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• GHOST. Since lost thy long'd-for title-brew thy beer : And, as thou'st styl'd thyself the People's Friend, No deleterious mixture to them send; Put in good malt and hops no pois'nous drugs, Which better were employ’d in killing bugs. Then will they cry, when times a pot afford :** The Brewer's honest, and, thank heav'n, no lord!": How, Merryman, thou last, not least, of friends! · Do'st thou not wish to hear what fate intends?

MERRYMAN. Fortune's a sorry jade-a niggard elf, Not to allow me time to pay myself. A bill at sight! --at date, I had not minded 'Tis known to most that I am curs'd long-winded. · What shall I do to live ?

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GHOST. Thou need'st not mind-thy creditors a place Will find where thou may'st hide thy unmask'd face; . VOL. III.

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Where an emancipation thou may'st prate,
Nor e'er fear turning-out — so laugh at fate.
Farewell to all! I scent approaching day; -
Hear the cock's clarion, and must haste away.

The ghost vanished without leaving any of those sulphureous steams behind, which never fail to attend vulgar ones. If there were any unsavoury smells, they originated with those who were left behind, and whom fear, discontent, and despondency kept for some time deprived of all their little faculties. At last, their common safety gained the ascendancy, and they began to consult on the ways and means of conciliating their master, without losing the favour of the people. After a long consultation, they hit upon the expedient which we have already laid before the reader; but, if Friar Bacon's brazen head had made one of the company, it would have exclaimed « Time is past."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE DESPAIR AND RAGE OF THE BRUSHITES.-THE AUTHOR DRAWS A COMPARISON BETWEEN THEM AND VORTEX, BY A POETICAL STORY OF A QUACKDOCTOR AND A REGULAR BRED PHYSICIAN. -MERRYMAN, LIKE OTHER POOR PERSONS, IS EXCESSIVELY WITTY THE AUTHOR DISPLAYS MORE OF HIS TALENTS AT WRITING EPITAPHS, BY COMPOSING ONE FOR “ ALL THE TALENTS.”

The Brushites no sooner found that they had gone too far to recede, than

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their grief to anger turn’d,
Which in their manly stomachs burn'd;
Thirst of revenge and wrath, in place
Of sorrow, now began to blaze.”

Hudibras.

They exclaimed loudly against the dismissal of a household, who had done so much for the

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manor, without any satisfactory reason being assigned for so doing; and in their rage, Bow. quick betrayed all that had passed between the lord and himself, notwithstanding that by the oath of his office he was bound to keep it secret, in order to justify himself and his friends, as he said, in the eyes of the public; but the public cared nothing about them; the public had no such self-boasters in the catalogue of their friends; -the public disowned them — the public despised them — and, to their confusion, here stands CERVANTES HogG, F. S. M. to tell them so! They were no more to be compared with Vortex, than the quack-doctor was with the regular bred physician, of whom we are going to tell the following story:

THE QUACK-DOCTOR AND PHYSICIAN.

Two friends, from Germany, a trip once inade
To London; one a reg'lar bred M.D.,
Of Leipsig, or of Leyden, or elsewhere ;
The other was a clockmaker by trade,
But, from one thing t’another apt to flee,
Ne sutor ultra crepidam,” he'd jeer.

Soon as arriv’d-the Doctor 'gan to pass
His time in coffee-rooms-an usual mode
Of getting into practice when there's none;-
Making the hammer strike the tinkling brass,
His comrade stroll'd each street-each lane-each road,
Without success: their trades were both o'erdone.

The clockmaker-a shrewd; observing blade,
Soon found out the weak side of the English rabble,
Who did to wonder-workers much repair :
He quickly bade the devil take his trade,
Profess'd in ailments of all kinds to dabble
No case so desp'rate was, they need despair.

Advertisements and hand-bills fill'd the town-
The great High-German Doctor, with hard name,
Cur'd every thing 'twas possible to cure:
All fees he took, from sixpence to a crown,
Gave pills and ointment-for all ills the same
To hit one case, 'midst a hundred, he was sure.

The lucky patient blaz’d'his fame about ;
The other ninety-nine kept still thro' shame;
Our self-dubb’d Doctor soon had work enough:
He cleans’d the human frame, like clock-work, out;
Got money plenty, and no little fame-
'Twas small expense to him for Doctor's stuff.

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