Your good old Doctor to his ailing friends.
-Talk of your science! after all is said
There's nothing like a bare and shiny head;
Age lends the graces that are sure to please;
Folks want their Doctors mouldy, like their cheese.
So Rip began to look at people's tongues
And thump their briskets (called it “sound their lungs"),
Brushed up his knowledge smartly as he could,
Read in old Cullen and in Doctor Good.
The town was healthy; for a month or two
He gave the sexton little work to do.
About the time when dog-day heats begin,
The summer's usual maladies set in;
With autumn evenings dysentery came,
And dusky typhoid lit his smouldering flame;
The blacksmith ailed, the carpenter was down,
And half the children sickened in the town.
The sexton's face grew shorter than before—
The sexton's wife a bran-new bonnet wore—
Things looked quite serious-Death had got a grip
On old and young, in spite of Doctor Rip.
And now the Squire was taken with a chill-
Wife gave hot-drops"-at night an Indian pill;
Next morning, feverish-bedtime, getting worse-
Out of his head-began to rave and curse;
The Doctor sent for-double quick he came :
ANT. TART. GRAN. DUO, and repeat the same
If no ET CETERA. Third day-nothing new;
Percussed his thorax till 't was black and blue-
Lung-fever threatening-something of the sort-
Out with the lancet-let him bleed-a quart-
Ten leeches next-then blisters to his side;
Ten grains of calomel; just then he died.
The Deacon next required the Doctor's careTook cold by sitting in a draught of air
Pains in the back, but what the matter is
Not quite so clear,-wife calls it "rheumatiz."
Rubs back with flannel-gives him something hot-
"Ah!" says the Deacon, "that goes NIGH the spot."
Next day a RIGOR-" Run, my little man,
And say the Deacon sends for Doctor Van."
The Doctor came-percussion as before,
Thumping and banging till his ribs were sore
Right side the flattest"-then more vigorous raps— "Fever-that's certain-pleurisy, perhaps.
A quart of blood will ease the pain, no doubt,
Ten leeches next will help to suck it out,
Then clap a blister on the painful part—
But first two grains of ANTIMOnium Tart.
Last with a dose of cleansing calomel
Unload the portal system-(that sounds well!)"
But when the selfsame remedies were tried,
As all the village knew, the Squire had died;
The neighbors hinted: "This will never do;
He's killed the Squire-he 'll kill the Deacon too."
Now when a doctor's patients are perplexed
A CONSULTATION comes in order next-
You know what that is? In a certain place
Meet certain doctors to discuss a case
And other matters, such as weather, crops,
Potatoes, pumpkins, lager-beer and hops.
For what's the use!-there's little to be said,
Nine times in ten your man's as good as dead;
At best a talk (the secret to disclose-
Where three men guess and SOMETIMES one man knows.)
The counsel summoned came without delayYoung Doctor Green and shrewd old Doctor Gray They heard the story-" Bleed!" says Doctor Green, "That's downright murder! cut his throat, you mean! Leeches! the reptiles! Why for pity's sake, Not try an adder or a rattlesnake?
Blisters! Why bless you, they're against the law-
It's rank assault and battery if they draw!
Tartrate of Antimony! shade of Luke,
Stomachs turn pale at thought of such rebuke!
The portal system! What's the man about?
Unload your nonsense! Calomel's played out!
You've been asleep-you'd better sleep away
Till some one calls you."
"Stop!" says Doctor Gray
The story is you slept for thirty years;
With brother Green, I own that it appears
You must have slumbered most amazing sound; But sleep once more till thirty years come round,
You'll find the lancet in its honored place,
Leeches and blisters rescued from disgrace,
Your drugs redeemed from fashion's passing scorn,
And counted safe to give to babes unborn."
Poor sleepy Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D., A puzzled, serious, saddened man was he; Home from the Deacon's house he plodded slow And filled one bumper of "Elixir Pro." "Good-by," he faltered, "Mrs. Van, my dear! I'm going to sleep, but wake me once a year; I don't like bleaching in the frost and dew, I'll take the barn, if all the same to you, Just once a year-remember! no mistake! Cry, Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake!' Watch for the week in May when laylocks blow, For then the Doctors meet, and I must go."
Just once a year the Doctor's worthy dame Goes to the barn and shouts her husband 's name; "Come, Rip Van Winkle!" (giving him a shake) "Rip! Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake! Laylocks in blossom! 't is the month of MayThe Doctors' meeting is this blessed day, And come what will, you know I heard you swear You'd never miss it, but be always there!"
And so it is, as every year comes round
Old Rip Van Winkle here is always found.
You'll quickly know him by his mildewed air,
The hayseed sprinkled through his scanty hair,
The lichens growing on his rusty suit—
I've seen a toadstool sprouting on his boot—
Who says I lie? Does any man presume?—
Toadstool! No matter-call it a mushroom.
Where is his seat? He moves it every year;
But look, you'll find him, he is always here,—
Perhaps you'll track him by a whiff you know—
A certain flavor of Elixir Pro."
Now, then, I give you as you seem to think
We can give toasts without a drop to drink-
Health to the mighty sleepers,-long live he!
Our brother Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D.!
-DR. OLIVER Wendell Holmes.
Hygeia Grant Thy Blessing
AIL to all Esculapians the nation's bond enfolds, And to all good companions, whom friendship's union holds;
Hygeia! Grant thy blessing to all whom we adore, And with thy healing wisdom guide thou us evermore.
From silent forest flowing the healing waters pour,
Refreshing all that's growing and aiding life endure.
And as the meadows languish for blessed rain, so we
When suff 'ring, in our anguish Hygeia sigh for thee.
When we are weak and ailing, let thou us not despair,
With succor never failing bring hope and comfort fair.
O thou benignant mother of health, and strength and might,
Bring brother near to brother in knowledge, truth and might.
HITE faces, pained and thin,
Gathered new pain-as at some sight of slaughter-
And waiting nurses, with their cups of water,
Shrank, when they saw the bargeman's little
daughter,
From Hester Street, brought in.
Caught by the cruel fire,
In act of filial duty, she had tasted
Death even then. The form that flame had wasted,
In vain, to save, the swiftest helpers hasted,
With love that would not tire.
And all that skill could do
Was done. Her fevered nerves, with anguish leaping
The surgeon soothed at last; and, left in keeping
Of tender eyes that night, the child lay sleeping
Until the clock struck two.
The streets' loud roar had died.
No angry shout was heard, nor drunken ditty;
From Harlem to the bay, peace held the city
And the great hospital, where holy Pity
With Grief knelt, side by side.
The watchful nurse leaned low,
And saw in the scarred face the life-light waver.
Poor Annie woke. A cooling draught she gave her,
And called the doctor; but he could not save her,
And soon he turned to go.
Calm, as from torture free,
She lay; then strangely, through her lips, sore wounded,
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