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                 Y      THE


      THOMPSONIAN   QUACK,

                        OR

        THE  MIRACULOUS CURE
                        AND

           MARVELLOUS  METAMORPHOSIS:
SATIRE  ON   SOMEBODY,

           BY NATHAN NOBODY; ,
    J

       WITH  A CRITIQUE

             BY  BILLY BOOBY
       —''Shew thy famous might
In medicine, that els hath to thee wonne
Great pains, and greater praise, both never to be donne

Her words prevail'd ; and then the learned leach
His cunning hands (ran to her wounds ti> l.iy.
And all thing els, the^which>,his nrt did teach.
                Spenskr's Faerie Queens.
             BALTIMORE :

WM.% TAYLOR, PUBLISHER FOR THE AUTHOR.
1848.
Ml
— rtv^y__ 
'4
 
CRITIQUE  ON  THE  POEM,

       BY  BILLY BOOBY*
   We think Mr.  Nobody has  done himself great  disser-
 vice by the publication of this volume.   He says, in his
 preface, that he had not time to finish the poem with care.
 That is the very reason why he should not have published
 it.  His poetry bears very palpable marks of  an undue
 admiration of Lord Byron's  productions.   The graver
 stanzas  are  imitations of Childe Harold, the funnier of
 Don Juan  and Beppo, two of the  very worst models in the
 English  language.   All  the queer turns of his lordship's
 lazy muse are Americanized; even his verses  are some-
 times parodized, (I have lost my  lexicon,) and his rhymes
 occasionally transcribed.   The  noble  poet's  ridiculous
 sham-misanthropy and babyish querulousness are unhesi-
 tatingly  copied.   For example,  we have,  instead of a
 Newfoundland dog, an" ill-natured setter introduced to our
 notice, snapping off a piece of the  coat-tail of his biped
 fellow-traveller.   Now all  these little absurdities are ex-
 cusable  in a  very  young dog,  but they should not be
 brought  before the public.

  * This sage Mr. Booby has stolen most of his ideas as well as language
from a criticism on Yellott's Pobms,  written by the editor of the
Western Continent, and published in an issue of that paper, dated
February 12th, 1S43.   How cruel to steal ideas from a man who has so
few to spare  !                                     N. N.
\ 
iv
CRITIQUE  ON THE POEM.
   We are not disposed, however,  unqualifiedly  to con-
demn.  This would  be  too cruel ; for we  presume this
poet is a very young  man, and has not yet learned to dis-
tinguish with  accuracy betwixt the  bray of a jack-ass
and the roar of a lion, and might be annihilated with ter-
ror when he heard the  bray aforesaid issuing from  be-
neath the lion's  hide which we  have stolen.  We  will
therefore endeavor to damn  him with a little  faint praise.
   " The Sorrows of the  Quack over his Ass," has
many graceful thoughts and pretty turns of expression,
and proves that the author might, if he would, do a great
deal better.  Let him choose a nobler model.  Let him
study the glorious old fathers of English song,  and  draw
his inspirations from  a more legitimate  source than the
haughty, wayward, fretful peer, the spoiled child of Fame.
Of course  a poet should draw his  inspirations from the
writings of some  one  who has gone before him,  instead of
relying upon the  inward prompter, which should  be chain-
ed  like a dog,  and ordered  to lie down  and go to sleep.
Such, after running  our nose through this  volume, and
smelling a few of the pages, is our opinion upon this  poem
in particular, and  upon  poetry in general.   Next  week
we will give an elaborate opinion upon the subject of rats,
which  no doubt  the  public will  look  for  with  intense
anxiety.
 1
1
^/s 
                PREFACE.


  Had the composition of this poem been  attended
with much effort on the part of the  author, it  would
never have been written, the subject not justifying any
great expenditure of labor.  It constituted, however,
the amusement  of the mere  idle hours of about a
week,  and afforded the writer many a hearty laugh
during its progress towards completion.  lie does not
therefore regret the small amount of time required for
its preparation for the press.
   If any one  should  be disposed  to  accuse him of a
wanton attempt to wound the feelings of an individual,
who figures somewhat conspicuously in these  pages,
he here meets the accusation  with a full and flat de-
nial.   The object of the  above allusion  has brought
this ridicule upon himself  by his own  unjustifiable con-
duct.  Without provocation  he attempted to  do  the
author a serious injury.  If he did not succeed ; if his
envenomed missies did not rearh  the bosom it' which
they were aimed,  it was not. because the motive was
wanting or the effort  was  not made,  but  because  the
puny arm did not  possess power enough to render it ah
efficient coadjutor of a mischievous  disposition.   He
thought  he was  attacking the shrinking modesty of
youthful  immaturity, and  might do so with impunity.
Alas poor man!  his temerity may cost him some trou-
ble.  He has  to deal  with one who,
            " So callous grown, so changed since youth,
       Hath learn'd to think and sternly spea* the truth ;"
with one who never seeks an occasion for quarrel with
any;  but, if he does arouse the spirit of  resistance
within him, he may find to  his cost  that it is much
easier to  raise a spirit than to lay it.
  There may be some, however, who may  think that
the author has put  himself to an unnecessary trouble
 
VI
PREFACE.
in the composition of this satire.   That the object of it
is too obscure, and should be suffered to hide himself
under the shade of his own  utter insignificance.  But
why do you lift your finger to  brush  away an  insect
that is buzzing around your ears?  Not surely because
of its importance, but simply because it annoys you.
We have caught,  this  curious fly called a critic, and
bottle'/ him  in the spirits of poetry for  the public to
examine, and wonder, and laugh at.  We may have
to capture a few more at some  future day, but will
wait patiently until such convenient season as  will en-
able us to take a whole hand-full  at once, when  we
will carefully put them  up in  the aforesaid spiritual
composition, which is far belter and more humane than
to let them sink down and be smothered in the mud
of Lethe.
   This  is not meant as a Quixotic declaration of war
against all critics.   The author is willing that  any one
should criticise his productions fairly, and point out
their faults with candor, after having read them.  He
will even feel grateful to him for so doing,  and endea
vor to correct those faults for  the future.  But  he will
suffer no man, with impunity, to run his nose  through
the pages and smell a few of the leaves, and  then set
down to condemn the book by wholesale, making such
assertions as plainly prove he has never  read  the vol-
ume, or, if he has, must  plead  the elopement of his
brains as the only excuse for his absurdity.
   In  conclusion; the author  begs most respectfully to
inform all whom  it may concern, that  he  has not
assumed a fictitious name in order  to escape from any
responsibility which may be  supposed  to attach to the
publication  of this poem.  If the  hints given in va-
rious  parts of (he volume  are not sufficient, the curious
in such  matters can easily obtain the real name of the
writer, by applying at. the  publishing  establishment
from whence it. emanates. 
                     THE

  THOMPSONIAN  QUACK.

        Jack Thompson and Bill* Thompson;—all the rest
        Had been called " Jemmy," after the great bard.
                       Don Jdan—Canto VII., Stanza. IX.

                       I.

Cano Virum.;—1 sing a famous booby,
  Who is to be the hero of my strain;
To equal him, i ween, there very few be
  From his own sunny Georgia unto Maine;
So I'll begin to warble ; and if you be
  Propitious, as of yore, Aonian train!
We'll blazon him abroad in all his glory,
And make this fool immortal in our story.

                       H.
For certes 'twere a pity and a shame
  That he should  hide his poor diminished head
In base obscurity, and have no name
  To be by gaping crowds hereafter read,
Engraven on the monument of Fame.—
  Ah no ! when fools less famous have gone dead,
Men on that column shall the  dirty speck show
This insect leaves, like Dennis or MacFleckno.

  * The result of the grand inquest, howerer, has not been a true Bill,
but ignoramus. 
8             THE  TH0MPS0N1AN QUACK.
                        III.

Up!  climb that column now you lazy lubber !
  To please the laughter-lovers you shall do it;
And  iy hit you hard pray do not blubber !
  Your task 's before you and you must go through it—
Up!  up! or, like a ball of Indian Rubber,
  I'll make you  bounce, my boy;—and when men view it,
They'll candidly admit in me 'twas  kind
To tap you with my fiddle-bow behind.


                         IV.

Some poets with a harp our  souls entrance)
  Or lyre ; I  play on any instrument;
And as, my lad, J'rri goinjr to make you dance
  When you  come safely down  from your ascent,
I choose the fiddle-sticks, that you may prance
  Unto some joyous jig which suits the bent
Of your fine genius; on your haunches rearing
Like a great bear, while all the  folks are staring.

                          V.

And if you're stubborn you  will get the whip
  Upon your  hide until it makes you smart,
(Albeit you ne'er were smart before,) from  hip
  To shoulder-blade.  But  come now !  bless my heart!
Good Bruin don't be backward !  Up ! and trip
   It gracefully ; contributing your part
To our amusement; holding out each paw,
While all the urchins cry, oh la ! oh la ! 
THE THOMPSONIAN QTJACK.
9
                          VI.
 Maybe, to see the bear dance, my sweet Muse
    Would ev'n consent to leave her happy hill,
 Where doubtless now she  sips the silvery dews
    That feed the fragrant flowers, that by the rill
 Pierian bloom in their celestial hues,
    That may not be described by earthly quill ;—
 Or it may be she swims the pool of Helicon,
 Breasting the Waves like penguin, goose, or pelican.

                          VII.
 But &s a tame swan, when my calls invite,
   She gaily  swims to shore, and  like that fowl,
 Mounts upwards on her pinions snowy white,
   And, on the bosom of the air, like owl
 Or bull-bat, sailing through the dusky night,
   (While, deeming her a spectre, loudly howl
 The critics and the curs,) she to my side,
 In all  her angel loveliness, doth glide.

                         Vlll.

 And there she smiling sits ; and from  her wings
  I pluck a quill and straightway make a pen ;
 And then she tunes her heavenly voice, and sings
  Such strains as might  awake the dead  again ;
 And as  she warbles I write down the things
  She utters,  to be read by mortal men,
Though much I  fear 'tis casting pearl  to swine ;
But stop! I'll call this bonny  lass of  mine. 
10
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                         IX.
                        ♦
" Oh ! thou in  Hellas deemed of heavenly birth !"
  This is an invocation filch'd from Byron,
For which some savage critic on the earth
  Will seek to roast, my Muse on his gridiron,
While he stands laughing by, in fiendish mirth,
  To see her writhe and wriggle his fierce fire on ;—
At least he 'd do it if he were but able,
But on him I may chance to turn the table.

                          X.
Come, heavenly Muse ! leave your Parnassian palace,
  Dont  be afraid ! take courage !  come be spunky !
Fear not this funny critic's petty malice,
  Albeit he is mischevious as a monkey ;
Unto his lips we'll force the  accursed chalice
  He meant for you, and make  him drink till drunk  he
Hath grown on the concoction in his draught,
While at his antics all the folks have laugh'd.

                          XI.

