IX.. THE POET AND THE CHEMIST. THERE was a chemist once, who had a mighty faith in the elixir vitæ; and, though unflattered by the dimmest glimpse of success, he still kept groping and grubbing in his dark vocation, stupidly hoping to find the art of changing metals, and guineas coin from pans and kettles, by mystery of transmutation A starving poet took occasion to seek this conjuror's abode, -not with encomiastic ode, or laudatory dedication, but with an offer to impart, for twenty pounds, the secret art, which should procure, without the pain of metals, chemistry, and fire, what he so long had sought in vain, and gratify his heart's desire. The money paid, our bard was hurried to the philosopher's sanctorum; who, somewhat sublimized, and flurried out of his chemical decorum, crowed, capered, giggled, seemed to spurn his crucibles, retort, and furnace, and cried, as he secured the door, and carefully put to the shutter, "Now, now, the secret I imspeakplore! Out with it. discover-utter!" With and solemn look, the poet cried: "List grave - O, list! for thus I show it :- - let this plain truth those ingrates strike, who still, though blessed, new blessings crave: That we may all have what we like, simply by liking what we have.” X.- LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated; Next night 't was the same! and the next! and the next! He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vexed; Week after week, till, by weekly succession, His weakly condition was past all expression. ORATOR PUFF. In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him; 285 there's a guinea." The doctor looked wise :- "A slow fever," he said; 66 are humbugs! I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!" Will kicked out the doctor: but, when ill indeed, "Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will, with a grin, Quoth the landlord, "Till now I ne'er had a dispute - "The oven!" says Will. Says the host, "Why this passion? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good sir?" "Zounds!" cried Will, in a taking, "Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking?" Will paid for his rooms: cried the host, with a sneer, 66 Well, I see you 've been going away half a year." Friend, we can't well agree; yet no quarrel," Will said, "But I'd rather not perish, while you make your bread." MR. ORATOR PUFF had two tones in his voice, O! O! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator's surely enough. But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, 'My voice is for war," asked him, "Which of them, pray?" O! O! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator 's surely enough. Reeling homewards, one evening, top-heavy with gin, 66 66 'Sinking fund" the last words as his noddle came down. O! O! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator 's surely enough. Help, help!" he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones, Help me out! help me out! I have broken my bones! Help you out!" said a Paddy, who passed; "what a bother! Why, there's two of you there; can't you help one another?" O! O! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator 's surely enough. THOMAS MOORE. XII. - THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY. A MEMBER of the Esculapian line lived at Newcastle-uponTyne no man could better gild a pill, or make a bill, or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister; or draw a tooth out of your head; or chatter scandal by your bed; or spread a plaster. His fame ful! six miles round the country ran; in short, in reputation he was solus: all the old women called him "a fine man!" His name was Bolus. Benjamin Bolus, though in trade (which oftentimes will genius fetter), read works of fancy, it is said, and cultivated the "belles lettres."* Bolus loved verse; and took so much delight in 't, all his prescriptions he resolved to write in 't. No opportunity he e'er let pass of writing the directions on his labels in dapper couplets, like Gay's Fables, or, rather, like the lines in Hudibras. He had a patient lying at death's door, some three miles from the town, it might be four, - to whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article in pharmacy that's called cathartical: and on the label of the stuff he wrote this verse, which one would think was clear enough, and terse, "When taken, To be well shaken." In both these French words the s is unsounded. Next morning early Bolus rose, and to the patient's house he goes, upon his pad, who a vile trick of stumbling had but he arrived, and gave a tap, between a single and a double rap. The servant lets him in, with dismal face, long as a courtier's out of place, portending some disaster. John's countenance as rueful looked and grim, as if the apothecary had physicked him, and not his master. Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said. John shook his head. "Indeed! - hum!- ha! - that's odd! very - He took the draught?"—John gave a nod. "Well?-how ?- what "" dunce ! speak out, you 66 then? Why, then," says John, "we shook him once.". -"Shook him! how? how?" friend Bolus stammered out. "We jolted him about." "What! shake the patient, man! - why, that won't do." "No, sir," quoth John, "and so we gave him two." "Two shakes! O, luckless verse! 'T would make the patient worse!" "It did so, sir, and so a third we tried." Well, and what then?". 66 Then, sir, my master-died!" 66 COLMAN. By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made, At six in the morning, their anvils, at work, - From morning till night they keep thumping away,- 66 Agreed!" said the pair; "that will make us amends.” "Then come to my house, and let us part friends : You shall dine; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion, He gave So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest "And now," said he, " tell me, where mean you to move? I hope to some spot where your trade will improve.” Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz, 66 "Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his! " ANON. XIV. THE RETORT. ONE day, a rich man, flushed with pride and wine, — To crack a joke upon his secretary. "Young man," said he, "by what art, craft, or trade, At this each flatterer, as in duty bound, At length, the secretary, bowing low, Said (craving pardon if too free he made), "Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade." My father's trade? Why, sir, but that's too bad! My father's trade! Why, blockhead, art thou mad ? My father, sir, was never brought so low. He was a gentleman, I'd have you know!" "Indeed! excuse the liberty I take; But, if your story 's true, How happened it your father did not make ANON. (altered.) |