Marshal Saxe and His Physician EVER 'S a most audacious varlet ; Now in a general's face he shakes His all-defying fist, and makes His visage like his jacket-scarlet; Now o'er surrounding guards he throws A summerset, and never squeaks "An' please your Majesty," but tweaks The Lord's anointed by the nose. With his inflammatory finger, (Much like the heater of an urn) He makes the pulses boil and burn, Puts fur upon the tongue, (not ermine,) And leaves his prey to die or linger, Just as the doctors may determine. Though this disorder sometimes seems It interferes so with our schemes, Just when we want them clear for business, Of these inopportune attacks, One fiercely fell on Marshal Saxe, Just as his troops had opened trenches Instead of taking, as he wished-the city. Senac, however, his physician, To be coached out an easy distance First stipulating one condition- The Doctor should be then and there, Or other unforseen mishaps, Should call for medical assistance. Saxe gives consent with all his heart, Whispers the coachman-mounts within it, In a facetious tête-à-tête.- Projecting from a range of batteries. Left in the carriage, our physician, Wherefore he bawled, with fear half melted, For God's sake move me from this spot!Doubtless they've noticed our approach, And, when they recognize your coach, Shan't I be fired at, peppered, pelted, (When I can neither fly nor hide) From some of yonder bristling masses?" "It's not unlikely," Saxe replied; And war I know is not your trade, So if you feel the least afraid, Pull up the glasses!" -HORACE SMITH. A Quandary DO NOT know your Doctor Holmes; What has he published?" asks my friend, M. D. "What is his specialty?" 46 Ah, yes, of course," say I, "Most surely, why, He's written tomes and tomes On Snakes and Teas-and Breakfasts, don't you know?" Oh!" says my friend, "Yes, Oh! No doubt some dietetic treatises, With alcohol for target. These it is." "Nay that is not the kind of evils The doctor deals with; he prescribes To cure blue devils, With frequent diatribes On man and womankind." Humph! A mind-cure fanatic," says M. D. "Excuse me, if you please, I'll none of him." With that, you see, He left me blinking; And now, here seated in my study at my ease, I'm quietly thinking. Pray, doctor, answer me a word; Shakespeare and Keats, 't is true, Are thy familiars. Hast thou haply heard, Pardon the question,-of one Dr. Tait? Canst thou expatiate On Dr. Lister's antiseptics? Or prate of blisters and the skeptics, The modern crew Who hold the modern view? Thy honest pardon grant, Dear doctor, for 't is so I ask it thee; Thy sturdy blows For reason against cant In followers of every "opathy" All the world knows (All save M. D.). Now when, for various ills, I take my pills, Or squills, Or ipecac, or gall, I know 't is thou hast made my dose so small, Not doubting Nature will perform her share The breaches to repair. That thou art learned in the lore Of thy profession I make thee full confession. Only, when questioned by M. D., I quite forgot, In my confusions, Thy Homeopathy And Like Delusions"; And recollected not Thy "Currents" and thy" Border Lines"; Though all thy verse My memory could rehearse And many a tale came back by good, sure signs. Therefore, I ask thy pardon here, With heart sincere; And then, too, as I write, Thy good physicians from thy volumes rise And chide me for despite. Than they are scarce more wise The great" Professor" and the "Autocrat. Yet, for all that, I boldly dare affirm, Not Koch, nor Gross, nor Fritzsch, Hitzig, nor Sims, nor Brown-Séquard, Bacillic germ, The itch! Transfusion, nor old Dr. Jenner's scar, Holds thee in thrall Like those fair theories of good John Brown Thy prototype in Scottish garb On dogs and human fry. Pray, in thy list of volumes medical, Which dost thou most take down? How rank'st thou " Marjorie "? In one word, understand, Lie they not dogs-eared on thine ESCRITOIRE, Than honored with a station near thy hand? Ah, scribbling doctor, mine, What better could a bard inherit Than thy pen's power? What could a healer do one-half so fine As bear thy cheerful, kindly spirit Where Pain rules his dark hour? -GEORGE Herbert StockbrIDGE. The Doctor's Hard Case U FROM AMEDEE LATOUR. NSUCCESSFUL, full of learning, He will die for want of bread, li successful, full of earning, He will die of work instead. -WILLIAM E. A. AXON. |