To the same class as these valetudinarian nuisances belong the sympathetic coughers. They, too, are seekers for sympathy. Let us, for instance, imagine for a moment one of them entering a church, where a large congregation has assembled to listen to some powerful preacher. No matter how interesting the sermon, the seeker for sympathy soon grows restless, he must have what he came for; the thought uppermost in his mind is, "I wonder if there is any sympathetic soul present I'll try." A cough is put out as a feeler; instantly there is an answer-one, two, three, a dozen sympathizers respond to the appeal. This is intensely gratifying to the seeker for sympathy; but, of course, he cannot long remain content with one response. He tries again and again, and each time he is answered back from the throats of a score or two of sympathizers, who manage thus to keep up a well-sustained conversation of sympathetic coughs. Thus, the presence of a single one of these seekers for sympathy is enough to distract a whole congregation, and drive every intelligent listener distracted. It is needless, of course, to say that the sympathetic cougher is not an intelligent listener, he only cares to gratify his craving for sympathy; and the worst of it is, that unless we are on the alert the most attentive of us is liable to be a victim to the infection of this sympathetic cough. A cough may unawares remind us that we have been ourselves suffering from huskiness of late; and, though we may feel no symptoms at the moment, an irresistible desire to test the clearness of our bronchial tubes may come over us, and worry us into giving vent to a cough. "The sound of clearing the throat," says Mr. Bain, in his work on the "Emotions and the Will," "reminds us so forcibly of the action, or brings the idea of it so vividly before the mind, that it is difficult to resist passing to the full reality." We have a right, therefore, to be indignant with these sympathetic coughers for exposing us to the risk of infection.

Sympathy is no doubt very pleasant and desirable in its proper place; but it is a plant which needs cutting and pruning. When it is allowed to straggle about at its own free will, fixing its tendrils here and there and everywhere, it becomes emphatically a nuisance. And that gushing, exuberant, irrepressible sympathy which gives these expressions of

racter, is a thin, watery sentiment for which no one is any the better.

Those are very pretty and graceful lines of the poet Rogers, in which he describes sympathy:

"The soul of music slumbers in the shell,

Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before.'

But we feel sure the poet would agree with us that the principle is not of universal application, and that the "thousand melodies" of "feeling hearts" are anything but harmonious when they take the form of the irritating cough. We would rather commend to the attention of all seekers after sympathy the sentiment embodied in the song, "When sorrow sleepeth wake it not;" for we assure them it is equally applicable to sympathy as to sorrow.

It is notorious that intelligent persons, even when suffering from those throat and chest complaints which naturally produce coughing, can sit through a long speech or sermon without once letting a cough escape them, simply by an effort of the will. We leave readers of ONCE A WEEK-whoare, ipso facto, all persons of the highest intelligenceto draw from that statement its logical deduction.

Now, can society devise no plan to protect itself from these infectious persons? Can there be no prohibitory enactment passed analogous to that by which persons afflicted with the small-pox, or measles, or scarlatina are tabooed? We fear not. But we think that all public speakers and preachers would be doing a good service if they now and then pointedly alluded to the subject, and drew the attention of these unhappily afflicted persons to the fact that they are a source of very great annoyance and unpleasantness to their neighbours-a fact of which they seem totally unconscious. Society itself, too, by extending its code of etiquette, might do something to abate the nuisance; for surely it might be impressed upon these unfortunates that the good taste and the good manners which lead us to suppress a horse laugh or a yawn, in a drawing-room or at a dinner table, should prompt even those who are too thoughtless and unintelligent to be moved by other considerations to keep these infectious expressions of emotion in subordination when they are in public. In conclusion, we commend to all

such gigglers, coughers, and yawners these words of Sir Charles Bell:-" As we hold our breath and throw ourselves into an opposite action to restrain the ludicrous idea which would cause us to break out in rude laughter, so may we moderate other rising impulses by checking the expression of them; and by composing the body, we put a rein upon our very thoughts."

DOCTOR MIDDLETON'S

DAUGHTER.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "A DESPERATE CHARACTER."

LE

CHAPTER I.

ET me premise that I am an Australian, and may, consequently, be more or less disposed to look with an unconsciously prejudiced eye upon things European in general, but especially upon things Irish; for it was in Ireland that I spent the greater portion of the first weary days of my exile, and it is in Ireland that the scene of this history is laid.

