BY MISS MARGARET ORMSBY FITZGERALD. "Poor thing! poor thing!" she exclaimed, and her eyes filled with tears as they rested upon the shattered form borne towards her. "Gently, gently, Owen, raise your side a little; that will do; come in this way. Look, look! it will knock against the door frame. Set her down very easy,-there now, send Ellen to me, and if you see Honor in the yard, tell her I want her; and then you may go back and see if you can help McCarthy to settle up his car, for the sooner he is on the road the better, as he is to call to the doctor." Her directions were followed, and with the assistance of the maids she, in a few minutes, consigned the unfortunate lady to her neat looking bed. While undressing her a paper had fallen on the floor, it was an open letter, and Mary laid it on the mantle shelf as, hearing her name called, she left the room. It was McCarthy who had just arrived with the children, and delivering them into her hands; as he bade them good bye, and God bless them, he added, as he left the house, that he would send the poor crayther's luggage by the workmen. THE CLOSE OF LIFE. The room was darkened, but one beam of daylight stole through a chink in the closed shutters, and played amid the curls of that fair child, as she silently passed her hand over the fur of a tortoise-shell kitten which lay quietly in her lap. She was sitting on the floor in the centre of the room, the laugh of happy childhood was upon her lips, but it died away unuttered, for she had been told that she must be very quiet. A transient cloud would occasionally pass over that face as her dark eye, wandering for a moment from the purring plaything, glanced with a bewildered expression upon the bed. Beside that bed sat her brother, every gleam of gaie ty banished from his thoughtful countenance, and his dark blue eyes overshadowed by their dark fringes, resting fixedly upon the face of his mother, as she lay deathless and motionless beside him. He knew that she breathed though he could be scarcely said to hear the almost inaudible respirations, and a faint, low moan would show that she was not insensible, • Continued from page 251, vol. 2.-Concluded. he started as the sounds of horses hoofs trotting along the "borein" which led to the house was heard, and a moment after the door opened, and a short, vulgar looking man entered the room, followed by Mrs. McLoughlin. "She must be removed," he said, in a low voice, pointing to the child, who catching the words looked up imploringly in his face, as she said, "Indeed, indeed, I will be very quiet!" The Doctor made no reply but pass ed on. A week had passed in alternate hopes and fears on one side, in pain and torture on the other; fever had come to hasten the march of death, and the delicate frame and worn out constitution of the widow sunk under the accumulated load of ills. Who can tell the weight of the burden, as sickness, sorrow, and anxiety, pressed upon her in that dark hour! Who can tell the agony of those hours of delirium, when in the thick coming and half formed imaginings, that chased each other across her brain, were mingled the sorrow of the past, the suffering of the present, and the anxiety and uncertainty of the future; where the living and the dead appeared to press indiscriminately around her, all with the stony eye, the bloodless lip, and the livid hue of death. The loved and lost were there but not as she had loved and known them; like the rest they came, bearing the impress of the grave, and then they changed and took hideous forms and shapes of nameless horror. But, still, she felt they were the same; one only remained unaltered-it needed not the colorless lip, the pale brow, the black hair falling in masses damp with the dews of death, over the wan, cold cheek, as she had seen her last, when the grave was about to close over her, to assure her that it was her mo ther; and the eyes, without expression yet full of horrible meaning-she could not shrink from them, they were ever fixed upon her, with that freezing gaze; and then came unspoken words, and sounds of unutterable horror ringing in her ears; she would have given worlds to shriek, but she could not; her throat was parched and dry, her tongue was paralyzed, and her lips would not move to give utterance to the sound. Oh! in that moment of unspeakable agony, her brokenhearted mother was terribly avenged. A fortnight had elapsed since Mrs. Herbert had been