Come heavenly muse !  But to my incantation,
  Alas ! my warbler turneth a deaf ear !
Though for her visit I've made preparation
   She now  for once refuses to appear !
It plagues my spirit like the very nation,
   And  tortures it with jealousy and fear,
Lest lady-love hath, jilting me alack !
Run off with some one else, and won't come back. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QDACK.
11
                          XII.

 " Oh sweetheart!  dearest! hast thou been so fickle,
   And left me, cruel one ! in such sad case ?"
 I cried aloud in  anguish, while did trickle
   The great big tear-drops down my pallid face,—
 " My heart is broken ! I'm in a nice pickle !
   I'll cut my throat! thy treatment is so base !
 I'll shoot! I'll sacrifice myself!  Oh no !
 I'll mount  my steed and to Parnassus go.

                         XIII.
 " Bring Pegasus !  I have no time to tarry !
   I must be off and learn at once my fate !"
 I shouted out this order to old Harry—
   Not the  old gentleman so celebrate,
 Who, with his ebon robes this name doth carry ;
   Byron, whom  I of course do imitate, (1)
 Had Bob and Fletcher—some prefer a Frenchman—
 For squire and page—but Harry is my henchman.

                         XIV.

 He is a blackamore, with brain that's addle,
   Yet sober, trusty, circumspect and-moral;
He threw across  my Pegasus the saddle,
   And led  him pawing forth,—a bob-tail sorrel—
Like " feather'd Mercury" I leap'd astraddle ;—
   (With phrase so  common-place pray do not quarrel.)
The  creature snort'd, kick'd, and gave a cough,
As I got on and  hastened to be off. 
12
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                         XV.
 I seized the reins, but, looking round, espied
   Old Boz, my setter-dog, with " braw brass collar,"
 Who took his station by my courser's side,
   And wag'd his tail, as if he meant to follow,
 As he is wont to do whene'er I ride ;
   He skiptand capered, and did roll and wallow,
 And whin'd, and did each canine mode employ,
 In lieu of words, to testify his joy.

                         XVI.

 Quoth I then, to my trusty blackamcre,
   "Chain  up the dog, or he perchance may bite
 Some fool upon the road, for I am sure
   He cannot bear a booby in his sight,
 Since lately that confounded dunce—(the score
   He'll pay him off)—jumped on him for a fight."
 Whereat my henchman tuck'd him 'neath his arm,
 And bore him off that he might do no harm.

                        XVII.

 I seiz'd the bridle and began to pull  it;
  Off dash'd  my steed in a tremendous rack ;
 Ne'er straighter from  the cannon flew a bullet,
  Kick'd by a keg of powder in the back,
Nor swifter swoops a hawk upon  a pullet,
  Than I was wafted then upon my hack ;
So fast we kick'd  behind the stones and  gravels,
 I had no time to take notes on my travels. 
              THE THOMPSONIAN  QUACK. °           13


                        XVIII.

At length we reach'd the foot of Mount Parnassus,
  Up which we darted at a fearful rate ;
Along its sides lay several dead jack-asses,
  O'er which the crows an inquest did debate ;
Each one had been some poet's poor Pegasus
  Who'd stumbled here and broke his neck of late,
For none may scale the mountain over-head
Unless his steed be strong and thorough-bred.

                         XIX.
We left the carrion crows upon the jury,
  Each cawing  his opinion o'er each corse,
To give their verdict and away like fury,
  Along the  craggy heights my fiery horse
Unstumbling darted, so extremely sure he
  Hath ever been of foot;—beneath the force
Of his strong iron'd hoofs the sparks flew out,
From the hard flints, like lightning all about.

                         XX.
Those sparks like meteors then were seen afar;—
  For night had settled on the world below,
Though she could never drive her ebon  car
  Up these proud peaks that darkness never know;—
The people wonder'd much ; some thought each star
  Was rearing mad, as they beheld the show ;—
And  all  run out to see the strange phenomenon,
Which was pronounced by all  hands an uncommon one.
      2 
14
THE TH0MPS0NIAN QUACK.
                        XXI.

Each sage philosopher his glasses took
  And rub'd the dust away that he might peep well ;
At peril of his neck running to look
  At these mad meteors from some lofty steeple,
And afterwards set down to write a book,
  Wherein he did instruct the common people,
Which book the critics greatly did commend ;
But Miller swore  the world was at an end.

                        XXII.

Whereat some ladies—but I make no mention
  Of names—believing in his marv'lous gift
Of prophecy,  got ready for ascension,
  And put their white robes on to get a lift ;
While those who  had no robes, tax'd their invention,
  But  finally resolv'd to make a  shift
And do without.  Some run for absolution
Unto the priests, and all were in confusion,

                        XXIII.

Thus did he frighten each poor simple lamb
  That bleated meekly pent up in his fold ;
But when next day they found 'twas all a flam,
   And that things jog'd on as they done of old,
Each lamb look'd sheepish ;—till he, with a  calm
   And heavenly  smile upon  his features, told
 Of errors in  his reckonings sublime,
 But said he would appoint  another time. 
               THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.             15


                        XXIV;

Meanwhile my steed and I had reach'd the summit,
   Which many bards to gain do vainly seek,
Finding, alas, poor souls ! they cannot come  it;
   While those, whose coursers bear them to the peak,
Become so giddy that they tumble from it,
   And, rolling down, their precious necks do break,
So that the bottom 's  all strew 'd round with bones
As thick as on a turnpike lie the stones.

                         XXV.

But Pegasus and I felt  quite at home ;
   He was rejoic'd to get rid of the flies,
Call'd critics, that are here forbid to come ;
   While I, with equal  pleasure,  saw  arise,
In gorgeous splendor, a majestic dome,
   Which truly was a sight " good for sore eyes ;"
It  was the bran-new  palace of the Muses,
Whose outward beauty of a thousand hues is.

                        XXVI.

I am aware that that  old gentleman
   Call'd  Homer did the Muses here locate,
In quite another sort of building than
   The one I speak of;  but I beg to state
I am a bold, free-bormAmerican,
  And yield to no man, howsoever great;—
Let others to the dead be serfs and minions.
I stand a freeman even in my opinions. 
16             THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.


                       XXVII.
I can't imagine how a book improves
  In wisdom when the writer 's dead and rotten ;
Yet 'tis the only lore the scholar loves,
  O'er which he ponders till some misbegotten
Base knave the torch of inquiry to it shoves,
  When it explodes like powder or gun-cotton.
Yet Homer lied not;  but the dome he talk'd of,
Hath rott'd down long since, or may be walk'd off.

                      XXVIII.

And so they reared one on a better model
  Of a more recent and improv'd construction ;
Which, if you'll give me time to scratch my noddle,
  I briefly will describe for your instruction ;
If any one hints 'tis but lying twaddle,
  I'd  bid the  rest beware and his bad luck shun,
And he himself had better prime his pistol,
For, by the living powers! I'll make  him whistle.

                        XXIX.

First Mercury, blithe lad, had climb'd the tree
  Of glory, where the stars for fruitage grow,
And, running out upon the branches,  he
  Shook down a shower upon the earth below ;
'Twas in November, eighteen thirty-three,
  You recollect we all beheld the show ;
I saw it as I lay in bed quite lazy,
And thought  the stars had all gone drunk or crazy. 
THE THOMPSONIAN  QUACK.
17
                        XXX.

Then Phaeton hitch'd his horses to his wain.—
  There's an opinion current here below
That this said famous Phaeton was once slain
  By thunderbolts and tossed into the Po ;
But if he was he came to life again,
  Which in a god is nothing strange you know ;—
He  was the first of that mischievous breed
Of abolitionists of which we read.

                        XXXI.
For Africans he had so great a passion
  He drove too near them and so miss'd  the figure;
He was their lover, but a very rash one ;
  He scorch'd  the people black, and hence the nigger ;*
Till Jove arose in anger, and did dash one
  Of his red  thunder-bolts at him with vigor,
Hitting upon the head poor  hopeless Phaeton,
Who hitherto had thought himself a great one.

                        XXXII.
To hit  fools on the head 's no feat to brag on ;
  'Tis not the  mortal  part.—He  did recover;
 And, as I said, he now did  drive his wagon—
   (For of that  business he was still a lover)
Each horse as  dev'lish as a fiery dragon—
   Unto the spot where Mercury all over
The earth had  shaken heaps of golden stars,
 Which he pick'd up—assisted then by Mars.

                  *See Ovid's Met., Lib. II.
       2* 
13
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                       XXXIII.

This latter god, I know, mistook his calling
  When he laid down his bloody sword and shield,
And, for a livelihood, had ta'en to hauling,
  When he should be upon the battle-field
Where sturdy heroes are each  other mauling ;
  But I am told he for  a time did yield
His office up unto a certain Benton,
Whom,  as Lieutenant-General, he had sent on-

                       XXXIV.
So they address'd themselves unto the work
  To haul away this mighty mass of stars ;
Each plied himself as lusty as a Turk ;—
  Some hundred demi-gods as  well as Mars,
Who handled stars as brisk as  sword  or dirk ;
  Load after load they drew upon their cars,
Until they'd sadly gall'd the horses' shoulders ;
Poor things !  it mov'd the pity  of beholders.

                        XXXV.

And thus they toil'd till on Parnassus lay
  A most enormous heap.—When, with his tools,
Old Mulciber came limping up, they say,
  And brought his journeymen, those one-ey'd fools*
Called Cyclops, who, without a cent  of pay,
  Save sundry kicks and cuffs,—the stupid mules !
In Etna ply the hammer and the bellows,
And are, in truth, industrious,  faithful fellows. 
              THE  fHOMPSONIAN  QUACK.            10


                       XXXVI.
Vulcan arriv'd ; and, though they first did bandy
  Some words about the price, engag'd the job,
And prov'd himself about the work quite handy ;
 .^Building a wall of stars that caus'd the mob
Altonishment.—Instead of lime and sand, he,
  With molten  gems the crevices did daub,
Mingled with liquid pearls, so that like brick
And mortar he compell'd the work to stick.

                       XXXVII.

He caught and  moulded sun-beams in a mass,
  And from the solid blocks carv'd each pilaster <
 He from the milky-way cut panes of glass
  Soldred with gold for putty or for plaster ;
And, when he thought the workmanship  would passy
  He o'er it threw a roof of alabaster,
Then melted an Aurora Boreal is
And with it smear'd the outside of this palace.

                       XXXVIII.

 Apollo came, and finding fault aloud
  With sundry things, caused Mulciber to bridle;
 For of his architecture he was proud.
  Quoth he to  Phoebus then,  " Confound your hide, I'll
Show you a thing or two !"—Upon a cloud
  He saw a rainbow sitting very idle;
 And so he beckon'd it, and bade it come
And span  the structure, and compose the dome. 
20
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                        XXXIX.
 There hung that rainbow, like the lamp of Crutchett,*
   As I came cant'ring up upon my steed ;
 On it an eagle sat, whose claws did clutch it ;—
   He was a bird of Jove's immortal breed,—
 And seem'd to say, " I dare you now to touch it!"
   Along the avenue I went with speed,
 With pounded diamonds pav'd instead of gravel,
 O'er which my fiery courser  fast did travel.

