The republic is sick. It has gastric fever, gout, goitre, gangrene, scrofula, sciatica, croup, consumption, ophthalmia, vertigo, small-pox, and cholera. It has eaten too much, drank too much, danced too much, flirted too much, smoked too much, gambled too much, run riot in frivolity, gone mad in greed, flaunted its pageantry of pride, coveted, lusted, blasphemed, forsaken God, despised religion, loved leasing, and hated honest toil, with its health-giving frugality and slow but solid gains. Poor patient! It needs skilful treatment; and what will these queer doctors do? Why, they propose to force emetics and drastics down the throats of ever so many Chinamen. If the case were not so serious, it would be infinitely funny. The patient has brain fever. Kick the Chinaman. It has palpitation. Cuff the Chinaman. It is shaking with chills from Maine to Mexico. Pull the pigtails of the Chinaman. Banks are breaking in New York. Set the dogs on the Chinamen. Mercantile houses are tumbling into ruins in Massachusetts. Arrest the Chinaman on suspicion. Finances are deranged, and Congress is quarreling over resumption. Shoot the Chinamen. The South needs pacification. Cut the throats of the Chinamen. Industry flags everywhere. Get up processions, and raid on the wash-houses of the Chinamen. Wages are six bits a day, without board, in the Eastern States. Banish the Chinamen from California forever and forever. Hurrah!! There was once a doctor who was “death on burns.” These gentlemen are not a whit behind him, only their specialty, into which they resolve all wounds and diseases, is the Chinese pest, _alias_ the Asiatic nuisance, _alias_ the Cooly invasion, _alias_ the cheap-labor plague of the Pacific Coast.