brought beneath the hospitable roof of the McLoughlin's, and having been, during the last week of that time growing daily worse, it was with more concern than surprise, that they heard the Doctor, the evening on which he paid his last visit, say, as he mounted his horse, I do not think that she can outlive the night. Slowly that evening passed on, and there were more gloomy countenances and sad hearts gathered round that kitchen hearth, than had been seen there during the eighteen years it had been in Thady's possession. The song, the jest, the laugh, were hushed, and the few words which were spoken from time to time, and could hardly be called conversation, were uttered in a subdued whisper. The angel of death hovered near them and cast his shadow over that fireside. by the hand of their maker. And there lay the blighted flower, its freshness departed, fragrance and beauty were no longer there, it had drooped and bent beneath the storm which had scattered its petals, and now, plucked from the stem, it lay blighted, withered, crushed. The fire was burning brightly as the kind- Who can tell the feelings of that mother, hearted farmer's wife entered the sick cham- as she gazed with unutterable tenderness upon ber. The strong light of the blazing bog- her children--for the last time. Oh! what a wood flickered unsteadily upon the walls, and flood of grief is in those words-the last time. gave a startlingly life-like motion to the inani- Strong, indeed, must have been the grasp of mate objects within the room, while the laboring sorrow upon that heart, when it could wring respirations of the dying woman fell heavily forth the tears which now slowly rose, and upon the ear, and contrasted painfully with filled, and overflowed the glazing eye of death. the light and regular breathing of the chil- She spoke how different were her hoarse dren who slumbered peacefully at the opposide of the apartment. It is at all times an oppressively nervous thing to watch alone by the bedside of the dying, and we must not pronounce Mary to be either very superstitious or very silly, if as she sat alone through all that long night on her low stool, her breath came faster, and the color heightened upon her check, as the shadows danced and quivered in the firelight, or that she started and commenced reckoning half audibly the stitches in the stocking she was knitting, to chase the fast thronging fancies, as a gust of wind swept by with a moaning sound, and dashed the rain against the windows, or as it swelled and died away like a wail for the departed. Slowly and heavily the night had worn on, when a moan and a muttered sound brought her to the side of the sufferer. As she put a drink to her lips she almost started at the change which had taken place in that face; the flushed cheek had become ghastly pale, the flashing light of fever had departed from the glassy and darkening eye, and upon the lately burning brow, the dews of death were stealing. She almost shuddered as those large eyes, from which lustre and expression had vanished, were slowly turned upon her, seeming more deadly black when contrasted with the ashy paleness of the countenance; the white lips moved, she spoke, and the hoarse and broken tones, gasped out between oppressed breathings, grated harshly upon the ear. "Bring me my children," said that hollow voice; they were brought. Oh! it was sad to see that young mother and her children. What a contrast was there! They scarcely snatched from the land of dreams, with drowsy eyelids lingeringly opening upon one of reality; the flush of slumber was yet upon their cheeks, and an almost tearful brilliancy in their half closed eyes; there were they in the bud and beauty of childhood, unblighted by sorrow, unnipped by care, unblasted by sin; the scorching beams of passion had not reached them in the morning of life, the dews of innocence yet rested on them, pure and bright as when scattered tones from those which even in the ravings of delirium had sounded musical and sweet! "My children," she said, "in that broken voice, "you will be shortly motherless,-you must be then-all in all-to each other-for you will be-alone-in the world." She paused for a few moments after she had uttered the last words in a choking voice, and no sounds broke the stillness of the chamber of death but her thick gaspings and the sobs of the children; and then love-mother's love, struggling with, triumphing over