P. Just such advice as I might have expected from you, and just such advice as I shall not regard; it is worthless! D. Of course, you will do as you think best, but this I must say, that unless you thoroughly change your mode of life your time on earth will be short. P. Good-day, doctor; the world is full of humbugs: and if things go on as they have done, a man will soon be obliged to spend half his time in a bath, and live on air and sawdust. I go for temperance, but not for starvation; for cleanliness, but not for water-soaking. DIALOGUE XVIII. แ Dumps. (Alone.) Well, here I am- only fifty dollars in my pocket, and the lowest price of a passage to California is one hundred and twenty-five. I should not mind the rains and rattlesnakes at the Isthmus, or a winter passage round the Cape, or even a friendly social-starvation party by the way of Santa Fe, where the Indians are in the habit of officiating in the double capacity of fielddrivers and overseers of the poor. But these gold stories -eighteen dollars an ounce -six or eight ounces a day and no getting there,-that's what troubles me!Ah! here comes Handy. If I only had that fellow's assurance, or one half of his talents, I'd soon get the passage-money. (Enter Handy.) Good-morning, Mr. Handy! Handy. How are you, my old boy? Why, it seems to me you appear rather dumpish this morning! Dum. I don't know how that is; but my business prospects, I confess, are not very encouraging at present. Han. Well, that is a pretty good one! Business prospects and the dumps to a young fellow of five-andtwenty! If your pockets are getting light, why don't you replenish them, hey? Dum. That is precisely what I was puzzling about, but I have not been able to find an opportunity. Han. Suppose you try medicine? Dum. What! take medicine for an empty pocket? Han. Take medicine! Nonsense! Who ever heard of a doctor's taking medicine? What I propose is, that you turn quack-doctor, if you choose to call it so. Come out in the newspapers with an account of some wonderful discovery, back it up with certificates that go a little beyond anything that has ever been heard of, and, aided by that doleful countenance of yours, you may soon have "a coach and four." Dum. A most capital idea! Now, if you will only manage the preliminaries, get the thing fairly under way, and then act as a sort of travelling-agent, I shall be willing to share the profits with you, and here is something to pay expenses. (Hands him a bank bill.) Han. Agreed! I'll soon have the papers ready. (Exit.) Dum. (Alone.) Well, Handy understands how to "raise the wind," and no mistake! I was just ready to rob somebody, that I might get enough to go to California; but here's a plan which, if well managed, will bring me the gold dust, without the labor of digging. I shall yet be a rich man, if Handy does but manage well. But here he comes, with all things arranged. (Reënter Handy, with a bundle of papers.) Han. Well, doctor, the certificates are all prepared, and to-morrow morning an account of your wonderful discovery will appear in the newspapers. Just read these. Dum. (Reads a paper from the bundle.) "Doctor Von Humboldt most respectfully announces - Doctor Von Humboldt! who is he, I should like to know? Han. Why, you would not have it Dumps, would you?-Dr. Dumps! How would that sound? Dum. Oh! I understand it. (Reads.) "Doctor Von Humboldt most respectfully announces to the people of this country, that after about thirty years of the most profound investigation, he has succeeded in discovering the method by which lobsters have, for a great many years, been in the habit of renewing such parts of their bodies as have suffered amputation in consequence of their warlike and pugilistic propensities, and it having occurred to the doctor, in the course of his meditations, that their peculiarly ruddy and healthful appearance was owing to the effect of this medicine upon the system, he has succeeded in concocting a liquid, which is as superior to that, in its renovating effects, as is the dazzling effulgence which illuminates the intellect of this enlightened community to the faintest glimmer that ever twinkled in the brain of a lobster. He would beg leave to present a few of the many certificates he has received since his arrival in America. From a large number which have been received, unsolicited, he would call the attention of a discriminating public to the following: From the Hon. Peter Abraham, a member of the bar, and formerly an alderman. "I hereby certify, that I have been, for the last thirty years, afflicted with an incurable disorder, which has baffled the skill of all our most eminent physicians. I have neither been able to sit, stand, nor lie down; my sight and hearing had entirely left me, and, for the