When I reached home, I found it a home of strife.  The pill was soon to be labelled.  Dr. Physick wished to call it Julius; but nothing would do for his tyrannical wife but to have it bear his name.

“Thank you,” said the Doctor, as I entered.  “Aren’t the sufferings of one generation under that dispensation enough for you?  Do as you would be done by, Julia.  How would you like yourself to be called Philemon?”

“I can’t help that,” persisted Mrs. Julia.  “The name of Phil is a philter to me.  Unless he bears it, I shall hate him.”

“A likely story!  What should you have done if he had been a girl?”

“Called him Phillis,” answered the ready Julia, sturdily.

“Then what should you say to Philip, now?” interposed I in behalf of the helpless innocent,—­(an interposition in return for which, ever after we have finished his medical education with a year in Paris, he ought in common gratitude to prescribe for me gratis, if I live to be as old and ill as Joyce Heth;—­for Philip he was and is, and will be, I trust, for many a fine day,—­the fine, honest, clever, useful fellow!)

“Here’s your fee, Katy, for restoring my domestic supremacy—­ahem!  I hope Mrs. Physick did not hear,” said the Doctor;—­“domestic balance of power shall I say, my love,—­or system of compromises?”

What “my love” desired him to say I cannot say, for I was deep in the note which he had disgorged for me from his not only omnivorous, but, alas! too often oblivious pocket.  It was written on small-sized French paper, in a beautiful English hand, bore date, to my consternation, some days back, and ran as follows:—­

“BARBERRY BEACH, Monday, Sept.—­th, 18—.

“DEAR MISS MORNE:—­

“I have been wishing to see you again, all through this month, but scarcely expecting it till now; because I knew how full your heart and hands must be at home.  Now, however, since I have had the pleasure of hearing from the Doctor that Mrs. Physick is nearly well, perhaps it will not be too much to hope that you will find an hour to spare for me some day this week.  I have no engagements made; and if you can appoint a time to come to me, I shall be here and deny myself to other visitors.  I should send my barouche for you; but one of the ponies has hurt its hoof, and the Doctor says that you confine yourself too closely to your household cares, and that you would be all the better for a walk.

“Another indulgence which I have been promising myself,—­that of painting some illustrations for my brother’s next work,—­I find I must not only put off, but forego.  It would be some consolation to me to be able to make it over to you, and believe that you found half as much enjoyment in it as I have, on former occasions.  The usual terms, when he has paid for such work, have been ... [here she named a liberal sum]; but of course, if you like to undertake it, you will feel at liberty to name your own; and I shall be, as I am,