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Than this, his pretensions to skill went no further:

If you ask me his motto, 'twas "Killing no Murther."
I sent for him once, and he came in a trice ;

His chin was well shaved, and his periwig nice.
He enter❜d the room with a sour grimace,
Machaon and Galen were both in his face.
I gave him my wrist: "A slight fever, I see ;
Hem! purging and bleeding, and camomile tea:
A draught and a bolus, the blood to refine;
To drive off the ague, a dose of quinine.

You'll be better to-morrow: I'll see you again,

And send you twelve draughts that will last you till then.”
The Doctor departed, and presently came

Six draughts black as coal, and six draughts red as flame.
A label to each, with "The draughts, Mr. White,
The red for the day, and the black for the night."
The draughts on the chimney-piece quietly lay,
Till the Doctor return'd on the following day:
He came with his lancets, in case there were need,
(That's to say if I'd let him) his patient to bleed.
As soon as he saw me: "Why, bless us," he cried,
"In a week, at this rate, you'll be able to ride;
In a fortnight you'll walk, in a month you'll be well;
But you're still very sick, I can perfectly tell.
But none in their senses can ever compare

To your health, Sir, to-day, what you yesterday were:
'Tis the draughts that have done it; I know them of old,
They're the true panacea, the essence of gold."

Just then at the door came a thundering knock. "O master! O master! quick open the lock!" Cried a blubbering urchin, that stood in the street;

And told his sad story to all he could meet ;

With his cries and entreaties he set all the boys on;

And the street soon resounded with "Poison! oh, Poison !"

The doctor aghast, by his conscience accus'd,

Felt terrors arising the more that he mus'd;
The ghosts of his patients appear'd in his sight,
All clutching the phials that sent them from light.

At length the poor Doctor, his reverie o'er,
Screw'd up resolution, and opened the door.
"O master! O master!" the blubberer cried,
"We are lost! oh, the poison !—has any one died ?—

I mixed, by some horrible folly of mine,

Of arsenic ten parts, to one of quinine."

"Zounds, sirrah!-but, soft, bring the stomach-pump quick, And hark, some emetics to make the man sick."

The Doctor returned to my chamber, and said,
"You are number'd, alas! my dear Sir, with the dead;
For poison was mix'd in the draughts, and I grieve
No hope is remaining." I laugh'd in my sleeve.
The stomach-pump came, and the Doctor was stout;
He pump'd long and strong, and some liquor came out :
""Tis arsenic all; oh, what horrible stuff.”

"Hold, softly," cried I, "we have jok'd long enough;
Count the draughts on the chimney, you'll find just a dozen :
I'll expose you abroad for a cheat and a cozen.
Get out, or I'll kick you myself from my gate,
With your ratsbane and stomach-pump flung at your pate;
And I'll hire the beadle, and set all the boys on,

To hoot at your heels, "That's the vender of Poison."

WILLIAM WHITE.

NOTHING.

"Nihil" est ab omni parte beatum.-HOE.

Dear Mr. Bouverie;

In my present frame of mind, I am induced to think that "nothing" is the subject, of all others, most appropriate to my feelings, and best suited to my capacity: I do not remember any authors, with

the exception of the celebrated Earl of Rochester, and Mr. Gregory Griffin, who have given the world the benefit of their lucubrations upon this important subject. This has always been a matter of no small surprise to me, since there have uniformly existed a great many individuals preeminently well qualified to write upon it: for although few are candid enough to permit their writings to go by their real name, yet I feel confident you will agree with me, that there are many Law Reports, many poems, many cumbrous dissertations upon misunderstood points, which ought to be designated by this comprehensive word and it is chiefly owing to the vanity of mankind, that they are so tenacious of their talents, however small, as to call these productions "treatises," "plays," "reflections," "dissertations," 66 essays, ""criticisms," &c. &c. Were I to attempt to mention the names of any of the works which I think ought to be thus designated, such an endless variety of authors would be presented to my view, that the selection would be no easy task. You are, of course, well aware, my dear Sir, that I am a very extraordinary being, and that my tastes and propensities are as peculiar as your own. A love of paradox has uniformly been the distinguishing feature of my character, and although the old saying, that "nothing" can arise out of "nothing," has been held, and is still held by some, a sound and undisputed maxim of philosophy, I have always

had some doubts upon the subject, and questioned the practical application of this maxim to the ordinary affairs of life: whether my doubts are rational or ill-grounded, I leave you to judge; but I will endeavour to refute the above-mentioned, and prevailing maxim-to prove the truth of Horace's remark, that it is by no means impossible

us.

"" -Ex fumo dare lucem;"

and to show, that from what is by the generality of mankind denominated "nothing," spring all the most important events which daily take place around If I ask what took place at the House of Commons last night, the answer is, "nothing." If I ask, "Has any thing been done at Court," the answer is the same. If I ask, "Is there any news at the Stock-Exchange, Foreign-Office, in the City?" I receive for answer, "nothing." But is this a correct representation of what has been actually taking place? I think not: armies and fleets have been equipped-and those armies and fleets, though they have gained no great victories, though they have imprisoned no kings, have, notwithstanding, kept formidable armies at bay, and have contended with them for the sovereignty of the world! And is this "nothing"? Look next at the city-Is there no avarice displayed there? or is it "nothing"? Are there no frauds committed? no extortions practised? or are all these things "nothing"? Is there no stock-jobbing? no hypocrisy? is this "nothing" ?

Falsehoods are disseminated: this is "nothing." Malicious stories are propagated: this is "nothing." Scandal is hatched; this, too, is "nothing." Numbers were ruined yesterday! numbers are ruining to-day! and numbers will be ruined to-morrow! Now, my dear Mr. Bouverie, if you think that this is "nothing," will you not allow that "nothing" is accompanied by very important results? Will you not allow that "nothing" originates quarrels; that "nothing" causes dissension; that "nothing" creates suspicion? Do you not, in short, concur with me in opinion, that " nothing" is the cause of " every thing"?

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Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas,
Gaudia; discursus."

I am sorry to have given you so much trouble in perusing this empty and good-for-nothing Epistle :

by the way, I call it good for nothing; but whether

you will consider it in the usual signification of the word, utterly worthless, or really GOOD, for nothing, I am at a loss to know: but I am vain and presumptuous enough to imagine that my letter is actually better than "nothing." As I have "nothing" more to communicate at present, if you will favour me with the insertion of these few remarks in your valuable publication, you will much oblige

Your sincere and faithful Friend,

LAWRENCE LOVENOUGHT.

P. S.—I have just been alarmed by hearing,

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