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three from my right foot, came off like the fingers of a glove.
“ Opposite the river on which the mill stood, there was a bleach-field. It is customary for the watchman in the night to blow a horn to frighten thieves. This I frequently heard when I was in the pit; and very often when I was in a sound sleep at the miller's, I have been awakened by it in the greatest horrors, still thinking myself in the pit; so that, in fact, I suffered as much by imagination as from reality.
“ I continued six weeks at the miller's, when the roads became too bad for the Doctors to visit me, so that I was under the necessity of being carried in a sedan-chair to my lodgings in Glasgow. By this time my right foot was quite well; but in my left foot, where the above-mentioned black spot appeared, there was a large wound, and it too plainly proved that the os calcis was nearly all decayed; for the surgeon could put his probe through the centre of it. The flesh too at the bottom of my foot was quite separated from the bones and tendons, so that I was forced to submit to have it cut off. In this painful state I lay several months, reduced to a mere skeleton, taking thirty drops of laudanum every night; and though it somewhat eased the pain in my foot, it was generally three or four in the morning before I got any rest. My situation now became truly alarming ; I had a consultation of surgeons, who advised me to wait with patience for an exfoliation, when they had not the least doubt but they should cure my foot. At the same time they frankly acknowledged that it was impossible to ascertain the precise time when that would happen, as it might be six, or even twelve months, before it came to pass. In my emaciated condition I was certain that it was not possible for me to hold out half the time; and, knowing that I must be a very great cripple with the loss of my heel-bone, I came to a de. termined resolution to have my leg taken off, and appointed the very next day for the operation; but no surgeon came near me. I sincerely believe they wished to perform a cure; but being, as I thought, the best judge of my own feelings, I was resolved this time to be guided by my own opinion; accordingly, on the 2d of May, 1770, my leg was taken off a little below the knee. Yet, notwithstanding I had so long endured the rod of affliction, misfortunes still followed me. About three hours after the amputation had been performed, and when I was quiet in bed, I found myself nearly fainting with the loss of blood; the ligatures had all given way, and the arteries had bled a considerable time before it was discovered. By this time the wound was inflamed; nevertheless, I was under the necessity of once more submitting to the operation of the needle, and the principal artery was sewed up four different times before the blood was stopped, I suffered much for two or three days, not daring to take a wink of sleep; for the moment I shut my eyes, my stump (though constantly held by the nerve) would take such convulsive motions, that I really think a stab to the heart could not be attended with greater pain. My blood too was become so very poor and thin, that it absolutely drained through the wound near a fortnight after my leg was cut off. I lay for eighteen days and nights in one position, not daring to move, test the ligature should again give way; but I could endure it no longer, and ventured ta turn myself in bod contrary to the advice of my surgeon, which I happily effected, and never felt greater pleasure in my life. Six weeks after the amputation, I went out in a sedan-chair for the benefit of the air, being exactly nine months from the day I fell into the pit. Soon after, I took lodgings in the country; where, getting plenty of warm new milk, my appetite and strength increased daily; and to this day, I bless God, I enjoy perfect health.” July, 1793.
A SISTER'S TALES.
No. XI. The love of pleasure is one disposition in which all mankind agree. All feel it, and all seek for its gratification in the way they think most likely to reward their pursuit. The Christian in his closet, praying to his FATHER who seeth in secret ;-the student in his library, surrounded by books and papers ;—the trifler in the ball-room, “crowned with young rose-buds before they be withered;"-appear to be very different characters; yet the master-feeling is, in some sense, the same in each. The heart of man longs for pleasurable emotion, as naturally as the flower seeks for light. It is in youth, however, that this feeling is most keenly experienced, and that the greatest mistakes are made relative to happiness. Some of those mistakes are displayed in the following tale ; which is recited not with the view of damping the bounding wishes of the youthful heart after en. joyment, but with the hope of convincing it, that there are pleasures which deserve to be sought, and which may be found, even in this world of “lamentation, and mourning, and woe.”
And yet who will profit by the experience of others! Whọ, but will run the race of agony, to reach the goal of disappointment? Why should we not choose first that which is best ; and with all the new ener, gies of our natures walk in the ways of pleasantness," knowing that they will lead to the paths of peace?”
Reflections like these may be supposed to have occurred to the mind of Jane L-om, when she gave to her sisters the following account; and they will form the moral to it.
66 ISABELLA GRANT was, from her earliest days, blessed with every comfort and luxury that could be given by fond parents to a favourite child ; and her face, while yet an infant, seemed to promise a disposition to enjoy them. It was for ever smiling, either at the sight of those around her, or at the unknown fancies of the infant's brain. The serene countenance of infancy was soon exchanged for the laughing eye and cheek of childhood. Her little tongue was never still, and her light footsteps scarcely stationary for & moment, unless when, wearied with their exercise, she fell asleep. She entered with more than common ardour into the usual sports of children j tinued so fully and constantly engaged in them, as generally to tire out all her companions.
" For several years ISABELLA was left to follow the impulses of her own happy heart without restraint ; and, like the young birds, she sang or sported all day, and sunk at night into deep and unbroken slum. bers. Living in the country, the heaven of children, she was encompassed with sights of beauty and sounds of felicity; and when she looked at the blue sky, the green fields, the gay flowers, the blithe birds, and the quiet sheep, she fancied that all the world was as happy as herself. But this tranquillity did not, could not, last long. It is a kind dispensation
and con. of Providence, that the world is such an Eden to a child ; but it is an equally merciful arrangement, that we do not advance far in life before we see the disenchanted earth lose a.il its lustre."
“ Hitherto ISABELLA had found in the gaiety of her spirit, and the pleasant scenes around her, a sufficiency of happiness; but she was yet a child, when she began to feel a want of something more satisfying than play : and though she still took her part in games and sports, she often suddenly left them, to the great disappointment of her associates. Then she would wander alone, wondering why she was not as much delighted as formerly with these amusements; and again would try one sport after another, till she had gone through the whole circle of them, and was thoroughly disgusted and tired with all. But now ISABELLA attempted to derive pleasure from sources which she deemed unfailing. Becoming acquainted with many agreeable and amiable young persons of her own age, she went much into company, not to sport innocently as a child, but to sit in her gay apparel, and sing to her music, the envy of some, the admiration of others. The praises, which were even lavishly bestowed on her performances, fed in secret the unholy fire of vanity ; yet this she could not call pleasure, for it made her most anxious and miserable. Among her circle, there was one young lady whose temper, resembled her own ; and towards her she soon felt all the fervour of early friendship. In her company and conversation, she thought there was something more pure and pleasant than in the mixed parties to which she had been accustomed. ISABELLA hoped she had gained a friend, and that a friend must of necessity be a possession that included