Four years had elapsed since I had looked my last upon my native land-four years, during which I had seen neither opossum nor kangaroo; four years, during which I had gazed upon white swans and leafless trees, and had felt what it was to be a stranger on a foreign shore.

I had left my home for the purpose of studying an honourable profession, for the mastering of which sufficient opportunities were not then afforded in my own country. I reached England in the winter, or rather in the beginning of spring, and shall never forget the feeling of wonder, not to say dismay, with which I beheld the skeleton trees visible here and there on the banks of the Mersey.

I imagined, not unnaturally, that some terrible bush fire had recently desolated the country round, and marvelled how the houses had escaped; but a remark which I made to that effect to a group of my fellowpassengers was received with such roars of laughter that I soon perceived I had made some ridiculous mistake, and hastened to explain that I was joking. It was a long time, however, before the impression wore away.

My mind was filled with conflicting emotions, in which, I think, amazement predominated, as our vessel was slowly tugged up the river to the berth it was to occupy until its living cargo was discharged. I had never

seen so many ships together before; and I felt, very unnecessarily, humiliated by the comparison I mentally instituted between my father's native land and my own.

I say "unnecessarily," for upon landing I found the difference between Liverpool and Melbourne not nearly so great as I had anticipated. True, the former is larger and has miles of docks, whereas my native city then had none; but both are busy, bustling places, both are frequented by crowds of strangers from every corner of the globe, and both rush to the discharge of the daily duties of a commercial life with an alacrity and zest-a restless thirsting after gainutterly unknown in the ci-devant capital which for several years was my compulsory abode.

I had no acquaintances in Liverpool. My fellow-passengers promptly dispersed to their several destinations, and I was left alonealone, in the midst of thousands.

A feeling of desolation came over me, ten times more intense than if I had been hopelessly lost in the Mallee Scrub, or some kindred impenetrable wilderness. The waiter at the hotel where I had put up had a brother in Australia, he informed me; and that fact forming, as it were, a connecting link between us, he interested himself greatly in my behalf, and procured a conveyance to take me and my luggage to the Clarence Dock; whence, that evening, I found myself once more at sea on my way to Dublin, where my mother had relations, with whom it had been arranged I was to reside until the completion of my pupilage.

Those friends received me very kindly, and I soon began to feel, to some degree, at home among them; though there was much to annoy and disgust, and but little to attract me in my new abode. Spring, however, was advancing, and one great bugbear, the leafless trees, disappeared. I soon gazed upon a vegetation greener and fresher than anything I had ever seen before, or could have possibly imagined. In fact, I shortly found myself half ready to admit that a winter of nearly six months' duration was not too great a price to pay for the resurrection of the year.

I had heard much, whilst in my own home, of the marvellous songs of British birds; but must confess I was disappointed in them all, especially the thrush; and then their plumage!

"They are neat, but not gaudy," observed

a friend to whom I had confided my feelings on the subject.

66

Very neat," I replied; "but I wish you could see our lowries, and hear our magpies sing."

I was soon fully occupied by my studies; but nevertheless pined, with a sickening sense of longing, for the dear old familiar faces, and the old familiar scenes at home.

No green leaves, no melodious song birds, could compensate me for their loss; but I was not to be companionless for ever.

In one of my rambles through an obscure quarter of the city I discovered a bird shop, where were caged a number of parrots from my native land; a cockatoo, a rosella parrakeet, and several pairs of love birds-we call them budgerygars.

I stopped and stared at the captives with tears in my eyes.

Were we not fellow-prisoners, fellow-exiles, at any rate?

I spoke to them, and the cockatoo positively recognised me.

He had been sitting listlessly upon his perch, thinking no doubt of the home he had lost and the dear ones he had left behind among the aromatic gum trees in the old familiar bush; but as soon as he heard my voice he roused himself, shook his snowy plumage, expanded his sulphur crest, and screamed his recognition of his fellow-countryman with a vigour that won my heart upon the spot. I bought him, I bought the rosella, anda pair of budgerygars, and brought them home in triumph.

