Dr. Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard?

Pa. No, Dr. Gregory; thank God, no one can accuse me of that. I'm of the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder; so you may suppose I'm na drunkard.

Dr. I'll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of life. I'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that 1 should wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink. When do you breakfast, and what do you take at it?

Þa. I breakfast at nine o'clock; take a cup of coffee, and one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kippered salmon, or, may be, both, if they 're good, and two or three rolls and butter.

Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast?
Pa. Oh, yes, sir! but I don't count that as any thing.

Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind of a dinner do you make?

Pa. Oh, sir, I eat a very plain dinner indeed. Some soup, and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled; for I dinna care for made dishes: I think, some way, they never satisfy the appetite.

Dr. You take a little pudding, then, and afterwards some cheese?

Pa. Oh, yes! though I don't care much about them.

Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese?
Pa. Yes, one or the other; but seldom both.

Dr. You west-country people generally take a glass of Highland whisky after dinner.

Pa. Yes, we do; it's good for digestion.

Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner?

Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry; but I'm indifferent as to wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer.

Dr. What quantity of

port do you drink?

Pa. Oh, very little; not above half a dozen glasses or so. Dr. In the west country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine without punch?

Pa. Yes, sir; indeed, 't is punch we drink chiefly; but for myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that's moderate.

Dr. Oh, exceedingly moderate indeed! You then, after this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter?

Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the evening letters.

Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose? Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to take supper; just something before going to bed; a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted

cheese, or a half-hundred of oysters, or the like o' that, and may be, two-thirds of a bottle of ale; but I take no regular supper.

Dr. But you take a little more punch after that?

Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I take a tumbler of warm whisky-toddy at night; it is lighter to sleep on.

Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your everyday life; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little? Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or I dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen.

Dr. Not above twice a week?

Pa. No; not oftener.

Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite? Pa. Yes, sir, thank God, I have; indeed, any ill health that have is about meal-time.

Dr. (assuming a severe look, knitting his brow, and lowering his eyebrows). Now, sir, you are a very pretty fellow indeed. You come here and tell me you are a moderate man; but upon examination, I find by your own showing, that you are a most voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man; yet, by your own showing, you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat Indigestible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand chis? Go home, sir, and leave your present course of riotous. iving, and there are hopes that your stomach may recover its tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors.

Pa. I'm sure, doctor, I'm very much obliged to you (taking out a bundle of bank notes). I shall endeavor toDr. Sir, you are not obliged to me: put up your money, sir. Do you think I'll take a fee for telling you what you know as well as myself? Though you 're no physician, sir, you are not altogether a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or take my word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase.

ANONYMOUS.

THE VALOROUS APOTHECARY

OLLAPOD-SIR CHARLES CROPLAND.

Olla. Sir Charles, I have the honor to be your slave. Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter here: sore throat

were plenty; so were woodcocks. Flushed four couple one morning, in a half-mile walk from our town, to cure Mrs. Quarles of a quinsy. May coming on soon, Sir Charles. Hope you come to sojourn. Should n't be always on the wing; that's being too flighty. Do you take, good sir, do you take?

Sir C. Oh, yes, I take. But by the cockade in your hat, Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avocations.

Olla. My dear Sir Charles, I have now the honor to be cornet in the volunteer association corps of our town. It fell out unexpected pop on a sudden; like the going-off of a fieldpiece, or an alderman in an apoplexy.

Sir C. Explain.

Olla. Happening to be at home- rainy day- no going out to sport, blister, shoot, nor bleed-was busy behind the counter. You know my shop, Sir Charles Galen's Head over the door, new-gilt him last week, by the by-looks as fresh as a pill. Sir C. Well, no more on that head now: proceed.

Olla. On that head! That's very well-very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir-I owe you one. Churchwarden Posh, of our town, being ill of an indigestion, from eating three pounds of measly pork, at a vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic for the patient, when, who should strut into the shop but Lieutenant Grains, the brewer-sleek as a dray-horse-in a smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb-colored lapel. I confess his figure struck me. I looked at him as I was thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a military

ardor.

Sir C. Inoculated! I hope your ardor was of a very favor· able sort.

