Bolus loved verse;-and took so much delight in't, That 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.

Apothecary's verse! and where's the treason?
'Tis simply honest dealing-not a crime;-
When patients swallow physic without reason,
It is but fair to give a little rhyme.

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 call'd 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."

Next morning early, Bolus rose,
And to the patient's house he goes-
Upon his pad,

Who a vile trick of stumbling had :
But that's of course,

For what's expected from a horse
With an apothecary on his back?

Bolus arrived, and gave a doubtful rap;

The servant let him in, with dismal face,
Long as a courtier's out of place-

Portending some disaster:

John's countenance as rueful look'd and grim,
As if th' apothecary had physick'd him,
And not his master.

"Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said,—
John shook his head:

"Indeed!-hum; ha!-that's very odd. He took the draught!"-John gave a nod. "Well now! what then?-speak out, you dunce." 'Why then," says John, we shook him once." "Shook him!-how?" Bolus stammer'd out, "We jolted him about."

66

"What! shake a patient, man! a shake won't do." "No, sir; and so we gave him two."

"Two shakes! odds curse!

'Twould make the patient worse!"

"It did so, sir; and so a third we tried."

"Well! what then?"-" Then sir, my master

died."

COLMAN.

Count Eberhard.

Two Counts with Franz to dine have come

And when the feast was done,

All push'd the wine and talk'd of home,
And each one praised his own.

The Margrave talk'd of healthful springs,

Another praised his vines; Bohemia spoke of precious things

In many darksome mines.

Count Everhard sat silent there,

"Now, Würtemberg, begin!

There must be something good and fair, Your pleasant country in."

"In healthful springs and purple wine," Count Everhard replied; "In costly gems, and gold to shine, I cannot match your pride.

66

But

you shall hear a simple tale.

One night I lost my way,

Within a wood along a vale,

And down to sleep I lay.

"And there I dream'd that I was dead, And funeral lamps were shining With solemn lustre round my head, Within a vault reclining.

"And men and women stood beside My cold sepulchral bed;

And shedding many tears they cried, 'Count Everhard is dead.'

"A tear upon my face fell down,
And waking with a start,

I found my head was resting on
A Würtembergian heart!

"A woodman 'mid the forest-shade
Had found me in my rest,
Had lifted up my head and laid
It softly on his breast!"

The princes sat and wondering heard,
Then said as closed the story,
"Long live the good Count Everhard,
His people's love and glory!"

ZIMMERMANN.

The Song of the Brave Man.
THE brave man's praise in song is told,
Like bell or organ's echoing tone;
When bravery is the theme, not gold,
But song rewards-nor song alone :
Thank God, who prompts the brave man's deed,
And crowns him with his heavenly meed.

The spring-gale swept the southern sea,
And moist o'er fair Italia pass'd:
As from the wolf the cattle flee,
So fled the clouds before the blast.
It pierced the wood, it scour'd the field;
And floods long bound before it yield.

On mountain summits melts the snow,
And countless cataracts resound;
An ocean whelms the vales below,
The gathering stream o'erleaps the mound;
High dash the waves on every side,
And fearful icebergs choke the tide.

On arch and pillar rear'd, and made
Of solid stone, above the flood

A bridge across the stream was laid,
And midway rose a small abode;
Here lived a tollman, child, and wife:
O tollman, tollman, fly for life!

The tempest now more fiercely rang;
Near and more near its tumult howl'd.
Upon his roof the tollman sprang,
And gazed upon it as it scowl'd:
O gracious God, have pity now!-
Who, who can hear and save but Thou?

The icebergs meet, and wildly wash
From either shore, now here, now there;
On every side the waters dash,
And down both arch and pillar tear.
The trembling tollman, child, and wife,
Shriek'd louder than the tempest's strife.

The icebergs thunder'd, fall on fall,

In

uproar wild along the shore;

They burst the bridge's shatter'd wall,

Pillar by pillar down they bore:

The havoc onward made its way—

"Have mercy, heaven!" they louder pray.

Aloft, upon the further brink,

A crowd stands gazing, great and small;
They scream, and wring their hands, but shrink

To risk the rescue: one and all.

The trembling tollman, child, and wife,

Above the tempest shriek'd for life.