CHAPTER IX.
-- --"Ah, Montague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile! Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood That glues my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead." KING HENRY VI.
Sir Wycherly had actually been seized with a fit of apoplexy.

It was the first serious disease he had experienced in a long life of health and prosperity; and the sight of their condescending, good-humored, and indulgent master, in a plight so miserable, had a surprising effect on the heated brains of all the household.

Mr.Rotherham, a good three-bottle man, on emergency, had learned to bleed, and fortunately the vein he struck, as his patient still lay on the floor, where he had fallen, sent out a stream that had the effect not only to restore the baronet to life, but, in a great measure, to consciousness.

Sir Wycherly was not a _hard_ drinker, like Dutton; but he was a _fair_ drinker, like Mr.Rotherham, and most of the beneficed clergy of that day.

Want of exercise, as he grew older, had as much influence in producing his attack as excess of wine; and there were already, strong hopes of his surviving it, aided as he was, by a good constitution.