                         XL.
 Along the road on  either side  a row
   Of blooming myrtles, bays, and lofty laurel,
 In more than earthly majesty, did grow ;
   Though of the latter I beheld one tore all
 To pieces by some  heroes from below,
   Who'd lately storm'd these  heights and had a quarrel
 O'er their respective rights unto the crown ;—
 But Mars came out and drove the blackguards down.

                        XLI.
 Amid the boughs some  handsome fowls were sitting,
  With plumage like the blue and yellow flame
 Of burning brandy, singing songs befitting,—
  In fact whate'er  in;o their heads then came ;
 While others through the grove were gaily flitting,
  Building their nests.—These are  the birds of fame,
A breed improv'd of mocking-birds  and thrushes,
  Red-birds and  blue that build among these bushes.
* On the Capitol at Washington. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
21
                        XLII.
One fellow flew and flutter'd on  my shoulder,
  The prettiest fowl I think I ever saw,
With wings as yellow as a piece of gold, or,
  If that don't please you, as an oaten straw ;—
While Vulcan mix'd some gems, his work to solder,
  He perched upon the barrel, but his claw
Slipping, he fell and like to drown, poor fellow!
And after that his wings were always yellow.

                       XLin.

Now in his beak he brought a blooming sprig
  Of laurel, and upon my cap did throw it;—
Quoth I to him, " I do not care a fig
  For all your laurel-crowns—I am a poet,
Not warrior who 'd of laurel  make a wig ;—
  I spurn such honors—bonny bird you know it—
For any fool can fight."  At that, away
He flew and brought me a green bunch of bay.

                       XLIV.

I stuck this in a corner of my beaver ;
  It is a badge by which you gain admission
Into the temple as a true believer;
  Unless some bird of fame should perch with this on
Your head, you'd  here be deemed a gay deceiver,
  Nor could by any means obtain  permission
To enter in where dwell those lovely ladies,
Each one of whom of other folks afraid is. 
22
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                        XLV.
I tied my horse unto a golden staple,
  Of which were many here in sundry places,
And walking towards the palace met a shape well
  Known to me,—the prettiest  of the graces,
Whom fashionable ladies think they ape well,
  But miss the figure.—But  I saw some traces
Of sorrow in her face, and,  as I kiss'd her,
She something said concerning her sick sister.

                        XLVI.

Whereat I anxiously inquir'd of whom
  It was she  spoke, as being now unwell ?
On  which she answer'd  with a look of gloom,
  While tears, as from a chrystal fountain,  fell
And water'd the sweet roses that did bloom
  Upon her cheek—" Alas! that I should tell
A tale so sad !   It is thine own Euterpe,*
Who e'er was wont those pretty songs to  chirp ye."

                        XLVII.
" Oh me ! and art thou then so sick, my dearest,
  While I did deem thee fickle, false  and cruel ?
Alas ! alas my bonny one !  who hearest
  My sorrows, tell me when and  how she grew ill,---
But dry thy tears ! for look  ! see how thou smearest
  Thine apron !—and 'twill spoil.thy beauty, jewel!
Oh tell! oh tell me !  ere my heart is broken,
What makes her ill ?   Egad !  I think I'm choking."
       * One of the nine Muses,  presiding over lyrical poetry. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.             23
                       XLV1II.
" Ah me!"  she said, with look still growing sadder,
   " 'Tis all the fault of our  Euphrosyne ;*
Whene'er I think upon it I grow madder !
   She lately went down to the earth, you see;—
You know  that her propensity to gad, her
   Besetting sin was always ;—and now she
Went to a ball held in the Quaker City ;—
She said she'd got a card from the committee.

                        XLIX.
" Cupid went as her page, and Mars gallanted ;
   And  she imagined she would cut a dash on
The carpet there, of which she greatly vaunted
   Ere she left home ; for vanity's a passion,
It  grieves me much to say she never wanted.
   Alas poor thing ! she knew not the late fashion,
And went in such a trim, when she got there,
The ladies giggled and the men did stare.

                         L.
" She wanted much, the smile, the laugh, the simper,
   But more than  all the latest mode  alack !
I  heard her tell, with a sad envious whimper,
   How every lady bore upon her back
A  load, 'neath which a mule could scarcely limp o'er;
   You might compare it to a pedlar's  pack;
Of what materials made I have forgotten,
But truly hope 'twas not explosive cotton.
One of the three graces, sisters of the Muses. 
24             THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.

                         LI.

" Twas hid beneath a load of silk and satin,—
  Upon the earth I think the  ladies must,
Able to bear about a load like that in
  Their dresses, now be growing quite robust.
She said she saw old Momus,* who doth fatten
  On mirth, sitting unseen on  one who fuss'd
And flur'd about;—while there he waltzing rides,
Grinning and laughing fit to crack his sides.

                         LII.
" Alas! my sister found her mode defective ;
  Which made her wonted vanity forsake her ;
The want of those additions, which effect  give
  To Nature's bounteous gifts of shape, did make her
(However she  resolv'd on the  corrective)
  As plain  and unpretending as a Quaker;
And so she hid her poor diminish'd head ;—
But no! that's not exactly what she said ;

                        Lin.
{; The diminution was elsewhere located.—
  Finding she was the jest of all the  room,
She finally went up to Mars and stated
  She  thought 'twas time they had started home ;
So they went to the door and there they waited
  For Cupid for awhile, who  'd with them come ;
Till Mars, impotent grown, swore at the urchin,
And angrily went back, after him searching.
                   * The god of laughter. 
THE THOMPSONIAN' QUACK.
25
                        LIV.

" But there he found him not.—Alas !  poor lad !
   \. little modern god, whom they call Fashion,
A parvenu, who place had never had
   Among the gods of yore, flew in a passion,
As he came in, and running at him, mad
   With furious jealousy, gave him a thrashing,
Then kicked  him from the door into the street, in
Which he lay most shamefully bruis'd and beaten.

                         LV.

" He blubber'd there awhile, but,  being immortal,
   He soon recover'd from each bruise and wound ;
But, since he'd been kick'd rudely from the portal,
   He fear'd to enter, and so wander'd round,
And, stopping 'neath a window, there  did  hurtle
   O'er him a pile of papers, and a sound
He heard of something that resembled curses
From a loud voice, that  said, " Confound such verses !

                         LVI.

" The moving cause of this most curious caper
   Were sundry poems,  written by a ninny,
 M'Makin nam'd, who edited a paper,
   The Model Courier  call'd ; a lion's skin he
 Had slily stolen, but the bray and shape e'er
   Told every body 'twas a jack or jinny.
 He'd pen'd these poems to compose a  part (2)
 Of a book published by Carey and Hart.
       3 
26
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                         LVI1.
 " It is a handsome and a huge collection
   Of poems which your Yankee bards did write,
 Out of whose works they've made a large selection.
   But when M'Makin came—unhappy wight !
 They show'd his verses very small aflection ;
   For Carey laugh'd, and Hart declared he might,
 If he took hold of such vile trash—all joking
 Aside—ere  long burst up and die Hart-broken.

                        LVI1I.

 1 Natheless  they sent  them off to Mr. Griswold,
   Borne by  a boy upon a large wheel-barrow,
 Who, when  he'd given them a squint, said this bold
   Eagle was nothing but a small cock-sparrow,
 And that his book should never trash like this hold ;
   So darted  them,  as swiftly as  an arrow,
 Out of the window, while his lips did  utter:
 A malediction ;—they fell in the gutter.

                        LIX.
 " 'Tis an ill  wind blows no one  any good ;"
  The adage is time-worn and true.—Just when
 Cupid had snatch'd these papers from the mud,
  Mars, strutting like a cock beside his hen,
 (A game-cock certes is that man of blood)
  Came thither with Euphrosyne ; who then
 With Cupid  for the poems had a tussel,
But, gaining  them,  said they would make  a bustle. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
27
                         LX.

" The poet thought the bustle would be made
  Below by his productions so sublime,
Which would enliven  and enrich the trade,
  And put into his pocket many a dime;—
He  was mistaken ; for as I have said,
  Or am to say, 'twas made above this time ;
My sister, with this bundle, soon did rig her
Bustle  up, and thereby much improv'd her figure.


                        LXI.
" Not long ago we had a little spree
  Up on Parnassus here, and  gave a ball;
Sending out cards to every  deity,—
  They soon came flocking hither, great and small ;
And then it was that our Euphrosyne
  Attracted the attention of them all,
By  the new decoration she was wearing,
Which kept the gods and goddesses all staring.

                        LXII.
" 'Twas the first time  among  us heathens  that
  A bishop had been  known to claim  a place,—
Each god  astonish'd stared, and wonder'd  what
  The  mischief was the  matter with her Grace;
Each she-god ey'd her, keenly as  a cat
  A mouse, with envy pictur'd in her face ;
And Venus, beauty's most celestial goddess,
Offer'd for it to swop her magic bodice. 
29
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                       LXII1.
'' But she declar'd her charms were not for sale,
  Yet told how she'd oblain'd this thing of wonder,
And I must candidly admit her tale
  Caus'd much astonishment;—albeit like thunder
S me envious goddesses began to rail;
  One god did also join them, in an under
Tone, when  bully  Mars, who's just now her beau,
Stept up and hit the saucy chap  a  blow.

                        LXIV.
" This made  the other fellows show respect
  Unto the bustle back'd by Mars' hdge fist,
Who for his  partner did her now select,
  And in the giddy waltz they gaily whisk'd
Around so rapidly she little reck'd
  What she was doing, and so greatly risk'd
Her treasure, which did then in  contact come
With Vulcan's stomach, and burst like a bomb,

                        XLV.
" Or like a boiler on the broad Ohio,
  Which floweth through the land of hog and homminy ;
The fragments flew, while she exclaim'd,  " Oh my ! Oh !
  I'm bursted ! ruin'd ! what will now become o' me?"
Thalia* scream'd out with laughter, and even Clio,
  The sober Muse of History, and Melpomone,
Whose dispositions are so grave  and tragic,
Now felt their gravity give way like magic.
*Thalia, Muse of Comedy,—Clio, of History,—Melpomone, of Tragedy. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
29
                        LXVI.
" Alas Euterpe ! she but  barely smil'd ;
  She'd been so melancholy and sedate,
Treated by you so cruelly, poor child !
  Who 's flirted so with Thalia of late ;
Indeed my bosom 's oft with anger boil'd
  When I have seen her  look so desolate
And pale and languid, thinking you could prove
So false alas ! to her your own first love.

                        LXVII.

" She sadly smil'd, and gath'ring  from the floor,
  Where they were strewn in bountiful profusion,
The verses of the  bard to whom before
  You'll recollect  I made a slight allusion ;—
And by the way Apollo loudly swore
  Homer ne'er made a bustle  and confusion
Like that;—she with them to a window went
And sat " like Patience on a monument."

                        LXVIII.

