(to the Doctor), my jewel, just give that blockhead of mine a rap on his sconce with your little bit of a switch, and I'll do as much for you another time. Dr. W. So, instead of my instructing the fellow, he has absolutely instructed me. (Aside.) Well, sir, you have convinced me what Dr. Wisepate should be, and now suppose we are ourselves again. T. O'K. (rises.) With all my heart, sir. Here's your honor's wig and spectacles, and now give me my comfortable hat and switch. Dr. W. And, Robert, obey the orders that my representative gave you. Rob. What! carry him down to the kitchen! T. O'K. No, young man, I shan't trouble you carry me down; I'll carry myself down, and you shall see what a beautiful hand master O'Keen is at a knife and fork. (Exit with Robert.) Dr. W. (solus.) Well, this fellow has some humor; indeed, he has fairly turned the tables upon me. I wish I could get him to give a dose of my prescribing to her ladyship's cats and dogs, for the foolish woman has absolutely bequeathed in her will an annual sum for the care of each, after her death. Oh, dear! dear! how much more to her credit would it be to consider the present exigencies of her country, and add to the number of voluntary contributions! RHYME OF THE RAIL-SAXE. SINGING through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Rumbling over bridges, Whizzing through the mountains, Buzzing o'er the vale,- Men of different stations, In the eye of Fame. Here are very quickly Coming to the same; High and lowly people, Birds of every feather, On a common level, Travelling together! Gentlemen in shorts, Looming very tall; Gentlemen at large, Talking very small; Gentlemen in tights, With a loose-ish mien; Gentlemen in gray, Looking rather green; Gentlemen quite old, Asking for the news; Stranger on the right, Looking very sunny, Obviously reading Something rather funny. Now the smiles are thicker Wonder what they mean? Faith, he's got the Knicker Bocker Magazine! Stranger on the left, Closing up his peepers; Now he snores amain, Like the seven sleepers: At his feet a volume Gives the explanation, How the man grew stupid From "association !" Ancient maiden lady Woman with her baby, Says it's tiresome talking. Noises of the cars Are so very shocking! Market woman, careful Of the precious casket, Knowing eggs are eggs, Tightly holds her basket; Feeling that a smash, If it came, would surely Send her eggs to pot, Rather prematurely. Singing through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Rumbling over bridges, Whizzing through the mountains. YOUNG WHIPSTITCH.-ANON. A LONDON tailor, as 'tis said, The son, a gay, young swagg'ring blade, Abhorr'd the very name of trade, And lest reflection should be thrown There beaux and belles his taste admire, His equipage and rich attire; But nothing was so much ador'd As his fine silver-hilted sword; Tho' short and small, 'twas vastly neat, His pride was hurt by this expression, The purse-proud coxcomb took the hint, Because the dinner was roast goose: |