weakness, suffering, death, in broken interrupted words and gasping breathings, how fervently she blessed, how passionately she prayed for them; how impressively she besought them by the memory of her love, to love one another, to let their loneliness, their orphanage, be but an additional bond to bind them the more closely, how earnestly she bade them, in light or shadow, in sunshine or tempest, in joy as in darkness and sorrow, to cling together, through life, till death. And then the boy, with a strange and solemn firmness in one so young, raised his head from the bedclothes, where in the agony of his grief he had buried his face, and vowed a parent's, rather than a brother's love, to the weeping child beside him. The dying woman had ceased to speak, completely exhausted; and for a moment as she bent over her, Mrs. McLoughlin believed that the spirit had departed: she was mistaken. Again the lips moved, but the words were inaudible. She felt that she was unheard, and an expression of intense pain passed for a moment over the countenance of the sufferer then exerting all her energies, with one dying effort she articulated-letter. 'Yes, yes," said Mary, "I have got it quite safely." A faint smile curled the lip of the dying woman. Slowly the dark eye closed, as with a sigh,-so low, so faint, you rather fancied than heard it, she expired. "Every toad carries a diamond in its head," says Hope; but in any known toad was it ever found? SEDERUNT XI. [SCENE:-The Shanty. Present-The Major, Laird, and Doctor.] LAIRD.-Weel, Doctor, what's the gait in your line? hae ye onything new? DOCTOR-Since we last met, I have availed myself of a bye-law lately passed by our worshipful Society of Medicine, and was present at the examination of candidates for licence to practice Physic, Surgery, &c. Fully expecting to find the proceedings of so important and essential a body conducted with scrupulous exactness, I provided myself with all the necessary apparatus for note-taking, &c., and settled myself down in as respectable an attitude as a deal bench would permit. LAIRD.-It's a' richt mon! they wad na' hae' cushioned cheers, as they cud na' expiscate the pheesyological effects o' pressure, so they must 'een mak' the puir body under their thumb-screws illustrate his answers. But tell us noo aboot yon catechism. DOCTOR.-That's the point. First: of the place. Our friend Cuticle has said so much of the defects of the General Hospital already, that with the certainty of the old pest house being pulled down; I may briefly state that it is in the best room of this worst of buildings, that the Esculapii of Canada are hatched. In the middle of this Doctor's Commons stands a walnut table, such as was formerly used by the denizens of Old York, when its steets were muddy-at its eastern end is placed a painted elbow chair for the aged President, and around the thirsty, crumbless board, are six other body-rests for the reception of the corpusses of the Examiners. The-to-be-examined (unfortunate) wretch, is perched off at one corner, at some distance, to prevent the possibility of his getting information from "the understandings" sits the Secretary with all the insignia of office, of the table. At a small settle by the window consisting of blank licences, old pens, wafers, &c. The minutes of the previous meeting being read and confirmed, the President then orders the Secretary to summon each in his turn the candidates for licences. LAIRD.-Div ye mean to say, mon, that a lairned body o' Breetons wa'd sit doon to a solemn business without a wee drappie to sustain failing natur? DOCTOR.-True, as you are alive, there they sat as I saw them, dry as one of the bones before 'em, and cold as the wind outside. But take a correct view of our learned medicine men from the scene I'm about to give : The Secretary passed to the door and summoned in his usual "sweet Irish accent," Mr. Seth Obed. Bramble! In answer to this summons, in walked a ponderous nondescript sort of being, by his dress, which savoured of the divine, seeming to implore mercy; and by his sleek, plausible physiognomy, suggesting caution to the Faculty who were to weigh his merits. Last not least, the age of the candidate was sufficiently advanced to bespeak respect for his failings. The gentleman candidate having been blandly motioned to his seat, the learned President called on Dr. Labermahn to test the acquirements of Mr. Seth Obed. Bramble in Latinity and Materia Medica.] EXAMINER LABERMAHN.