A Queer Prescription

On one occasion when I was 111, the General called in Dr. Hunt, his fuiinly physician. The doctor was a tall, laak, ugly man - "as good ns gold," but witb none of the graces that are supposed to win youcg ladies ; yet he was m -irried to one of the loveliest yonng creat.ures I ever kuew. Gen. Jackson accompanied him to my room, and, aíter my palee bad been daly telt and my tongiie dnly inspected, tliey drew their chairs to the lire and begiin to talk. "Hunt,'"suddenly exclaimed the President, "how oame you to get Ruch a young and pretty wife ?" " Well, 111 teil you," replied the i ! ootor. " I was calle d to altend a young lady at tho convent in Georgetown. Her eyes were bad ; she had to keep them 'bandaged. I cured her -without Ikt ever luiving a distinet view of me. She left the institution, and a year afteiward she appeared here in society, a belle and a beauty. At a ball I introduoed myself, without the sliglitest ui terior design, as the physi jian who hud restored her sight, althongh I suppoaed she had never really seen me. 8he instantly epressed the most heartfelt gratitude. It seemed so deep and genciine that I was touched. That very eveuing slie informed me that she had ssvere cold, aud that 1 must again prescribe for her. Well ; it doij't look ren. sonable, butl did it. I wrote my name on a bit of' paper, folded it and lianded it to bcr, telliiig her she muat take that prescription. She read it and laughed. 'It's a bitter pill,' elie said, ' and must be well gilded if ever 1 tnke it.' But wlietlier it was bitter or whether it was gilded, we wore