DOCTOR JOHNSTON. 27 



ally, for now it was a bit of a psalm and a psalm tune, 

 and now it was the fag end of an unholy opera air that 

 he enunciated, and, as he finished the fly, he brought out 

 a profound bass "in secula secularum" that would have 

 done credit to the celebrated throat which makes music 

 in St. Roche on feast days. 



For the Doctor, be it known to you, has a taste for mu- 

 sic, and an ear for all beautiful sounds, even as Squire 

 John — that is, John Steenburger, the traveler — has for all 

 beautiful sights. Hence the Doctor will pause sometimes 

 and listen to the melody of wind and water among the 

 hills, and say "Beautiful;" and the Squire will think he 

 speaks of the view, which is pre-eminently bad at the mo- 

 ment, and the result is generally what would be called 

 a discussion elsewhere, but what we call a row between 

 the two Johns. 



" A — men !" sang the Squire from his room opening 

 into mine, as he heard the Doctor's finale. " I say, Ef- 

 fendi, what is the Doctor at in your quarters?" 



"Setting snares for the unwary. Rising up early to 

 entrap innocence. The man of blood is arming himself 

 and sharpening his weapons." 



"Come, come. None of your nonsense, you two. Let 

 us be off early." 



" Why, Doctor, the trout haven't had their breakfasts 

 yet. You wouldn't — " 



" Wouldn't I ?" And I left my bed on one side as a 

 ewer of water came into it on the other from the unmer- 

 ciful hands of the churchman, who claims to be the com 

 mander-in-chief of our small party, and exercises a most 

 tyrannous rule over us. 



A cup of coffee was ready in the breakfast-room, where 

 Philip joined us. The dim morning light was not suffi- 



