"He leagues with those who number in their trade A falsehood told for every sixpence made; To Mammon mortgage all they have of heart, To keep their wealth, with priceless honor part. The fear of God the smallest of their fears, Rolling in wealth, but bankrupt in ideas; To save their purse, their souls contented lose, And count all right, if worldly gain accrues; Who, when they die, no memory leave behind, But in the curses of their cheated kind! "With these Sir Humbug riches seeks to gain, And feels his way through lab'rinths of chicane; Embezzles, swindles, lies, until at last The eye of Justice on his crime is cast, When, drugged with wealth, he quits our plundered shore, And Texas boasts one fiery hero more." [Illustration: THE TUMOR DOCTOR CONTEMPLATES SUICIDE.] [Illustration: MARIAM, THE TUMOR DOCTOR.] The worst specimen of a travelling doctor I ever knew first appeared at R., one of the principal towns of Vermont, a few years ago. His name was Mariam; or that was what he called himself. He was a Canadian by birth, about twenty-five years of age, short, dark-complexioned, and claimed to be the seventh son of somebody. He was very illiterate, not being able to write a prescription, or his name, for that matter, when he came to R. I visited his rooms at the hotel, after he had been in town some weeks, and noticed, among other things, that his table was strewn with sheets of paper, upon which he had been practising writing his signature. He opened here boldly. He sent out thousands of circulars in the various trains of cars running from R., distributing them in person, on the Poor Richard's principle, that "if you want your work done, do it; if not, send." He inserted cards in the two village papers, containing the most illiterate and preposterous statements, and hundreds flocked to see him. Imagine his knowledge, for he assured me, to whom he opened his heart in confidence, that he never read a page of a medical work in his life. He first claimed to cure by the laying on of hands; but as he possessed no magnetic powers, he gradually abandoned that deception. As he could not write a prescription, and knew nothing of compounding medicines, he would go with a patient to a druggist's, and looking over the names of drugs on the bottles exposed on the shelves, order two or three articles at random, and, as one druggist assured me, of the most opposite properties; such as tincture of iron and iodide of potash, etc. (NOTE. The acid in the M. Tinct. iron sets the iodine free.) His clothes were very seedy, "and the crown of his hat went flip flap," and his toes were healthy, "being able to get out to the air," when he came to R. Soon he was "in luck," and a nice suit of clothes, a new silk hat, and boots, speedily graced his not inelegant person. I saw him both before and after the transformation. The following is a true copy of one of his certificates, taken from his circular:--