LOTTY WILSON.

CHAPTER I.

THE INTERESTING PATIENT.

WE had been residing at Overton about three months. A pretty spot is Overton, at the foot of undulating hills, many of them dotted with wood, reaching quite to their base, and meeting there the margin of a clear brook rippling over smooth white pebbles, and the bright green water grass, lying with its long narrow leaves below the surface of the stream, across which, in several places, was thrown a rough plank, or rustic bridge.

Pretty winding lanes, with trees meeting over head, and making a pleasant shade in summer time from the noontide heat, led in various directions from the village itself, and along them here and there were dotted picturesque cottages and tidy homesteads, inhabited by a very inoffensive and primitive population.

We had come to Overton, my brother and myself, on the death of Dr. Manby, the previous medical practitioner; my brother having purchased the practice from his widow, and set up there, bringing with him high testimonials, with which, it appeared, that Overton was tolerably well satisfied, as he was pleasantly received by the gentry-of which there were few, and by the peasantry-of which there were many.

My dear brother and I had always been bosom friends and companions from our earliest days, although I was many years his senior, and when he had passed all his examinations and probations, and fairly started in his profession, I obtained permission from my Father to reside with him and keep his house. And very merry we were upon that occasion, giving a housewarming to our friends-who took the undue liberty of dubbing him "Doctor Sawbones" immediately and flattering ourselves that we did the honours with great eclát.

That was many many years before we ever heard of such a place as Overton, and we have passed through many trials and troubles since then. Loss of parents, and brothers and sisters, and the rending asunder of even dearer ties, which, in our blindness, we hoped would have