very difficult to understand.  I could never get further than the two first pages, and these were quite enough for me, for when I’d read them I felt as light-headed and giddy as if I had been standing on my head for half an hour.  You imagine, no doubt, Charles, that the water in your well is water?  He does not think so!  Listen, fresh air is divided into three parts:  oxygen, nitrogen, and black carbon; and water is divided into two parts:  carbon and hydrogen.  Now the whole water-cure the’ry is founded on water and air.  And listen, Charles, just think of the wisdom of nature:  when a human being goes out into the fresh air he inhales both black carbon and nitrogen through his windpipe, and as his constitution can’t stand the combination of these two dreadful things, the art of curing by water steps in, and drives them out of his throat.  And the way that it does so is this the oxygen grapples with the carbon, and the hydrogen drives the nitrogen out of your body.  Do you understand me, Charles?” “No,” said Hawermann, laughing heartily, “you can hardly expect me to do that.”  “Never laugh at things you don’t understand, Charles.  Listen—­I have smelt the nitrogen myself, but as for the black carbon, what becomes of it?  That is a difficult question, and I didn’t get on far enough with the water-science to be able to answer it.  Perhaps you think that parson Behrens could explain the matter to me, but no, when I asked him yesterday he said that he knew nothing about it.  And now, Charles, you’ll see that I’ve still got the black carbon in me, and that I shall have that beastly gout again.”

“But, Zachariah, why didn’t you remain a little longer and get thoroughly cured?” “Because,” and Braesig cast down his eyes, and looked uncomfortable, “I couldn’t.  Something happened to me.  Charles,” he continued, raising his eyes to his friend’s face, “you’ve known me from my childhood, tell me, did you ever see me disrespectful to a woman?” “No, Braesig, I can bear witness that I never did.”  “Well, then, just think what happened.  A week ago last Friday the gout was very troublesome in my great toe—­you know it always begins by attacking the small end of the human wedge—­and the water-doctor said:  ‘Mr. Bailiff,’ he said, ’you must have an extra packing, Dr. Strump’s colchicum is the cause of this, and we must get rid of it.’  Well, it was done; he packed me himself, and so tight that I had hardly room to breathe, telling me for my comfort that water was more necessary for me than air, and then he wanted to shut the window.  ‘No,’ I said, ’I understand the the’ry well enough to know that I must have fresh air, so please leave the window open.’  He did as I asked, and went away.[8] I lay quite still in my compress thinking no evil, when suddenly I heard a great humming and buzzing in my ears, and when I could look up, I saw a swarm of bees streaming in at my window, preceded by their queen.  I knew her well, Charles, for as you know I am a bee-keeper.  One spring the