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"I had not yet ventured to take a seat, when the doctor appeared, -a snug, smiling, greyheaded gentleman, habited in professional black, and wearing diamond studs in his shirt, and at his buttonhole the riband of the national order. He entered, rubbing his hands with the self-gratulating air peculiar to his obnoxious species. "In a few words I explained my errand.

"Let me see,' said he, taking from his pockect a richly-gilt morocco pocket-book, containing notes of his consultation. Last week, you say; a grey poodle, in the Rue de Vendôme? Exactly. Here we have him. Mouton, aged five years and three months, the property of Mademoiselle Brigitte Duval. A very serious case, sir,' he continued, shaking his head. Complete derangement of the epigastric region, hepatic inflammations, irregular action of the pulse,— altogether an important complication. Nevertheless, I have hope, removed from the disadvantages under which he at present labours, my patient might still live to be a delight to the Duval family. But it is one of the misfortunes, sir, which beset the gentlemen of my profession, that our best endeavours are counteracted by the injudicious indulgence of the ladies and gentlemen to whom we look for the reward of our labours. If the individual in question, for instance, were to be only one month an inmate of my establishment, I would answer for restoring him to perfect health.'

"With a heavy sigh (for I was painfully aware that, sooner than part with poor Mouton, even for a day, Mademoiselle Brigitte would resign her right hand) I now put into Monsieur Mirabeau's hand the two-franc piece, which I understood to be his fee; and received, in return, a low bow, and the tariff of his establish

ment.

"Monsieur would, perhaps, like to inspect the hospital?' said he, accompanying me forth; and, on my eager assent he conducted me across a yard sanded with scrupulous neatness, and adorned with orange-trees, and other flowering shrubs, to an airy building divided into several wards; one partitioned into kennels, others having commodious beds, while a third consisted in rows of perches and cages, as an infirmary for birds. Of the patients with which they were filled, both bipeds and quadrupeds bestowed on my conductor most affectionate greetings, which were requited by Monsieur Mirabeau with an air of tender affability, such as may have been assumed by Bonaparte in visiting the lazaretto of Jaffa; or, by Louis Philippe, when parading the Hôtel Dieu, after the revolution of July. From the asthmatic pug, panting on its straw, to the opera-dancer's delicate Italian greyhound, about to be in the straw, all present turned their eyes gratefully on the benefactor of their race.

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They love me, poor little animals!' said Monsieur le Docteur, with a magnanimous glance along the ward. One of my most exquisite rewards is the gratitude of the little beings committed to my care.'

"As we re-crossed the yard he was accosted by a mincing grisette, elegantly attired, with inquiries after the health of 'cette pauvre Zéphyrine.

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Zéphyrine?' reiterated the doctor in an inquiring tone. "The griffon of Madame la Baronne de Montgelas.'

"Allow me to consult my registers,' replied Monsieur Mirabeau,

hurrying into his sanctum, while I waited with the waiting-maid at the door, and saw him, spectacles on nose, examine his books of entry.

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DEAD,' was the result of the investigation; a monosyllable that called forth a torrent of ejaculation from the soubrette; while Monsieur Mirabeau proceeded to read aloud," Zéphyrine, a while griffon, introduced into the establishment on the 13th of May; died on the 27th." Oui, mademoiselle! On Wednesday last my little patient breathed her last. According to custom, I performed the autopsy of the body. The disease proved to be inflammation of the brain, precisely as I hinted to Madame la Baronne, on first pointing out to her that the fits of her griffon were of an epileptic nature.'

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Leaving the doctor and the lady to discuss the disease of Zéphyrine together, I hastened to reflect upon the doom of a being more interesting to my affections. But already my determination was taken.

"That evening, my dear sir, Mouton disappeared from the Rue de Vendôme. I leave you to guess the astonishment, anguish, and surmises produced by his inexplicable disparition. Though incapable, by reason of his malady, of descending the staircase, he was gone; either the victim of malice, or the prey of cupidity; either assassinated by a fellow-lodger, or stolen for the sake of his skin. A handsome reward was instantly offered for his recovery; and the walls of the Marais were covered with handbills. But in vain.

