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more than he could comfortably carry, so
when lie got home and looked for the key-
hole, latch-key in hand, he could not find
it. Not wishing to disturb my mother, he
thought he could get in at the first-floor
window. So he climbed up the spout
outside the house until he got to the lead
coping, but, there missing his footing, he
fell heavily into the street. The watchman
picked him up, and at first thought he was
killed; he got the street door open and
took him into his bedroom. In a short
time he came to his senses, but could not move
one of his legs. Mr. Swift, a celebrated
surgeon, was sent for; he came, and, on
examining the damaged leg, said it was broken.
He could do nothing to it then, but at four
o'clock in the afternoon he would bring his
instruments and cut it off. My mother was
in a dreadful way at hearing this and so
was my father. In the morning when the
shop was opened and the apprentices were
told of what had happened, there was a good
deal of crying, for they all loved the old
gentleman. Just about midday it began to
rain. A gentleman wearing a cloak came
in, and said he was on his way to the levée,
and as he could not afford to spoil his court-
dress might he stop a few minutes until the
rain was over? "But," says he, "what are
ye all crying for?"

One of the shopmen tells him that my
father broke his leg that morning, and that
at four o'clock Mr. Swift was coming to cut
it off.

"That's sharp work!" said the gentleman.
"I have ten minutes to spare. I am
a surgeon. Go up-stairs, and say I would
like to look at the limb."

My father made no objection, and the
gentleman went up-stairs, and, after
examining the leg, said: "This leg is not
broken. Run and get in half-a-dozen men,
and bring me a couple of thin boards."

They called in some of the neighbours,
and after the gentleman had cut the boards
into lengths, he got the joint right again,
which had been twisted out of its place,
and having bound it up in splints, went to
the levée, promising to call on his return.

Mr. Swift looked in, about an hour
before four o'clock, and told us to get up
the kitchen table and make things ready,
while he went for his amputating instruments.

One of the apprentices told him that a
gentleman had been there, and what the
gentleman had said and done.

"Tell him from me he's a quack," said
Mr. Swift. "I say the leg must come off!"

Mr. Swift went away, and almost
immediately afterwards the gentleman came in.

"Well, how gets on my patient?" said

"Oh! Mr. Swift has been here and says
you are a quack."

"A quack, is it? Surgeon O'Brien of
the Six Hundred and Forty-fourth, a
quack! I'll wait for the gentleman, and
ask him to explain his small mistake."

Mr. O'Brien went into the bedroom, and
waited for Mr. Swift, who came at the
time appointed.

"If you don't have that leg off directly,"
said Mr. Swift to my father, "you had
better make your will."

"You think so, do you?" says the other,
coming forward; "hadn't you better be
thinking about making your own will first?
You called me a quack! Surgeon O'Brien
of his Majesty's Six Hundred and Forty-
fourth, who was in Bunker's Hill and half-
a-dozen other battles in America! But
you are an old man, and that saves your
bones. Get out of the house by the door,
if you don't want to be thrown out by the
window. And, mark my words! I'll have
this gentleman down in his shop in a
fortnight, a better man than ever he was in his

Mr. O'Brien kept his word; he cured
my father, and for thirty years they were
the firmest friends.


I DWELL in Castle Crazy
  And am its King and Lord,
'Tis furnished well for all my needs,
  Cellar and bed and board.
And up in the topmost attic
  The furthest from the earth,
I keep my choicest treasures
  And gems of greatest worth.

A nobly stocked museum
  Of all that's rare and bright,
With plans; ah! many a thousand!
  For setting the wrong world right.
Plans for destroying evil
  And poverty and pain,
And stretching life to a hundred years
  Of vigorous heart and brain.

I've books in Castle Crazy
  That solve the riddles of time,
And make old histories easy
  With all their sorrow and crime.
Books that divulge all secrets
  That science has ever thought,
And might lead us back to Eden
  If men could ever be taught.

I've plans for weaving velvet
  From the spider's web so thin,
For bottling up the sunshine,
  And distilling rain to gin.
For finding the essence of beauty
  And selling it for a crown
Aye! half a crownand less than that
  To the favourites of the town!