ANOTHER TALE OF A TUB.

BY SIR JOHN DEAN PAUL, BART.

I KNEW, in London, once, 'twas long ago,
'Ere gout, the purple tyrant, seized my toe,
A gifted man, whose Esculapian name,
Old maids and dowagers had raised to fame.
This Doctor, having fail'd with biped noodles,
Bestow'd his skill upon dyspeptic poodles :
Above his door, in all a lapdog's state,
White curl'd and plethoric, a poodle sate;
Beneath, as motto to the sign, was writ
"Take physic, Pomp"-ey, added by a wit.
Some quacks, less openly, by puffs are known,
Here, to the world, the craft was boldly shown.
Our Doctor throve, for Lady Di Nankeen,
With her tall footman, at his door was seen.
From royal Charles's breed-true black and tan,
Her favourite sprung, that now no longer can
Or spring, or bound; with gluttony obese,
The bloated brute can hardly walk with ease.
Also there came the Duchess Fuss and Fret,
Who brought, with anxious care, her snarling pet.
"Oh, Doctor, say if any hope can be?

She leaves untouch'd her chicken fricassée!
The sylph-like darling, that I brought from Como,
Won't take a morsel from my major-domo!"

The Doctor hemm'd-look'd wise, and shook his head; Then, breaking silence-" Please your Grace," he said, "There's nothing in it-leave it all to me;"

And here he seized his patient, and his fee.

Fat Phillis snarl'd and bit-the Duchess sigh'd—

But better Phillis snarl'd than that she died.

Arrived at home, our M.D. straight procured
The tub in which his household meat was cured;
Beneath this tub, forthwith, he placed the dog;
And in the space allotted to the prog,
Some fourteen days (albeit sad she raved)
Was Phillis, like the Doctor's bacon, saved.
Who can describe her Grace's vast surprise
When to her arms, restored, her favourite flies?
Which of the Nine can sing how warmly glows
The gratitude, a Duchess only knows,
For those possess'd of art enough to save
A poodle, or a parrot, from its grave!

What says the moral? Scan, with curious eye,
The roads men take to reach publicity:
Observe the cunning made by one bold hit—
The wise o'erthrown-the triumph of the wit.
"What's good for poodles, may be good for man,"
Thus thought a modern doctor, and began.