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"It did so, sir-and so a third we tried."
"Shook him!-how?" Bolus stammer'd out.
We jolted him about."
“Zounds! shake a patient, man—a shake won't do."
"Twould make the patient worse."
IX.-LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.
WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
Next night 'twas the same! and the next! and the next!
In six months bis acquaintance began much to doubt him;
Sudorifics in bed," exclaim'd Will," are humbugs!
Will kick'd out the doctor; but, when ill indeed,
"Look ye, landlord, I think,” argued Will with a grin,
Quoth the landlord,-" Till now, I ne'er had a dispute ;
"The oven!!!" says Will.-Says the host, "Why this passion? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion! Why so crusty, good sir?"—"Zounds!" cried Will in a taking, "Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking ?”
Will paid for his rooms:-cried the host, with a sneer, "Well, I see you have been going away half a year." 'Friend, we can't well agree; yet no quarrel," Will said; "But I'd rather not perish, while you make your bread."
X.-ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY IN BELZONI'S EXHIBITION.
AND thou hast walk'd about (how strange a story!)
And time had not begun to overthrow
Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dummy, Thou hast a tongue-come let us hear its tune; Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy!
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon,
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures.
Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame? Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect
Of either pyramid that bears his name?
Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,
Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh glass to glass;
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
I need not ask thee if that hand, when arm'd,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled:
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Since first thy form was in this box extended,
We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations; The Roman empire has begun and ended,
New worlds have risen-we have lost old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head,
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd,
The nature of thy private life unfold :-
And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll'd :. Have children climb'd those knees and kiss'd that face? What was thy name and station, age and race?
Statue of flesh-immortal of the dead!
Why should this worthless tegument endure,
In living virtue, that when both must sever,
XI. THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.
A WELL there is in the west country,
An oak and an elm tree stand beside,
A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne,
For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he; And he sat down upon the bank,
Under the willow-tree.
There came a man from the neighbouring town, At the well to fill his pail;
On the well-side he rested it,
And he bade the stranger hail.
Now, art thou a bachelor, stranger ?" quoth he; "For an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day, That ever thou didst in thy life.
Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast,
For an if she have, I'll venture my life,
"I have left a good woman who never was here," The stranger he made reply;
"But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why."
"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornishman, "many a time Drank of this crystal well;
And before the angel summon'd her,
"If the husband of this gifted well
"But if the wife should drink of it first,
The stranger stoop'd to the well of St. Keyne,