There is nothing in the history of IRVING'S "Strolling Player" more characteristic of his class than the foregoing; and there is a _verisimilitude_ about the story which does not permit us to doubt its authenticity. It is too natural _not_ to be true. * * * * * Think of a patent-medicine vender rising at the head of his table, where were assembled some score or two of his customers, and proposing such a toast as the following: "Gentlemen: allow me to propose you a sentiment. When I mention _Health_, you will all admit that I allude to the greatest of sublunary blessings. I am sure then that you will agree with me that we are all more or less interested in the toast that I am about to prescribe. I give you, gentlemen, "PHYSIC, and much good may it do us!" This sentiment is "drunk with all the honors," when a professional Gallenic vocalist favors the company with the annexed song: "A BUMPER of Febrifuge fill, fill for me, Give those who prefer it, Black Draught; But whatever the dose a strong one it must be, Though our last dose to-night shall be quaffed. And while influenza attacks high and low, And man's queerest feelings oppress him, Mouth-making, nose-holding, round, round let I go, Drink our Physic and Founder--ugh, bless him." * * * * * The reader may have heard a good deal from the poets concerning "_The Language of Flowers_;" but here is quite a new dialect of that description, in the shape of mottos for different fruits and vegetables in different months: _Motto for the Lilac in April_: "Give me leave." _For the Rose in June_: "Well, I'm blowed!" _For the Asparagus in July_: "Cut and come again." _For the Marrowfat Pea in August_: "Shell out!" _For the Apple in September_: "Go it, my Pippins!" _For the Cabbage in December_: "My heart is sound: my heart is my own." * * * * * Now that "shads is come;" now that lamb has arrived, and green peas may soon be looked for; now that asparagus is coming in, and poultry is going out, listen to _the Song of the Turkey_, no longer seen hanging by the legs in the market, and rejoice with him at his emancipation: "The season of Turkeys is over! The time of our danger is past: 'Tis the turn of the wild-duck and plover, But the Turkey is safe, boys, at last! "Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys, No longer we've reason to fear; Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys, Let's trust to the chance of the year! "The oyster in vain now may mock us, Its sauce we can proudly disdain; No sausages vulgar shall shock us, We are free, we are free from their chain! "Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys, No longer we've reason to fear; Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys. Let's trust to the chance of the year!