The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 222: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE MESSENGER - BIRD 205 coloured lamp burning over the door indicated the abode of asurgeon. Marshali rang the night-bell with some degree of violence, and in a few minutes the door was opened by the medical man’s assistant. ‘“ Hallo! is that you, Mr. Marshall?’’ he exclaimed, immediately recognizing the tavern-keeper. ‘Is there anything the matter up at the Admiral’s Head? ”’ “Yes, a lady who arrived last evening has been seized with a fit. She’s a little better now, as my daughters are attending upon her, but | want you to give me a composing draught, or something of the kind, 80,48 to prevent a relapse. I am sorry to have disturbed you — ‘Don’t mention it, Mr. Marshall,’ immediately exclaimed the assistant. ‘“ It’s all in the way of business. Come into the surgery, and I will see what I can do for you, unless you think it is a case for which I had better call up Mr. Hood,” alluding to his master. f ‘“ No, not at all,’”’ rejoined the tavern-keeper. ‘‘ I dare say you can give something that will answer the purpose, if I describe what sort of a fit 1t was.”’ ‘Oh, certainly,” replied the assistant, ‘‘ and then Mr. Hood will call around in the morning and see the lady.’’ While thus speaking, the assistant led the way into the surgery, and old Marshall described the ordinary symptoms of an hysterical fit. The assistant speedily compounded a draught, and as he wrote out the label to put upon the bottle, he asked, ‘‘ What name shall I say? ”’ “Mrs. Chandos,’’ was old Marshall’s prompt answer. The name was accordingly written upon the label, and Marshall, thanking the assistant for his attention, took his departure. Returning to his house, he ascended to his chamber, undressed himself again, and went to bed. COnNICELOOOkKS (C(O)