A SERMON ON THE WORD MALT. The Rev. Mr. Dodd, a very worthy minister, who lived a few miles from Cambridge, had rendered himself obnoxious to many of the cantabs by frequently preaching againstdrunkenness; several of whom meeting him on a journey, they determined to make him preach in a hollow tree which was near the road side. Accordingly, addressing him with great apparent politeness, they asked him if he had not lately preached much against drunkenness. On his replying in the affirmative, they insisted that he should now preach from a text of their chusing. In vain did he remonstrate on the unreasonableness of expecting him to give them a discourse without study, and in such a place; they were determined to take no denial, and he word MALT was given to him by way of text; on which he immediately delivered himself as follows. "Beloved, let me crave your attention. - I am a little man, come at a short warning, to preach a short sermon, from a small subject, in an unworthy pulpit, to a small congregation. Beloved, my text is MALT; I cannot divide it into words, it being butone; nor into syllables, it being butone: I must, therefore, of necessity, divide it into letters, which I find to be these four, M-A-L-T. "M, my beloved, is Moral,-A, is Allegorical,-L, Literal, -T, Theological. The Moral is set forth to teach you drunkards good manners; therefore, M, masters-A, all of you-L, listen T, to my text. The Allegorical is when one thing is spoken and another thing is meant. The thing spoken of is malt; the thing meant, is the juice of malt; which you cantabs make, -M, your master, -A, your apparel,-L, your liberty, and T, your trust. The literal is, according to the letter-M, much-A, ale, -L, little-T, trust. The Theologi. On an, the brewer's agent, the alehouse benefactor, his wife's sorrow, his children's trouble, his own shame, his neighbour's scoff, a walking swill-bowl, the picture of a beast, and the monster of a man. "Now to," &c. He then concluded in the usual form, and the young men, pleased with his ingenuity, not only sincerely thanked him, but absolutely profited more by this short and whimsical sermon, than by any serious discourse they had ever heard. THE SCOTCH BAGPIPER. A Scotch bagpiper travelling in Germany, opened his wallet by a wood side, and sat down to dinner. No sooner had he said grace, than three wolves came about him; to one he threw bread, to another cheese, till his provender was all gone. At length he took up his pipes, and began to play; at which the wolve all ran away. The deel faw me, said Sawney, gin I hai kenn'd you lored music sa weel, you should ha' haen it before dinner. τ Whatever may be the merits of the English in other sciences, they seem peculiarly excellent in the art of healing. There is scarcely a disorder incident to humanity, against which our advertising doctors are not possessed with a most infallible antidote. The professors of other arts confess the inevitable intricacy of things; talk with doubt, and decide with hesitation: but doubting is entirely unknown in medi cine; the advertising professors here delight in cases of difficulty; be the disorder never so desperate or radical, you will find numbers in every street, who, by levelling a pillat the part affected, promise a certain cure without loss of time, knowledge of a bed fellow, or hinderance of business. When I consider the assiduity of this profession, their benevolence mazes me. They not only in general give their medicines for half value, but use the most persuasive re monstrances to induce the sick to come and be cured. Sure there must, be something strangely obstinate in an English patient, who refuses so much health upon such easysterms! Does he take a pride in being bloated with a dropsy? Does he find pleasure in the al ternations of an intermittent fever? Or feel as much satisfaction in nursing up the gout, as he found pleasure in acquiring it? He must, otherwise he would never reject such repeated assurances of instant relief. What can be more convincing than the manner in which the sick are invited to be well? The doctor first begs the most earnest attention of the public to tention what he is going to propose; he solemnly affirms the pill was never found to want success; he produces a list of these who have been rescued from the grave by taking it. Yet, notwithstanding all this, there are many here who now and then think proper to be sick: only sick did I say? There are some who even think proper to die! Yes, by the head of Confucius, they die; though they might have purchased the health-restoring specific for half a crown at every corner. I can never enough admire the sagaci ty of this country, for the encouragement given to the professors of this art: with what indulgence does she foster up those of her own growth, and kindly cherish those that come from abroad! Like a skilful gardener, she invites them from every foreign climate to herself. Here every great exotic strikes root as soon as imported, and feels the genial beam of favour; while the mighty metropolis, like one vast munificent dunghill, receives them indiscriminately to her breast, and supplies each with more than native nourishment. In other countries, the physician pretends to cure disorders in the lump; the same doctor who combats the gout in the toe, shall pretend to prescribe for a pain in the head; and he who at one time cures a consumption, shall at another give drugs for a dropsy How absurd and ridiculous! this is being a mere jack of all trades. Is the animal machine less complicated than a brass pin? Not less than ten different hands are required to make a brass pin; and shall the body be set right by one single operator? The English are sensible of the force of this reasoning; they have therefore one doctor for the eyes, another for the toes; they have their sciatica doctors, and inoculating doctors; they have one doctor who is modestly content with securing them from bug-bites, and five hundred who prescribe for the bite of mad dogs. But as nothing pleases curiosity more than anecdotes of the great, however minute or trifling, I must present you, inadequate as my abilities are to the subject, with anaccount of one or two of those personages who lead in this honourable profession. The first upon the list of glory, is doctor Richard Rock, F. U. N. This great man is short of stature, is fat, and waddles smith. ON QUACKS. 3 as he walks. He always wears a white three tailed wig, nicely combed, and frizzled upon each cheek. Sometimes he carries a cane, but a hat never; it is indeed very remarkable that this extraordinary perkonage should never wear a hat; but so it is, a hat he never wears. He is usually drawn, at the top of his own bills, sitting in his arm chair, holding a little bottle between his finger and thumb, and surrounded with rotten teeth, nippers, pills, packets, and gallypots. No man can promise fairer or better than he; for, as he observes, "Be your disorder never so far gone, be under no uneasiness, make yourelf quite easy, I can cure you." "The next in fame, though by some reckoned of equal pretensions, is doctor Timothy Franks, F. O. G. H., living in the Old Bailey. As Rock is remarkably squab, his great rival Franks is as remarkably tall. He was born in the year of the christian æra, 1692, and is, while I now write, exactly sixty-eight years, three months, and four days old. Age, however has no ways impaired his usual health and vivacity. I am told, he generally walks with his breast open. This gentleman, who is of a mixed re☐ putation, is particulary remarkable for a becoming assurance, which carries him gently through life; for, except doctor Rock, none are more blessed with the advantages of face than doctor Franks. And yet the great have their feibles as well as the little; -I am almost ashamed to mention it. - Let the foibles of the great rest in peace. - Yet I must impart the whole. These two great men are actually now at variance, like mere men, mere common mortals. Rock advises the world to beware of bog-trofting quacks; Franks retorts the wit and the sarcasm, by fixing on his rival the odious appellation of Dumpling Dick! He calls the serious doctor Rock, Dumpling Dick! Head of Confucius, what profanation! Dumpling Dick! What a pity, ye powers! that the learned, who were born mutually to assist in enlightening the world, |