the truth, the justices could not at once
remedy their discomforts, whereas the keepers, the
very moment the justices left the house, would
knock them down, beat them, shake them,
straitjacket them, and starve them: and the doctor,
less merciful, would doctor them. So they shook
in their shoes, and vowed they were very
comfortable in Silverton Grove.

Thus, in later days, certain Commissioners of
Lunacy inspecting Accomb House, extracted
nothing from Mrs. Turner but that she was
happy and comfortable under the benignant
sway of Metcalf the mild—there present. It was
only by a miracle the public learned the truth;
and miracles are rare.

Meantime, Alfred had a misgiving. The
plausible doctor had now Squire Tollett's ear, and
Tollett was old, and something about him
reminded the Oxonian of a trait his friend Horace
had detected in old age:

Vel quòd res omnes timidé gelidé que ministrat.
Dilator, spe longus, iners, &c.

He knew there was another justice in the house,
but he knew also he should not be allowed to
get speech with him, if by cunning or force it
could be prevented. He kept his door ajar.
Presently Nurse Hannah came bustling along
with an apronful of things, and let herself into a
vacant room hard by. This Hannah was a
young woman with a pretty and rather babyish
face, diversified by a thick biceps muscle in
her arm that a blacksmith need not have
blushed for. And I suspect it was this masculine
charm, and not her feminine features,
that had won her the confidence of Baker
and Co. and the respect of his female patients;
big or little, excited or not excited, there was
not one of them this bicipital baby-face could
not pin by the wrists, and twist her helpless into
a strong-room, or handcuff her unaided in a
moment; and she did it too, on slight provocation.
Nurse Hannah seldom came into Alfred's
part of the house; but, when she did meet him,
she generally gave him a kind look in passing;
and he had resolved to speak to her, and try if
he could touch her conscience, or move her pity.
He saw what she was at, but was too politic to
detect her openly and irritate her. He drew
back a step, and said softly, "Nurse Hannah!
Are you there?"

"Yes I am here," said she sharply, and came
out of the room hastily; and shut it. "What
do you want, sir?"

Alfred clasped his hands together. "If you
are a woman, have pity on me."

She was taken by surprise. "What can I do?"
said she in some agitation. "I am only a
servant."

"At least tell me where I can find the Visiting
Justice, before the keepers stop me."

"Hush! Speak lower," said Hannah. "You
have complained to one, haven't you?"

"Yes. But he seems a feeble old fogy. Where
is the other? Oh, pray tell me."

"I mustn't; I mustn't. In the noisy ward.
There, run."

And run he did.

Alfred was lucky enough to get safe into the
noisy ward without being intercepted, and then
he encountered a sunburnt gentleman, under
thirty, in a riding-coat, with a hunting-whip in
his hand: it was Mr. Vane, a Tory squire and
large landowner in the county.

Now, as Alfred entered at one door, Baker
himself came in at the other, and they nearly met
at Vane. But Alfred saluted him first, and
begged respectfully for an interview.

"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Vane.

"Take care, sir; he is dangerous," whispered
Baker. Instantly Mr. Vane's countenance
changed. But this time Alfred overheard the
formula, and said quietly: "Don't believe him,
sir. I am not dangerous; I am as sane as any
man in England. Pray examine me, and judge
for yourself."

"Ah, that is his delusion," said Baker.
"Come, Mr. Hardie, I allow you great liberties,
but you abuse them. You really must not
monopolise his Worship with your fancies.
Consider, sir, you are not the only patient he has to
examine."

Alfred's heart sank; he turned a look of silent
agony on Mr. Vane.

Mr. Vane, either touched by that look, or
irritated by Baker's pragmatical interference, or
perhaps both, looked that person coolly, in the
face, and said sternly: "Hold your tongue, sir;
and let the gentleman speak to me."

SOMETHING TO BE DONE IN INDIA.

THERE is a very fine opening in India for a
government that wants something to do. Rather
more than four years ago, a commission was
appointed to inquire into the extent, nature,
and causes, of the mortality of British Indian
soldiers. The late Lord Herbert was its first
chairman, and his successor was Lord Stanley.
The commission examined all available statistics
of the India House, and required of every Indian
station, from its commanding, engineering, and
medical officers, answers to a series of printed
questions. Every source of information was
as far as possible exhausted; and the rate of
mortality, miserable in itself and costly to the
nation, is enormous, while its causes are
unmistakable and nearly all removable. The
evidence cries aloud for the saving of the lives of a
hundred and forty officers, and about four
regiments of men, who die every year in India over
and above the fair average mortality. An army of
seventy thousand men in India keeps nearly six
thousand beds constantly full of sick, and loses
yearly by death four thousand eight hundred and
thirty men, or nearly five regiments. Fever is
the immediate cause of half the sickness, and
of about a fourth part of the deaths. But what
causes the fevers? Next to fever, dysentery is
most common, and it is more fatal. But what