calmly laid by the pistol, and all was made ready for the operation. As soon as the surgeon began to cut, the Englishman lighted his pipe, and swore it should not go out. He kept his word. The leg lay upon the floor, and the Englishman was still smoking. Thevenet did his work like a master; the wound, by his skill, and the patient's own good-nature, was healed at a fixed time: he rewarded the surgeon like a king, thanked him with tears of joy for the loss of his leg, and sallied over the streets with a wooden one.

About eight weeks after his departure, Thevenet received a letter from England with the following contents:

"You will receive inclosed, as a proof of my most heartfelt gratitude, an order for 250 guineas upon Mr. Panchard, in Paris. You have made me the happiest mortal on earth in depriving me of my leg, for it was the only hindrance to my earthly felicity. Brave man, you may now know the cause of my foolish humour, as you called it. You concluded, at the time, that there could be no reasonable ground for such self-mutilation. I offered to lay a wager; you did well in not accepting it.

"After my second return from the East Indies, I became acquainted with Emilie Harley, the most perfect of women. I loved her most passionately. Her wealth, her family connexions, influenced my friends in her favour; but I was influenced only by her beauty and her noble heart. I joined the number of her admirers. Ah! excellent Thevenet, I was so fortunate as to become the most unfortunate of rivals. She loved me above all, made no secret of it, but still she rejected me. I sought her hand in vain; in vain I implored her parents and her friends to intercede for me; she was still immoveable. For a long time I was unable to conjecture the cause of her rejecting me; since, as she confessed herself, she loved me almost to distraction. One of her visitors at length betrayed to me the secret. Miss Harley was a wonder of beauty, but she had but one leg; and, on account of this imperfection,

she feared to become my wife lest I should esteem her the less for it. My resolution was taken. I resolved to become like her; thanks to you I became so. I came with my wooden leg to London, and in the first place visited Miss Harley. It had been reported, and I myself had written to England, that by a fall from my horse I had broken my leg, which was consequently taken off. It was much regretted. Emilie fell into a swoon the first time she saw me. She was for a long time inconsolable, but now she is my wife. The first day after our marriage I intrusted to her the secret of what a sacrifice I had made in consequence of my wish to obtain her hand. She loves me now the more affectionately. O, my brave Thevenet, had I ten legs to lose, I would, without a single contortion of feature, part with them all for my Emilie. So long as I live I will be grateful to you. Come to Londonvisit us—become acquainted with my wife-and then say I was a fool.

"CHARLES Temple."

Answer of Mr. Thevenet.

"SIR,-I thank you for your valuable present, for so I must call it, because I cannot consider it as pay for the little trouble I was at. I congratulate you on your marriage with a woman so worthy your affections. It is true a leg is much to lose, even for a beautiful, virtuous, and affectionate wife-but not too much. To gain possession of Eve, Adam was obliged to part with a rib; and beautiful women have cost some men their heads. But, after all, permit me to adhere to my former judgment. Truly, for the moment, you were correct, but with this difference; the correctness of my judgment was founded on long experience, (as every truth should be, which we are not disposed to acknowledge.) Sir, mind me, I lay a wager, that after two years you repent that your leg was taken off above the knee: you will find that below the knee had been enough. After three years, you will be convinced

After four

that the loss of the foot had been sufficient. years, you will conclude that the sacrifice of the great toe, and after five years, of the little toe, had been too much. After six years, you will agree with me that the paring of a nail had been enough. But I do not say this in prejudice of the merits of your charming wife. In my youth I devoted myself to love-but I have never parted with a leg; had I done so, I should, at this day, have said-Thevenet, thou wast a fool.-I have the honour to be, yours, &c. "LEWIS THEVENET."

excuse me

In 1793, eleven years after, during the horrors of the Revolution, Thevenet, whom a person that envied his reputation caused to be suspected of aristocracy, fled to London to save himself from the guillotine. He inquired after Sir Charles Temple, and was shown his house. He made himself known and was received. In an arm-chair by the fire, surrounded by twenty newspapers, sat a corpulent man, who could hardly stand up, he was so unwieldy. "Ah! welcome, Mr. Thevenet!" cried the corpulent man, who was no other than Sir Charles Temple, if I do not rise ;-this cursed leg is a hindrance to me in every thing. You have come to see if your judgment was correct." "I come as a fugitive, and seek your protection." "You shall have it, with pleasure. You must live with me from this day, for, truly, you are a wise man. You must console me. Surely, Thevenet, probably I had been an admiral of the blue, had not my wooden leg disqualified me from the service of my country. When I read the gazettes, the brown and the blue make me angry, because I can have nothing to do with them. Come, console me." "Your wife can do that better than I." "Say nothing of her her wooden leg prevented her dancing, so she betook herself to cards and to fashions. There is no such "What! was my

thing as living peaceably with her." judgment correct then?" "O welcome, beloved Thevenet;-but be silent on that point. It was a silly adventure.

