DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. CHAPTER I. THE THUNDER-STRUCK. THE BOXER.* In the summer of 18-, London was visited by one of the most tremendous thunder-storms that have been known in this climate. Its character and effects-some of which latter form the subject of this chapter-will make me remember it to the latest hour of my life. There was something portentous-a still, surcharged air-about the whole of Tuesday the 10th of July, 18—, as though nature were trembling and cowering beneath a common shock. In the exquisite language of one of our old dramatists,† there seemed *This is a narrative-for obvious reasons somewhat varied in circumstances of a lamentable occurrence in the author's family. About fourteen years ago, a very beautiful girl, eighteen years old, terrified at a violent thunder-storm, rushed into a cellar to escape, as she thought, from the danger, and was found there in the state described in the text. She died four days afterwards. "A calm Before a tempest, when the gentle air Lays her soft ear close to the earth, to listen For that she fears steals on to ravish her." From about eleven o'clock at noon the sky wore a lurid threatening aspect that shot awe into the beholder; suggesting to startled fancy the notion that within the dim confines of the "labouring air," mischief was working to the world. The heat was intolerable, keeping almost every body within doors. The dogs, and other cattle in the streets, stood every where panting and loath to move. There was no small excitement, or rather agitation, diffused throughout the country, especially London; for, strange to say (and many must recollect the circumstance), it had been for some time confidently foretold by certain enthusiasts, religious as well as philosophic, that the earth was to be destroyed that very day; in short, that the tremendous JUDGMENT was at hand! Though not myself over credulous, or given to superstitious fears, I own that on coupling these fearful predictions with the unusual, and almost preternatural aspect of the day, I more than once experienced sudden qualms of apprehension as I rode along on my daily rounds. I did not so much communicate alarm to the various circles I entered, as catch it from them. Then, again, I would occasionally pass a silent group of passengers clustering round a streetpreacher, who, true to his vocation, "redeeming the time," seemed by his gestures, and the disturbed countenances around him, to be foretelling all that was frightful. The tone of excitement which pervaded my feelings was further heightened by a conversation on the prevail |