If there was any music in mine, it was in the stump, which played a sort of “Dead March in Saul,” up to the landing-place, where the sound and sight of my Birnam wood coming to Dunsinane threw my poor mother into a Macbeth fit of horror, for the preparatory letter which should have broken my leg to her, had been lost on its passage. As for my father, I will not attempt to describe his transport, for I came upon him, “As fools rush in where angels fear to tread;” and Gabriel or Michael would not have escaped a volley for treading on his gouty foot. At the same moment, Margaret and Louisa, with sisterly impetuosity, threw themselves on my neck, and not being attentive to my “outplay or loose leg,” according to Sir Thomas Parkyn’s “Instructions for Wrestling,” the result was a “hanging trippet.” “A hanging trippet is when you put your toe behind your adversary’s heel, on the same side, with a design to hook his leg up forwards, and throw him on his back.” The reader will guess my satisfaction when night came, and allowed me to rid myself of my unlucky limb. Fatigued with my walk through dry sand and wet gravel, exhausted by excessive emotion, and, maybe, a little flustered by dipping into the cup of welcome, I literally tumbled into bed, and was soon dreaming of running races and leaping for wagers, gallopading, waltzing, and other feats of a biped, when I was suddenly aroused by shrill screams of “Thieves!” and “Murder!” with a more hoarse call for “Frank! Frank!” There were burglars, in fact, in the house, who were packing and preparing to elope with the family plate, without the consent of parents. It was natural for the latter to call a son and a soldier to the rescue, but son or soldier never came in time to start for the plate; not that I wanted zeal or courage, or arms, but I wanted that unlucky limb, and I groped about a full half hour in the dark, before I could lay my hand upon my leg. The next morning I took a solitary stroll before breakfast to look at the estate; but during my absence abroad, some exchanges of land had taken place with our neighbour, Sir Theophilus. The consequence was, in taking my wood through a wood of his, but which had formerly been our own, and going with my “best leg foremost,” as a man in my predicament always does, I popped it into a man-trap. Thus my timber failed me at a pinch when it might really have stood my friend. Luckily the trap was one of the humane sort;--but it was far from pleasant to stand in it for two hours calling out for Leg Bail.