last three years, all parts of my body were covered over with ulcers. In this situation I happened to see an account of your wonderful medicine, and hearing that one of my neighbors had been cured by a single bottle, I immediately called on one of your agents, and the consequence is, I am now able to attend to my business as usual. "PETER ABRAHAM." From William Barkmill, Esq., once a distinguished citizen of Albany. "I, William Barkmill, do testify and say, that my son John, while sitting on a rock near the railroad, where he was amusing himself with witnessing the labors of the workmen who were blasting rocks, was very suddenly blown up into the air with gunpowder, and when he came down, which was on the 13th of Sept. last, all appearance of humanity was so entirely obliterated, that but for a jack-knife which on such occasions he was in the habit of carrying in his vest pocket, I should not have had the satisfaction of knowing him. "Under the circumstances, when even a coroner's jury would have found nothing to sit upon, I applied a few drops of your invaluable medicine, when, wonderful to relate, he immediately turned somerset over the tan vats and lime pits that surrounded him, scampered off home, and in about twenty minutes afterwards he was splitting wood in the yard as if nothing had happened. "PETER BARKMILL." "This will certify, that I, Joseph Weavel,”—What' is that old Drunken Jo? Han. Exactly so; and he was to have been here before now to sign the certificate. He is the only real man I have been able to get to begin with. Ah, here he comes! (Enter Weavel.) Weavel. (With a tremulous tone.) Now, Handy, I'll just take that half dollar, if you please, and sign the certificate. But let me hear you read it first. Dum. Certainly. (Reads.) "This will certify, that I, Joseph Weavel, was troubled for more than twenty years with a weakness in the back and legs, and an occasional dizziness, which made me, at times, unable to walk about, yet, notwithstanding I set my face against all rum measures, Wea. Stop! stop! I never interfered in that way with other people's business. My doctrine is Han. Mr. Weavel, that certificate is literally correct. I saw you set your face against a rum measure last night in the grocery, and it was not-with-standing, for you was so drunk you could not stand. Go on. Wea. Oh! now I understand it. Dum. "Notwithstanding I set my face against all rum measures, I continued to grow worse, so that for several years I could not raise my hand higher than my mouth; my face became so much swollen that I could not see; my nose had the color and appearance of a lobster's claw, and I was deprived of my rest so much that even my neighbors could not sleep at night. Being fortunate. enough to procure a bottle of your medicine, I had taken but a few drops, when my complaints entirely left me, and I am, at this time, as well and as good-looking as I was at the age of twenty." Han. That is all right, I believe, Mr. Weavel. Wea Is'pose so, all 'cepting the getting well. (Signs his name.) - Han. Yes; as you say, it is substantially correct. We always add a little, you know, by way of embellishment. But, doctor, we shall not be able to read any more of these certificates now, for I must be away and attend to their publication. They'll take, and no mistake; or if these do not, we'll fix some that will. Meet me here to-morrow and everything shall be arranged. DIALOGUE XIX. ON LEAVING SCHOOL. Charles. Well, David, I suppose this day may be called the last of our school days, and in a short time we shall cease to be scholars. How do you feel about this? David. I must confess, friend Charles, that I cannot suppress a feeling of sadness when I reflect that I am so soon to leave school, never to return. I have spent many a happy hour in this room, and now my only regret is that I have not been more diligent, and more attentive to the rules of the school, and to the kind advice of our teacher. C. True, David, we can at this time look back upon many little acts that were not altogether right, and we cannot help feeling sad. But the past cannot be brought back. The future is before us, and it becomes us to be faithful in the great school of life in which we must be pupils until death. We must either contribute to the weal or woe of the community, and it remains for us to decide whether our example and influence shall be found on the side of virtue and truth, or of vice and error. D. Yes, and an important question it is for us to decide. I begin to feel that it is really a momentous thing to live, and my earnest desire is that I may be enabled to know and do my duty at all times, and in all particulars. Life, as you observe, is a school time, and its lessons, if rightly conned, will afford us pleasure |