"Ha! ha!" said the wounded man: me. I am no screaming woman-ha! ha! tlemen."

you neither of you know Come then to work, gen

Seated facing one side of a narrow table, over the further edge of which from himself his arm projected, and where it was firmly held in the iron gripe of his friend Oliver, the colonel-tall, swarthy, fiercelooking, and rendered fiercer by his fixedness of stoicism at that moment-sat in perfect composure.

Mr. Jonas Jenkins having applied the tourniquet on the arm, showed Mr. Oliver how to grasp the limb, an inch or two above the wrist. “Very well done that will do," said Mr. Jonas Jenkins. "We will now go to work in earnest."

So saying, he dissected off a flap of skin from the back of the wounded hand—the most painful part of the operation-it was flaying the living man-but no muscle of the colonel's face changed-it was evident he had called up all his resolution, and that it was victor. Then quick as thought the young surgeon separated the hand at the joint with a continuous turn of the knife-no groan was heard-vessel after vessel was hooked and tied-the blood cleared-the tourniquet slackened, to see that all was right-the flap brought over and well secured-in short, the operation was completed, and the wounded arm placed in a sling on the owner's breast.

The sufferer had not spoken, now he essayed to speak, but a deathly pallor came upon his countenance, and he felt the reaction of his manly conduct in a faintness, which he could not control. A cordial was given to him, and he was advised to repose on the bed.

"Have I not redeemed my promise-did I flinch or play the woman -ha! Speak, doctor," said the colonel.

"You acted manfully indeed, colonel-but we can talk of this to-morrow-recline on your bed for an hour or two, and you will feel

better."

Persuaded also by his friend Oliver, the patient laid himself on his bed the former demanding Mr. Jonas Jenkins's opinion of his talents as an assistant, and declaring he thought he could operate himself. The floor of the room, that was covered with blood, was cleansed; Mr. Jonas Jenkins packed up his instruments, and with them the hand he had severed, which Oliver remarked would never more cut pudding, then a bottle of good old sherry wine being produced the operator and his assistant sat down to solace themselves after their fatigues.

A deep sigh now and then came from the colonel-for Nature will vindicate herself with those who would fain take a pride in braving her dictates, when Mr. Jonas Jenkins gave his companion an opiate to be administered in case of his patient becoming restless; which he had scarcely done, when with gentlest step, she for whom Mr. Jonas Jenkins had looked in vain upon his arrival, entered, anxiety in her

countenance.

"Is it over?—is he well?"

Satisfied upon these points, she stole to the bedside, looked at him whom she regarded with so much affection for several minutes, but spoke not-retired into the next room, where she disembarrassed herself from her bonnet and cloak, and returned to the table. She then renewed her inquiries.

"Did he bear it bravely ?-was he in much pain ?-Did he suffer long?"

All which questions Mr. Jonas Jenkins found pleasure in answering.

"Is he not a noble fellow?" she asked with a sort of triumph, and eyes glistening with tears. "Thank God, it is past-he will soon be himself again, if we can keep him quiet a little longer."

A knock at the door of the room, and a low whisper called away Mr. Oliver; his sudden departure seemed to this faithful girl a source of anxiety.

"I fear some one is on the search for us, Mr. Jenkins-we are in continual alarm-what a life is ours!-And yet here we can hardly be suspected, the people of the house are stanch."

"Your brother never ventures out, he cannot therefore be tracedyour fears are groundless, without treachery."

"That fear, Mr. Jenkins-that fear is woman's heritage-she lives and dies in fear."

Mr. Oliver at this moment returned-he had been called to observe some of the myrmidons of Bow-street, who were prowling about, but all anxiety on this account was relieved by their being seen soon afterwards, lugging away a couple of youths on a charge of larceny, who resided on the opposite side of the street.

Mr. Jonas Jenkins now took his departure, more than ever enamoured with the fair one whom he had just left; he could not tell wherefore, perhaps, thought he, from some mysterious sympathy in our natures. Yet, it must be acknowledged that the lady exhibited no return of the like sentiments towards Mr. Jonas Jenkins-her aspirations were all for him who lay in suffering-though nothing more in Mr. Jonas Jenkins's view than an untainted sisterly attachment.

