“Why, I tried to-day, and it took me so long, and was not well done at that, that I got in late to old D--------'s lecture, and he looked as sour at me as if he had caught one of the vice presidents of the P. T. S., drinking something stronger than water.” “Well, just show your Irishman to me, and if I don't scarify and cup him in ten minutes I'll treat--that is, take notes for the whole crowd to-morrow.” “I'll give you half an hour, and you can't do it--scarify and put twelve tumblers on him. I'll bet you a box of cig--hem--give you choice of subjects at the next raising.” “Done! when shall the trial come off?” “Right off; everything is ready, Irishman and all.” In the medical ward at that time was an Irishman, evidently not long caught, whose greatest disease, from all external indications, was poverty. The weather being very inclement, and the hospital having the reputation of keeping up good fires, and feeding its inmates pretty well, Pat took an idea into his head that he would lay up within its friendly walls during the severity of the winter; so going to the mayor of the city, whose benevolent heart never allowed him to refuse an applicant for the city's charities, he obtained by his piteous representations and obvious want, a hospital permit, and was, in consequence of it, soon snugly ensconced. Having the faculty of bending one knee, so that no efforts could straighten the joint, he came in as a case of chronic rheumatism, and manfully the rascal stood the kind exertions to relieve him, so as to deceive the most experienced, and cause the putting of him down in the books as one of the “incurables.” Charley, however, having fine opportunities of investigating the case, had his suspicions aroused as to the reality of Pat's disease, and, determining to settle the matter, selected him as my cupping subject. “Boys,” said he, “I believe Pat's shamming; suppose we tell him that old D-------- has directed him to be scarified and cupped, and Tensas can apply the remedy!” “Agreed!” said all with one voice. Filling a tray with tumblers and a bottle of alcohol, we proceeded in a body to the ward where the victim was placidly reposing. Seeing us approach with all the apparatus for “making a night of it,” Pat imagined he was going to be put on a more stimulating course of treatment, and his eyes fairly glistened, and his leg was, if possible, drawn still more closely to his body as he took a mental view of his situation; no work, good lodgings, pleasant medicine, liberal diet, and at last, to cap the climax of his earthly felicity, the pure “Crame of the Valley.” Well, Pat, my boy, how do you rise to-night?”. “Faith, an' good troth, young docthurs, like Inglan's tare for the ould counthry's misry, I don't rise at all at all--not aven the laste bit; here is me stretched on me back like a nagur, unable to work for my praties, or a wee drap of the crathur, ochone! ochone!” “Don't you improve any? Can't you walk a bit?”