"I leave you to guess the indignant agonies of Mademoiselle Brigitte and her maid; more especially as every soul in the house evinced unequivocal symptoms of satisfaction. Three whole weeks did they pass in tears, three whole weeks did Madame Pinson, according to her own account, remain utterly sleepless. The two disconsolate women were accustomed to sit in the dusk every evening, recounting to each other's sympathy the feats and accomplishments of their lost favourite - now probably numbered with the dead. When, lo! at the close of the fourth week, Mademoiselle Brigitte was startled out of her sleep one Sunday morning by an unwonted scratching at her door; and, on unclosing it, in bounded a handsome healthy quadruped, faintly resembling the idol of other time. The well-combed coat, and shapely form of the new-comer, bore, however, little affinity to the wheezing lump, which in latter days had answered to the name of Mouton; and when, at the ejaculation of that once-loved name, the intruder raised himself on his hinder legs, and, advancing towards Ma'mselle Brigitte's head, performed a succession of well-remembered feats of agility, the astonished old lady began to fancy that the grave had yielded up its dead. Mouton!' cried she again; and, laying its now gelid muzzle to her beloved hand, the faithful beast licked it in a paroxysm of tenderness. Yes; it was her Mouton - her own her only, restored to health, beauty, youth, and happiness.

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"But, by what extraordinary interposition was the miracle accomplished? None could say. The delighted mistress and maid were forced to content themselves with the belief that supernatural aid had been vouchsafed to restore their darling-a new Eurydiceto their affections.

"It was not till, on the following winter, I received something nearly approaching to a thrashing from Madame Goville, on the discovery that my warm great coat had disappeared as unaccountably as poor Mouton; that, by way of defence I ventured to place in

her hand the card of the

'HÔPITAL POUR LES CHIENS,

Chats, Oiseaux, et autres Animaux, tenu par M. Le Docteur
MIRABEAU, qui prend aussi des pensionnaires.

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Pour les fractures et autres opérations, on traite de convenance, &c. &c. having on the reverse a lithographic vignette, representing the Dog Hospital.

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"I see how it is!' cried Madame Goville, after casting her eyes over an annexed bill, amounting to forty-three francs, ten sous, for a month's board of a sick poodle, bran baths, sea-weed poultices, drugs, and other remedies, supplied for the same. Unprincipled little wretch! You actually disposed of your warm paletot in order to insure the restoration of that beast of a dog. Just as you please! but I will take care that you have never another great coat to your back till you have earned one by your own exertions.'

"He has earned one!' was Mademoiselle Brigitte's exclamation when the secret transpired, and reached her ears. 'And, so long as Leonard lives, he shall never want a warm coat to his back.'

"Such, my dear sir, (for here we are within view of my gate,) such was the trivial cause which determined the old lady to give me the education of a gentleman. Three years afterwards, on the opening of her last will and testament, it was discovered that Mademoiselle Brigitte had left me her universal legatee. The ill-natured world persists in believing me to be her son. But it is no such thing, Like other great men, I am le fils de mes œuvres; and, my chef d'œuvre was my preservation of the life of poor Mouton by kidnapping him to L'HÔPITAL DES CHIENS."

RAMBLES AMONG THE RIVERS.-No. V.

BY CHARLES MACKAY,

THE THAMES AND HIS TRIBUTARIES.

Twickenham. - The Poet's Grave.-Pope's Grotto.-Relics of Genius.-Strawberry Hill. Etymology and Chronology. The Heart of Paul Whitehead.. Swans upon the Thames. -- The tragical story of Edwy and Elgiva. — An odd petition of the inhabitants of Kingston.

