Pour me out, boy, the generous juice. The racy, true, the old Falernus; Such wines as, to Posthumia's thinking, Are only fit for mortals' use; When in her glory, drunk, and winking, The dame would quaff, and wisely learn us The good old simple law of drinking. But water shun;--Hence, waters! go, E'en as ye will, to chill Avernus, Or whereso'er ye please to flow;-- Be drink for all the dull, the slow, The sad, the serious, the phlegmatic; But leave this juice, this pure stomachic, Its own, its unadulterate glow;-- This--this alone is genuine Bacchic! GRATIAN.--Well, then, that must be our parting cup for the night, and a pretty good "_night-cap_" it is. I was afraid, Aquilius, when you came to the "phlegmatic" you would rhyme it to "rheumatic," and so on to the "water-cure." You know that is recommended in rheumatic cases; but perhaps you don't know that I tried it. I had the water-drinking, the wet sheets, and all the rest of it. AQUILIUS.--And are here to tell of it! GRATIAN.--Yes, and return to the old _tap_, (tapping his thigh and leg pretty smartly;) and I suppose I must _stick_ to it. CURATE.--A medical friend told me the other day of a discussion upon this subject, which I thought very amusing, as he narrated it remarkably well, imitating the tones and dialect (Somersetshire) of at least one of the speakers. He had some years before attended an old man in the country--a farmer well to do in the world--a man of very strong natural understanding, but entirely uneducated. He had lost sight of him for some years, when, not long since, he was sent for to the old farm-house. Instead of the old stone floor, there was a carpet laid down, and an air of smartness over every thing, which he had never seen before. It turned out, that the old man's daughter had married: a smartish man, the husband, was in the room, and to show his general knowledge of things, and acquaintance with the world, he advocated the water-cure, and questioned my medical friend as to his opinion. A voice from the chimney-corner (the settle in it) cried out, "It ain't na'tral." My friend had not before seen the old man, he was so retired into the recess. After having given his opinion to the bridegroom, he turned to his old acquaintance, and said "You remarked that it is not natural. What do you mean by _natural?_" "Why," replied the old man, "I do think, most dumb critturs knows what's good for 'em; and when a dog's sick doesn't he eat grass? If a sheep's ill, don't he lick chalk or salt if he can get it? And if a beast's ill," (I forget what he said was the cure for a beast);--"but did you ever see any of them go and lie down in the water, or fill themselves wi' it? There's plenty of it in ditches, and every where else, too, hereabouts. No, you never did." Then, looking up in the face of his orator son-in-law, he added, "And you don't know why you never see'd it, nor why they don't do it.