A heap, indeed, of what we read By doctors is provided, For to those groves Apollo loves Their leaning is decided; Deny who may that Rabelais Is first in wit and learning-- And yet all smile and marvel while His brilliant leaves they're turning. How Lever's pen has charmed all men-- How touching Rab's short story! And I will stake my all that Drake Is still the schoolboy's glory! A doctor-man it was began Great Britain's great museum; The treasures there are all so rare, It drives me wild to see 'em! There's Cuvier, Parr and Rush--they are Big monuments to learning; To Mitchell's prose (how smooth it flows!) We all are fondly turning; Tomes might be writ of that keen wit Which Abernethy's famed for-- With bread-crumb pills he cured the ills Most doctors get blamed for! In modern times the noble rhymes Of Holmes (a great physician!) Have solace brought and wisdom taught To hearts of all conditions. The sailor bound for Puget sound Finds pleasure still unfailing, If he but troll the barcarole Old Osborne wrote on Whaling! If there were need I could proceed Ad naus, with this prescription, But, inter nos, a larger dose Might give you fits conniption; Yet, ere I end, there's one dear friend I'd hold before these others, For he and I in years gone by, Have chummed around like brothers. Together we have sung in glee The songs old Horace made for Our genial craft--together quaffed What bowls that doctor paid for! I love the rest, but love him best, And, were not times so pressing, I'd buy and send--you smile, old friend? Well, then, here goes my blessing. BEN APFELGARTEN. There was a certain gentleman, Ben Apfelgarten called, Who lived way off in Germany a many years ago, And he was very fortunate in being very bald, And so was very happy he was so. He warbled all the day Such songs as only they Who are very, very circumspect and very happy may; The people wondered why, As the years went grinding by, They never heard him once complain or even heave a sigh! The women of the province fell in love with genial Ben, Till (maybe you can fancy it) the dickens was to pay Among the callow students and the sober-minded men-- With the women folk a-cuttin' up that way! Why, they gave him turbans red To adorn his hairless head, And knitted jaunty nightcaps to protect him when abed! In vain the rest demurred-- Not a single chiding word Those ladies deigned to tolerate--remonstrance was absurd!