and "dear mes," declared herself not much astonished at Peregrine's rapid return, introduced him to Dr. Fitz-simon; and when Dr. Fitz-simon held out his hand to Peregrine, and said that he was sorry to see him for the first under such unfavourable circumstances, our hero thought that he had never seen a face so full of genuine benevolence, nor a mouth that relaxed itself into a smile of such kindliness as the good doctor's. . . .

"You are feverish," said Dr. Fitz-simon, still holding Peregrine's hand, "and we must do something for you my poor fellow: just come to the light, that I may see you better: that will do; you must keep very quiet, and we shall soon see you getting rid of that yellow Arracan tinge. Lie down on that sofa; you have been over-exerting yourself. How long have you arrived?"

"Only a few hours," returned Peregrine, promptly obeying the good doctor's mandate; " by the bye, I brought you a letter from England, which I gave to my cousin to take care of. Aunt dear, will you be so good as to ask Julia for that letter?"

"I have got it," said Dr. Fitz-simon; "have had it ever since I arrived from the Cape: don't talk too much: I will call to see you again in an hour or two, and in the meantime you must keep very quiet. I will call for you when the sun goes down, and take you with me to my house."

Peregrine looked at the doctor as though he did

not understand him, and the worthy Esculapius continued, "You must come home with me to my house; one sick person is quite enough at a time for your aunt and cousin: besides, I shall be able to attend you there much better. Don't talk-you may drink as much iced water as you like—I shall call for you after sunset."

Uttering these words in a decided tone of voice, Dr. Fitz-simon took up his hat, and before Peregrine had time to thank him, he was fairly out of the room. Our hero thought of Julia, how sweet it would have been to be nursed by the dear girl; and for a few moments he felt disappointed, but when he remembered that she had already one patient to nurse, his selfish feelings forsook him, and he could but acknowledge, all things considered, that he would be better anywhere else than in the same house with his cousin.-" How kind!" he said to his aunt.

"Just like him," returned Mrs. Poggleton; "he's the dearest creature in the world-only think! he'll take you to his house and nurse you like his own child. I have known him these twen-that is, I've known him a long time-and dear me, a better and a kinder creature I never-no, I never—you must go, of course; I should like to keep you here; but my poor dear Poggleton is so ill"-and the good lady wiped her eyes-" so ill; and I must be with him so much night and day. Well, I thought it would be so-only think! I told you you'd get

the fever you ought to have been in the civil service-dear me! iced water, he says-will you call Qui hai-I forgot-no-don't-I'll do it my

self. 'Qui hai!'—my voice though is so weak :ah! here's a bearer-Burruf-ka-pauni' (cold water). I must go now and see to Poggleton: good byehow yellow you are-and where are your curls? Recollect, that dear Dr. Fitz-simon is the sweetest creature in the world: don't forget-he is so kind."

Peregrine forgot many things in the course of his after life, but he was never in danger of forgetting the kindness of Dr. Fitz-simon.

CHAPTER IV.

Which does not contain any thing particularly interesting, but is highly necessary to the Development of this History.

It is said, and with an amazing degree of truth, that there is nothing in the whole world which is got with greater difficulty, and yet parted with so easily as money. Now, if the converse of this were said of Arracan fever, there would be an equal measure of truth in the saying; for nothing is picked up so easily and yet got rid of with so much difficulty; as a proof of which we have merely to say, that Peregrine Pultuney was only a few minutes getting his fever, and yet was a great many months striving, struggling to shake it off.

Oh, it is a fearful visitation, indeed; a fearful visitation, this same Arracan fever-clinging-clinging to its unhappy victim, as the poisoned robe of the Centaur clung to the luckless giant-god. Strength is nothing; youth is nothing; skill is nothing Peregrine had all these in his favour; but slow, very slow was his return to health, for the

progress of one week was sure to be retarded by the fever of the next; and more than any lunatic that ever lived, was he affected by the changes of the moon. Constant ague-fits and most distressing attacks of sickness, are the little offsprouts of Arracan fever, which continue to harass the sufferer long after the great enemy himself has made off— leaving these behind him in addition to a painful organic affection, which often torments the poor victim for years; and sometimes, as we have heard, a heavier curse than that-a curse which the soul sickens at—a curse not to be put into words in the pages of this history.

The season was against Peregrine: he had arrived in Calcutta at the beginning of the rains and the damps of Bengal; the steaming blankets were sadly inimical to his recovery. The wonder is that he lived at all; or wonder it would have been, had he not been located where he was; but the fever-king in the end was baulked.

Peregrine, it must be acknowledged, had many advantages on his side; and he thought, as he remembered his sufferings in Arracan, that sickness at No., Chowringhee, was, after all, mere holiday work. Only they who have been at the point of death in a strange place, amongst strangers, and in a wretched house, cut off from the commonest comforts of life, which are the necessaries indeed of the sick chamber, can know how to enjoy sickness, in a habitable place, and in the very midst of one's