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So I'm for caushin, and working on
the safe side th' hidge, till we are less in the dark. Mind ye, young
women at her age are kittle cattle; they have gusts o' this, and gusts o'
that, th' unreasonable imps. D'ye see these two pieces pasteboard? They
are tickets for a ball,
In Barkton town-hall."
"Yes, of course I see them," said Mrs. Dodd dolefully.
"Well, I prescribe 'em. And when they have been taken,
And the pashint well shaken,
perhaps we shall see whether we are on the right system: and if so, we'll
dose her with youthful society in a more irrashinal form; conversaziones,
cookeyshines, et citera. And if we find ourselves on the wrong _tack_ why
then we'll hark _back._
Stick blindly to 'a course,' the Dockers cry.
But it does me harm: _Then_ 'twill do good _by-and-bye._
Where lairned ye that, Echoes of Echoes, say!
The killer ploughs 'a course,' the healer _'feels his way.'_"
So mysterious are the operations of the human mind, that, when we have
exploded in verse tuneful as the above, we lapse into triumph instead of
penitence.


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