Meanwhile, good Mrs. Brown Wondered at Mr. S. not coming down, And sent the maid up-stairs to learn the why; To whom poor Simpson, half delirious, Returned an answer so mysterious That curiosity began to fry; The more, as Betty, who had caught a snatch By peeping in upon the patient's bed, Reported a most bloody, tied-up head, Got over-night of course--"Harm watch, harm catch," From Watchmen in a boxing-match. So, liberty or not,-- Good lodgers are too scarce to let them off in A suicidal coffin-- The dame ran up as fast as she could trot; Appearance,--"fiddle-sticks!" should not deter From going to the bed, And looking at the head: "La! Mister S----, he need not care for her! A married woman that had had Nine boys and gals, and none had turned out bad-- Her own dear late would come home late at night, And liquor always got him in a fight. She'd been in hospitals--she wouldn't faint At gores and gashes fingers wide and deep; She knew what's good for bruises and what ain't-- Turlington's Drops she made a pint to keep. Cases she'd seen beneath the surgent's hand-- Such skulls japann'd--she meant to say trepann'd! Poor wretches! you would think they'd been in battle, And hadn't hours to live, From tearing horses' kicks or Smithfield cattle, Shamefully over-driv!-- Heads forced to have a silver plate atop, To get the brains to stop. At imputations of the legs she'd been, And neither screech'd nor cried--" Hereat she pluck'd the white cravat aside, And lo! the whole phenomenon was seen-- "Preserve us all! He's going to gangrene!" Alas! through Simpson's brain Shot the remark, like ball, with mortal pain; It tallied truly with his own misgiving, And brought a groan, To move a heart of stone-- A sort of farewell to the land of living! And as the case was imminent and urgent, He did not make a shadow of objection To Mrs. B.'s proposal for a "surgent," But merely gave a sigh of deep dejection, While down the verdant cheek a tear of grief Stole, like a dew-drop on a cabbage-leaf.