Where legions of the drowned

Fill grot and cavern dim,

Not one, not one was more renowned,
Or better loved than him.

A CASE OF RESUSCITATION.

ONLY a twelve-month has gone by, since time obviated the last of the objections which prevented me from disclosing sooner the facts hereinafter stated. Since that period, I have frequently related them in conversation, and can no longer hesitate to give them permanent publicity. The two medical class-mates, who were concerned with me in these adventures, are both deceased. One perished in attempting to ford a flooded stream in Missouri: the other fell a victim to an epidemic, which he was attempting with rare self-devotion to arrest, in one of our Southern cities,New Orleans, I think. The principal subject of the following narration was a member of a family, early doomed to languish into tubercular consumption, and no relation of his, nearer than an uncle, now survives. Moreover, I have never mentioned his name, even among my own household, and am therefore sure of keeping secret, as I have always designed to do, every thing which can assist in identifying the persons involved in the following statement.

The writer has for a long time debated in his own mind the question, whether the incidents he is about to relate, would not be more appropriately communicated to a medical than to a purely literary journal. But as they are of such a nature as to interest the public at large quite as much as the Faculty, and have about them an air of romance, (if the use of the term in this connection is proper,) he has finally determined to give them currency for the present, through one of the thoroughfares of thought; which medical journals can never be called, so long as their circulation is limited almost entirely to our own profession.

No fact in history, I judge, is more thoroughly authenticated than this that one of the Alphonsos, of the royal line of Arragon, was saved from death by the hands of an intended assassin. He lay in articulo mortis, under the effects of dropsy in the pericardium, when a hired cut-throat, unaware of the king's near approach to dissolution, slipped by the attendants, and struck a dagger into the royal breast. The murderous weapon achieved an operation, which the surgeon's knife has never performed with success. The discharged matter gave instant play to the functions of life, and the monarch, relieved, next day sat up in his bed.

When reading this case in a quaint old volume on surgery, I little thought that, within less than a year thereafter, I should be called to witness an anomaly, similar in kind but more wonderful in degree, to which the phenomena of resuscitation, within the range of published incidents, present no analogy.

any

The events occurred during my novitiate at the medical school of Dr. J than whom a better lecturer on anatomy was never known. At this time, I was so intimately associated with two young companions, that we could scarcely be said to have. individual history. Our studies, our meals, our frolics, our excursions, were all in common. We became, as trio, notorious, although it might justly be said that as separate persons we were obscure. With our triplicity of force, we could accom plish many wonderful things, especially in the way of adventure; for together we felt ourselves to be irresistible. Gilbert (for I must feign names for my comrades) was a youth of gigantic frame,-imperturbably cool,-one of the good-souled, generous fellows, such as are always popular among their comrades, but likely to become the very tools of the fair sex, who never love their tools half as well as they love tyrants-and brave as a lion. He was never awake without a quid of tobacco stowed away under his cheek, and frequently went to sleep without relieving his mouth of its load. He had but three books in his library, the Practice of Surgery, Channing's Essays, and the Holy Bible. But he was, notwithstanding his peculiarly negligent disposition, and his limited resources of book-learning, possessed of unusual natural dexterity, and the most accomplished anatomist in the school. With the scalpel he was "magnificent," as I used

to tell him; and with the scalpel he had cut his way into all the knowledge of the profession which he possessed. No one could surpass him in the skill with which he made an incision, stripped the cutis from a muscle, unravelled a tendon, or traced a nerve to its ganglia. His bravery and strength were proverbial. It used to be a maxim in the school, that if a dead man should crawl out of his grave, and seize Gilbert by the hair, honest G. would coolly turn around, shake him and let him go.

Alsop was of a different mould. I well remember his delicate, womanly features, imbedded in glossy whiskers, and his winning smile. An incessant porer over books, he seemed to stereotype in his memory every page he read. When, upon the dissection of a subject, any thing novel with regard to formation or to the locality of disease transpired, he always had from one to twenty analogous cases at his tongue's end.

Alsop was one of those proud, sensitive spirits, who are better companions than friends. He was strongly bound to us, but yearned to be the superior of every one else; and, even in our frank intercourse, did not always exhibit that perfect freedom from selfishness and pride, which the generous spirit of Gilbert was perpetually exemplifying. Alsop thought always of himself; Gilbert never. In our various mad frolics, the opposite nature of these two interesting persons shone out. Gilbert's utter indifference to danger contrasted strongly with the nervous vehemence and courage stimulated by pride, which belonged to Alsop. The latter would turn deadly pale, (from anger I think rather than fear,) in the various melées, of which perhaps we were overfond; but his high spirit would never yield, even after physical power was exhausted. In short, whether for study or sport, I could not have had two more useful companions.

These remarks on persons I have introduced, as the reader will have judged, to give my narrative that sketchy minuteness which distinguishes a literary story from mere scientific minutes. With the same object in view, I will mention the preliminary incidents of the adventure which brought the strange vital phenomena under discussion within my personal observation.

It was on the 12th of November, 18—, that our trio attended the funeral of a respectable gentleman of G—, who had died the night previous of a mysterious attack, which was called