she held to her mouth, appeared dyed with blood. Notwithstanding her efforts to conceal it, her anxious father saw it, and with a howl of despair, he threw himself from the bed, despising the agony of his own suffering, in concern for her, and taking his daughter in his arms, he supported her till the paroxysm of coughing had past, weeping all the while like an infant, at this, to him, sudden renewal of all his griefs. The poor girl endeavoured to calm him, and get him again replaced in bed, where he underwent tortures of body from the recent motion, and of mind, from all the fond hopes he had entertained of his idol's health being nearly re-established, thus being crushed in a moment. In the confusion, the fatal letter fell into his hands, which threw him into such a paroxysm of rage, that an apoplectic seizure was the consequence. A neighbouring surgeon was sent for, who did what such gentlemen usually do in such cases, viz., bled, leeched, blistered, and poured in mercury, as though he intended to turn the man into a thermometer. In a few days, after frightful raving, his patient's senses were restored, and on being informed of the history of the knee, and hearing that Abernethy had seen it before, he wisely sent for him again. The rough, but kind old man came, and seeing the state of fever in which Smith was, satisfied himself with endeavouring to calm his mind; and having opened a large abscess communicating with the joint, declared his opinion privately to the surgeon in attendance, that the knee was destroyed, all the cartilages gone, and a very rabbit burrow of sinusses all about it. "Save it, if you can," said he; "but if the hectic fever continues too long, and you see that he is sinking under it, why, the limb must be sacrificed; but give it all the time, and every chance you can, for a stiff joint is better than a wooden leg. It was just a month from this period, when the great London surgeon was again summoned, and with sorrow beheld the changed appearance, extreme emaciation, and sunken, apparently dying state, of the once handsome and powerful Smith. Consultation was but a form, and the same evening the limb was removed. From Smith's bed-side, Abernethy was brought by the surgeon, to that of his daughter. There lay the once beautiful Emily, gasping in the last struggle of parting breath his practised eye saw at a glance, that Death's icy hand was freezing the current of her gentle blood; there was that waxy, pellucid look about her rarely seen, except in the victim of Consumption, which seemed as though you could see through the skin and flesh, and there was that peculiar odour, generated by the damps of death, which seldom deceives the observant physician. She could not speak aloud, but making a sign to the skilful old man to stoop close to her, she whispered in his ear, with great difficulty "He has borne the operation well, and I have good hopes of his recovery." A brilliant flush of colour illumined the clay-cold cheek of the dying girl, and for an instant lit up her eyes with supernatural brilliancy, as, half rising in the bed, she grasped the neck of her weeping maid, and with the liquid notes of her voice, strong as ever they had been in health, she exclaimed— “Thank you, thank you; man of truth, I thank you." Then sinking back, as if exhausted by the effort, and by her excited feelings, she looked up towards Heaven, with a sweet smile, and breathing forth-" Lord Jesus receive my spirit," her features collapsed, a shudder ran through her frame, and the lovely Emily Smith's earthly career was ended. internally. A blood vessel had burst "Philip, thy wounds, thy wars, thy dangers were UNPUBLISHED POEM. My terrors were greatly increased, when I received intelligence from Fritz Kobelt, of the events just recorded. Oh! thought I, if that horrid Smith had died, in place of his daughter, then I might have some enjoyment of life; but who knows? he may sink yet. So courage, Eisenberg. Abernethy cannot insure his living more than myself; and even if he should live, wicked and furious as he is, he will be but a cripple, and I should surely be able to run faster than he can hop; so let me drive away these ridiculous fears. Come, Wine, celestial Wine, aid me to expel these terrors, and thou Nicotian herb, calm this trouble of my breast, with thy balmy, care-dispelling influences. must be this drizzling climate which so completely unmans me. How the rain drives against the windows, and the foggy air is almost thick enough to walk upon. "Here, Kobelt," I said, "shut the door against the whole world, and the windows against this wild weather, heap up the fire, and let us make a night of it, and enjoy ourselves, for I feel sad and comfortless, and that letter from your brother, about those Smiths, has annoyed me exceedingly. But let us drown care, and lose ourselves, like true Germans, in clouds of our own making-better, I am sure, than the spiritless fogs of this murky land." "Slave of thy hand," said Kobelt, in mock heroics, "I obey." He went out, and in a few minutes returned, bringing wine, pipes, tobacco, and the hall-door knocker. That night, we smoked and drank quietly, but incessantly, and talked of Fatherland, and told stories, and sang songs, and hugged and kissed each other, and swore inviolable friendship, and gave toasts, and tasted the delightful ecstacy of sitting in silence, gently emitting tiny volumes of continuously curling smoke for hours, till our thoughts wandered, as it were, into other worlds of existence, and scorned, in their winged speed, to touch this earth with the tip of their foot. As the small hours approached, we each perceived that the other was becoming unsteady in his chair, and having mutually announced the discovery, we wheeled away the table, and established ourselves in half recumbent positions, on sofas on either side of the fire, with our respective bottles, pipes, and glasses on chairs |