"'Good-night—good-night; we shall meet again on Monday.'"
Alas! Campbell died that night suddenly, and by a singular interposition of Providence, Scarlett died suddenly the next day, Sunday. They met no more in this world.
* * * * *
In the course of my life I have suffered, like many others, from nameless afflictions—nameless because they do not exist. No one can localize this strange infirmity or realize it. You only know you have a sensation of depression. In every other respect I was perfectly well, yet I thought it was necessary to see a doctor. So it was, if I wished to be ill.
Being in this unhappy condition, I consulted Sir James Paget, then in the zenith of his fame.
It did not take him very long to test me. I think he did it with a smile, for I felt a good deal better after it.
"Just tell me," said he, "do you ever drink any water?"
"Now it's coming," I thought; "he's going to knock me off my wine." I thought, however, I would be equal to the occasion, and said,—
"I know what you are driving at: you want to know if I ever mix a little water in my wine."
"No, no, I don't," said he; "you are quite wrong, for if your water is good and your wine bad, you spoil your water; and if your wine is good and your water bad, you spoil your wine."