Doctor Crampus sat and listened,

In his eye a tear-drop glistened-
First he'd shed since he was christened-
Then he fainted quite away;
But a sight so very shocking,
Didn't stop the Medic's talking,
But his tongue kept up tall walking
'Til he 'd said his little say.

But, poor Deacon Jones, enlightened,
At his case was badly frightened,
For his burden was not lightened

By this learned diatribe;

He rolled up his eyes in sorrow,
Chilling to the very marrow,

Whispered, "Good-bye, sweet, tomorrow!

I must die-i- ." and he died.

-DR. S. F. BENNETT.

The New Doctor

(OR THE MUSIC CURE.)

H, Doctor, your hand! So! And now, as I hold

A

This palm that I value so truly,

Here's a bill for your bill, though I warrant the gold

Cannot pay all my debt to you duly.

Yes, I need you no longer; the pain I endured
Has vanished, I hope, now, forever.

You will laugh when I tell you the way I was cured
By contracting a more ardent fever!

THE NEW DOCTOR

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You have heard how the women are thronging the ways That lead up to fame and position;

And I know you will frown when I join in the praise

Of fair woman in guise of physician.

As I stopped by a door one fine morning in May,
A song through the doorway came trilling,
And down to the core of my heart made its way,
Like a tonic, both healing and thrilling.

It seemed to say!

Live not for self but for me,

And your heart will beat easy hereafter."

So she cured me with song, and with smiles set me free, And such dear counter-irritant laughter!

Now, given that one has a palpitant heart,

Is not a soft pressure pacific?

And, if taken between meals, with delicate art,
Are not kisses a fine soporific?

You said, once, my heart had expanded too wide;
So I thought, as it was over-roomy,

I might as well take a dear lady inside—

And 'tis glad now, where once it was gloomy.

I wish that I could but portray you my prize-
All the grace of my dear little singer-
But I stop in despair at her beautiful eyes!

No, I cannot describe her! I'll bring her!

Now, Doctor, don 't envy this rival of yours,
With her pharmacopoeia of beauty;

Since her voice and her eyes work such marvelous

cures,

To love my new doctor is duty.

-CHARLES H. CRANDALL.

The Doctor's Wife

HE night was dark and bitter cold,
The wind across the prairie swept,
While I in comforts warm enrolled
Snored softly on and soundly slept.

When suddenly my door bel! rang-
Infernal sound! It pierced my ears,
As on the creaking floor I sprang,

My heart athrob with direst fears,

Lest one had come to call me out
Into the cruel biting blast.—

I for my garments cast about

Wishing this night-call were my last.

But oh, the best thought of my life!
It calms me now as oft before.
I'll send my thoughtful, faithful wife
To meet the stranger at the door.

She goes and oh, the sweetest lies
That ever mortal tongue has told,
As in her artless way she tries

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To say, that I'm out in the cold.

He won't be home till break of day

And then he 'll come, poor tired man,

I'm awful sorry he 's away,

He'll come as promptly as he can."

I go to bed, but not to sleep,

I ponder long on doctor's wives, The only ones who ever think

Of our rest-broken, weary lives.

THE PHYSICIAN'S HYMN

I somehow think God don't record
Those little white-lies often told
To give a way-worn doctor sleep,

Or save him from the winter's cold.

And if He does, I'm sure His pen

Writes very near, in letters bright, A tender thought of her who thinks Of doctors, toiling in the night.

-DR. W. J. BELL.

The Physician's Hymn

HYSICIAN, Friend of human kind,
Whose pitying Love is pleased to find
A cure for every ill;

P

By Thee raised up, by Thee bestowed To do my fellow-creatures good,

I come to serve Thy will.

I come not like the sordid herd,
Who, mad for honor or reward,

Abuse the healing art:

Nor thirst of praise, nor lust of gain,
But kind concern at human pain,

And love constrains my heart.

On Thee I fix my single eye.
Thee only seek to glorify,

And make Thy goodness known;
Resolved, if Thou my labors bless,
To give Thee back my whole success,
To praise my God alone.

The friendly properties that flow

Through Nature's various works, I know

The Fountain whence they came;

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And every plant, and every flower
Medicinal derives its power

From Jesus' balmy Name.

Confiding in that Name alone,
Jesus, I in Thy work go on,

To tend Thy sick and poor,
Dispenser of Thy medicines I;
But Thou the blessing must supply,
But Thou must give the cure.

For this I humbly wait on Thee:
The servant of Thy servants see
Devoted to Thy will,

Determined in Thy steps to go,
And bless the sickly sons of woe,
Who groan Thy help to feel.

Afflicted by Thy gracious hand,
They now may justly all demand
My instrumental care :

Thy patients, Lord, shall still be mine;
And to my weak attempts I join
My strong effectual prayer.

O while Thou givest their bodies ease, Convince them of their worst disease,

The sickness of the mind;

And let them groan by sin opprest,
Till coming unto Thee for rest,
Rest to their souls they find.

With these and every sin-sick soul,
I come myself to be made whole,
And wait the sovereign word.

Thou canst, I know, Thou dost forgive
But let me without sinning live,

To perfect love restored.