" 'Tis said this virtue is in high esteem
  By all the  readers of this poet's verses ;--—
That ebon gentleman, who, it doth seem,
  Leagu'd with Job's wife,—'tis so your book rehearses,
Though I'm a Pagan—should have ta'en a ream
  Or so of them, when he would tempt to curses
The ancient bard, who, when  such trash he saw,
Would have  obey'd the demon and his squaw.
      3* 
30
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                         LXIX.
 " But poor Euterpe, being a love-sick lady,
   Had not, alas! the energy to curse ;
 But hang this stupid bard ! I am afraid  he
   Hath brought on  her a woful fate far worse ;
 For, if not. soon reliev'd th' unhappy maid he,
   With his vile trash, hath hurried to her hearse ;—*
 And he broke up our ball! confound the zany !
 Just like a big bull in a shop of" chany."*

                         LXX.
 " I told her not to read them, but she would
   Not listen, but upon me sadly smil'd,
 And went to feast upon this mental food ;
   In  fact  I think that sorrow'd made her wild,
 And foolish, ere for such unwholesome, crude,
   And nasty stuff, she long'd  as naughty child,
 Who in his stomach unripe fruit will cram, he
 Being warned against it by his anxious mammyi

                        LXXI.
 ' She read some pages ; when behold a pallor
  Came o'er her countenance upon a sudden,
 And made  it  look like to a piece of tallow,
  Extremely sickly, and the crimson blood In
 Her veins rush'd to  her heart and left them shallow,
  And, like a weakly puppy choked on pudding,
She gasp'd and heav'd as if she sought to vomit,—
 But alas !  'twas all  in vain !  She couldn't come it!
  * We think her Grace has murdered the king's English here for the
sake of the rhyme. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK*
31
                        LXXII.
 " The gods and goddesses who then did gambol
   Around  the ball-room in the dance's maze,
 Through the 'cotillion now soon ceased to amble,
   And, gath'rihg round, on her began to gaze,
 As, like a  poor lamb in the butcher's shamble,
   Unable then her languid head to raise,
 Lay this most ruthless bard's unhappy victim ;—
 Oh !  had he been there then  some one had kicked him I

                       LXXIII.
 " The poet, as 1 said, broke up our ball,
   Which went to pieces in a  strange commotion ;
 Of the wild panic which then filled the hall,
   'Tis hard for me to give you any notion ;
 The gods turn'd pale, some goddesses did squall,
  And  Mars,  who ne'er was famed for his devotion
 And piety,  swore like a savage Tartar,
 And vow'd he 'd of this poet make a martyr.

                       LXXIV.
 " And so he borrowed Pan's*  great heavy shears
  And started ofFwith eyes as red as flame,
 Swearing he would cut off this fellow's ears
  And nail them to the pillory of  fame,
 As  warning to all scribblers.—NoW, in tears,
  Round poor Euterpe all  her sisters came,
(Each tear  they  shed turned to a bead of amber)
 And on a pallet bore  her to her chamber.
              * Pan was the god of shepherds. 
32
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                        LXXV.
" Anon came hastening thither ^Escul&pius,*
  Who gently mov'd on tiptoe to the bed ;
He'd hurriedly been sent by our kind pappy, us
  To aid and comfort;—but he shook his head
And shrugg'd his shoulders, and oh ! how unhappy
  He made! when  he expressed a solemn dread
That her disease defied the power of medicine,
And that, alas! she sooti would be As dead  as sin.

                       Lxxvi.
" Most of the sister Muses set  to bawling,
  When they heard him declare this was his notion
And copious cat'racts from their eyes were falling,
  Wrung rudely from them by their deep emotion.
Terpsichore and Clio both were squalling,
  And Polyhymniaf shed of tears an oceah,
Who natheless was a very pretty Polly,
And Thalia now for once look'd melancholy*

                       LXXVII.
" In short it was a mighty gust of sorrow,
  And the  physician left them in  " dit gust,'*
Saying that he would call again to-morrow
  And see  the patient, if, as he did trust,
She could procure  a loan of life and borrow
  So much of time from fate ;— but that he must
Now hasten down  to earth below, where, sick in
His chamber, was  a hero, wildly kicking,
  *  God of physick.
  t  Polyhymnia, Muse of Eloquence,—Terpsichore, of Dancing 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
38
                       LXXVill.
 In a mad frenzy from a furious frown
   Cast sternly on him by one Colonel Benton,
 Which, like a thunder-bolt first knock'd him down,
   And, when they  rais'd  him up again, he went on
 As if he in the circus were a clown,—
   Bereft of reason  quite; and so they sent on
 To ^Esculapius to attend  the case,
 Abandon'd by the doctors of the place.

                        LXX1X.
 The President inform'd him in his note
   If to attend the case he had the leisure, he
 Could  manage to procure  a liberal vote
.  For an allowance from  the public treasury;
 And so he left Euterpe ;—shabby shoat!—
   First giving her a nauseous pill—'twas azure*—he
 Went ofFin spite of all our prayers pathetic,
 But told us we should give her an emetic."

                        LXXX.
"A what?" I shouted here.   " Why," quoth her Grace,
  " lie said she should  hare something to remove
The malady up from its resting place,
  And send it through the gullet with a shove ;
Which to effect we did each means embrace,
  But  found, alas !  that, each did fruitless prove ;—
It still doth cling below, and,  by my soul !
We know not  what  will bring it from its hole."
           * Wc presume her Grace meant a blue-pill. 
34             THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.


                       LXXXI.
Quoth I to her, " If that's what you are after,
   I think that I can render you some aid,
And turn your woful wailing into laughter;
   If means like this will cure, as you have said,
Throw to the dogs each vile and nauseous draught her
   Physician's left her, poor unhappy maid !
I know a quack in whom she'll find salvation,
For he can always cause an eructation.

                      LXXXII.
" Why have you not already for him sent?"
   "Alas ! we knew not where to find the Quack."
" Look for him in The Western Continent,"
  Quoth  I.—Said  she, "Then mount! oh mount! your
     hack
And to the world below make swift descent,
  And seek him there and bring him with you back ;—
Away ! away ! oh haste !  be quick ! oh quicker !
I  hear them squalling !  She is growing sicker."

                      LXXXIII.

Whereat  I cried, "Adieu ! adieu ! I'll paddle !"
  And leaving her in haste untied my steed,
And, with a nimble bound did leap astraddle,
  And gallop'd off at a most furious speed,
Like Mephistophiles, sitting the saddle
  At careless ease.—But oh my heart did bleed
And died my spirit with its crimson hues,
To think upon the sad fate of my  Muse. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
35
                       LXXXIV.
 'Tis strange—but natheless true—the human heart
   (Which doubtless is of curious  manufacture,
 Though now as cheap and common in the mart
   As any merchandise that was there unpacked e'er,)
 Will turn—confound it!—to what caused its smart
   In love's young  days ;—and though  long since we've
     sack'd her
 Or been sack'd—and although the prize  was worthless,
 It sometimes plagues our thoughts and makes one mirth-
     less.

                       LXXXV.
 And though we've quarrel'd and  we now disown her,
   And hate her fiercely, and if she should offer
 Her heart again would scorn the gift and donor,
   Nor'd for it give a red cent  from  our  coffer,
 Yet let us see misfortune come upon her,
   Or sorrow, and we lay aside the scoffer
 And strangely feel  our tenderness return,
 Like a stray pigeon,—why I ne'er could learn.

                       LXXXVI.
 Such were my philosophic cogitations,
   Hurrying along upon my  courser good ;
 Doubtless it was the recent bad relations
   Betwixt my Muse and me caus'd this sad mood,
 And made me give  my thoughts not  common rations,
  But feed them on a sentimental food ;—
I wrote them in my  pocket-book—'twere pity
To loose  them—and then enter'd a large city. 
36
THE THONPSONIAN QUACK.
                      LXXXVII.
The city of the beautiful, I think,
  'Tis call'd ;—and, riding to the public square,
I stopt awhile at Guy's to take a drink ;—
  There is a pious critic, I'm aware,
Who faulted much my poem called the " Pink,"
  Finding therein the huge nest of a mare,
And  o'er the egg did seem inclined to bicker,
Who says that he believes I'm fond of liquor.

                      LXXXVIII.
I hate to spoil the cake which he is baking
  From this most sweet and precious batch of dough ;
He seems  to be my friend,—if I'm mistaken
  I cannot help it, for he told me so,—
And  fears that like a goose  I'll dive the lake  in
  Of ruin; but  I'd kindly let him know,
That, though I do not brag upon my piety,
I am a decent member of society.

                      LXXXIX.
Had  not his fancy fondly hatch'd the egg
  The callow young had never crept to view ;
And then the songs which he pronounc'd a  plague,
  And over them into a passion flew,
Were for a certain prelate pen'd, I beg
  To stale, who 'd lately ta'en to  getting Hue ;
He order'd them,  but, when  I sent them to him,
He would not pay me for a single poem ; 
THE THOMPSONIAN  QUACK.
37
                          XC.
 But at my servant's head threw a decanter,       [him,"
   Which cut  a huge  piece  from his ear and " down'd
 Who yell'd as loudly as a holy ranter,
   And run unto a magistrate and bound him
 To keep the peace.—His brother, a gallant e'er,
   (At least the ladies say they so have found him,
 Though they may wrong his piety and purity)
 Upon the  bond was taken as security.*
                          XCI.
 This doubtless was a most divine example
   To set, albeit some thought it was  eccentric ;—
 This bishop bibulous was of the cramp ill
   Sometimes, he said, and needed liquor when sick ;
 And hence the feats of  which  I've shown a sample ;—
   Whereat another brother did his pen stick
 In ink, and wrote a pamphlet,  and, upon a call
 I gave, read it—showing 'twas all canonical.
                         XCI1.
 I'd also got the cramp from drinking cold
   Fresh water from the Heleconian  fountain ;
 So hurrying on my steed, as I have told,
   Unto the public square, and  there dismounting,
 (I know the avowal is both bad, and bold,
   And very shameful, and there is no  counting
 The injury 'twill do !)  it came to pass
 I made a  face and gulph'd a moderate glass.

  * Does the author here allude to the two  pious brothers, one of whom
 (made famous by a certain trial a few years  since.) was so eminently
distinguished for his devotion to "women  and  wine?"—Printer's
Devil.
      4 
38             THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                          XCIII.
  I hope the honest sober truth won't worry
    This critic to a rage he cannot smother ;
  I do not mean to put him in a flurry;—
    I drank one glass unto his health ; another
  I had no time to take, being  in a hurry,—
    Albeit I love him  like a very brother;—
  And leaving now this new Castalian well,
  My steed soon brought me to th' Exchange  Hotel.

                         XCIV.
 The city clock the hour of noon was tolling
   As I rode up, inquiring for the Doctor;
 I was inform'd 'twas likely he  was lolling
   In Morpheus' arms, in which he had been lock'd e'er
 Since ten o'clock last night,—and still was  rolling
   And tossing on his  pillow, and was shock'd ne'er
 To hear the clock proclaim the mid-day  hour,—
 And if they woke him he grew  very sour.