-Mr. Bramble will you be kind enough to translate this prescription: "R. Baccarum Juniperi contusarum, uncias duas. "Aqua ferventis octarium. "Digerantur vaso clauso in loco calido; colatur, et colaturæ adjice. [This was more than the grave seniors could stand, and I was nearly turned out by the polite Secretary, for ungovernable cachinnations, my risibility passing due bounds; when Professor Rex, looking round at his colleagues, gave one of those mischief-brewing looks, peculiar to himself. Dr. Labermahn having expressed himself satisfied, the President requested Dr. Rex to carry on the inquiry.] DR. REX.-To be sure, to the end of the chapter. Now Mr. Bramble. The learned Examiner has just heard that the last i in recipe is short. Will you be kind enough to inform this Board how many I's there are in "Recipe." DR. LABERMAHN.-Mr. President, I protest against the interference of the learned Professor, he has no right to re-commence an examination which is concluded,―he is offensive, and I appeal to you, sir, to enforce the regu lations of this Board. PRESIDENT.-The learned gentleman is correct. Dr. Rex you had better confine yourself to your own duties. [On this Dr. Labermahn rose and retreated towards the window, leaving his brother to commence anew.] PROF. REX.-I must say, sir, that as a public officer, I feel it to be my duty to protect her Majesty's subjects from the injury which must result from permitting ignorant men to practice medicine. We have lately had in this city a remarkable instance of the kind; I shall therefore particularly request you to inform me what the symptoms of poisoning by arsenic are? STUDENT. The taker, sometime before, seems to feel partiklar unhappy. He gets by hisself and is'nt cheerful-like! Well, he goes on more lonesome and lonesome, till at last he takes the pizen, maybe in Stoughton bitters, or if he is a teetotaller, in hot tea, to prevent suspicion. Soon he begins to holler for pain in his inside, partiklar at the screwbickler cordis, and the humble-licus, and if he dont send for the doctor, he dies afore he can get to him. PROF. REX.-Really, sir, you do your school much credit, will you also tell us, what you would feel bound in conscience to do with the poor creature, whom you knew-mark you! whom you knew had taken arsenic ? STUDENT.-I would give him a dose of copper to make him throw up, and some strong coffee, hot and strong. PROF REX.-Copper!! now, what form of copper would you use? STUDENT.-The preparation form-cuprum metallicum, made by Smith, you know. PROF. REX.-Now, sir, I must have a straight answer to my question-what, sir, do you mean by cuprum metallicum; is it a deutoxide, a protoxide, or an oxide that you mean? STUDENT. (Looking quite blank at the President.) Yer honor, I never told the gentleman anything about ox-hides!! Its the milPROF. REX.-Now, sir, what is the color of sulphate of copper? STUDENT.-I guess it's white! PROF. REX.-Ah! I thought it was blue. Is it an alkaloid? STUDENT. Of course it is. PROF.-Pray, sir, what is an alkaloid? STUDENT.-An alcoholic mixture. PROF. REX.-Wouldn't you think of trying a little of your Juniper of Bacchus, now? STUDENT. Oh dear no! You know, sir, in our school we are told that gin-sling, brandycock-tail, and such likers are positive pizenous. [Professor Rex here turned to the President and asked him whether he ever heard of "juniperi baccarum" being "brandy-cocktail.] PRESIDENT.-Brandy be hanged! Did he say so!" [The learned Examiner was now succeeded by Professor Hayrick, who addressed the Student as follows:] PROF. HAYRICK.-Well, my old boy, I say, what would you do, with a child-a little thing, you know-that had the-hang it, you know what!-Comes on in the infernal hot weather? Eh, old Coriander! STUDENT.-Yes, sir, the summer complaint. STUDENT.-I've seen some of that complaint, and I knows nothink that will fix it right off like flour ball, and a-a-a little, very little, Hydrag. cum. cretur, and-and-roobarb. PROF. HAYRICK.-Very well, now. I havn't the slightest doubt in my own mind, that you'll do; however, we will come to that byand-bye, after my old friend here (jerking his thumb over his shoulder,) Dr. Belmont has heard what you know. [Thus briefly testing the knowledge of our Student, he rose to allow Dr. Belmont to take his place, who commenced:] DR. BELMONT.