I SPENT the ensuing winter in Philadelphia, the great city which was laid out by William Penn, Esquire, who took a checker-board—an article used in a game invariably played “on the square”—for a pattern, and, hence, laid it out in squares that were perfectly square, and have remained so to the present day. Mr. Penn deserves great credit for his peaceable manner of acquiring the land on which the city is built. Instead of going to work and killing the poor innocent savages, like others did, he purchased the land from them, at a good round price in buttons, keys, tooth picks, shoe-pegs, marbles, rum and the like. This course, besides speaking well for the goodness of his heart, is also strong evidence of his superior judgment and foresight, as the Indians at that time were too numerous to be easily overcome.

One day, in the middle of the skating season, I concluded to go down to Eastwick Park, Mr. R. O. Lowry’s popular resort, and amuse myself awhile by watching the skaters tumbling head over heels and cracking their brain-pans on the ice. I always had a passion for seeing any one fall, especially on skates. There is a calm, quiet enjoyment about it—to the observer—that is not equaled by any thing else. “We always,” remarks La Rochefoucault “have strength enough to bear the misfortunes of others,” a saying which, however humiliating it may be to confess it, has a certain truth. The ancient Greek writer Isidorus puts it very bluntly when he says: “Nothing is more pleasant than to sit at ease in the harbor and behold the shipwreck of others,” a sentiment which is repeated in an old English song:

to wit, their life. But to return to myself:

For the information of non-residents of Philadelphia, I will state that Eastwick Park is the largest skating-park in the world. It is a resort for pleasure seekers, both in the winter and in the summer: for skating and dancing in the former season; and dancing and rowing in the latter. It is something for Philadelphia to boast of, and for which she is indebted to the enterprise of the Park King, Mr. R. O. Lowry.

The smooth lake of ice was alive with skaters, of both sexes, and the scene was one of the gayest. I had not seen much skating since my return from the army, and, O, how this made me regret my inability to enjoy the delightful exercise. For the first time, I heartily regretted that I had ever served my country, and lost one of my nether limbs; and, in my vexation, felt that if I had it to do over, my loved land might go to the deuce before I would sacrifice a leg, and thus deprive myself of such delightful recreation.

“Never more,” I muttered, “will my nimble feet glide over the smooth ice, and the bright, ringing steel of my skates sing gleeful songs behind me, while I fly like the wind! Never more shall I go it at the rate of twenty miles an hour, tumble heels over head on the dear, clear, smooth, cold ice, get my head cracked and my eyes blacked, and spring up and try it again, cheerful and happy! Ah, John Smith! John Smith! thy skating days are over! They are numbered with the things of the past, and with the things that were, and are not!”

Just then, the veteran skater, Colonel P * * *, an excellent friend of mine, came gliding gracefully along, to the shore of the lake, where I was standing, and seeing me, said, with his usual cheerful and jovial manner:

“How do you do, Smith? You are looking on as though you would like to try it.”

“I wish it were possible, Colonel,” I replied.

“Did you skate before you went into the army?”

“O, yes.”

“Well, why don’t you try it?”

“On a crutch?”

“Certainly—as active as you are, I have no doubt you could skate. Try it!”

“I would as soon risk another battle,” said I. “Who ever heard of a man skating on one leg?”

“Have you never heard of the like?”

“I think not.”

“I have then. Last year, I read of a one-legged skater in Boston. He was hard to beat too, it was said.”

“Ah? Is that so?”

“I assure you it is. Go into the skate-room, get a skate and try it. There is a little nook of ice extending behind the buildings, try it there first, and if you find it a success, you can venture out upon the main body of ice.”

“I believe I will,” I said.

I went into the skate-room, and somewhat astonished the clerk by asking for “half-a-pair of skates.”

“Are you in earnest?” he asked.

“Yes, by all means.”

“Can you skate?”

“Yes,” I replied, although I had never yet tried it in my present condition; “no mere amateur can beat me.”

He gave me the skate, lent me a gimlet and file, and furnished me with a couple of nails. I drove one of the nails into the lower end of the crutch and the other into the end of the cane, and filed them off sharp about half-an-inch from the wood. I then put on the skate and went out upon the ice in rear of the row of buildings. With some misgivings, I stepped on the ice and gave myself a shove. I sailed out pretty nicely, and didn’t fall. To my astonishment and delight, I discovered that I could skate nearly as well as ever. This discovery lent me confidence and vigor, and, without hesitation, I glided out upon the extensive lake of ice, among the throng of skaters, where I was regarded as a novelty; and, in a word, I created quite a sensation. I felt that I would much rather all the eyes turned upon me had been bullets aimed at me; but I “cheeked” it out, with all the “brass” I could muster, and glided around, apparently so much at my ease, that the observers might have fancied it was not my first attempt to skate on one leg, but that, on the contrary, I had skated many thousand miles thus. I soon met my friend, the Colonel, who was highly elated at my success.

As this was my first exercise of this kind, since my return from the army, I only remained on the ice about five hours that day: by the end of which time I felt as though I might travel two or three times around the globe on a skate.

I did get a fall or two, of course. In fact, I had not been on the ice fifteen minutes, when I got to skating too fast—my skate going so fast that I couldn’t keep up—and the result was that I presently had the ice for a pillow, and lay there gazing at the clouds, with only one overhanging skate-clad foot to interrupt the view. Then, before I had time to stir from this novel position, a handsome young lady, who was trying the backward skating, endeavored to skate over me—a feat frequently attempted without success—and the result was, she violently took a seat upon my stomach and jobbed one of her elbows in my eye. She struggled up and said, “O, excuse me! Did I hurt you?”

“O, no; not at all!” I replied, although she had nearly knocked the breath out of me.

“I am glad of it,” she said, skating away.

I recovered my crutch and cane, and arose, wondering whether she meant that she was glad she hadn’t hurt me or glad she had fallen on me. I didn’t feel glad about any thing.

This was my first skating adventure, on a crutch; but I have skated many times since. So, you see, that, after all, the loss of a limb does not necessarily deprive a man of such little enjoyments. Energy, will and self-confidence will work wonders. What I want to do, I do. I have swam in the Schuylkill, Delaware, Monongahela, Ohio and Mississippi rivers, and in all the lakes; skated hundreds of miles; ridden hundreds of miles on horseback; walked hundreds of miles—all with one leg. There are only two things I can’t do, which another man can. One is to run; the other is to sit cross-legged. I do not say this to boast; for John Smith is modest. I merely mention these facts, that the public may know what a one-legged man can do, and that he’s “a man for a’ that.”