“I wander not to seek for more:  In greatest storm I sit on shore,  And laugh at those that toil in vain,  To get what must be lost again;” to wit, their life. But to return to myself: For the information of non-residents of Philadelphia, I will state that Eastwick Park is the largest skating-park in the world. It is a resort for pleasure seekers, both in the winter and in the summer: for skating and dancing in the former season; and dancing and rowing in the latter. It is something for Philadelphia to boast of, and for which she is indebted to the enterprise of the Park King, Mr. R. O. Lowry. The smooth lake of ice was alive with skaters, of both sexes, and the scene was one of the gayest. I had not seen much skating since my return from the army, and, O, how this made me regret my inability to enjoy the delightful exercise. For the first time, I heartily regretted that I had ever served my country, and lost one of my nether limbs; and, in my vexation, felt that if I had it to do over, my loved land might go to the deuce before I would sacrifice a leg, and thus deprive myself of such delightful recreation. “Never more,” I muttered, “will my nimble feet glide over the smooth ice, and the bright, ringing steel of my skates sing gleeful songs behind me, while I fly like the wind! Never more shall I go it at the rate of twenty miles an hour, tumble heels over head on the dear, clear, smooth, cold ice, get my head cracked and my eyes blacked, and spring up and try it again, cheerful and happy! Ah, John Smith! John Smith! thy skating days are over! They are numbered with the things of the past, and with the things that were, and are not!” Just then, the veteran skater, Colonel P * * *, an excellent friend of mine, came gliding gracefully along, to the shore of the lake, where I was standing, and seeing me, said, with his usual cheerful and jovial manner: “How do you do, Smith? You are looking on as though you would like to try it.” “I wish it were possible, Colonel,” I replied. “Did you skate before you went into the army?” “O, yes.” “Well, why don’t you try it?” “On a crutch?” “Certainly—as active as you are, I have no doubt you could skate. Try it!” “I would as soon risk another battle,” said I. “Who ever heard of a man skating on one leg?” “Have _you_ never heard of the like?” “I think not.” “I have then. Last year, I read of a one-legged skater in Boston. He was hard to beat too, it was said.” “Ah? Is that so?” “I assure you it is. Go into the skate-room, get a skate and try it. There is a little nook of ice extending behind the buildings, try it there first, and if you find it a success, you can venture out upon the main body of ice.” “I believe I will,” I said. I went into the skate-room, and somewhat astonished the clerk by asking for “half-a-pair of skates.” “Are you in earnest?” he asked. “Yes, by all means.” “Can you skate?”