                        XCV.
 " What! still abed ?"  I cried ; " Why bless my heart! ere
  Long 'twill be time to go to bed again !
 This Morpheus of the man  will  make a martyr,
  And like a monstrous boa constrictor strain
 The hapless wretch to death before they  part e'er!
  Indeed!  indeed! he'll sleep away his brain;—
 But no !  I did not mean to be so hard on
Him, and for the innuendo beg his pardon. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.             39
                          XCVI.
  " In sooth I did not mean to intimate
    (And now sincerely beg his pardon over'.
  The presence of a brain beneath his pate ;
    At least its  fruits none ever could discover,
  Either in word or deed."  This I did state
    linto a Frenchman who did chance to hover
 About the steps ; who answered, " sacre bleue !"
  What I had stated he believed was true.

                         XCVII.
 I beg'd he 'd call  him up.  " Vat's dat you say ?
   Vat!  beard  von angry lion ven he 's snoozing !
 Von tiger ! bloody catamount !   Nay ! nay !"
   So, as  he  still held back and kept refusing,
 1 thought I on  his vanity would  play,
   And told him that the French their spunk were losing ;
 And mentioned Jena, Friedland, Austerlitz,
 Where they  had given the other nations^*.


                        XCVIII.
 Whereat he en avant did loudly bellow,
   And at the pas de charge went up the stair,
 Vowing he 'd conquer or his life would sell e'er
  He 'd be disgrac'd.  What happen'd to him there
I cannot say—but he came down, poor fellow !
  With a  most  humbled and crest-fallen air,
Like beaten Bony, while his lips did mutter
French oaths, which we in English will not utter. 
40             THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.


                        XCIX.
Finding the foe so valiant and so firm,
  We to a stratagem resorted then,
Which my French friend a ruse de guerte did term ;
  I told him  to ascend the stairs again
And say he 'd seen a negro, like a worm,
  Writhing within  the clutches of the men
Which he  the Abolitionists did call, and
Moreover  state the Dutch had taken Holland.

                          C.

That words are things methinks some wise man preaches;
  This time at least they had a potent charm,
For soon I saw  him come devoid of breeches,
  And with his  coat and vest beneath his arm,
Puffing and blowing, while his cheeks, like peaches,
  Did brightly glow.—He cried out with alarm,
While with his  hand he did the railing clutch,
" What's  this about the niggers and the Dutch ?"

                          CI.
Whereat I answered in most courtly phrase,
  That, as regards the Dutchman and the nigger,
'Tis nothing but mere smoke—There is no blaze—
  A false alarm.  At which an awful rigor
Each angry feature in his face displays,
  And he replied I'd have to pull a trigger
As sure as he upon the stair was standing,--
Quoth I, " I'll do it—just to keep my hand in." 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
41
                        CII.

But as I had no leisure for a trifle
  Like that at present it could be deferr'd ;
If he awhile his gath'ring wrath could stifle,
  Another time might do, when could be heard
The grave report of blunderbuss or rifle
  Upon the subject.   But I had a word
On  more important matters for his ears ;
At that I spake of my sick Muse-"in tears.

                        cm.

Upon the road I'd studied well  my speech,
  And thought that I had made it quite pathetic,
Deeming if I his bosom's depths could reach
  I'd rouse his ruth.-—And so in energetic
And touching language  I did now beseech
  That he would give my poor Muse an  emetic ;
But he swore like a Trojan or a Ranger,
And said he knew no Muse—she was a stranger !

                         CIV.
Besides he could not leave the  Continent,
  Which by the northern hords would be o'errum
When every argument I thought I'd spent,
  I hit most happily at last on  one
Which had great force.—I said the  Muses meant
  To pay him for the service well when done,
And would to Mr. Griswold send petition,
To put his poems in the next edition. (3) 
42
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                         CV.
At that a heavenly smile play'd o'er each feature,
   And shew'd his teeth like chips within a basket,
Or if that homely metaphor don't  meet your
   Views, we '11 liken them to pearls within a casket;
And now in fact he seem'd an alter'd creature,
   And said, " Dear sir, I'll do it if you ask it ;"■-—
So told the  Frenchman, who for squire did pass,
To go and  saddle with all speed his ass.

                         CVI.
Quoth I, "  Good sir, you 'd better don your breeches
   And hide your nudity, which, bless my heart! is
A queer costume for grave and learned leeches;
   Some one may  take you for a Model Artist
'Gainst whom th' indignant press now loudly  preachefl
   In angry eloquence which very tart is."
Besides I told him that  I was afraid he
Would shock the Muse, who was a modest lady.

                        CVII.
He thank'd me heartily for the suggestion;
   And, lifting up a long and limber leg,
He put it foremost, for it was his best one,
   Then, like a goose,  stood on the  other peg.
And  thrust  it in his breeches, and so drest one,
   And then the other; and around his keg*
He bound his vest as tightly as  a locket;
Then don'd his coat, which had a spacious  pocket.
* Vulgarly termed stomach. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
43
                        CVIII.

Meanwhile Monsieur, who had been gone a quarter
  Of an hour or more, unto the door did waddle,
Leading the ass.—'He order'd him to water
  His Pegasus, as he term'd him, at a puddle
Amid the street, where men were making mortar,
  That, as it happen'd, then was fill'd with mud well,
Which as a new-discover'd Heliconian well he
Proclaim'd.—And here the  creature fill'd his belly.

                         CIX.
He threw across his back, in lieu of saddle,
  A volume of the Western  Continent,
Which underneath him did then  serve for pad well,
  As if'twere solely for that  purpose meant,
He  mounted up and then  cried out, " Egad ! well
  Methinks my brains are scarcely worth a cent!"
'* Amen !" quoth I—" But why 'gainst them such cavils V*
" I  have forgotten Major  Jones'  Travels."

                         ex.
He bade the Frenchman  run  and bring them ;  eke
  The spectacles with which he arched his nose.
Quoth he, " Vich pair is it you now do seek ?
  De von dat to your feeble vision shows
De  faults of books ?"  " The other  pair ;—my beak
  I thrust between the leaves, so need not those;
The paper's odor shows the fault that lies
Therein ; my nose is wiser  than mine eyes, (4) 
  4*            THE  THOMPSONIAN  QUACK.

                           CXI.
 " Albeit the latter do the brain surpass."
    Off ran Monsieur as blithely as a lark,
 While  he sat waiting there upon the ass,
    Which look'd as aged as if in the ark
 With Noah he the prime of life did pass.—
    The rider's face I also did remark
 Resembled much the features of the donkey
 As baboon looketh somewhat like a monkey.

                         CXII.
 I mention'd then to him that, by the way,
   Methought he and his donkey much did favor;
 Whereat a smile across his face did play
   Which seem'd of vanity  somewhat to savour •
 Howe'er,  he check'd it, and did blandly say,
   With pleasant look, that gradually grew graver
 As he went on, that what I said was true,
 And other people had remarked it too.

                        CXIII.
 "Albeit," quoth he, "of humble birth—his mother
  A jenny*—yet some deem we are relations ;
 Indeed I feel towards him as 'twere a brother,
  And if we could exchange our situations
At  times we 'd greatly gratify each other ;—
  I love the beast—don't make such observations
Too public, if you please—upon my life
As  dearly as if he were mine own wife.
         * The female of the assinine race is so called. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                        CXIV.
" In fact we are akin"—Here I did stare—
   " Nay do not think I am infatuated !
I am a modest man, but must declare
   We 're morally and mentally  related ;
Our souls have, in a social way—I 'd swear
   Unto the statement—sometimes transmigrated ;
His genius and his spirit slyly pass
Into my body,  mine into the ass.

                         CXV.
" This doctrine, if you take the pains, you'll find
   Establish'd fully by the sage Pythagoras,
Who stated that sometimes the human mind
   And  spirit went and settled in a stag or ass,
Or other creature of the bestial kind.—
   I'm modest, as I've said, and do not mean to brag,
I am  a  living man, I would avow
I feel the donkey's spirit in me now.

                         CXVI.

" Whene'er I sit,  with inkhorn on the table,
   To pen a poem or compose an article,
The donkey's spirit cometh from the stable
   Upon a social visit; ere I dart a quill
Imparting inspiration ; and I'd ne'er be able,
   I'll candidly admit, to write a  particle
To fill the columns of The Continent,
If he  his genius had not kindly lent. 
46
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                         CXVII.

 " I feel his soul within  me now ! and dear
   Beloved beast!  thy body holds my spirit."
 Whereat  the aged ass prick'd  up an  ear,
   As if it. did delight  him much to  hear it,
 And then  began to kick,  and prance, and rear,
   And  then, no doubt to show  he did inherit
 His master's chivalry, ran at my steed,
 And bit him on the neck and made it  bleed.

                        CXVIII.

 Now my Pegasus,  who is somewhat spiteful,
   Nor e'er to take a kick or bite inclin'd,
 By no means thought  such a caress delightful,
   Nor in the creature took it very kind,
 But was, in sad and sober truth, of fight full,
   So, just to intimate  to him his mind
 Upon such rude and shabby conduct, wheels
 And in return salutes  him with his heels.

                        CXIX.

 I know such conduct was not very meek,
   But Nature, and not I,  was then  his teacher.—
 'Twas in a paper lately a critique
   I read, doubtless compos'd by a good  preacher,
 Which brought  a sudden  pallor to my cheek ;
   My Pegasus he called  a wicked creature,
And said,  unless I  rein'd  him in, his evil
And fiery  nature 'd take me to  the devil. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QDACK.
47
                        CXX.

If this be true, why then I'll have to go,
  Fori can't hold him or I would, alas!
Nor could I hinder him from kicking so
  Cruelly this poor luckless fellow's ass,
Which now lay prostrate on the ground below
  As if he ne'er again would nibble grass,
While o'er him hung his friend, who thus began
To  wail like David over Jonathan.

                        CXXI.
" Ah me ! beloved beast! and hast thou met
  From that accursed nag so vile  a  death 1
Oh  shameful doom !  mine eyes with tears are wet!
  From thy dear body he hath kick'd the breath !
Thy spirit!  nay mine own !  which lingers yet,
  And hovers  fondly o'er thy corse beneath,
And weeps and wails that thou, alas ! alas !
Art kick'd so cruelly, mine ass!  mine ass!"

                        CXXII.

I greatly pitied him, and felt distress'd
  To see him  thus so bitterly lament ;
Therefore, to comfort him, I did suggest
  That he should recollect the ass had  lent
His spirit to him, which was now his guest;
  So he could  edit still The  Continent,
If he the donkey's genius would but cherish
Albeit his  own did with the creature perish. 
48
THE THOMPSONIAN  QUACK.
                       CXXIII.
Like a young mother who hath lost a baby,
  He stubbornly refus'd to be  consol'd,
But talk'd of friendship's ties, and said that they be
  Too rudely sever'd ; and he roar'd and roll'd
Upon the ground beside the beast, till maybe
  The donkey's spirit, which he then did hold
Pent up within him, as  he did avow,
Came out to know the cause  of all this row ;

                       CXXIV.
And seeing the  nobler creature lifeless then,
  While over it the other's soul did float,
It told it to go back  to its own den,
  And crept itself down the poor ass's throat,
That straightway got upon his  legs again
  And gave an awful  bray,  thus to denote
That he was still alive  and very spunky,
And was in fact a most courageous donkey.

