RHUBARB PILL.--The same. She's in a desperate way. COUNTRYMAN.--Ees. Dr. Russell says it's all owing to your nasty nosdrums. RHUBARB PILL.--Doctor Russell's a--never mind. I say she _is_ very bad, and I AM the only man that can cure her. COUNTRYMAN--Then out wi'it, doctor--what will? RHUBARB PILL.--_Wait till I'm regularly called in._ COUNTRYMAN.--But suppose she dies in the meantime? RHUBARB PILL.--That's her fault. I won't do anything by proxy. I must direct my own _administration_, appoint my own nurses for the bed-chamber, have my own herbalists and assistants, and see Doctor Russell's "_purge_" thrown out of the window. In short, _I must be regularly called in_. Balaam, blow the trumpet. [_Balaam blows the trumpet, the crowd shout, and the Doctor bows gracefully, with one hand on his heart and the other in his breeches pocket. At the end of the applause he commences singing_]. I am called Doctor Pill, the political quack, And a quack of considerable standing and note; I've clapp'd many a blister on many a back, And cramm'd many a bolus down many a throat, I have always stuck close, like the rest of my tribe, And physick'd my patient as long as he'd pay; And I say, when I'm ask'd to advise or prescribe, "_You must wait till I'm call'd in a regular way_." Old England has grown rather sickly of late, For Russell's _reduced_ her almost to a shade; And I've honestly told him, for nights in debate, He's a quack that should never have follow'd the trade. And, Lord! how he fumes, and exultingly cries, "Were you in my place, Pill, pray what would _you_ say?" But I only reply, "If I am to advise, _I shall wait till I'm call'd in a regular way_." It's rather "too bad," if an ignorant elf, Who has caught a rich patient 'twere madness to kill, Should have all the credit, and pocket the pelf, Whilst you are requested to furnish the skill. No! no! _amor patriae_'s a phrase I admire, But I own to an _amor_ that stands in its way; And if England should e'er my assistance require, _She must_-- [Illustration: "WAIT TILL I'M CALL'D IN A REGULAR WAY."] * * * * * ON DITS OF THE CLUBS. Peter Borthwich has expressed his determination--not to accept of the speakership of the House of Commons. C.M. Westmacott has announced his intention of _not_ joining the new administration; in consequence of which serious defection, he asserts that Sir Robert Peel will be unable to form a cabinet. "You have heard," said his Grace of Buckingham, to Lord Abinger, a few evenings ago, "how scandalously Peel and his crew have treated me--they have actually thrown me overboard. A man of my weight, too!" "That was the very objection, my Lord," replied the rubicund functionary. "Their rotten craft could not carry a statesman of your ponderous abilities. Your dead weight would have brought them to the bottom in five minutes." * * * * *