Olla. Ha ha! That's very well-very well, indeed! Thank We first talked of shooting; you, good sir- -I owe you one. he knew my celebrity that way, Sir Charles. I told him the day before I had killed six brace of birds; -I thumped on at the mortar. We then talked of physic. I told him the day before I had killed-lost, I mean- six brace of patients;-I thumped on at the mortar-eyeing him all the while; for he looked mighty flashy, to be sure; and I felt an itching to belong to the corps. The medical and military both deal in death, you know: ao 't was natural. Do you take, good sir― do you take? Sir C. Take? Oh, nobody can miss.

Olla. He then talked of the corps itself; said it was sickly: and if a professional person would administer to the health of the association-dose the men, and drench the horses-he could, perhaps, procure him a cornetcy.

Sir C. Well, you jumped at the offer!

Olla. Jumped! I jumped over the counter - kicked down Churchwarden Posh's cathartic into the pocket of Lieutenant Grains' smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarbcolored lapel; embraced him and his offer; and I am now Cornet Ollapod, apothecary, at the Galen's Head, of the associ ation corps of cavalry, at your service.

Sir C. I wish you joy of your appointment! You may now distil water for the shop from the laurels you gather in the field. Olla. Water for-oh! laurel-water. Come, that's very well very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir-I owe you one. Why, I fancy fame will follow, when the poison of a small mistake I made has ceased to operate.

Sir C. A mistake?

Olla. Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle on a grand field-day, clapped a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet drink into one of my holsters, intending to proceed to the patient after the exercise was over. I reached the martial ground, and jalaped — galloped, I mean-wheeled and flourished with great éclat, but when the word "Fire!" was given, meaning to pull out my pistol, in a horrible hurry I presented, neck foremost, the vil lainous diet drink of Lady Kitty Carbuncle; and the medicine being, unfortunately, fermented by the jolting of my horse, it forced out the cork with a prodigious pop, full in the face of my gallant commander.

Sir C. But, in the midst of so many pursuits, how proceeds practice among the ladies? Any new faces since I left the country?

Olla. Nothing worth an item; nothing new arrived in our town. In the village, to be sure, hard by, Miss Emily Worthington, a most brillian' beauty, has lately given luster to the estate of farmer Harrowby.

me.

Sir C. My dear doctor, the lady of all others I wish most to know. Introduce yourself to the family, and pave the way for Come! mount your horse-I'll explain more as you go to the stable; but I am in a flame-in a fever, till I see you off. Olla. In a fever! I'll send you physic enough to fill a baggage wagon.

Sir C. (Aside.) So! a long bill as the price of his politeness! Olla. You need not bleed; but you must have medicine. Sir C. If I must have medicine, Ollapod, I fancy I shal bleed pretty freely.

Olla. Come, that's very well- very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir-I owe you one. Before dinner, a strong dose of coloquintida, senna, scammony, and gamboge.

Sir C. Oh, confound scammony and gamboge!

Olla. At night, a narcotic; next day, saline draughts, cam phorated jalap, and

Sir C. Zounds! only go, and I'll swallow your whole shop. Olla. Galen forbid ! 'Tis enough to kill every customer I have in the parish. Then we'll throw in the bark-by-the-by, talking of bark, Sir Charles, that Juno of yours is the prettiest pointer

Sir C. Well, well - she is yours.

Olla. My dear Sir Charles! such sport next shooting season! If I had but a double-barreled gun

Sir C. Take mine that hangs in the hall.

Olla. My dear Sir Charles! (Aside.) Here's morning's work; senna and coloquintida.

Sir C. Well, begone, then. (Pushing him.)

Olla. I'm off: scammony and gamboge!
Sir C. Nay, fly, man!

Olla. I do, Sir Charles. A double-barreled gun-I fly -the bark I'm going ― Juno

Sir C. Off with you!

a narcotic!

COLMAN.

THE EMBRYO LAWYER.

OLD FICKLE-TRISTRAM FICKLE

Old F. What reputation, what honor, what profit can accrue to you from such conduct as yours? One moment you tell me you are going to become the greatest musician in the world, and straight you fill my house with fiddlers.

Tri. I am clear out of that scrape now, sir.

Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed into a philosopher; and for the noise of drums, trumpets, and hautboys, you substitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible than was ever heard at the tower of Babel.

Tri. You are right, sir. I have found out that philosophy is folly; so I have cut the philosophers of all sects, from Plato and Aristotle down to the puzzlers of modern date.

Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper the other day for barreling you up in a large tub, when you resolved to live like Diogenes?

Tri. You should not have paid him anything, sir, for the tub would not hold. You see the contents are run out.