“Faith, and it’s as good Latin as my man could speak, which is saying no little for him as a gentleman,” said Mr. Tickler, with an air of much wisdom.

“Please, sir, tell us what he says, for we are all impatient, lest the poor man go out of the world with a dying request upon his lips;” interposed one of the bystanders.

“What’s that he says, now?” queried Mr. Tickler, in reply.  “Well, I have it!-he says, (and I think his mind is a little out because he says it,) that this world is all naked vanity, and the quicker a man makes his peace with heaven, the stronger is the proof that he is a man of sense.”

They all agreed that this was a very sensible remark for a dying man, when the major, to their utter astonishment, again opened his lips, and with more vigor than before, muttered one of two sentences, which were all of Latin he had ever known in his life, “Apolla Majora canimus.”

“See, now!-what is this it is now?” interposed the learned Tickler.  “Faith it’s hard enough keeping them all in a body’s head.  Indeed, an’ it’s come to me quick enough though!  He says he gave his energies to his country, and hopes the devil may get his enemies if they say it was otherwise with him.”

Mr. Tickler now commenced a dissertation on the beauties of the Latin language, the origin of which he traced into the ancient Celtic, which, judging from its Nomic melody, he should say bore a trite and common resemblance to that now spoken in Wales, Ireland, and the Highlands of Scotland; and which, notwithstanding the authorities to the contrary, he firmly believed was introduced first into his country by William the Conqueror.  Indeed, he insisted that he had twice debated this point with the learned critic, Easley, (whom he styled the New York executioner of literature,) and beat him with ease; for though Easley was a man of profound knowledge and erudition, he was not a match for him at Latin.

“Omnes codem cogimur, omnium,” repeated the major.

“Gentlemen,” said the critic, “he has something of great importance to communicate, and, if it please you, desires to be alone for a few minutes.”  The bystanders were now well convinced that Mr. Tickler was a man of profound learning, and more than up to his reputation.  They, therefore, withdrew in silence; and had no sooner disappeared than the major rose to his haunches without the slightest difficulty, and gave visible proof that his tongue was restored to its original usefulness.

“Truly, I am under an obligation to you, sir,” said he, addressing himself to the critic; “for you have rendered me a service I much needed.  I was only stunned, and knew that a little sleep would restore me to my natural understanding.  But my tongue had lost its power, and I could not sleep with so many about my bed.  The nonsense I muttered was for a disguise; for I feared if I came suddenly to my senses they would dry up their sympathies, and not think so well of me.  But pray, how comes it, sir, that you made such good Latin of my gibberish?  Tell me, kind sir, for I see you are a scholar, and it may be that Latin is a natural gift with me; and when you are done I will order up a little brandy, which we will divide between us; for I apprehend it will not embarrass you, since you are a man in whose eye I see wisdom enough for several.”