The Sun.
London, England, 1859-12-13 00:00:00

MEDICAL FRIEND AND MARRIAGE GUIDE.

TO THE NERVOUS AND DEBILITATED.
—Sent free on receipt of two stamps, for postage, &e.,
by Dr. RAPKEY,27, Alfred-place, Bedford-square,• London,
W. C., " THE GUIDE TO SELF-CURE."
" The first man of the day in these complaints."—Medical
Review.
" Those about entering the Marriage State should peruse
the Author's invaluable little work, as the advice he'gives on
health and disease reflects much credit upon him as a sound
medical philosopher."--Critic.
"The true Guide to those who desire a speedy and private
care."—University Magazine.
"The' NEW AMERICAN DISCOVERY' demonstrates
the absurdity of the English mode of' treating such com-
plaints, will prove a blessing to the afflicted, who may safely
and easily regain pristine health by adopting the means pre-
sented. "—Evening S tar.
- - -

CAUTION.—As a duty due to the profession and the
public generally, Dr. Rapkey advises all persons having
doubts of the legal qualifications of their medical attendant,
or parties whom they may be about consulting, to procure
from the Royal College of Surgeons, London, the Official List
of Registered Members, price ls., or Dr. R. will, on receipt et
the price in stamps, gladly assist and protect the afflicted
public by forwarding the same.

" TILE NIGHT COMETR."

Days are sad and nights are dreary,
Lone and longing now for rest ;
Mother Earth thy child is waary,
Take me—take me to thy breast.

Weary watching, weary hoping,
Waiting for the good to come ;
With heavy heart and spirit drooping,
Yearning for yon peaceful home.
Weary, weary, still contending
In the ceaseless war of life ;
Hopeless struggle, never ending
Till thou call'st me from the strife.
All my.pleastint toys are shatter'd,
Flowers 1 lov'd lie withering by;
Autumn's breath their leaves have scattered,
Springs that cheer'd me, now are dry.
Dearest ties are ever breaking,
One by one I feel them snap ;
Mother dear my head is aching,
Let me lay it on thy lap.
Days are sad and nights are dreary,
Lone and longing now for rest ;
Mother Earth thy child is weary,
Take me—take me to thy breast.
Twilight's shadows round me gather,
Day to other climes hath fled;
Night is coming and I'd rather
Be undrese'd and go to bed.
Cold and dank the dew is falling,
Darkness drear begins to creep ;
Flits the bat, the cricket's calling,
Let these drooping eyelids sleep.
Let thy children, who are stronger,
Toil or revel later yet ;
I've no wish to sit up longer
Now the gladsome sun has set.
Smooth my pillow I implore thee,
Screen mein thy curtain'd shade ;
Spread thy grass-green mantle o'er me,
Sprinkle daisies where I'm laid.
Dayt are sad and nights are dreary,
Lone and longing now for rest ;
Mother Earth thy child is weary,
Take me—take me to thy breast.
Fondest hopes that long I cherish'd,
Fairy pictures that I drew,
Like cloudlet forms have changed and perish'd,
Unsubstantial and untrue.

Thoughts and aspirations utteed,
As kites that fly on paper wings ;
Rose awhile and faintly flutter'd
Till they broke their feeble strings.
Weary of the poet's numbers,
Weary of the minstrel's lay ;
Hush me in thy dreamless slumbers,
Till the night has pass'd away.
Till the everlasting morrow
BreakA upon my waking eyes.;
Till the day that knows no sorrow,
Bids me from my couch arise.

Days are'sadland nights are dreary,
Lone and longing now for rest ;
Mother Earth thy child is weary,
Take me—take me to thy breast.
Fordham, 1859. - J. R. WITHERS.

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