"Let us now," said Dr. Blanke, "leave the venerable sufferer to his repose, during which Nature may be free to perform the work of his restoration." He then addressed himself to inspire the hopes and allay the apprehensions of the company for the welfare of him in whom two of them, at least, were so deeply interested. He next retired to change his dress, leaving them without any injunctions to await his return in silence. On the contrary, he told them that they might bawl in the sleeper's ear, or burn his nose, or prick his fingers if they thought proper, without any fear of awakening him. Filial piety, and neighbourly respect, however, prevented them from trying these experiments. In anxious astonishment, conversing only in ejaculations, they awaited his return, which took place very soon. He reappeared in his usual professional costume. "I will now," said the Doctor, "proceed to awaken our patient. Should he prove recovered, as I trust he may, let me request you, young lady to moderate your transports: or he will be in danger of a relapse." He then made a few transverse passes in front of the face of the patient, who altered his position, and began to move a little in his chair. "Sensation," said the Doctor, "is now partially restored. The brain is in a state of semi-consciousness. Perhaps the soothing influence of music, for which I have provided, will complete the restoration of its powers." He then went to the window, and throwing it open, concisely exclaimed, "Strike up." A barrel-organ below instantly commenced Balfe's touching melody of "Marble Halls." Returning to the somnambulist, Dr. Blanke touched his organ of tune; whereupon he instantly began to beat time to the air; and continued doing so for some ten minutes. "Now," said the Doctor, "I think this will do." So saying, he inclined his head, and blew a sudden puff of air on the patient's eye-brows, which the latter began to rub. He then gradually opened his eyes, and at length with a start awoke. The first word he uttered was "Hallo!" "My dear, dear Papa!" cried Sarah-but De Vigne prudently restrained her from rushing into his arms. "Hey? What?" cried the old gentleman. "Why surely I've been napping. Doctor, I beg your pardon. What noise is that?" Here be alluded to the organ, which continued playing. "Who left the gate open? Tell that fellow to go away instantly." "Do you know what you have been dreaming about, sir," said Dr. Blanke. "Dreaming-eh? Have I?" "Yes, sir. You have been talking in your sleep about the KING OF CLUBS." It was a moment of breathless interest! "The King of Clubs, eh? Ha, ha! I don't recollect it." Hour of joy and transport! Yes. The sire of Sarah had returned to reason. He retained not a trace of recollection of his malady. We leave to be imagined the feelings of William and his Sarah, which were only equalled by those which filled their bosoms when, a few days afterwards, their hands were joined by the Reverend Dr. Oldport. We can compare their emotions to nothing else,-except, perhaps, the delight and satisfaction with which Dr. Blanke, in reward for his services, received from De Vigne, on the morning of his marriage, a check for one hundred pounds. "So much," said the learned and facetious practitioner, "for trumping the KING OF CLUBS." 1 W L D of Chertser, viere uis for Cum Draai te periodical started about this time by Mr. Ts Is this he ovatributed a number of soft ties und säztenes fr vile a more extended popularity was afte - 7te Cassin: 5 m." This is acclusive; our young author had tasse 'hind-de kui seen Las f in print-and his career was from thời the reneDO TĚŽ He shortly after established himself in L qua, and Feach having then just started, he was solicited to become i contributor. His several papers of "The Medical Student," "Evening Parties," "The London Lounger," "The Side-scenes of Society," contributed in no small degree to the success and popularity of that periodical; and established for their author at once a high reputation as a comic writer and an amusing and good-natured satirist of London Society, its external ostentations and its inward economy. His reputation for this style of writing was carried out still further in his alliance with Mr. John Parry, whom he has supplied with a rich budget of materials adapted with admirable tact to the display of those executive drolleries for which Mr. Parry might fairly claim a patent of invention but that he may discard all fear of imitation. A few random contributions to " Bentley's Miscellany" then led to a firmer connection; and the novel of "The Adventures of Mr. Ledbury" was commenced in 1842; with what success is known to the readers of the "Miscellany." This first essay in a work of longue haleine, as they also know, was immediately followed by the " Fortunes of the Scattergood Family," and the "Marchioness de Brinvilliers;" in which latter work Mr. Smith has made a bold plunge into antiquarian and