And take Doc, now, in AIGGER, say, er cramps; er rheumatiz ;– And all afflictions thataway, and he's the best they is! Er janders-milksick—I don't keer-k-yore anything he tries.— A felon―er a frost-bit' yeer-er granilated eyes. There was the Widder Daubenspeck they all give up fer deadWith fits, and "ligture o' the neck," and clean out of her head!— First had this doctor, what's-his-name, from Puddlesburg; and Burnin' Shame," they call him—Dr. And they "CONSULTED on the case, and claimed she'd haf to die. I jes' was joggin' by the place, and heerd her daughter cry, 44 LIGHT OUT!" she says.--And, LIPP-TEE-CUT! I loped in townand rid 'Bout two hours more to FIND him, but I scored him when I did! He wuz down at the Gunsmith Shop, a-stuffin' birds! 44 Says he, My sulky's broke." Says I, "You hop right on and ride with me!" I GOT him there!. you," Sifers said, · Well, Aunty: ten days K-YORES "But what's yer idy LINGER'N' when they want you OVERHEAD ?" And there's Dave Banks—jes' back from war without a scratch one day Got ketched up in a sickle-bar—a reaper-runaway ;— His shoulders, arms, and hands and legs jes' sawed in strips !— And Jake Dunn starts fer Sifers,-feller begs to SHOOT him, PITY'S-SAKE! Doc, 'course, was gone; but he had penned the notice" At Big Bear Be back TOMORRY: Gone to 'tend the Bee Convention there." But Jake, he TRACKED him!-rid and rode the whole indurin' night! And 'bout the time the roosters crowed they both hove into sight. Doc had to AMPITATE-but 'greed to save Dave's arms, and said He COULD a-saved his LEGS ef he'd got there four hours ahead. Doc's wife's own mother purt' nigh died onc't 'fore he could be found, And all the neighbers, fur and wide, a-all jes chasin' round!— Tel finally, I had to laugh,-'t'uz jes like Doc, you know,Was LEARNIN' fer to TELEGRAPH, down at the old Dee-po. But all they're faultin' Sifers fer, they 's none of 'em kin say He's biggoty, er keerless, er not POSTED anyway; He ain't built on the common plan o' doctors NOWADAYS,He's jes' a great big brainy man—that's where the trouble lays! -JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. To Dr. (Afterwards Sir Edward) Wilmot 7ITH doubtful strife, Humanity and Art WITH For conquest vie in Wilmot's head and heart, On his loved son Apollo did bestow The healing power, and words to soften woe. With sympathizing eyes and tender mind He views the maladies of human-kind; Reprieves the languid patient from the grave, -WILLIAM DUNCOMBE, In a Dissecting Room IGHTLESS eyes half closed beneath Lying there so silently Womanhood reproachful seems; 'Tis a face that we may see Reappear in troubled dreams. Lifeless, wasted arm and hand Stripped of skin by scalpel keen; Shining tendons, band on band Ligaments and muscles seen. Wondrously the fingers move, Of each muscle far above, Whilst the learner marvels much. Searcher, would that thou couldst find What mysterious power once moved That dead form! How vain and blind This long quest of ours has proved! Now the forceps and the knife Winning by a swifter pace. Inch by inch the clinging skin With reluctance parting shows Unknown wonders far within, Sources whence expression flows. Tiny threadlike muscles here Teach the lips to move in smiles; Draw the eyelids tense with fear, Close them when soft sleep beguiles. These have knit the brows to frown; Those have taught the mouth to kiss; Care and pain have oft weighed down Wrinkling forehead's calm with this These once spread the nostrils wide Airs of health caught ere they passed. Magic house, where sometime dwelt If this ruined home appear Wonderful beyond compare, What was then the dweller here That could vanish into air? -DR. WILLIAM BURT HARLOW Ode to a Doctor HE Doctor comes, and quick prescribes ; THE And then, when we are better, He sends a bill that reads like this: "To Dr. Cureall, Dr." For when we're in the grasp of Pain, And he has come and knocked her, We surely must admit that we Are Dr. to our Dr. -JAMES G. BURNETT. A Ballade of Busy Doctors WHEN winter pipes in the poplar-tree, W And soles are shod with the snow and sleet- And doctors hurry along the street; Then Death, white Death, is a-driving by. When the cowering sinner crooks his knee, And doctors hurry along the street; And in each house is a “shape and a sheet," When the blast of the autumn blinds the bee, Has a fulvous glitter in either eye, And a weary wobble in both his feet, Then Death, white Death, is a-driving by. ENVOY. When farmers ride at a furious heat, And doctors hurry along the street, DR. JAMES NEWTON MAtthews. |