THE fountain's mingle with the river,
And the river with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion:
Nothing in the world is single;
All things, by a law divine,
In one another's being mingle;—
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another!
No leaf or flower would be forgiven,
If it disdain'd to kiss its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moon-beams kiss the sea:
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

ON A FADED VIOLET.

THE odour from the flower is gone,
Which like thy kisses breathed on me,
The colour from the flower is flown
Which glowed of thee, and only thee.

A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast,
And mocks the heart which yet is warm,
With cold and silent rest.

I weep-my tears revive it not!
I sigh-it breathes no more on me!
Its mute and uncomplaining lot

Is such as mine should be.

THE LEG.

A TRUE STORY.

(TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.)

IN the autumn of 1782, Lewis Thevenet, a distinguished surgeon at Calais, in France, received a billet without signature, requesting him to repair to a public-house not far off, with such instruments as were necessary for an amputation.

Thevenet was somewhat surprised at the manner of the invitation, but concluding that it was the work of some wag, paid no regard to it. Three days after, he received a second invitation still more pressing, and containing the information, that the next day at nine o'clock a carriage would stop before his house in order to convey him. Thevenet resolved to let the affair take its course, and when, on the following day, at the striking of the clock, an elegant carriage stopped before the door, he seated himself in it, and asked the driver "to whom he was to carry him?"

The driver replied in English, "What, I do not know, I cannot tell." At length the carriage stopped before the designated public-house. A handsome young man of about twenty-eight years of age received the surgeon at the door

and conducted him up stairs into a large chamber, where he held the following dialogue:Thevenet.-You have sent for me?

Englishman.-I am much obliged to you. for the trouble you have taken to visit me. Here is coffee, chocolate, or wine, if you would take anything before the operation.

T.-Show me the patient, Sir; I must first ascertain whether the injury is such as to render an amputation necessary.

E-It is necessary. Mr Thevenet, seat yourself; I have perfect confidence in youlisten to me. Here is a purse of one hundred guineas; this is the pay you will receive for the operation. If done successfully, it is yours. Should you refuse to comply with my wishes, see, here is a loaded pistol. You are in my power; I will shoot you.

T-Sir, I am not afraid of your pistols. But what is your particular desire? tell me without preamble.

E. You must cut off my right leg.

T.—With all my heart; and, if you please, your head too. But the leg is sound.

You

sprang up stairs just now with the agility of
a dancing-master. What ails your leg?
E-Nothing. I only want it off.
T.-Sir, you are a fool.

E-Why does that trouble you, Thevenet?
T-What sin has the leg committed?
E-None; but are you ready to take it

off?

1

T.-Sir, I do not know. Bring me evidence you are of a sound mind.

that

E-Will you comply with my request?' T-Yes, Sir, so soon as you give me sufficient reasons for such mutilation of yourself.

E-I cannot tell you the truth perhaps for some years; but I will lay a wager that after a certain time you shall understand that my reasons are most noble-that my happiness, my very existence, depend upon my being freed from the leg.

T-Sir, I lay no wagers. Tell me your name, residence, family, and occupation.

E. You shall know all that hereafter. Do you take me for an honourable man.

T-I cannot. A man of honour does not threaten his physician with pistols. I have duties towards you as a stranger. I will not mutilate If you. you wish to be the murderer of a guiltless father of a family, then shoot.

E. Well, Mr Thevenet, I will not shoot you; but I will force you to take off my leg. That which you will not do for the love of money, nor the fear of a bullet, you shall do for compassion.

T-And how so?

E.—I will break my leg by discharging my pistols, and here before your eyes.

The Englishman seated himself, and placed the mouth of the pistol close to his knee. Thevenet was on the point of springing to prevent him, but he replied,-"Stir not, or I

T

fire.-Now," says he, "will you increase and lengthen out my pains for nothing?"

"You are a fool," says Thevenet, "but it shall be done; I will take off the unfortunate leg." The Englishman 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.