'Twill be a blessed sight--eh ?--when he sits up in that bed, Madam, as I trust he may this very night, and speak--eh ?' 'Oh! my precious Barney!' and the poor little woman began to cry, and fell into a rhapsody of hopes, thanksgiving, anecdote and prayer.
In the meanwhile Dangerfield was feeling his pulse, with his watch in the hollow of his hand.
'And aren't they better--his pulse, Sir--they were stronger this morning by a great deal than last night--it was just at ten o'clock--don't you perceive, Sir ?' 'H'm--well, I hope, Ma'am, we'll soon find _all_ better.

Now, have you got all things ready--you have, of course, a sheet well aired ?' 'A sheet--I did not know 'twas wanted.' 'Hey, this will never do, my dear Madam--he'll be here and nothing ready; and you'll do well to send over to the mess-room for a lump of ice.

'Tis five minutes past nine.

If you'll see to these things, I'll sit here, Madam, and take the best care of the patient--and, d'ye see, Mistress Sturk, 'twill be necessary that you take care that Toole hears nothing of Dr.Dillon's coming.' It struck me, when originally reading the correspondence which is digested in these pages, as hardly credible that Doctor Sturk should have continued to live for so long a space in a state of coma.

Upon this point, therefore, I took occasion to ask the most eminent surgeon of my acquaintance, who at once quieted my doubts by detailing a very remarkable case cited by Sir A.Cooper in his lectures, Vol.