;

"Fine by degrees, and beautifully less "
Founder of a new system economic,
To druggists any thing but comic ;
Framed the whole race of Ollapods to fret
At profits, like thy doses, very small;
To put all Doctors' Boys in evil case,
Thrown out of bread, of physic, and of place
And show us old Apothecaries' Hall
"To Let."

How fare thy Patients? are they dead or living,
Or well as can expected be, with such
A style of practice, liberally giving

19

"A sum of more to that which had too much ? Dost thou preserve the human frame, or turf it ? Do thorough draughts cure thorough colds or not? Do fevers yield to any thing that's hot?

Or hearty dinners neutralize a surfeit ?

Is't good advice for gastronomic ills,

When Indigestion's face with pain is crumpling, "Discard those Peristaltic Pills,

To cry,

Take a hard dumpling?"

Tell me, thou German Cousin,

And tell me honestly, without a diddle,
Does an attenuated dose of rosin

Act as a tonic on the old Scotch fiddle?
Tell me, when Anhalt-Coethen babies wriggle,
Like eels just caught by sniggle,

Martyrs to some acidity internal,

That gives them pangs infernal, Meanwhile the lip grows black, the eye enlarges ; Say, comes there all at once a cherub-calm, Thanks to that soothing homeopathic balm, The half of half of half a drop of “varges ? "

Suppose, for instance, upon Leipzig's plain,
A soldier pillowed on a heap of slain,

In urgent want both of a priest and proctor;
When lo! there comes a man in green and red,
A featherless cocked hat adorns his head,
In short, a Saxon military doctor

Would he, indeed, on the right treatment fix,
To cure a horrid gaping wound,

Made by a ball that weighed a pound,
If he well peppered it with number six ?

Suppose a felon doomed to swing
Within a rope,

Might friends not hope

To cure him with a string?

Suppose his breath arrived at a full stop,
The shades of death in a black cloud before him,
Would a quintillionth dose of the New Drop
Restore him ?

Fancy a man gone rabid from a bite,
Snapping to left and right,

And giving tongue like one of Sebright's hounds,
Terrific sounds,

The pallid neighborhood with horror cowing,

To hit the proper homœopathic mark ;

Now, might not "the last taste in life" of bark Stop his bow-wow-ing?

Nay, with a well-known remedy to fit him, Would he not mend, if, with all proper care, a hair

He took "

Of the dog that bit him?"

Picture a man we'll say a Dutch Meinheer

In evident emotion,

Bent o'er the bulwark of the Batavier,

Owning those symptoms queer

Some feel in a Sick Transit o'er the ocean,
Can any thing in life be more pathetic

Than when he turns to us his wretched face?
But would it mend his case

To be decillionth-doséd
With something like the ghost
Of an emetic ?

Lo! now a darkened room!
Look through the dreary gloom,
And see that coverlet of wildest form,
Tost like the billows in a storm,

Where ever and anon, with groans, emerges
A ghastly head!

While two impatient arms still beat the bed,

Like a strong swimmer's struggling with the surges : There Life and Death are on their battle-plain,

With many a mortal ecstasy of pain

What shall support the body in its trial,

Cool the hot blood, wild dream, and parching skin, And tame the raging Malady within

A sniff of Next-to-Nothing in a phial ?

O! Doctor Hahnemann, if here I laugh
And cry together, half and half,

Excuse me, 'tis a mood the subject brings,
To think, whilst I have crowed like chanticleer,
Perchance, from some dull eye the hopeless tear
Hath gushed with my light levity at schism,

To mourn some Martyr of Empiricism :
Perchance, upon thy system, I have given
A pang, superfluous, to the pains of Sorrow,
Who weeps with Memory from morn till even;

Where comfort there is none to lend or borrow,

Sighing to one sad strain,

"She will not come again, To-morrow, nor to-morrow, nor to-morrow!"

Doctor, forgive me, if I dare prescribe
A rule for thee thyself, and all thy tribe,
Inserting a few serious words by stealth;
Above all price of wealth

The Body's jewel — not for minds profane,
Or hands, to tamper with in practice vain
Like to a Woman's Virtue is Man's Health.
A heavenly gift within a holy shrine!

To be approached and touched with serious fear,
By hands made pure, and hearts of faith severe,
Ev'n as the Priesthood of the ONE divine!

But, zounds! each fellow with a suit of black,
And, strange to fame,

With a diploma'd name,

That carries two more letters pick-a-back,
With cane, and snuffbox, powdered wig, and block,
Invents his dose, as if it were a chrism,

And dares to treat our wondrous mechanism
Familiar as the works of old Dutch clock;

Yet, how would common sense esteem the man,
O how, my unrelated German cousin,
Who having some such time-keeper on trial,
And finding it too fast, enforced the dial,
To strike upon the Homeopathic plan
Of fourteen to the dozen ?

Take my advice, 'tis given without a fee,

Drown, drown your book ten thousand fathoms deep,

Like Prospero's, beneath the briny sea,
For spells of magic have all gone to sleep!
Leave no decillionth fragment of your works
To help the interest of quacking Burkes ;
Aid not in murdering even widows' mites-
And now forgive me for my candid zeal,
I had not said so much, but that I feel
Should you take ill what here my Muse indites,
An Ode-ling more will set you all to rights.

ODE FOR ST. CECILIA'S EVE.

"Look out for squalls."

THE PILOT.

O COME, dear Barney Isaacs, come,

Punch for one night can spare his drum
As well as pipes of Pan!

Forget not, Popkins, your bassoon,
Nor, Mister Bray, your horn, as soon

As you can leave the Van;

Blind Billy, bring your violin ;

Miss Crow, you're great in Cherry Ripe!
And Chubb, your viol must drop in
Its bass to Soger Tommy's pipe.

Ye butchers, bring your bones :

An organ would not be amiss;
If grinding Jim has spouted his,

Lend yours, good Mister Jones.

Do, hurdy-gurdy Jenny-do
Keep sober for an hour or two,
Music's charms to help to paint ;
And, Sandy Gray, if you should not
Your bagpipes bring - O tuneful Scot!
Conceive the feelings of the Saint!