Then _Materia Medica's_ charming, They'll learn all about Oil of Rue, And if _Tinct_: _Podophylli_'s alarming, They'll turn to their Squills and Tolu. In the _Hordeum Decorticatum_ They'll find an old friend when they're ill; While the _Ferrum_ that's dubbed _Tartaratum_ Is not quite the thing in a pill. Then our chemistry comes, and each symbol Will vary, it seems, every age, And the man has a mind that is nimble, Who conquers each intricate page. There's AgNO_{3} as the Nitrate Of silver as plain as can be, And anon comes the Sulphate and Citrate Of Iron, that's known as Fe. Very steep is the pathway to knowledge, As Medical Students will find; And we'll hope that they'll work, when at College, Or what they denominate "grind." And hereafter, amid the aroma Of weeds, they'll think tenderly still Of the dear days before the diploma That gave them the "Licence to Kill!" * * * * * How Then? Mr. BRIGHT, backing up the Anti-Vaccination fanatics, says, "If honest parents object to have their children vaccinated, I would not compel them to submit." He would, in fact, substitute voluntary for compulsory vaccination. But what if voluntary vaccination for the few means involuntary small-pox for the many, Mr. BRIGHT? * * * * * IN NUCE.--Mr. GLADSTONE, adversely criticising Dr. INGRAM'S _History of the Irish Union_, compares that gentleman to a buoy tossed about on the waves. Indeed, the ex-Premier's article may be thus compendiously summed up _à la_ PAUL BEDFORD:--"I _don't_ believe you, my Buoy!" * * * * * FOREST TALK. _Compiled for the Use of the Epping Deer-stalkers._ This wounded buck that is approaching us, painfully dragging its shattered hind-leg after it, must be the same creature we peppered, after such good sport, last Tuesday week. Dear me, I did not know that our hunting-pack consisted of a mastiff, two poodles, three bull-dogs, a beagle, and a bloodhound. Are these clumsy sportsmen, who blaze away without knowing what they are firing at, the "gentlemen" invited by the Verderer to assist him at the chase? Ha! I think, from the way he shakes his head as he makes off, that I must have hit that old buck nearly in the eye. No, I am mistaken. I can clearly see now from the manner in which he is limping that I must have wounded the young deer badly in the ankle. I wonder whether I shall find him lying down in a copse and dying some time next week. My friends will certainly have to wait for their venison, for, strange to say, that is the seventeenth buck I have maimed this morning who has managed to drag himself off after being hit. Fortunately the officers of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals are engaged in Town. While this lasts, however, there cannot be a doubt but that the quality of the sport is excellent.