The doctors came, and looked and wondered,
And shook their heads, and paused and pondered,
Till one proposed he should be bled,

"No-leeched you mean," the other said-
"Clap on a blister," roared another,

"No-cup him”. "No-trepan him, brother !'
A sixth would recommend a purge,
The next would an emetic urge,

The eighth, just come from a dissection,
His verdict gave for an injection;
The last produced a box of pills,
A certain cure for earthly ills ;
"I had a patient yesternight,'

Quoth he,and wretched was her plight,
And as the only means to save her,
Three dozen patent pills I gave her,
And by to-morrow, I suppose

That

"Here she goes--and there she goes !"

"You all are fools," the lady said,
"The way is, just to shave his head,
Run, bid the barber come anon”--
"Thanks, mother," thought her clever son,
"You help the knaves that would have bit me,
But all creation shan't outwit me !"

Thus to himself, while to and fro

His finger perseveres to go,

And from his lips no accent flows

But "here she goes-and there she goes !"

The barber came- "Lord help him! what
A queer customer I've got;

But we must do our best to save him-
So hold him, gemmen, while I shave him!"
But here the doctors interpose-

"A woman never"—

"There she goes !"

"A woman is no judge of physic,

Not even when her baby is sick.

He must be bled". "No-no--a blister "

"A purge you mean "-"I say a clyster"

"No-cup him "--"leech him"-"pills! pills! pills!"!

And all the house the uproar fills.

What means that smile? What means that shiver? The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,

And triumph brightens up his face-
His finger yet shall win the race!
The clock is on the stroke of nine-

And up he starts-"Tis mine! 'tis mine !"
"What do you mean?"

"I mean the fifty!
I never spent an hour so thrifty;
But you, who tried to make me lose,
Go, burst with envy, if you choose!
But how is this! Where are they ?"

"Who ?"

"The gentlemen-I mean the two
Came yesterday—are they below ?"
"They galloped off an hour ago."
"Oh, purge me! blister! shave and bleed!
For, hang the knaves, I'm mad indeed !"

HATE OF THE BOWL.

Go, feel what I have felt,
Go, bear what I have borne ;
Sink 'neath the blow a father dealt,
And the cold proud world's scorn;
Thus struggle on from year to year
Thy sole relief the tear.

Go, weep as I have wept,

O'er a loved father's fall,

See every cherished promise swept,
Youth's sweetness turned to gall;
Hope's faded flowers strewn all the way,
That led me up to woman's day.

Go, kneel as I have knelt,
Implore, beseech and pray,
Strive the besotted heart to melt,
The downward course to stay:
Be cast, with bitter tears, aside,
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied.

Go, stand where I have stood,

And see the strong man bow,

With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood,
And cold the livid brow;

Go, catch his wandering glance, and see
There mirror'd, his soul's misery.

Go, hear what I have heard,
The sobs of sad despair,

As memory's feeling fount hath stirr'd,
And its revealing there,

Have told him what he might have been
Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen.

Go, to my mother's side,

And her crushed spirit cheer, Thine own deep anguish hide,

Wipe from her cheek the tear:

Mark her dimm'd eye, her furrow'd brow,
The gray that streaks her dark hair now,
Her toil-worn frame, her trembling limb,
And trace the ruin back to him
Whose plighted faith in early youth
Promised eternal love and truth:

But who, foresworn, hath yielded up
This promise to the deadly cup,
And led down from love and light,
From all that made her pathway bright,
And chained her there, mid want and strife,
That lowly thing, a Drunkard's Wife,
And stamp'd on childhood's brow so mild,
That withering blight, a Drunkard's Child.

Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know
All that my soul hath felt and known:
Then look upon the wine cup's glow,
See if its brightness can atone.
Think if its flavor you will try,

If all proclaimed-" "Tis drink and die !"

Tell me I hate the bowl

Hate is a feeble word-
I loathe, abhor-my very soul
With strong disgust is stirr'd
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell
Of that dark beverage of hell!

BUGLE SONG.-Alfred Tennyson.

THE splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, further going;
O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow forever and forever.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying.
And answer echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

GENERAL GRANT TO THE ARMY.-1865.
U. S. Grant.

SOLDIERS of the Armies of the United States! By your patriotic devotion to your country in the hour of danger and alarm, your magnificent fighting, bravery, and endurance, you have maintained the supremacy of the Union and the Constitution, overthrown all armed opposition to the enforcement of the laws, and of the proclamations forever abolishing Slavery-the cause and pretext of the Rebellion-and opened the way to the rightful authorities, to restore order and inaugurate peace on a permanent and enduring basis on every foot of American soil. Your marches, sieges, and battles, in distance, duration, resolution, and brilliancy of results, dim the luster of the world's past military achievements, and will be the patriot's precedent in defence of Liberty and the right in all time to come. In obedience to your country's call, you left your homes and families and volunteered in its defence.

Victory has crowned your valor and secured the purpose of your patriotic hearts; and with the gratitude of your

countrymen and the highest honors a great and free nation can accord, you will soon be permitted to return to your homes and families, conscious of having discharged the highest duty of American citizens. To achieve these glorious triumphs, and to secure to yourselves, your countrymen, and posterity, the blessings of free institutions, teas of thousands of your gallant comrades have fallen and sealed the priceless legacy with their lives. The graves of these a grateful nation bedews with tears, honors their memories, and will ever cherish and support their stricken families.

THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR.

A COUNSEL in the "Common Pleas,".
Who was esteemed a mighty wit,
Upon the strength of a chance hit,
Amid a thousand flippancies,
And his occasional bad jokes,
In bullying, bantering, browbeating,
Ridiculing and maltreating

Women, or other timid folks;
In a late cause, resolved to hoax
A clownish Yorkshire farmer-one
Who, by his uncouth look and gait,
Appeared expressly meant by fate
For being quizzed and played upon.

So having tipped the wink to those
In the back rows,

Who kept their laughter bottled down,
Until our wag should draw the cork-
He smiled jocosely on the clown,
And went to work.

'Well, Farmer Numskull, how go calves at York ?" Why-not, sir, as they do wi' you ;

But on four legs instead of two."

"Officer," cried the legal elf,

Piqued at the laugh against himself,

Do, pray, keep silence down below there!

Now look at me, clown, and attend,

Have I not seen you somewhere, friend ?”

66

Yees, very like, I often go there."