DE ARTE MEDENDI

Pondering above some fellow mortal's brain,
In earnest search to find that subtle chain

Which, catching Life's bright spark from out the sky
And thrilling it through pulse and artery,

Kindles to smiles young beauty's lovely face,
Braces the athlete for his panting race,

Wakes in its strength the statemen's mighty power,
Or poet's harp, in his inspired hour;

Gives man not only life, but thoughtful soul,

Till the last hour, when breaks the golden bowl,
And God's eternal silence settles o'er the whole!
There stands the student, pondering, pondering still;
How long think you before my statue will

Give place to him, who glad " Eureka" cries,

And solves this riddle of the earth and skies?

But you, who through your coming life must stand

And labor in this shadowy borderland,

Have this and other themes to tax your thought,
As on you toil, and labor in your lot.

The chemist's world behold! how wide its range,
With combinations endless in their change,
That drop their new results with every day,
To help poor sufferers on their weary way,
And show the miner how to draw the gold
Hid in the mountains from the days of old,
And drag the murderer to scaffold stand
By tracking poison to his cruel hand.
'Twas by her flashing arrows, deftly sped,
That grim Astrology fell with the dead,

With all her quips and quirks, and skulls and bones;—
And of her famous "philosophic stones,

The only one that Modern Science knows,
Or over which a single thought bestows,

Is that gray granite stone at her grave's head;

Of her, "HIC JACET," is the best word ever said.

And yonder floral world in dewy bloom,
That flings on every breeze its rich perfume,
Invites you to her many buds and flowers;

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And by the aid of Chemistry's rare powers
Bids you distill

Whate 'er you will

Of balm or poison from her rosy bowers;

The gates of this new world just now expand,
Go enter in, possess the golden land;
Your Medica Materia enrich,

With no Shakespearean stew of hell-born witch,
But medications rare, and well refined,
To soothe the body and compose the mind;
Perchance some plant may bring to you a cure
For all the woes

And all those torturing throes

That Alcohol's and Opium's slaves endure !
These we expect through Chemistry's high art,
And in it you should bear a noble part,
For wealth untold in Nature's bosom lies,
If only sought with cunning hand and eyes.

And though in grand old Job's poetic book (On which no eye irreverent can look)

We read those startling questions put to man,

Declare where wast THOU when this fair world began ?

Have Death's grim gates been opened unto thee?

Hast thou e 'er entered the deep springs of the sea?
Or in thy hands the glorious day-spring held?

Or all the gloomy doors of death beheld?
Hast thou perceived the dwelling of the light?

Or found the home of darkness and the night?

Can'st thou the influence sweet of Pleiades ere bind?

Or cast Orion's bands upon the wind?

Know'st thou where Heaven's high ordinance had birth?
Can 'st set dominion to it from the earth?

Or lift thy voice up to the clouds of rain,
And call down waters to the thirsty plain?
When all the morning stars together sang,
And Sons of God their lofty chorus rang,
Gird up thy loins, and answer if thou can,
Where wast thou then, O trembling son of man?'

DE ARTE MEDENDI

Yet still, frail man, in searching out Earth's mystery

In which lies hid his own high destiny,

Has boldy pushed keen Reason's eye afar;

Far as Alcyone, yon mystic star

That hangs a central pivot strong and high,
Round which revolving worlds go circling by,
Like blazing chariots through the starry plain,
And pathless depths of Deity's domain;
But finds not yet in all the heavenly zone

Just where the mighty God has built His throne,
Or where the habitation called "His own!"

But other wonders man has yet to find,
Within that darker world, the world of mind,
Beyond whose cloudy portals you must go
With careful glance, and cautious steps, and slow,
If you its mysteries would solve, and know;-
And so, into that weird and spectral sphere,
Where we are told, our dead ones reappear,
And some stand wondering, while others jeer,
We bid you in your time, to enter here,

And with fair Science and her plummet line,
Sound fearlessly these depths, and bid light shine
Through all this shadowy land, that we may see
If truth be there, or only jugglery.

This we should know; for if there be a law
Which from the facts unflinching Truth may draw,
Then publish it to all the earth abroad,

Though creeds be shaken and old idols nod;
Truth cannot suffer, for she's born of God.

Thus clad with armor from beyond the skies,
Go forth, as Adam went from Paradise,
Forbid the tree of knowledge-yet still Intent
To make the best of his sad banishment,
And through all Nature's wide expanse,
To send a keen and penetrating glance,
That he might know all he had power to find
In voiceless nature, that could bless mankind.

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Be this your purpose as you say farewell,

And pass beyond your Alma Mater's bell;
Pursue the laws of Truth, where 'er they lead,

Though roads be rough, and feet may sometimes bleed,
Though friends deride, and angry zealots plead;
Who knows but Truth herself, in some near day,
May drop, with folded wing, along your way,
And in your hand the golden key of knowledge lay.

Then struggle on, and on, with all the zeal you can, Your motto, "Love to God-Love to your fellow-man." -DR. D. BETHUNE DUFFIELD.

The Young Medic and the Old

D

EACON JONES was always ailing,
And his many aches bewailing,
And old Doctor Crampus failing
To alleviate his ills,

With his mind in perturbation,

He called in, for consultation,

A young Hahnemann creation,

Who was known as " Little Pills."

Little Pills was heavy loaded,

And, by thirst for glory goaded,

How his rhetoric exploded,

When he met the Doctor old!

But his skill as rhetorician,

Held a second raie position,

With this young diagnostician,

And his words were free and bold:

"The patient has pleuritis,

And a grave appendicitis,

And an awful stomatitis,

That may push him to the wall;

THE YOUNG MEDIC AND THE OLD

While a marked endocarditis,

And a raging enteritis,

With a touch of meningitis,
Should be very plain to all!

"And I judge that he is ailingBy the way that he is railing, And his miseries bewailing

In a way that is a shame;

For his symptoms show metritis,
And an endo-cervicitis,

With hysteric ovaritis—

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Once my grandma had the same!

You can see he has colitis,

And a rheumatoid arthritis,

And, to cure his urethritis,

Will be worth a pile of wealth! And, with all his ills and aching, And his head with palsy shaking, And his nervous system breaking,

He don't feel quite well, himself!

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