throwing them down; insert here the composition of gunpowder tea, Fenian fire, and the last New Yankee drink? In the mahogany country state the diseases most prevalent among the natives, and those which you would think yourself justified in telling the senior assistant-surgeon to request the surgeon to beg the first lieutenant to report to the commander, that he may call the attention of your captain to the necessity of ordering the crew to guard against." Then, most indulgent reader, behold me, with these and a thousand other such questions floating confusedly through my bewildered brain--behold me, I say, rise from the table slowly, and as one who doubteth whether he be not standing on his head; behold me kick aside the cane-bottomed chair, then clear the table with one wild sweep, state "Bosh!" with the air and emphasis of a pasha of three tails, throw myself on the sofa, and with a "Waitah, glass of gwog and cigaw, please," commence to read `Tom Cwingle's Log.' This is how I spent my first day, and a good part of the night too, in London; and--moral--I should sincerely advise every medical aspirant, or candidate for a commission in the Royal Navy, to bring in his pocket some such novel as Roderick Random, or Harry Lorrequer, to read immediately before passing, and to leave every other book at home. CHAPTER THREE. A FELINE ADVENTURE. PASSED--HOORAY! CONVERSATION OF (NOT WITH) TWO ISRAELITISH PARTIES. Next morning, while engaged at my toilet--not a limb of my body which I had not amputated that morning mentally, not one of my joints I had not exsected, or a capital operation I did not perform on my own person; I had, in fact, with imaginary surgical instruments, cut myself all into little pieces, dissected my every nerve, filled all my arteries with red wax and my veins with blue, traced out the origin and insertion of every muscle, and thought of what each one could and what each one could not do; and was just giving the final twirl to my delicate moustache, and the proper set to the bow of my necktie, when something occurred which caused me to start and turn quickly round. It was a soft modest little knock--almost plaintive in its modesty and softness--at my door. I heard no footfall nor sound of any sort, simply the "tapping as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door; simply that and nothing more." "This," thought I, "is Sarah Jane with my boots: mindful girl is Sarah Jane." Then giving voice to my thoughts, "Thank you, Sally," said I, "just leave them outside; I'll have Finnon haddocks and oatcake for breakfast." Then, a voice that wasn't Sally's, but ever so much softer and more kitten-like in tone, replied,--