Yet some happy mortals, all virtue, Have sentiment just as they should, Each organ 's an organ of good; My system, from great A to Izzard, You now, my good friends, may descry, But mine the soul's hurricane clears, Oh, I am the mental dissector, So here is an end to the lecture Of craniological Gall. -JAMES SMITH. THE Most to be Pitied HE woman of sentiment said to the Doctor, "Dear Doctor, of all the relentless diseases So wickedly wounds and so ruthlessly racks us, Miss Sophronia's Cure E treated me for mumps, did the blessed Dr. Stumps, dumps; And without a shade of question he improved my indigestion Oh! a therapeutic wonder was the blessed Dr. Stumps! But when my mumps had fled then I had an aching head, And now that blessed doctor-he has left me he is dead! When he used to come and say, "Ah! you have the chills to day!" Or, "You have a touch of fever," I was frolicsome and gay; When he told me, "Miss Sophronia, you are suffering from pneumonia," I rejoiced with great rejoicing at the words he used to say. For he 'd sit and sympathize with compassion in his eyes, And number all the catalogue of all my agonies. While the long years rolled away I was very sick and gay, I was very ill and happy, gladly wasting in decay; But when Dr. Stumps departed, Dr. Meyers, iron-hearted, Came and cured me in a fortnight—and I'm sad and well to day. |