CHAPTER II.
PHILIP SHELDON READS THE "LANCET." Fitzgeorge-street was chill and dreary of aspect, under a gray March sky, when Mr.Sheldon returned to it after a week's absence from London.

He had been to Little Barlingford, and had spent his brief holiday among old friends and acquaintance.

The weather had not been in favour of that driving hither and thither in dog-carts, or riding rakish horses long distances to beat up old companions, which is accounted pleasure on such occasions.

The blustrous winds of an unusually bitter March had buffeted Mr.Sheldon in the streets of his native town, and had almost blown him off the door-steps of his kindred.

So it is scarcely strange if he returned to town looking none the better for his excursion.