                       CXXV.
Whereat his faithful friend soon ceas'd his moans,
  And once again assumed a cheerful look ;
Just then Monsieur  return'd  with Major Jones,
  That most sublime and very famous book ;
When, leaping to the saddle, from the stones
  Whereon he  stood, he told him, as  he  took
The precious volume, that, till his return, he
Must keep an eye on Greely  and on Birney. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
49
                       CXXVI.

Then off we went.—But here I'd merely mention
  Of horsemanship a most unheard of feat;
He 'd got a patent for the queer invention,
  Which all who e'er beheld it said did beat
The nation ; for, when he had made ascension
  Unto the donkey's back, he in the seat
Sat with averted face, contrary wise,
And  to the  tail had turn'd  his nose and eyes.

                       CXXVII.
But as the  donkey also had his way
  Of doing matters in a funny manner,
He in  advancing did his tail display,
  Put  foremost,  waving like a warrior's banner,
While, like a valiant battle-cry, the bray
  Came close behind ; the rider thus could scan e'er
Th'  approach of aught, and had the means of knowing
The road they travel'd and where they were going.

                       CXXVIII.
Thus gaily now we went; he turn'd about,
   With the beast's tail advancing,  as I've said ;
Some naughty urchins in the street did shout
   To see him strangely going  thus ahead—
But  then their mothers knew not they were  out,
   Or they  had whipt and sent  them off to bed,
Which, with these bad and blackguard boys, in fact is
A very wholesome and convenient practice.
      5 
50
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                        CXX1X.

 We clear'd the town, with its confounded smoke,
   And got into the fields, where birds did twitter
 On every bough, as if they had a joke
   Among themselves to see him ride his "critter;"
 The ass here wheel'd about; and soon there broke
   Forth from his lips an imprecation bitter,
 As, with his face in rear, he on did jog,
 And he exclaim'd, " Ugh ! ugh ! that ugly dog !"

                        CXXX.

 I look'd ; 'twas Boz, the dog of whom I've spoken
   Already, when I first commenc'd this tale ;
 He had escap'd, it seems, his chain being broken,
   And now came tracking on my courser's trail;
 When he beheld me he did show each token
   Of frantic joy, and frisk'd and wag'd his tail ;
 While my companion, showing signs of fright,
 Drew up his legs and ask'd me if he'd bite.

                       CXXXI.

 "Be of good courage !" quoth I then to him—
  He is a dog of honor very nice ;
Albeit of disposition  somewhat grim
  At times, he seldom jumps upon a phice ;
So you are safe, and may let down the limb
  Which you hold up  in such an awkward  wise;
This dog, in fact, is a fastidious thinker,
In fighting matters—a proud son o' tinker. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
51
                       CXXXII.
" None but his equals need of him be fearful ;
  So you are safe and need not dread the animal."
His eye, which hitherto was somewhat tearful,
  As he gaz'd timidly upon this cannibal,
Now lighted up again with look more cheerful,
  And he grew suddenly as brave as Hannibal,
And loudly swore, with  emphasis and vigor,
That he fear'd not this ugly canine  nigger.*

                       CXXXIII.
My valiant friend and I  had jogg'd along
  Meanwhile at somewhat of a lively gait,
And reach  at length the famous hill of song
  Which tower'd above.  My steed, as I did state
Before, being thorough-bred, and stout,  and strong,
  Began t' ascend  at quite a rapid rate ;
But the poor donkey could not move a peg,
And halted as if he had  sprain'd his leg.

                       CXXXIV.
First at the mountain he tail-foremost went,
  But, failing there, he tried the other end,
Yet made, alas!  no  progress  in ascent,
  Which greatly vex'd his dear beloved friend,
Who, seated on his  back, began to vent
  Impatience, and then gradually to lend
His tongue  terms of abuse, and then  alas !
Forgot himself and smote his own dear  ass.
                   * The dog was black. 
52
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                        cxxxv.

  Ah me ! that friends should e'er fall out and fight!
    He swore some oaths—but in the nigger lingo—
  Which with my pen I hardly dare to write—
    That " drat his hide ! he'd make this stubborn thing
      go-"
  Here he again the hapless beast did smite
    Upon his dapper neck, and said, " by jingo !
  He 'd crop the ears of his own faithful  brother
  Unless he went up with one end or t'other."

                       CXXXVI.
 The  aged ass here turn'd upon his teaser
   A  piteous look, and, though his lips were mute as
 They e'er had been, 'twas such a look  as Csesar
   Is said t' have cast reproachfully on  Brutus,
 And seem'd to say, "pray tell us,  if you please sir,
   If your intent is now to stab or shoot  us ?
 Oh brother! don't you see I cannot climb
 This  rugged height ?  So spare me for this time !"

                      CXXXVII.
 1 pitied  much the beast, and  more the creature
   Who  sat upon his back and seem'd inclin'd,
Judging from the expression of each feature,
   To  go right frantic ;—if he'd had a mind
No doubt he would ;—so said to him, « don't  beat your
   Own  bosom friend, but leave him here behind ;
He cannot scale this mountain  rough and stony,
Not being a thorough-bred Parnassian poney. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
53
                      CXXXVI1I.

" So mount behind me on my fiery steed,
  When to yon bramble you your beast have tied well,
He '11 carry us both up, and little heed
  Th' increase of weight." Then, fasten'd by the bridle*
He left his much-beloved ass to feed
  Upon the brambles that did scratch his hide well.
And drawing near and vaulting from the ground,
He  reach'd the crUpper with a sudden bound.

                       CXXXIX.

Now Pegasus is a fastidious hack,
  Of fretful and of fiery disposition,
And somewhat devilish, and, when on his back
  He felt the added weight of the physician,
He thought within himself, that this hew pack
  Put on him was a wrongful imposition ;
So plung'd, and then, beginning to kick up, ere
He  was aware he hurl'd him from the crupper.

                        CXL.

Dash'd from his seat, he first did gently float
  Upon the bosom of the air, then fell ;
When Boz, the setter, who the feat did note,
  As he beheld him settle,  with a yell
Attack'd him in the rear, and from the coat,
  (I am ashamed almost the deed to tell,)
As he lay rolling in the mud and dirt,
With a fierce tug  did tear away one  skirt.
      5* 
5»
THE THOMPSONIAN  QUACK.
                         CXLI.
As, when a mischief-loving puppy pounces
   On farm-yard fowl and  pulls away his tail,
A shrill and agonizing scream announces
   The horrid deed ; so now, with  features pale
And strangely horrified, he wildly bounces
   High in the air, and utters a loud wail,
And capers  round in mode so queer and antic,
'Twould seem his dreadful loss had made him frantic.

                        CXLII.
" Oh god of coat-tails !* what shall I now do ?
   See how that ugly furious creature gnaws,
Alas! alas ! mine own !  my long-tail blue !"
   I pitied him ; so snatch'd it from the jaws
Of this stern unrelenting setter, who
   Was fiercely tearing it beneath  his paws ;•
He beg'd I'd stow it then in my valise,
And said when he got home he 'd mend the piece,

                       CXLIII.
I told him that his garment was a rum,
   Beyond the "aid and comfort" now of stitches,
And that he 'd have to mend it with a new one
   As sure as he stood in  his shirt and breeches;
Whereat I saw a gust of sorrow brewing
   Upon his  face, which writh'd with sundry twitches,
And he confessrd, with cheek still growing paler,
He could obtain no credit from the Taylor.
  * We are not fully certain what particular member of the Greek Paftl
theon was the tutelar deity of this important appendage. 
THE THOMPSONIAN OJiACKt             &6
                       CXLIV.
" This Taylor kindly took me by the hand,
  And may be said t' have cloth'd and fed me too,-
When I was but a starveling scribbler, and
  (But don't repeat what I now tell to you
To  any living mortal in the land)
  1 stung him even as  foster'd serpents do,
That some kind hand bath warmed before the flame ;
Or  sought to sting him—which is all the same."

                        CXLV.

This Taylor being largely now his creditor,
  He said he of his books disliked the sight,
And even in his character as  editor
  Did seek to show the world they were not  right *)
On  each that came  before him, ere he 'd read it, or
  Ev'n cut a single leaf, he would endite
Some vile dbuse, thinking, poor fool ! he then on
The publisher was venting all his venom.

                       CXLVI.

" By Jove !" said  I, " if that same setter there,
  That from my hand 's obtained his daily  food,
Though not the coat he on his back doth wear,
  Ever treated me with such  ingratitude,
Sure as he is a living dog, I swear,
  Though not a cruel man, I'd have his blood ;
I would not let him  live thus to disgrace
The noble nature of the canine race; 
56
TfeE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                       CXLVII.

" But he '11 not do it—dogs are gentlemen—■
   Mine are bred so—and not such shabby fellows
As are the tenants of some critics' den,
   Who feed on filth and offal.—But pray tell us
Why is it that you grow so furious when
   You hear the praise of dogs ?   And are you jealous,
Knowing the meanest cur  surpasses you
In gratitude and worth ?"  Said he " 'tis true."

                       CXLVIII.
Thus did we talk—To shorten now my tale,
   (My comrade's by the dog was  shorten'd  much,)
I'll merely state I did at length  prevail
   Upon my fiery  steed to let him clutch
The crupper and get up ;—he looking pale.—
   Then off we went and soon his  hoofs did touch
The highest peak,—and we had reach'd the dome
I told of—and  were brought to the sick room.


                       CXLIX.

There lay Euterpe, with each pallid lid
  Clos'd o'er her  eyes, as  if at the last gasp ;
Yet looking far more beautiful than did
  Th' Egyptian Queen coquetting with the asp ;—•
Compressing now the lovely lips, that hid
  Her faultless teeth, she seiz'd, with frantic grasp,
The bed-clothes, and with  piteous  look pathetic
Seem'd earnestly to ask for an emetic. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
57
                         CL.
This saw the Doctor and it mov'd his pity ;
  So from his bosom he drew forth the book,
Which with him he had brought here from the city,
  And o'er his nigger slang began to look ;
And, when he found a passage  which was fit, he
  Read it aloud and she began to puke ;—
Ah me !  that lovely mouth (so often  from it
I'd  heard sweet warblings) now did vilely vomit.

                          CLI.
 As Etna, when she doth begin to sicken,
   Pours forth  a flood from her enormous kettle,
 Wherein her giant gentlemen* are kicking ;—
   But my poor Muse is like a mountain little;
 So I'll compare her to a tender chicken,
   Whose life hangs on a thread extremely brittle,
 That heaves and gasps, while from  its head have started
 Its bonny eyes.—Thus she with sickness parted.