Had I my leg again, I would not now give the paring of a nail. Between you and me, I was A FOOL; but keep this to yourself."

COMPLAISANCE;

OR,

“VAT YOU PLEASE.”

Some years ago, when common sense was dead,
And rabbles, showing hatred of tall stature,
In France, determined not to have a head;

In that made shorter all whose birth, or date, or
Descent was not as vulgar as their own.
Full many a Frenchman then took wing,

Bidding cher France a somewhat brief farewell,

In accents not quite like his usual tone,

And hither came in crowds, pell mell,

Sans cash, sans clothes, sans almost every thing!

Two Messieurs, who about this time came over,
Half starved, but tonjours gai,

(No weasels e'er were thinner,)

Trudged up to town from Dover,

Their slender store exhausted on the way,
Extremely puzzled how to get a dinner.
"From morn till noon, from noon till dewy eve,"
Our Frenchmen wandered on their expedition,
Great was their need, and sorely did they grieve
Their purse and stomach in the same condition.
At length, by mutual consent, they parted,
And different ways on the same errand started.
Towards night one Frenchman at a tavern entry
Stopped and inhaled the odour of the pantry,
And instant set to work his ingenuity,
To think how he could share its superfluity.
Necessity, invention's mother,

Quickly resolved him and the pother;

One moment saw his plan completed,

Before the cloth he soon was seated!

The ready waiter at his elbow stands

"Sir, will you favour me with your commands?

"We've roast and boiled, Sir; choose you those or these?"

"Sare! you are very good, Sare! Vat you please! "

Quick at the word

Upon the table smokes the roasted bird;

Drumstick and merry-thought he picked in haste,
Pleased at the thought that taught him how to taste.
Pie follows goose, and after pie comes cheese-
"Stilton or Cheshire, Sir? "Ah! vat you please! "
And now our Frenchman, having ta'en his fill,
Prepares to go, when-" Sir; your little bill!"

"Ah! vat? you're Bill? Vell, Mr. Bill, good day.

"Bon jour, good Villiam!" " Nay, Sir; stay, Sir, stay; "My name is Tom, Sir.-You've this bill to pay. "Pay? Pay? Ma foi!

"I call for nothing, Sare! Pardonnez moi !
"You bring me vat you call your goose, your cheese;
"You ask to eat, I tell you Vat you please!

Down came the master, each explained his case,
The one with cursing, t'other with grimace;
When Boniface, from love of jest,

Of a bad bargain made the best,
And, Briton-like, forgave a fallen foe,
Laughed heartily, and let him go!

Off tripped the Frenchman, and, in the next street,
His hungry countryman he chanced to meet.
To him he told, with many a shrug and grin,
How smartly he had taken Jean Bull in!
Fired with the tale, the other licks his chops,
Makes his conjé, and at the inn door stops;
Entering, he seats himself, just at his ease.

"What will you have, Sir?" Tom asks, "Vat you please!" The waiter looked as pale as Paris plaster,

And down stairs running, thus addressed his master : "These d-d Mounseers come over here in pairs; "Sir, there's another Vat you please' up stairs." "So-ho!" he cried, then sought the Frenchman's station, And gave the Bon ificial salutation.

Poor Mounseer's fancy now the dinner sees,

And to Tom's question answers "Vat you please!
But scarcely had he let the sentence slip,

When, on his shoulders, smack, came down a whip. "Sare, Sare! ah, diable! ah, Sare, parbleu! God dem, Mounseer, vat make you use me so?" "That's what I please, you gim-crack!"" said mine host, "Your friend's wit won the goose, though at my cest; "But you! a thing not worth the time I'm wasting, "Are goose yourself, and only want some basting!