The next day Mr. Jonas Jenkins visited his patient again, and found him seated in a chair, and in much less pain than before the operation.

“ Good day, doctor-I owe you something heavy for my lost limb– soldiers are light in the purse.'

"Not a word, my dear colonel, not a word—a patriot is an universal benefactor, and I am happy to express my gratitude to the virtue in a professional mode."

"Well, it is past now-I can eat-I have ordered some oysters and a beefsteak. I don't feel inclined to fast any longer."

"My dear colonel, you must not live so high-we must be cautious -allow me to feel your pulse. Very comfortable-little fever-but I must forbid the beefsteak just yet-to-morrow or the day after-an oyster or two now may suffice."

"What starve as well as be slivered-it's doubling a hardship. I may drink a glass of wine, Mr. Doctor?"

"A couple of glasses, no more, if you desire to be well speedily." "And don't I!" said the colonel, with a tremendous oath, which shall not be repeated. "I must be at business again with the only hand I have left. Is a man-"

"Brother, brother," said the fair spirit already mentioned, who just then entered, "remember! You will alarm our kind friend, the doctor-remember!"

The last word she repeated with emphasis.

"Vinegar Hill must have been a blow to your cause, colonel; but now the French have landed and beaten General Lake, who had four times as many men as they had-your countrymen will rally."

"I don't know much about that-I am too far away now, and am obliged to keep too snug to learn any news; but I do know if I ever catch the fellow who hit my hand, I'll make a sieve of him." "Brother, remember!" said Jeannette again.

"I'll riddle him, I'll be bound; all Vinegar Hill to a serviceapple."

"Come, brother, don't be revengeful-think if the ball had gone through you."

66

Why, then I should not want oysters-where the devil are they so

long?"

"You knew Father Roche,-he was killed, I think, in the late battle?" said Mr. Jonas Jenkins.

"Father Roche-Father Roche-let me see-Roche-zounds, I forget--"

"He commanded your party at Vinegar Hill-you must have known him."

"Father Roche-oh, you mean Father Rock, you have a different way of speaking here he commanded us-how he fared, I can't tell -he did not escape with me, I can swear that."

"Why, he was killed by a cannon-ball," said Mr. Jenkins.

"Poor Rock! no flam-he's gone to glory, poor fellow! Those hundred cannon did the business-how they peppered us, the balls dashing about my legs as thick as small shot into a covey of partridges -some were as big as my head-how they tumbled over the vinegar manufactory! There was not one stone upon another to be seen as we pulled out of the harbour-you would have sworn it had never been there at all.'

"A battle must be a terrible thing, too," said Mr. Jonas Jenkins.

"It all depends upon whether you are used to it-every body must have a learning, afterwards it's nothing at all. A good many are lost in the schooling, and must be put down as waste materials; for my part I never think about the matter when I begin. I pick out my man and get my spite out of him. I have a choice pair of wolves-pups, I always carry with me. Jeannette, show the doctor my skin-borers-they hang up in the next room."

Jeannette produced the pistols.

"Now, you see, doctor, they are not large," said the colonel, "neither do I use them always, for they are my army of reservebosom friends I fly to when others fail, and I am hard pushed. Good articles, arn't they? Rifled-hair-triggers-stops-as good as the best duelling pistols, let the price be what it may, and employed in no affairs that are not equally honourable with those of gentlemen seeking to be riddled in the way of satisfaction,' as they call it. There, Jeannette, hang them up again!

"But come, doctor," said the colonel, pouring out a glass of wine, "I pledge you, wishing you long life, and returning hearty thanks for your kindness towards one whose head sits loosely upon his shoulders,

as if hanging to death were not enough! Your prime ministers and great ones are as revengeful as children upon what can't feel. Come, doctor, some oysters. I don't mind the pain now. What was pain invented for, I wonder.-Come, doctor, the Ladies!' "Colonel, colonel, you must take but two glasses, I cannot permit more-you wish to be well?"

"I do; but two glasses! Well, here is the second to the ladies. Jeannette, come, my dear, few are better among the women-eh, Jeannette !"