As the summer advanced, I took long walks into the country during my leisure hours; and, in spite of the invidious walls that shut out nature from my sight on every side, saw that it was beautiful; many spots reminding me, not unpleasantly, of home.

When winter returned it found me resigned to my fate, or at least wishful to be resigned; but the fallen leaves, the shortening hours of daylight, and the keen east winds, keener than anything I had ever experienced, save the icy breezes blowing over the snowy mountains of the southern polar regions, with which I had become acquainted during the passage round Cape Horn, upset my equanimity again, and more than once I felt strongly tempted to throw up my studies, and return home to Australia; but love for my profession, as I would fain have persuaded myself, prevailed, and I remained to do battle with the rigour of the climate,

and all the manifold sources of discomfort which surrounded me.

Several years passed away, not uneventfully, and I grew gradually accustomed to the people amongst whom I lived; unconsciously I acquired their mode of speech, insensibly I adopted their habits, and began to feel myself at home. The green leaves of spring and the naked twigs of winter ceased to affect me, either pleasurably or otherwise. My friends not unfrequently permitted themselves to congratulate me upon my acclimatisation-they were too well bred to say civilization," but I knew they meant it; and thoughts even occurred to me, now and then, that a man might spend his days comfortably in the old country, after all.

The long-looked-for day of my emanci pation at length drew near; my course of study was at an end, the horrors of a public examination were successfully braved, and I was free.

Free to practise my profession where I chose; free to return to my native land as speedily as I wished. Yet I lingered.

Strange to say, I lingered. When the door of my cage was thrown open, and I was at perfect liberty to choose between captivity and freedom, I hesitated. Like a long-imprisoned bird, I feared to exercise my unaccustomed wings, and loitered near the spot which I had once so deeply hated, but had almost begun to love.

"You really ought to see some more of the country," urged my friends, "before you finally make up your mind to leave us."

They little knew I was no longer a free agent; but I answered—

"I have seen quite enough of it, thank you, and must hurry home."

But I did nothing of the sort.

"Old fellow," insinuatingly pleaded one whom I had come to consider as a brother, "you have nothing on earth to do, and I am particularly busy just now: will you take a run for me down to Dumfernaghalee, and canvass the country on my behalf?"

"Cool," I replied. "Dumferna-what d'ye call it ?—is at the very confines of the universe-one step beyond-and I should find myself landed in the middle of next week, or the Atlantic Ocean."

Never fear," my friend replied, and I yielded.

When my heart was beating a wonderfully accelerated measure at the thought of going home, I yielded to the entreaties of

friendship, and turned my steps towards the ultima thule of the West.

"I shall never survive it, I know," I said, as I bade my chum farewell on the platform of the Great Northern. "I offer myself a sacrifice on the altar of friendship." "The gods will reward you, old fellow!" he replied, laughing, as we shook hands through the window of the carriage; and I was directly afterwards whirled off on my wild-goose chase-for such my adventure proved to be.

The morning was dry and cold when we started, and we bowled along pleasantly enough. My companions were an old clergyman, whom I knew by sight, but who, probably, did not recollect ever having laid eyes on me before, and two comfortable-looking farmers, who got out at the first stopping-place; by which it will be perceived that I travelled second class.

As we sped along the level country, with the sea on our right hand and the green fields on our left, I almost fancied myself taking a run up from Geelong to Melbourne; and was almost deluded into a temporary belief that such was, indeed, the case by the great resemblance of an iron bridgeover which we passed-to one that crosses the Salt-water River at Footscray, about as far distant from the capital of Victoria as this was from the metropolis of Ireland.

I say "almost," for the small fields and the immense hedges and ditches entirely precluded the possibility of my entertaining the delusion for more than a moment. Then, again, it was quite impossible to confound the Irish cabins that we passed in review from time to time with the neat log-huts of our settlers.

Why, in the name of common sense, cannot the peasants of the Green Isle, as they call it, put their manure heaps a little farther off from the doors of their abodes? And why, in a country where land is so valuable, can they not use posts and rails to divide their fields, as we do?

I once heard a Scotchman-I love Scotch folk, and fancy I must be descended from a Scot myself I once heard a Scotchman declare that the Irish were a "feckless

race.

I have not the least idea what he meant; though, judging from his manner, I should say the expression was deprecatory. Still, as I know not to what extent, perhaps I had better not endorse it.

