f the
yellow fever: and thus he, with his books, was consigned to oblivion, or
is only rescued from it, if happily this work do not share his fate, by
this short memento of him.

Yellow fever!--malignant consumer of the brave!--how shall I adequately
apostrophise thee? I have looked in thy jaundiced face, whilst thy maw
seemed insatiate. But once didst thou lay thy scorched hand upon my
frame; but the sweet voice of woman startled thee from thy prey, and the
flame of love was stronger than even thy desolating fire. But now is
not the time to tell of this, but rather of the eagerness with which
most of my companions sought to avoid thee.

Captain Reud had got, apparently, into his natural, as well as native,
climate. The hotter it was, like a cricket, he chirped the louder, and
enjoyed it the more. Young and restless, he was the personification of
mischievous humour and sly annoyance. The tales he told of the fever
were ominous, appalling, fatal. None could live who had not been
seasoned, and none could outlive the seasoning. For myself; I might
have been frightened, had I not been so constantly occupied in
discussing pine-apples. But the climax was yet to be given to the fears
of the fearful.

All the officers that could be spared from the ship were invited to dine
with the mess of the 60th Regiment, then doing duty at Kingston and Port
Royal. That day, Captain Reud having been invited to dine with the
admiral at the Penn, we were consequently deprived of his facetiousness.
All the lieutenants and the ward-room officers, with most of the
midshipmen, were of the party. The master took charge of the frigate.
Suppose us all seated at the long table, chequered red and blue, with
Major Flushfire, the officer in command of the garrison, at the top of
the table, all scarlet and gold, and our own dear Dr Thompson, all
scarlet and blue, at the bottom. These two gentlemen were wonderfully
alike. The major's scarlet was not confined to his regimentals: it
covered his face. There was not a cool spot in that flame-coloured
region; the yellow of his eyes was blood-shot, and his nose was richly
Bardolphian. The expression of his features was thirst; but it was a
jovial thirst withal--a thirst that burned to be supplied, encouraged,
pampered. The very idea of water was repugnant to it. Hydrophobia was
written upon the major's brow.

We have described our rubicund doctor before. He always looked warm,
but since hi