"Some men employ their health, an ugly trick,
In making known how oft they have been sick;
And give us, in recitals of disease,
A doctor's troubles, but without his fees;
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed,
How an emetic or cathartic sped;
Nothing is slightly touched, much less forgot,
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot.
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill,
Victorious seemed, and now the doctor's skill;
And now--alas for unforeseen mishaps!--
They put on a damp nightcap and relapse;
They thought they must have died, they were so bad;
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had."
"That's capital," cried out Mr. Strong.
"It is Mr. Round's character to a tick," said Mrs. Blunt, who was better
acquainted with him than any one else in the room.
"It seems to me," said Miss Young, "that Cowper must have had Round
before him when he wrote those lines."
"Cowper is a splendid poet," observed young Brown, who was rather
pedantic; "he is my favourite among the poets. I have been accustomed to
read him from my boyhood. I always admire his description of character.
Who but a Cowper could have written that admirable extract just given to
us by Mr. Burr, and which was read with such elegance?"
"Come," said Mr. Burr, "give us a tune on the piano, Miss Armstrong."
The company again left the Valetudinarian for their social enjoyments;
and not long after left Mrs. Blunt's for their respective homes.