189G. 



rilE AMERICAN II EE- HE El' Eli. 



13^ 



THE LAST APPEARANCE OF MOLIIIRE. 



(It fs recorded of Moliere that on the niffht 

 of \\VA (.A ;;th ho insisted on going to the thi'U- 

 t(>r, as u.Haal, di-synte tho entivatii^s of h's 

 friends, to \Aa.y tho "Malade Imaginarie" in or- 

 der tiiat the worlinien might not lose their 

 wagis.] 

 Did you who eat that night to see 



The wizard's hand complete its task 

 Guess at the face of Tragedy 



Wliieli lurked behind tin; comic mask? 

 Did yon, whose plaudits wild and loud 

 Mixed fate and laughter in a breath, 

 Behold the actor as ho bowed, 

 Crown'd with the cypress wreath of death? 



Across the footlights of the years 



That latest scene shines fresh and bright. 

 Only tho lamps are blurred w ith tears. 



Only the laughter fails tonight — 

 And, lo! before our startled eyes 



Two centuries dwindle to a span. 

 And other silent plaudits rise 



Not for the genius, but the man. 



Actor, there gleams above thy tomb 



No censer which the church can swing; 

 No incense, with its dim i;erfume. 



Haunts thy dark rest with dreams of 

 spring. 

 But surely blessings more divine 



Upon that last appearance fell 

 And, with the latest bravos thine, 



Mingled the angels' "It is well." 



And, all unwitting, we today 



Tread in thy footsteps, Moliere. 

 We laugh and wonder at the play 



Or strut behind the footlights' glare. 

 The shouts of laughter grow more sparse, 



The lamps burn dim, the players flee. 

 And Death takes up our petty farce 



And sobers it to tragedy. 



—Nellie K. Blissett in Temple Bar. 



WANTED. 



"An ugly case, " remarked Jim to me 

 confidentially; "a very ugly case in- 

 "deed!" 



The unconscious patient, borne into 

 our surgery upon a stretcher, was fright- 

 fully injured. That was evident at a 

 glance. 



He was a passenger by a ship just ar- 

 rived from the Cape, and while prepar- 

 ing to come ashore a heavy box, swung 

 aloft by the vessel's crane, had slipped 

 and fallen on him. 



Jim Clifford and I were partners in 

 an east end practice, close to the docks. 



His blood soaked clothing bore no 

 marks which could lead to his identifi- 

 cation. 



No limbs were broken, but the neck 

 and shoulder were feai-fully lacerated. 



and one side of the face was dreadfully 

 mangled. It v>'as not until late the fol- 

 lowing evening tliat he seemed to recov- 

 er his senses, and then of course he was 

 too weak to converse. 



Jim was strongly in favor of his re- 

 moval, as soon as jn-acticable, to the 

 nearest hospital. The sick man must 

 have overlieard our conversation, for he 

 signed feebly to my colleague to stoop 

 down. 



"Not to the hospital, for heaven's 

 sake!" whi.s])ered the poor fellow. 

 "Anywhere but there. Stay here — no 

 friends — soon be better!" he gasped 

 painfully. 



Neither of us had the heart to remove 

 our patient against his will, though his 

 stay involved one of u.s being constantly 

 in the house and the services of a male 

 attendant as well. 



Days and weeks slipped by, and, 

 though our patient hovered between life 

 and death mere than once, he continued 

 to stay with us and to engross more or 

 less of our atteut ion. 



The singular thing was that apparent- 

 ly the patient was without relatives or 

 friends in this country — did not know 

 a soul in London. So he told us, bit by 

 bit, adding that his name was Octave 

 Henry, and that he had been in South 

 Africa for many years. A couple of rude 

 sea chests, sent up from the ship, con- 

 tained all his belongings. 



"I'll tell you what it is, " said Jim 

 in his own emphatic way as we sat to- 

 gether in our snuggery one night, "I'll 

 tell you what it is, Fraser, our friend 

 up stairs will slip through our fingers 

 after all if we don't look out. There's 

 brain mischief setting in from some 

 splintered bone, and unless we can do 

 something to remove the brain pressure 

 — well, r,codby to his chance of life!" 



Our patient willingly gave his con- 

 sent to the operation, and tlie whole af- 

 fair was arrangeel imd carried out with- 

 in a week. 



Recovery from the operation of tre- 

 panning is always tardy. In the case of 

 the man Henry, with his already shat- 

 tered physique, it was more than usual- 

 ly protracted. 



One morning I remember well. Clif- 

 ford and I were by the bedside. The 

 patient, for the time being, had revived 

 sufficiently to show himself conscious of 