-Yes, Mr. President, I am not yet satisfied with Mr. Brambles' examination, as far as it has gone; and before I give FORT my vote, must test the candidates acquire ments in one of the most important departments with which the physician has to deal, viz., the stomach! PU PRESIDENT.-Pshaw! DR. BELMONT.-My dear sir, Hunter, the celebrated Dr. John Hunter, has termed the stomach the seat of universal sympathy, and sir, I maintain, it is of paramount importance to the physician to know how to administer to the wants of this organ: not only should he know how to prepare, the most delicate dishes, but he should be "well up " in the anatomy of animals,-(" Comparative?" inquired Professor Rex, with a knowing twinkle of the eye,) the anatomy of animals prepared for the table, and also be able to dissect them readily. Mr. Bramble-(continued the learned Doctor turning towards the Student,)--how would you proceed in amputating the leg of a goose? [A roar from the assembled witnesses followed this question, which was instantly checked by the President.] STUDENT-D'ye mean to ampitate the leg of a live goose? or outside, to the head, and the interior, or inside, to the tail, os coccy, something of the bird, and then you knows, sir, you don't take out the fork till you cut it all up. [Dr. Belmont here retired, his quarter of an hour being up, and Dr. Stowell commenced his examination on Physiology.] Dr. STOWELL.-Now, Mr. Bramble, what parts of the goose do you consider the most appropriate for a delicate stomach? STUDENT.-The liver, sir! Dr. STOWELL. (Slowly, as if calling to his mind the experiments of Bernard, and the ap pearances of Kiernan's liver under the micros cope.)—Yes, the liver certainly is wonderful. Can you tell me of any means resorted to by lovers of this luxury, to promote its growth or size during the life of the bird, and is, in an analagous state, induced in man from a similar cause? [Another suppressed roar, which was met DR. BELMONT.-No! no! I see you under- STUDENT. It is practised by some who nail their feet to a board, like this, (patting the table with his hand,) the goose's feet I mean, (he continued bowing) and placing them before a purty warm fire; at the same time you must feed them largely with food, and give them lots to drink. This treatment is great for giving a fellor (goose he meant) a great liver. Dr. STOWELL.-You have answered thus far, though on your language I can hardly compliment you, or the manner in which you express yourself. State to the Board the Physiology of the organ, and particularly with reference to the formation of sugar. STUDENT.-Sugar! never heard tell of such thing, you know, sir! Some of them English and French know a mighty deal more nor we Cannucks. [The rest of his answers were given in such an off-hand, easy, nay, cunning manner, shewing he was a perfect master of his subject, that the assemblage, principally students, could not forbear applauding him. This unbecoming STUDENT.-Yes; the tendon sepperator. praise, like the laugh, was promptly stopped DR. BELMONT.-Right. Were this most in- by the learned President, who pointed out to valuable instrument more in use than at prethem in a neat and well turned speech the sent, we would not so often see hysteria in- impropriety of their conduct. "For," said he, duced by fowls coming in contact with new "Gentlemen, if you are suffered to testify silk dresses. Do you remember the inven-your approbation of the incritorious answer or's name? STUDENT. (Puzzled.) DR. BELMONT.-Never mind; the knowledge of the instrument acquits you of forgetfulness as to the maker's name. What important rule must you observe with referenco to the use of the fork, when carving a goose or any other fowl? STUDENT. The fork, as I told you before, should be stuck in, one prong on each side of the brest-hone. The anterior part of the fork The learned Doctor has evidently been studying Soyer.-P. D. ing of one student you might be induced to condemn another by a hiss, which would be and for this board to hear. Moreover, gentlevery unpleasant for the unfortunate student men, I would remind you that it is we, not you, who are the judges in this matter." Dr. Bramble, for some time, he giving correct Stowell continued examining the student, prescriptions for making tea gruel, rice and barley water, soups from the simple broth to and in "drinks" he was quite at home, appa the rich and highly seasoned beef-tea; rently forgetting that he had previously stated "his school" considered "such lickers posi |