                         CLII.
 Ah! who can  paint the joy of every sister,
   As they beheld her sitting up  again ?
 They hurry 'round her and each fondly kiss'd her,
    And ask'd her if she was reliev'd from pain.—
 The Quack had torn some leaves and made  a blister
   Thereof, and it upon her stomach lain,
 Which  at the contact gave another  heave,
 When all the pent-up foulness took its leave.
   * The giants were imprisoned in Mount  Etna after their overthrow
 by the^ods. 
53
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                        CLIII.

 Whereat the grateful Muses now began
   To counsel how they should reward the Quack,
 Whom they pronounc'd a very marv'lous man,
   Who had, it might almost be said, brought back
 The dead to life again.—"So every plan
   Was now propos'd, but they could not, alack !
 Agree ; and  with their tongues made quite a clatter ;
 When, Phoebus  walking in, ask'd, " What's the matter ?"

                        CLIV.
 They told him ; when upon  the Quack a look
   He cast, and said,  " I know this man of *yore j
 Tis not the first time  with his wondrous book
   And nigger lingo he 's  perform'd such cure ;
 Upon the earth he 's often caus'd to puke
   A feeble stomach.   So now turn him o'er
 To me and I'll reward him  with all speed.'3
 To this proposal  all the nine agreed.

                        CLV.
 Apollo rose and wav'd a magic wand,
   Which doubtless did possess some Circean charm,
 For where just now the wond'rous Quack did  stand
   Was seen a small,  uncouth, mysterious form ;
 Yet proudly, like a lion in the land,
  It stalk'd where'er it pleas'd, and with alarm
The boldest fled  away like frighten'd  rabbits ;__
Its name 1 do forget;—bad are its habits ! 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
59
                          CLVI.

   It gave a saucy look, and wav'd its tail,
     As terrible as that of baleful comet;
   At which Melpomone grew deadly pale,
     And Clio seemed as if about to vomit;—
   For wonderful  to tell, there did exhale
     A foul and most unearthly odor  from it;—
   While Thalia gasp'd for  breath, and  then did shout
p  With desperate energy, " Oh turn it out!"

                          CLVII.

   Apollo grasp'd  his wand, and aim'd a blow,
     To drive it forth ;  but  with its tail it stood
   Waving defiance stern, and scorn'd to go
     Ev'n for its master.—As in  Nubian wood,
   Lashing his sides, the lordly lion slow
     Retires,  when by a numerous band pursued ;—
   Thus slowly forth it  issued  from within,
   When soon 1 heard without a mighty din.

                          CLV1II.

   The moving cause of all  this wild uproar,
     As I  went forth, did my attention claim ;
   It seems the setter, waiting  at the door,
     Beheld this curious creature as it came
   In anger forth ;  and, feeling somewhat sure
     That of a thing like that  he might make game,
   Had pounc'd upon it, but soon ran  away,
   Deeming such sport  was any thing but play. 
60            THE THOMPSONIAN  QUACK.
                        CLIX.

Just then it is that bully Mars appears,
  Walking with a most bold and valiant swagger,
Who, you must recollect, with Pan's huge shears,
  Had gone below—he always was a bragger—
Swearing he would cut off some poet's ears.—
  Now on he strutting came and chanc'd to stagger
Aaainst the warlike creature in his path,
That charg'd upon him then  in furious wrath.

                        CLX.
Mars threw the sheep-shears at its head, and then,
  Like a mad bull, did run and loudly bellow;
Not half so loud he yell'd out curses when
  By the Greek's  spear he got his wound, poor fellow!
(For Homer says the gods were thrash'd by men
  Sometimes, and  banish'd and beat blue and yellow,)
And on the ground he fell, and growing sicker,
He  roar'd and roll'd as if he were in liquor.

                       CLXI.

Meanwhile his foe march'd onward, firm and spunky,
  Its tail still serving for a free pass,
Until it came to where its darling donkey
  Was gravely cropping briars and blades of grass,
Upon whose back  it leap'd like nimble monkey;—
  When I last gaz'd it rode off on the ass
With a queer saucy look of self-reliance,
While its long bushy tail still wav'd defiance. 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
61
THE  MUSE'S  FAREWELL.
       Tune—Araby's Daughter.
                         I.
Farewell! farewell to thee, theme of our laughter,
  (Thus warbled the Muse in her melody now,)
No creature that e'er may come hither hereafter,
  Can waken a mirth so delicious as thou.


                         II.

Farewell !  be it mine to engrave on the pillar,
  That stands in the front of the Temple of Fame,
To be borne o'er the earth on the breeze and the billow,
  For mortals to laugh at, the honors you claim.

                         III.

Go! go on your way, like the good man, rejoicing,
   O'er the deeds you have done, full happy and proud;
Oh hold up your head ! only think what a noise in
   The nation you're making, so lasting and loud!

                         IV.
On the back of your donkey  away you will amble
   To  the place  so delightful whence you here come !
Oh !  let him not loiter to gather the bramble
   That grows by the road-side, but haste ye now heme!
       6 
62
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
                         V.
Oh go !  but I fear that the very queer hack ye're on,
  As slowly he shuffles on into the town,
Like the ass whose mad capers kill'd poor old Anacreon,(5)
  Will make all the people with laughter fall down.

                        VI.
As gravely you jog along into the city
  Oh go not, I prithee, unto  the Exchange !
The  Mayor and  the Council  will call a committee,
  To know what to do in a matter so strange.

                        VII.
They '11 hesitate  long in a wise dubitation,
  But grant you  some honor I've scarcely a doubt;
The  Mayor will then swear like the very old nation,
  And sternly determine that you must clear out.

                        VIII.
Away you will ride on the back of your "critter,"
  Like the  dove from the ark to  hunt  for a home ;—
Alas! but I fear  that your lot will be bitter,
  Like the  Jew with the curse on him ever to roam.

                         IX.
Farewell!  oh farewell !  ere I grow melancholy
  And drop a warm tear o'er the sad  fate  I see ;—
But blame not the Muse, oh thou creature  of folly !
  Thine antics have brought  all thy sorrows on thee. (6) 
THE THOMPSONIAN QUACK.
63
                        CLXII.

Thus Thalia, Muse of Comedy, did chirrup,
  As she stood laughing in the portico
At the poor Quack—And now with foot in stirrup
  And hand on mane, I told her I must go ;—
So call'd my  dog ;  but he, poor thing !  did peer up
  Into my face  with a sad look of wo,
And cough'd  and heav'd as if he had the phthisic,
Or had been taking some vile nasty  physic;

                       CLXIII.
After some time he gradually grew better,
  Yet deem'd himself the most unhappy pup e'er
Was born.—I bow'd and  canter'd  off;—my setter
  Came trotting on  behind the horse's crupper.—
How we got back I'll  tell you  in a letter
  Another time.—I got home—order'd supper,
And to the stable sent, my faithful steed,
And also order'd him a peck of feed.

                       CLXIV.
But,  while the coffee boil'd and cakes were baking,
  I took the torn coat-tail from my valise,
And from its  spacious pockets then were shaken
  Some curious documents, which piece by piece
I read, and was  with laughter overtaken,—
  In fact from laughing scarcely  yet have ceas'd ;
And if you 'd join me in my merry mood,
Among the notes you '11 find for mirth some food. (7) 
APPENDIX.
                          NOTE  (1)
        Byron whom I of course do imitate.----Stanza XIII.
  By writing in the same measure we are of course guilty of imita-
tion.  There was a period when originality was thought to consist in
boldness of invention and in newness of ideas and imagery.   But this
is not in accordance  with the  canons of modern criticism.  The
wonderful discovery has been made, that it must be sought for in
those parts of  poetical composition  which can be mastered by the
ingenuity of any schoolboy ; that is in the style and mode of expression.
  If a poet, in the mere mechanical  parts of his art, follow the old
beaten track, his production  may be  ever  so original  in other re-
spects;  if a narrative  poem, the  story may be altogether  new, the
thoughts and reflections bold, striking, and unborrowed from the
writings of any of his predecessors ;  the imagery novel and appro-
priate ;  in short it may combine all  the essential characteristics of
the sublime and the beautiful, and yet, if the measure and the mode
of expression are familiar to the reading public, it will be pronounced
an imitation- But let him write in some irregular measure, and, above
all, let him adopt some quaint and outlandish style, and though there
is  not a particle of invention  in his production, and  though the
thoughts are as old as Solomon's  Proverbs, he will be paraded be-
fore the world as a great original poet.
  Hence the unpopularity  into which poetry has fallen of late years.
It has become so disgustingly affected and nauseous to the taste, by
a departure from the natural modes  of enunciation.  The world of
thought and imagination  is boundless.  By seeking for originality
therein  we  may possibly equal " the glorious old fathers" them-
selves.  The styles and forms of  expression, which the genius of a
language allows are limited, and have already been  discovered and
adopted by those who have preceded  us in the field of literature. 
APPENDIX.
65
To seek for originality there is mere childish folly.  It  is to leave
the  substance  in  order to follow the shadow.  The style is the
Vehicle.   The invention and the ideas are the treasures with which it is
freighted.
   Yet it is originality of mere style which the modern  critic seems
to demand ; and the poor  trembling poet, timidly  acquiescing, de-
parts from the legitimate modes of enunciation, which  the  experi-
ence of  ages has  shown to  be most suitable for the purposes of
poetry, and becomes unnatural, affected, and obscure; forever damn]
Ing himself with posterity, because he has not the courage to meet
the silly and contemptible charge of imitation from his contempora-
ries.  Hi3 volume is, however, gradually puffed into  popularity,
bound up  in elegant  style, and laid upon our tables  as a beautiful
ornament, seldom opened, and rarely read.  We have, however,
several bright  exception amongst  us, at the head of whom stands
Fitz Green Halleck, the best living poet in the language, simply be-
cause, in the mere mechanical parts of composition, he follows the
beaten track, and never forces his muse to exhibit the contortions of
a Pythoneness palming her impostures upon us for inspiration.
   In the poem which we now give to the world, we of course lay no
claim to originality.  The stanza  and the style in which we have
 written have been in vogue among the Italians for centuries.  The
 queer modes of  rhyming which  we have practiced, in accordance
 with  the genius of the  language, were  adopted  by Butler, Swift,
 Byron, and other bards of less celebrity, long before our day.  The
 invention and the ideas alone  we can claim as our exclusive  prop-
 erty.   But these are, of course, the least essential parts of poetry.
   Ere long, however, we will endeavor to give the world an original
poem.   Each line of said poem shall have at least twenty-six  sylla-
 bles with a magnetic telegraph stretched from one end to the  other,
 in order to keep up  a sort of neighborly communication.  It will
 therefore be about three feet more original than any line in " Prover-
 bial Philosophy," or even in Evangeline.
    By the way, the paternity of the last mentioned verses, (which have
 assumed a longitude of figure equal to the latitude claimed by the ver-
 sifier,) could never be mistaken, for each carries his palronymck en-
 graven  upon his visage.  As posterity will  soon be called upon to
         6* 
66
APPENDIX.
give them a decent burial, the genius of oblivion, hovering over thd
 tomb, as each is lowered down to its final resting place, will mutter
 In a sepulchral tone, " Ah, that was truly a long fellow .'"

