CHAPTER XV.
AT A HYDROPATHIC.
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'M no' leein' when I tell ye that the thread o' this discourse wis as near nicket as ever onything wis in this mortal and sinfu' worl'. Four hale weeks hae passed by since I finished my last chapter, and truly I had sic fears that it wud be my last that I instructet my law adviser, Maister Fleming, in case onything should happen, to write ye a posthummas article saying that I wis cuttet aff in the prime o' my usefulness wi' my autobiography little mair than hauf finished, and that though the worl' had suffered a great loss thereby, inasmuch as I had still some highly moral and instructive reflections to set doon, I wisna to be held blameable, for, in truth, it wis the very last thing wud have gi'en in to mysel'.
"Noo, Maister Fleming, there maun be an epytaff," says I, efter I had left him a heap o' orders.
"Weel," says he, laying aside his glesses wi' great solemnity, "I 'll take your instructions."[1]
- ↑ I own I was sorely grieved at finding my fair client so ill, but professional etiquette prevented me committing anything to writing without orders. I respectfully admit I could have said much in praises of her virtues, but as she herself is a woman of extraordinary talent I thought she might have something important to communicate at such a crisis. As to the immediate effect of my conduct on the patient's health, I have no apology to offer.—Ed.
