shudder, and hasten on to tell of the curious and amusing adventures I have since met with, “on a crutch.”

I will never forget my first attempt to walk on crutches. I thought it looked easy, to see others walking about the hospital on crutches; just as an inexperienced person is apt to think rowing a boat an easy matter, because he sees others do it with apparent facility. So, one day, when my strength had so increased that I thought I could bear my weight on my only leg, I urged the nurse to lift me up and let me try a pair of crutches.

He did so. He raised me up, and I stood holding tremulously to the tent-post—for I and five other unfortunates occupied a hospital tent—while he carefully placed a crutch under each of my arms. It was the first time for several months that I had been in an erect position, and you can’t well imagine how I felt—without studying a good while about it. The ground on which I stood seemed so far beneath that it made me quite dizzy to look down on it, and I trembled at the awful possibility of falling.

With the crutches under my arms, and the nurse’s strong hand on my shoulder to keep me steady, I made two or three feeble, timid strides, and concluding that walking on crutches was not quite what it was “cracked up” to be, I faintly said:

“Nurse, put me down on the bed again: I fear I will never walk well on a crutch.”

“Pshaw!” said he, as he assisted me to return to my couch of straw; “you do well, and you’ll do twice as well next time you try it.”

“Twice as well would be but poorly,” I rejoined. “However, I will do my best.”

“Certainly! Don’t think of getting discouraged.”

As I now look back on that dismal scene, and remember the sinking heart that throbbed so feebly within me, and the wasted trembling limbs with which I attempted to flee from my prison-like bed, I cannot help smiling;—now, when I can skate as fast as any one, on my solitary foot, swim as well as I ever could, climb like a squirrel, jump on a saddled horse and ride at any pace I please, place a hand on a fence as high as my head and spring over in a quarter of a second, or walk twenty-five or thirty miles a day—all this with one good leg, a crutch and a cane!

When the spring came, and I could walk about with some ease, I went from my country home to Philadelphia, to get one of Palmer’s artificial legs, supposing that I could wear one advantageously. While on the subject, I will simply say that I got one, but never used it much, because there was too little of the thigh left to attach it to firmly. Not that I would be understood to detract from the reputation of Palmer’s patent limb; for we all liked the Doctor, and were most favorably impressed with his handiwork; and my subsequent observations have left no doubt in my mind that his are the most nearly perfect of any artificial limbs manufactured.

Major King, Assistant Surgeon-General of Philadelphia, sent me to Haddington Hospital, to wait till the proposed new limb should be ready for me; and it was there that I, John Smith, fairly began my somewhat eventful career—“On a Crutch.”

The hospital, located near the beautiful suburban village of Haddington, was set apart for such “heroes,” as had lost arms or legs, and desired to replace them with substantial wooden ones. It was not unusual at that time to see fifty or sixty one-legged men strolling about the grounds, in fine weather; or squads of fifteen or twenty, supplied with passes for the day, clambering upon a street car and going into the city for a bit of a spree.

A person once asked me if it was not a rather sad sight, and if the boys in this condition were not