"You are doing well, colonel, and lost your hand but yesterday-do not get over-excited.

"I told you, doctor, I defied pain—a man like myself who-" "Remember "" said Jeannette.

At this moment, Mr. Oliver came in, whose influence over the colonel was potent, the regimen was enforced, and Mr. Jonas Jenkins, obtaining promises of regularity, applauding in a most enthusiastic manner the surpassing virtue of patriotism, and to display his acquirements, comforting the colonel with Lord Lovat's last words on the scaffold

Dulce et decorum est pro patriâ mori—

should the worst event happen to so brave a man that chance could bring about-took leave of his patient-his last glance upon quitting the room being cast upon the fair Jeannette, followed by three heavy and audible sighs as he descended the stairs.

For ten successive days Mr. Jonas Jenkins visited the suffering patriot. The stump healed by the "first intention," and his visits became superfluous-he felt they were so; but Jeannette! No matter, he would call once more, and then cease his visits.

He did call, and found, horror-stricken, that the colonel had been taken away by Bow-street officers.

Jeannette and Mr. Oliver had escaped.

"What will become of that sweet, peerless girl, his sister!?" thought Mr. Jonas Jenkins. "I would fain gather her under my wing if I could a brother to be hanged, beheaded, quartered-how must a sister feel!"

In deep sadness, Mr. Jonas Jenkins entered the Northumberland coffee-house at Charing Cross about an hour afterwards, and there taking up the Oracle, then a morning paper, read as follows:

"Yesterday, the notorious highwayman, O'Driscol, alias Mc Sweeny, was arrested in Wild-street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, by Bowstreet officers. His companion, named Oliver, but suspected to be the notorious Bob Tyke, made his escape. Jeannette, the chère amie of O'Driscol, was taken with him, but discharged, there being no warrant against her, though she is a well-known character. This desperate villain has had his hand amputated, it is supposed in consequence of a pistol fired at him, when he made off after his attack on the carriage of Mr. Howard upon Hounslow Heath."

Mr. Jonas Jenkins is now in his sixty-sixth year.

CHARADE.

OH! what a glorious city! behold

Its obelisks, pyramids, sphinx-guarded fanes ;
You gaze on Bubastis in Egypt of old,

And hark! to those sacred, melodious strains!
The dulcimer, harp, shawm, and tabret combine
With the choral rejoicings, and anthems that burst
From yon temple's august and magnificent shrine,
Where prostrated crowds are adoring my First.

How strange the conflicting caprices and whims
Of blind superstition! Some ages are fled,
And the object which living was worshipp'd with hymns,
And graced with an apotheosis when dead,
In Europe is marked for proscription and ban;
As leagued with the foul and unsanctified crew,
Who ply the black art that's forbidden to man,
And with spirits of darkness dark courses pursue.

And where is my changeable Second display'd?

In the belle and the bird, in the damsel and crone,
In the foul and the fair, in the mistress and maid,
In the dabbler in mud, in the queen on her throne.
Who can reckon its changes of form and abode ?
Arch'd and square, low and lofty, distorted and strait,
It is seen in the ditch, on the dunghill, the road-

In the huts of the poor, in the halls of the great.

It is pure flesh and blood, when from Nature's own hand ;-
Made by man its diversified substance is found
In the fish of the deep, in the beast of the land,
In the trees of the field, in the ore underground.
If sometimes 'tis worn unembellish'd and plain,
By the wives or the daughters of niggardly churls,
At others 'tis deck'd with a glittering train

Of diamonds and amethysts, rubies and pearls.

In my populous Third, what a withering change
From the busy Bubastis my first gave to sight!
No sunbeam, no moon gilds its desolate range,
All is silence profound, and perpetual night.
It has numberless houses, and each one contains
A single inhabitant ever asleep ;

No footfall is heard in its streets and its lanes,
In the midst of a crowd there is solitude deep.

Here lovers who long have in severance sigh'd,

Often meet-but no love-breathing whisper is heard ;

Here bitterest foemen are placed side by side,

But their warfare is over :-there's peace in my Third !

H. S.