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I bought a copy of the paper, and, tucking it undermyself a mental feast of watercress; but as I opened the door I found myself confronted by a corpulent woroan It was the lady fro, Mrs Jablett," I said briskly; "not come about yourself, I hope"

"Yes, I have," she answered, rising and following -room; and then, when I had seated her in the patient's chair and -table, she continued: "It's my inside, you know, Doctor"

The statement lacked anatomical precision and ly waited for enlightenment and speculated on the watercress-beds, while Mrs Jablett regarded me expectantly with a dith; "it's your--your inside, is it, Mrs Jablett?"

"Yus And h that filled the apartment with odorous reminiscences of "unsweetened"

"Your head aches, does it?"

"Somethink chronic!" said Mrs Jablett "Feels as if it was a-opening and a-shutting, a-opening and a-shutting, and when I sit down I feel as if I should bust"

This picturesque description of her sensations--not wholly inconsistent with her figure--gave the clue to Mrs Jablett's sufferings Resisting a frivolous iu delicately round the subject of "unsweetened," and finally sent her away, revived in spirits and grasping a bottle of Mist Sodae cu stock-jar Then I went back to investigate the Horrible Discovery; but before I could open the paper, another patient arrived (I the "wide and archèd-front sublime" of a juvenile Fetter Laner), and then yet another, and so on through the evening until, at last, I forgot the watercress-beds altogether It was only when I had purifiedconsultations with hot water and a nail-brush and was about to sit down to a frugal supper, that I remembered the newspaper and fetched it fro-rooht I folded it into a convenient for, read the report at my ease as I supped

There was plenty of it Evidently the reporter had regarded it as a "scoop," and the editor had backed hi head-lines

"HORRIBLE DISCOVERY IN A WATERCRESS-BED AT SIDCUP!