too well, my good fellow, to think that you will misinterpret what I say. I do not wish to make you uneasy, but I have seen Drawlincourt, and heard what he raves about these ravings do not permit me to hesitate for a moment about the advice it becomes me to offer you. You have placed your honour, as you say, in my keeping, and depend upon it I will take good care of it. But you must make Drawlincourt an apology now, and when he is well again, you may do what you like."

"Is it necessary?" asked Peregrine Pultuney.

VOL. II.

"I think it is,"-returned Julian Jenks," I think, at least, that an apology from you, at this crisis, will do him more good than all the calomel and tartar-emetic in the dawah-khana (medicine-chest). It will remove the grand cause of his present irritability, and if I am not much mistaken, restore him to comparative composure. This being done, there will be some chance for him; his fever may, perhaps, then be reduced."

"Who attends him?" asked Peregrine Pultu

ney.

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Why," returned Julian, "the doctor of the Wellesley; and if he is not much better than the doctor of the Hastings, I do not think Drawlincourt is in very good hands; but we can easily settle that matter your apology is the main thing."

"Then, Doctor Jenks," rejoined Peregrine, “you may make yourself quite sure of that. I will apologize to him, and with all my heart, if you think that it will do him any good; and what is more, and, as I think, will be more serviceable, I will ask Dr. Martingale to go and see him; and all that human skill and human care can do, will, I am sure, be done. We must wait, however, for a good opportunity to tender this said apology—it will be no use to do it whilst he is delirious, for he will not understand what I say, and my presence will do nothing but aggravate him. I only hope that he will take it, as it is meant; and not when he recovers

from his illness, boast that he extorted an apo logy from me, and declare that I made it under the influence of fear. But I do not think that he will do this. I do not think that he can-do you?"

"I think that he both can and will," replied Julian; "but we need not mind about that, for if he gives us any trouble afterwards, we can but horsewhip him again. I do not now bid you apologize to Drawlincourt, but to the sick man in No. 27, or rather not the man but his fever. When the fever is gone, if he conducts himself properly, we will let him escape altogether; but, if not, it is my turn next, and I will polish him off for his ingratitude."

Comforting himself and his friend with these and similar assurances of the extreme facility of squaring accounts, at some future day, to their own entire satisfaction, Julian Jenks finished the bottle of beer that was before him, and then proposed to go up stairs again to Drawlincourt's room, to ascertain, as he said, how the land was lying.

This he did; and two or three minutes afterwards he returned to tell Peregrine, that the long cornet was still awake, and considerably more composed, and, to all appearance, more easy than he had been;" I have spoken to him," continued Julian, "and he is more rational. At first he seemed inclined to burst out into his old ravings; but I re

monstrated with him, told him that you were very sorry he was ill, ready to beg his pardon, and all that sort of thing. In short, I thoroughly humbugged him, and now, I think, we may go up together."

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Very good," said Peregrine, emptying his tumbler; and, passing his arm through Julian's, he left the coffee-room with his friend.

CHAPTER XVI.

In which the Sick Lion shows more Valour than the Sound One.

We hope that none of our readers will object to our work, as being too full of fevers and sick-rooms; for life in India is really nothing but a long fever, and India itself but a large sick-room. How can any picture of Indian life be correct, if the grim fever-king is not painted in the foreground?

We have already described a sick-chamber in India; but, as faithful historians, it becomes us to assert that Cornet Drawlincourt was somewhat more comfortably located than the unfortunate Ensign Appleby had been; for the apartment, which Peregrine Pultuney and Julian Jenks now found themselves entering, though not very tidy, was, at all events clean; and there was nothing disgusting in its aspect. It was a tolerably commodious chamber, on the third floor, and sufficiently cool and airy; but it had that peculiarly confused look, which is best described by the very un-Johnsonian, but expressive adjective, higgledy-piggledy, and