How simple, neat, quiet, and unassuming are all the village churches of England! It is worth a man's while, whose unlucky destiny compels him to fritter himself away among brick walls for six days of the week, to walk out on a Sunday morning ten or twelve miles to church,-far away from the tumult and the dust, to some secluded hamlet or village, where he may worship his Maker, -not more earnestly, indeed, but more refreshed in mind and body, than he could in one of the more pompous temples of the metropolis, where saucy wealth elbows him still, and where he cannot procure a seat, unless he gives evidence of his gentility by the tender of a shilling. It was not Sunday when we strayed into Twickenham church: but even in its emptiness we could not help contrasting its unostentatious sanctity, its meek elegance, to the more spacious places in town, and forming, but not expressing, a slight wish that we lived in a village. We checked it, however, almost as soon as it was formed, for we thought, after all, that if we lived in a village, we should not so much prize a country walk, or have such affection for a country church as now, when we wander forth from busy London, thirsting after the fresh air, and pining for the verdure and the simplicity of rural spots, and enjoying them so much the more for our long and forced abstinence. Perhaps it was the knowledge that we were at the grave of a great poet that made us take so sudden a liking to village churches in general, and to Twickenham church above all others. It ought not to have been so, we are aware. The mere fact that the remains of a clay creature, of more than common note, was lying within its precincts was no true motive for any additional reverence to the temple of God-but so it was. Even Westminster Abbey itself and all its treasured ashes ought, strictly speaking, to inspire no more awe than the humblest chapel where the Great Spirit is truly worshipped; but the memory of the illustrious dead -a sort of half persuasion that their dim ghosts, though unseen, may be hovering above us, works upon the fancy in spite of the reason, telling us that

"Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted holy ground,"

and forcing us into more solemn reverence than we might otherwise feel. Some such influence it was, no doubt, that impressed us with unwonted awe, as we wandered alone from tomb-stone to tombstone in search of the tablet to the memory of Pope. We were without the aid, or, as it very often happens, the impediment of a professional guide to point out to us the " thought-deserving

nesses" (to borrow an expressive German phrase) of the spot. Our eyes, however, soon caught a view of a very large tablet in the gallery, with a Latin inscription, to the memory of Alexander Pope. We ascended accordingly, and found that it was the one erected by the poet to the memory of his father and mother. His own was not far off, and was equally ostentatious as regarded size, being about three times larger than any other tablets in the church. The inscription, also in Latin, bore that it was erected to the Poet's memory by his friend the Bishop of Gloucester. Underneath, in English, follow Pope's own lines," for one who would not be buried in Westminster Abbey,"

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Here again, thought we, is vanity in death. Horace and Virgil were no greater courtiers to rank and wealth than Pope was. fact, it may be questioned whether they were so much so; for among all the literati of the age, Pope stands pre-eminent for his constant respect to mere title. If he did not flatter heroes, he flattered lords, and would have been sorry indeed if they had kept at a distance from him when he was living. But in every sense the inscription is faulty and singularly inappropriate. While we stood uncovered at the spot, and while these thoughts passed rapidly through our mind, we remembered that the fault of this bad taste, if such it were, was not chargeable upon Pope, but upon his friend the bishop, who had erected the monument. In short, the epitaph was written by Pope in a fit" of that ambitious petulance," (to use the words of Johnson,)" with which he affected to insult the great," and ought never to have been placed upon his grave-stone. With this impression we turned again to the memorial that Pope himself had erected to his parents, and there we found no such evidences of vanity. The inscription was simple and unpretending, and set forth, in terms such as a son should use, the piety and the probity of the honoured dead. So, venting our harmless displeasure upon Warburton, and exonerating Pope from all offence, we strolled down to the river side, where our boatman was awaiting us.

In a few minutes more we reached the building now known as Pope's villa. The poet's residence itself has been demolished, with the exception of the grotto near which it stood. Much indignation has been lavished upon Lady Howe, who pulled down the original building, and erected the present enlarged edifice by the side of it. She has been accused of barbarism, want of feeling, deadness of soul, Vandalism, and many other offences. We will not join in this mouthing of the pack; because, however much she may have destroyed of the poet's dwelling, she has left the grotto for the reverence of posterity, by far the most valuable part of it, containing the rooms in which he was accustomed to study, and in which he entertained his friends, his St. John and his Marchmont, with his wisdom and his wit. There was formerly a willow tree overhanging the river, which has also been removed; but with the destruction of

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