historical romance, and shown the power to deeply interest and instruct, of which few would have suspected the comic writer. It is not necessary that we should give a complete catalogue of Mr. Smith's literary labours; his indefatigable industry and versatility would render this no easy task, and we have merely traced the landmarks through which he has so rapidly travelled to the position he now holds. Were we to enumerate the result of even one year's labour in his multifarious contributions to periodical literature of every description, we should more than astonish the reader. One principal feature, however, we have omitted,-his connections with the theatre, which commenced humbly, but most successfully, at the Surrey Theatre, in the drama of "Blanche Heriot," and has subsequently been carried on with no less success, and more acceptable laurels in the path of burlesque writing. "Aladdin," "Valentine and Orson" "Whittington," "Cinderel la," we have all seen succeed each other in rapid and in brilliant array, and establish for Mr. Smith a reputation for Burlesque only inferior to its inventor Mr. Planché. Having brought our hero up to his last achievement, we now leave him with the hope that what he may have recorded is but the glimmering dawn of a long and bright day. One word more, and this at the risk of saddling Mr. Bentley with advertisement duty, we particularly address to eligible spinsters, Mr. Smith is unmarried, and twenty-nine years of age. C. L. K. * Mr. Smith's connection with Punch has since ceased, through a misunderstanding, the causes of which are among the mysteries of London. 622 EARLY YEARS OF A VETERAN OF THE ARMY OF WESTPHALIA, BETWEEN 1805 AND 1814. It is to be supposed that the hamlet was empty of its former inta bitants. On the approach of enemies they concealed themselves and their small property in the forests; and thus even the first fugitives had found no food of any kind. After having in some degree warmed ourselves, we began covertly to do honour to our eatables. As they could not, even by the most thrifty divisions of them, hold out very long, what was to become of us during the remaining distance to Wilna? and how did these masses of human beings around us sustain themselves? I know not. The last resources had been left on the other side of the Beresina, where, when all else failed, there were yet horses to slaughter and to feed upon. Here was nothing-absolutely nothing; and as we on the succeeding day saw countless, heaped-up corpses on our road, we knew to a certainty by their appearance with what enemy they had been combating; their hollow, fallen-in faces proved that famine, gaunt famine, had allied itself with their innume rable privations and exhausting efforts to destroy them. In mounds, in walls, heaped up together, lay the victims of the last night as we left our bivouac in the morning. Early on the second day we hastened on, but with strength much diminished,—for the remainder of the ham had furnished only slender rations for our breakfast. The storm blew with redoubled violence; the cold was intense, and the despair around us was not calculated to sustain our courage. The dead and the living increased in number as we passed along; many of the latter, in quiet, melancholy delirium. were seated upon a stone or a hillock of earth; and, as we at evening sank down by our fire, weak, weary, and worn out, more than one of us, too, had lost all hope. Next morning, when I had left my compa nions at a short distance, I espied a man carrying a large, coarse bag, and ran after him as fast as I was able. To my inquiry of what the bag conte tained the man answered there was flour in it, and made over to me the half of it for an extravagant sum of money. I ran back in triumph to my fainting companions. The prospect of so reviving a breakfast screwed up our courage. Quickly was our camp-kettle filled with snow, there in to cook our soup. We seasoned it with a cartridge, and half-famish ed as we were, we fell to as soon as it was ready; but, what horror was ours upon discovering a number of those disgusting to be found in old flour. General Schulz was able, indeed, to joke over our soup, and baptised it soul-cement, recommending it as only means of keeping body and soul in harmony together; but though none of us refused his share, neither could any one get down the dis gusting mixture without a monstrous effort over himself. Our horses still held out, and we fed them upon a little straw-thatch, or we found here and there a haycock in a meadow, out of which we provided ourselves. While relating our grievous necessities some persons may per haps make the observation that we might have had one of these ani mals killed for our subsistence; but, in the first place, we could not then have taken on our wounded,-besides from station to station we were getting nearer to Wilna, where, as it was said, we were to form worms so often the |