But

In Dublin, however, dirt and misery, I found, were chronic amongst the lower orders, and I soon grew hardened to the fact. I was not prepared to find these sad features of extreme civilization repeated in the country.

In our "country," as we call the bush, such a state of affairs is, happily, quite unknown. Our country towns are neat and pretty in their freshness. With us every one has enough to eat, and something to lay by; or, if he has not, he can have no one to blame but himself. But in the Irish villages and towns, with a few exceptions as far as I could judge, I discovered the city repeated, again and again, in its most disagreeable aspects, and I felt sorry and surprised.

The soil of the country through which we had passed seemed to be of inferior quality, for the crops were very thin and poor, and much of the land was fallow. It was all cut up by huge hedges and ditches into scraps and parcels of every possible shape, and ludicrously small dimensions-an arrangement which imparted to the landscape the appearance of a sheet of paper covered with problems in Euclid, laid side by side.

The constabulary, fine soldierly-looking fellows, very much like our own up-country mounted police, mustered in great force

at the different stations; and the thought occurred to me that they might be on the look-out for Fenians-something similar, I imagined, to our bushrangers, and a name which was then in everybody's mouth.

A few miles farther on the country became extremely picturesque; to the left were well-cultivated hills, and to the right an apparently prosperous town, situated on the banks of a navigable river, in a sheltered valley, beyond which rose lofty mountain peaks, visible for many miles around.

After this point the fields grew gradually larger, the cottages tidier, the great wasteful ditches were replaced by stone walls-"rubble," we term them-built without mortar; and by the side of the railway I perceived a neat building, labelled, if I might use the word in such a connection, "Scriptural Schools," showing that we had entered upon the protesting North.

There are two sorts of people in Ireland, sir," said an old gentleman to me one day"two distinct races; I might, indeed, say three: the aboriginal, of Celtic origin, and the descendants of the Scotch and English colonists; somewhat mixed nowadays, it is true, but still sufficiently separate to be discernible at a glance. The former predominate in the south and west, the latter in the east and north; and although the first enjoy every natural advantage of climate, soil, and situation the island affords, I would like to know where the wealth, industry, and energy of the country are to be found? In the east, sir; but more especially in the sturdy north." So far, the old gentleman was incontrovertibly in the right. "Yes, sir," he continued, "we have two distinct races in Ireland, as you have in Australia "I had told him I came from that country" the aboriginal and the colonial, both equally Irish, and utterly unlike; equally Australian, and totally dissimilar. You, sir, and I are of colonial, and yon open-mouthed clodhoppers" - here he pointed to some natives who were passing "hewers of wood and drawers of water in every land, who have just sufficient intelligence to grow a few potatoes and rear a pig, which shares their bed; and the skinclad black fellows who roam through your bush, subsisting on the precarious produce of their chase, which, you tell me, they devour raw-are of aboriginal origin, and as different from you and me as black from white."

The clergyman, to whom I have already alluded as my fellow-passenger, caught me in the act of replacing the empty glass upon the counter of the refreshment saloon, and threw up his eyes and groaned, as if, like Artemus Ward's Shaker, he would have ejaculated "Man of Sin !" but for the severity of the weather.

"Oil, sir," I cheerily observed, addressing | him, "to grease the wheels of life."

"Wears them out, my young friend," he gloomily replied, and shivered; but whether with indignation or from the cold I could not determine.

"Possibly," I returned; "but certainly makes them roll along without creaking." Whereupon he immediately walked out of the bar, without partaking of any refreshment.

Soon afterwards, our course lying through the very centre of an enormous bog, a terrible snowstorm burst upon us, and for miles the ground was white, which, as the country became mountainous when once we had crossed the bog, imparted an Alpine appearance to the landscape, which, to me, was as full of interest as it was novel; for I had never seen anything of the kind before, except at a distance, on the Dublin mountains.

We then crossed a fine river, which, a little farther on, I could see, was spanned by a queer, old, high-backed bridge, that looked for all the world, with its funny little arches, like a huge megatherium about to take a drink.

Omara-I am not quite certain of my orthography-where we next halted, is a pretty, comfortable little town, and reminded me somewhat of Castlemaine, although, of