                           NOTE (2)
        lie pen'd these poems to compose a part
        Of a book published by Carey and Hart.---Stanza LV1.
  This scribbler,  it appears, belongs to the innumerable company of
bards whom this country has produced  within the brief space of a
kw years.   He is one of the fifty thousand tadpoles that swim  about
in an enormous mud puddle, which  they have mistaken  for a Heli-
con, and, after undergoing the customary metamorphosis, hop ashore
and sit upon the banks of the aforesaid puddle, uttering the most dis-
mal croakings at  all who do not happen to belong to their interest-
ing fraternity.
  He now edits a paper, which he has called " The  Model Ameri-
can Courier," for he is one of the creatures,
                     " Who first for poets pass'd,
         Turn'd critics next, and proved plain fools at last."
  It will be seen by a notice to publishers in his  paper of March
16th,  1848, that in his character of critic he cooly offers himself for
Bale ;  stating that if they will  send him  " a duplicate copy" of any
work, it will receive a lengthy (and,  of  course, favorable)  notice.
We neglected to  do this  when we  made a late publication, and re-
ceived some very funny abuse from  the Lilliputian.  We intend
sending  him, with a copy of this volume, when  " it strays  to his
table," an  interesting little coin,  called  in the South a picayune,
(which we  presume will be about a fair quid pro  quo,) and bespeak a
ftp's worth of praise ; that is  if he can find  space  for it in his paper,
which is chiefly filled with laudations of its own merits,
           " Leaving but little room for him to pack in
           Murders, and fires, and verses of M'Makin."

                          NOTE (3)
      " And would to Mr. Griswold send petition
      To put his poems in the next edition."——Stanza CIV.
  The demon of  verse-making has also entered into the soul of this 
APPENDIX.
67
Unfortunate mortal.   He  is also one of the poets, and was greatly
incensed with Mr. Griswold because he did not include  his trash in
his collection of American Poetry.  Why  he  desired a place in the
volume we cannot imagine,  unless from a depraved ambition which
 induced an immoderate longing for the immortaliiy of a dunce.


                           NOTE (4)
          My nose is wiser than mine eyes.---Stanza CX.
  We cannot better explain  the meaning of these caballistick words,
than by copying from an article which we find in one of the public
journals,  and  which commences as  follows:
  " We think it was the gifted and  lamented Sands who humorously
 remarked, that  when  he was seated in his sanctum, with  a pile of
 new publications before  him, and felt  somewhat lazily inclined, he
often resorted to the novel expedient of running his nose through the
 pages,  and if the book had  a good  odor  about it, he would lavish
upon it his laudations, but if the paper  had a disagreeable smell,  he
 would pronounce upon it a solemn malediction.  This plan certainly
 saves the learned critic a vast deal  of  labor, but it sometimes  leads
 him into most ludicrous mistakes; especially if he ventures to depart
 from the  stereotyped  phrases of critical condemnation, (which like
 the bark of a pliice, intimates the anger of the animal, without speci ■
 fying the cause,) and descends into particulars.
   " We have a striking  example of this  in the  last number of the
 ' Western Continent,'  in an article  which professes to  be a cri-
 tique on Yellott's Poems.   The editor seems to be a proficient in
 the new mode of criticism,  and to depend far more upon the arute-
 ness  of his olfactory organs, than  upon those which phrenologists
 have located in the frontal regions of the  brain, experience having
 no doubt  taught him, that in his ca3e  at least, the former  would be
 by far the safer reliance."
   We cannot help coinciding with the  writer in his views  upon this
  mportant subject, and advise the sage editor alluded to in the  fore-
 going paragraph, to follow his nose and go ahead. 
68
APPENDIX.
                          NOTE (5)
       Like the ass whose mad capers kill'd poor old AnaCreon.
                                Muses' Farewell, Stanza V.
   We think (though we have not the authorities at our elbow) that it
 was Anacreon, the  Greek poet, who lived to the age of eighty-five
 years, and then walked off the stage of life in a very extraordinary
 manner;—being suffocated with laughter at seeing an  ass eat  figs.
 We hope  none of our readers  will meet with a similar  catastrophe
 from seeing this fellow's ass getting beans.
   By the  way, this stanza is somewhat faulty in measure, and spoils
 the music, which is that of the  " Araby's Daughter."   We lately
 heard it sung to that pathetic air with such effect, as to bring tears
 to our eyes.  But the highly excited state of our risibilities opened
 the lachrymal  fountain*  When we laugh heartily this  is most usu-
 ally the case.

                          NOTE (6)
          But blame not the Muse, oh thou creature of folly !
          Thine antics have brought all thy sorrows on thee.
                              Muses' Farewell, Stanza IX.
   No one  regrets more than the author, the necessity of the publica-
 tion of this Satire.  But he found it to be a stern necessity, and he
 obeyed it.  He entered the field of literature with the most pedcable
 intentions,  and, as he thought, in  the most unostentatious manner,
 He published a volume of poems, which he endeavored to introduce
 to the public in a modest preface ; carefully excluding from the col-
 lection some of his boyish productions, whose composition he regret-
 ted solely  because they were calculated to  wound the feelings of
 some, whom the maturity of manhood had taught him to respect.
 He had scarcely made his  appearance before  the world ere he was
 rudely attacked by one, who had never received the slightest provo-
cation at his hands, but who, judging from the tone of his preface,
 deemed  that he was some modest youth, timidly  making his first
essay, and would consequently be  an unresisting victim, whom  he
 could crush with a paragraph!
   Under these circumstances what was he to do ?   Kiss meekly the
rod that was brandished over his head ?  Such never has been, and
never will be, his conduct in the world of  letters, or elsewhere. 
APPENDIX.                        69
 Owing to a rather  large  development  of a certain  organ, which
 phrenolog.sts locate immediately behind the upper portion of the
 ear, he was prompted to snatch the weapon out of the  hand of this
 literary ruffian who assailed him, and lay it upon his back.  When
 stricken he will strike.
   The author would here reiterate what he has  already said in the
 preface.  He does not wish to  be understood as  throwing  the gage
 of battle  at the feet of all critics.  His desire  is to contribute his
 humble mite to the literature of  his country, who, with her present
 proud position among the nations of the earth,  has done as yet but
 little towards the promotion of a cause which is, and ever has been,
 the source from whence all civilization springs; being  in these mat-
 ters still in a state of colonial bondage.  With  these  views he has
 unostentatiously given to the world a volume of poems of humble
 merit, it may be.  That they contain many faults  he of course cannot
 but feel fully assured.  Let any one who may have the disposition
 so  to do,  criticise the volume with  fairness, and point out those
 faults, and he will endeavor to  avoid them in his  future  publications.
 But if the critic thinks to find in the author of this volume  an unre-
 sisting object for  his illiberal  attacks, he may perchance  discover
 his mistake when the shaft of ridicule is driven through himself, and
 the world is laughing at his ludicrous contortions.
   If any one is disposed to censure us for the very rough manner in
 which the hero of this Satire is handled, as well  as for the final  dis-
 position which is made  of him, we would beg such caviller to refer
 to the  columns of  the " Continent," and  see for himself the gentle-
 manly manner in which individuals of the highest worth and standing
 in the community  are assailed.   He will there behold the highly re-
 spectable  editor of the New York Tribune, week after week, ridi-
 culed with negro slang and carricatures that would disgrace a comic
 almanack.  With Mr. Greely's peculiar opinions on many matters we
 have nothing to do.  But his unimpeachable  integrity  of character
and  purity of motives certainly entitle him  to respect. We must
 confess that we  have never opened the columns  of the paper, con-
 taining this virulent abuse, without feeling a peculiar sensation of the
 stomach ;—from whence originated the idea of the miraculous cure
 related in  the Poem. 
70
APPENDIX.
                          NOTE (7)
" And if you'll join me in my merry mood
Amongst the notes you'll find for mirth some food."—Stanza CLXIV.
  The  " curious documents"  found in  the  coat-tail, were  sundry
communications, addressed to  the Editor of  the  Western Continent,
signed u Jos. Jones," written in negro lingo.  We had, at first, pro-
posed to publish them among our notes; not because of  any wit  or
talent displayed  in them, but as specimens of the style of one who
has selected the "nobler model," and devoted his whole life to the
study of the " glorious old fathers of English  song !"  But on reflec-
tion, we determined not to print the vile trash, as our book was de-
signed for circulation among white men, not negroes.
 
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;**G
||,BE*JTlF'Jti'¥BILII|l5  OF PBIKt,
          J  JI#T PUBLISHED BY
        WILLIAM   TAYLOR,
             Nos. 4 &  5 North street, Baltimore,
tlTHE  MAID   OF   PERU,!:
<*-!$
<*^
AND   OTHER  POEMS.   6f*
<»^
BY  GEORGE YELLOTT.

$ 12mo.  150 pages, paper, 50 cents; bound, 75. £>H>
        J. H. Hewitt, Esq., thus speaks of this work : "We have been  >^,
"®~~&0 furnished with a copy of these Poems, and, having given them an  v;^^
-3>-£^) attentive perusal, we do not hesitate to say that no volumcof equal  y- 7 ^
<^-%^ size emanating from any American poet, has embodied more true  fe^S-Q.
y^^N poetry. The author is a member of the Maryland bar, and is the  ^s
^1^\ same who wrote the ' Paradise of Fools,' a poetic satire published in  ^
^£^( our city some years since, and which received at the time the most
"®~*^ favorable notice from many of the leading literary journals of the  ^^"'®*
■©-H*) country.                                               0§-<D-
— e^/\   "The first and longest piece is that which gives the title to the vol-  Xi-
**~£0 ume—' The Maid of Peru. It is written-in the stanza of Spenser.  "Each  WS~®~
■(■K-^i) of the four cantos embraces about fifty stanzas, making the whole about  (£5*4L<f\.
   |\\/ twice the length of Campbell's  Gertrude of Wyoming.  We do not  v^~^
■Q>-<m think we speak too favorably when we say that  the Maid of Peru is  ^^-®-
^e^\ e(l,,al in cve**y respect, and superior in many, to Campbell's celebrated  /tl
"v*~^g) and beautiful poem.                                        (iS?-®*
        "The scene of the poem is laid in Peru at the time of the Spanish con-
quest.  The incidents are of the most thrilling and exciting character.
Zeba, the heroine, is thus introduced in the ninth stanza of the first canto:

        " 'As lovely as the phantom of the morning,
         Begirded with a rainbow, standing on
        Some eastern eminence, dew drops adorning
         Her locks, bound with the beams of the bright sun
         In splendid braids !—so stood that beauteous ono
        Upon the rock that jutted o'er the deep;'
         Fairer than fairest dreams that beam upon
     Two youthful lovers' intermingled sleep,
     O'er which young rosy Hope her happy watch doth keep.' '\