The Press. — London, England, 1854-04-08 00:00:00

tiNN-TZirrgf THE PRESS. 324 THE DOCTOR. A LITTLE HISTORY OF A CERTAIN " SECRET CORRESPONDENCE." The Doctor sits in his cabinet chair, Doctor A—, Doctor A—; In his better days they called him " ce cher," But now he's the worse for wear and tear, And grown like an antiquated bear, Gaunt and grey—gaunt and grey ; There's a dubious .Ie ne seas quoi in his air, And he mutters moodily—ls it a prayer ? Or what does he muse on? That's his affair. Who shall say ? Who shall say ? He takes out a letter—he reads it o'er ; He has read that letter ten times before. Why does he shudder and start? It's an old friend's letter—a worthy soul — Who suggests to himself a new " beau role." Then why is he sick at heart ? He rises and paces the chamber ; still He recurs to this passage here— " Doctor, your patient is very ill ; " Doctor, you know I'm down in his will ; " And if you could just one little pill--" To tell the plain truth, that's queer. The townspeople wonder that he, whom they knew So lusty and jolly, is sick ; He was given to smoke too much, it is true, And he drank sly drams, and, between me and you, With the fair he was greatly too thick. But still 'twas a singular thing in its way To hear of his wasting so day after day, And to read in the papers each morn The bulletins which old Doctor A — Drew up, as the knowing people say, His coming demise to forewarn. Could they have look'd behind the scene, And read the prescriptions to keep him placid, " Double doses of henbane and prussic acid," 'Twould have opened their optics, I ween. Doctor A— himself (the presumption is fair) Would not at the club have retained the chair, And, while there were guests enough and to spare, Would not have been asked to dine with the Mayor, And have dipp'd in the turtle tureen. If the patient got better, as patients will, In spite of draught and sedative pill, Who is to bear the blame ? He who prescribed, or those in the hall Who into the slop-pail emptied all His prescriptions as they came. The Undertaker, who unawares Was brought to the patient's bed, To his great surprise was kicked down stairs, And (horribile dictu), instead. — All the private letters of Doctor A— By the patient's friends were read. How foolish to leave them in the way, Or let them see the light of day, Before the sick man was dead ! Doctor A— is indignant—he cannot tell why His name's to be put in the Hue and Cry ; And he frowns a diplomatic frown ; And in his own chamber he sulkily mutters That " scurrilous " people are running him down, And chalking opprobrious words on his shutters. But the little dogs laugh, and the little boys chaff, And the townsfolk say he's too touchy by half, For they've caught him at shameful work ; And his deeds they compare with the doings of Hare, (Referring to Hare and Burke), Crying, " There goes the Doctor— Quietus-concoctor -- Who wanted to hocus the Turk." Doctor A—, Doctor A—, at your time of day, Men don't wish to press you, whatever they say ; So unscrew your doorplate and go away. Boulogne is pleasant at this time of year, And Paris at Easter is pleasanter still ; Brussels is cheerful, and not too dear ; Even Calais is better than Pentonville ; For, Doctor, if you are nearly sped, And you " have one foot,"—where you truly said, The wheel of destiny you can tread Is not the wheel of the Mill. If you go away into foreign parts, You may turn to account your foreign arts, And connive at what you please; If you buy false calves, and powder your hair, You may stand behind an Emperor's chair ; And if you arc wise, In this partial disguise, You may feel again at your ease. SATURDAY, PEACE IN THE BALANCE. AN IMAGINARY DRAMA FROM ROCHDALE. "As regarded peace, he (Lord Palmerston) believed that there were some things for which it might be sacrificed, and calamities which were worse than war. But Mr. Bright reduced everything to a question of pounds, shillings, and pence ; and if this country were menaced with invasion he would make out an account, putting on one side what his Government would ask as contribution for defence, and on the other what an invading army would spend at Manchester, and let the balance decide him."—Lord Palmerston s Speech on the War Debate. ScEnr..—Mr.l3aTianfs Counting-house. That honourable gentleman is discovered surrounded by account•books of various enormity. He has just finished checking a balance•sheet before him, and closes a huge folio with an enormous bang. Mr. BRIGHT : Not so bad; and I clear four thousand pounds more than this time last year. What a fool, what a besotted ass a man must be to deny that the country is in a state of unexampled prosperity! I really have no patience with such idiots. Four thousand pounds. (A knock.) Come in. Enter Mr. COBDEN. Ah ! Richard. Mr. COBDEN : How are you ? I say, have you got a newspaper? None of the London papers are down this morning, I hear. Some smash, I suppose ; and yet it is odd they should all be missing. Mr. BRIGHT : I—to tell you the truth — Mr. COBDEN : Not if it is disagreeable. Mr. BRIGHT • Do I ever tell disagreeable truths? But the fact is that I was busy, and forgot the paper. (Calls.) Obadiah ! Enter A CLERK. Where is the Times newspaper? OBLDIAH : Truly I know not. Thee has not had it? Mr. BRIGHT : I should not ask thee in that case. Ascertain. [Exit OBADIAH. Mr. COBDEN : I see what you have been at. Totals look tidy, oh ? Mr. BRIGHT (humbly): We must not be elated by these things, but still less must we murmur. To you, as a friend, I may say, without boasting, that a figure of eight, with three noughts, is not a bad figure. Mr. COBDEN : Eight, eh ? Come-- Mr. BRIGHT: Whither? I have simply asserted a fact. Will you it? Is eight a bad figure ? deny 1, Lght Mr. Comm.; : Yes ; when he takes a place that don't belong to hint Two, I fancy, is nearer the mark. Mr. BRIGHT : As you will. I am content with my portion, and my lines have fallen in pleasant places. Re-enter OBADIAH. OBADIAH : There are no papers in the town. Mr. BRIGHT : Say, Obadiah (that is, if it be so), that thou are in formed there are none. It were impossible that since thee went out thee could have searched and learned the fact of thine own knowledge. Who told thee? OBADIAH : The station-master. Mr. BRIGHT : Repeat his exact words. OBADIAH : At thy bidding, not at mine own will. He said that not a single d—d paper had come down, and that I might go — Mr. BRIGHT : Stop. It was not for him to give thee permission to go anywhere ;so omit that as impertinent and irrelevant. Telegraph to Smith's, Strand, London. OBADIAH: I did so, judging that would be thy order. Mr. BRIGHT : Have they replied ? OBADIAH : No ; for the wires are all cut. Mr. COBDEN (starting up): The deuce they are ! Where ? OBADIAH : Without reference to the first part of thy speech, I reply to the second. Close to London. ANOTHER CLERK rushes in, much agitated. CLERK : Sir, gentlemen, Mr. Bright, Mr. Cobden, 0, sir ! (pants for breath). OBADUH (calmly): It would seem that thou art as it were per turbed, John Bradds. I know that thee didst expect that the wife of thy bosom would shortly increase the list of thine olive-branches, yet, methinks JOHN BRADDS Olive-branches be hanged! It's nothing to do with the olive-branch now. Its war—slaughter—carnage — murde r— killing—slaying—and spiflicating. Houses in flames, cannons roaring, and bayonets running in I don't know where. OBADIAH: I do, if thee wert attacked, for thou art of a cowardly disposition. Mr. Balsam (dubiously): Thee hast taken the pledge, I have heard. John Bradds. Jomi BRADDB : And kept it. 0, don't fancy I am tipsy. The Russians have landed, the bloody-minded Russians ! Mr. BRIGHT : Don't call them by bad names—they may win. But where do you get your news—thy news—eh? Out with it. .-~~-