The Funny Side of Physic Part 77

So the deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split, nor bent, nor broke,-- That was for spokes, and floor, and sills; He sent for lancewood to make the thills; The cross-bars were ash, from the straightest trees; The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these; The hubs of logs from the "Settler's Ellum,"-- Last of its timber--they couldn't sell 'em; Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thoroughbrace bison skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when the tanner died.

That was the way he "put her through."

"There!" said the deacon, "naow she'll dew!"

Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less!

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away; Children and grandchildren--where were they?

But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay As fresh as on Lisbon Earthquake day!

Eighteen hundred: it came and found The deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.

Eighteen hundred increased by ten: "Hansum kerridge" they called it then.

Eighteen hundred and twenty came,-- Running as usual; much the same.

Thirty and forty at last arrive, And then came fifty and _fifty-five_.

Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer.

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth.

(This is a moral that runs at large; Take it. You're welcome. No extra charge.) _First of November_,--the Earthquake day,-- There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, A general flavor of mild decay, But nothing local, as one may say.

There couldn't be,--for the deacon's art Had made it so like in every part That there wasn't a chance for one to start.

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, And the floor was just as strong as the sills, And the panels just as strong as the floor, And the whippletree neither less nor more, And the back cross-bar as strong as the fore, And spring, and axle, and hub _encore_.

And yet, _as a whole_, it is past no doubt, In another hour it will be _worn out_.

First of November, fifty-five!

This morning the parson takes a drive.

Now, small boys, get out of the way!

Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.

"Huddup!" said the parson. Off went they.

The parson was working his Sunday's text, Had got to _fifthly_, and stopped perplexed, And what the--Moses--was coming next?

All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.

First a s.h.i.+ver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill,-- And the parson was sitting upon a rock, At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,-- Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!

What do you think the parson found, When he got up and stared around?

The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground!

You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once,-- All at once and nothing first,-- Just as bubbles do when they burst.

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.

Logic is logic. That's all I say.

[Ill.u.s.tration: END OF THE WONDERFUL ONE-HORSE SHAY.]

HEALTHFUL INFLUENCE OF MUSIC.

The curative power of music is little understood. Our medical men would do well to devote more time and attention to music and its beneficial influences upon themselves and patients. In Paris, music is being introduced at the chief asylum for the benefit of the insane, the hypochondriacs, and such like patients. Its introduction at the "Retreat," at Hartford, Conn., has been attended with happy results.

The writer attributes the primary step towards recovery of several patients of his, suffering under great mental, nervous, and bodily prostration, to his ordering the piano or melodeon reopened.

Not long since I visited a patient at a distance. She was young and fair, and "supposed to be in consumption," which is usually a flattering disease, while this patient was laboring under great despondency, bordering on despair. Her parents could not account for her dejection.

Determined not to hurry over the case, and seeing a closed piano in the room, I asked if it was not used.

"No," replied the mother; "she has not touched it for more than three months; she takes no interest in anything."

I looked upon the sad, fair face, and thought I had never seen a picture of such utter hopelessness in a young maiden. I approached the piano, and raised its lid. The ivory keys were all dusty. The mother dusted them off, and with a great, deep sigh, whispered to me, "The dust will soon gather on her coffin. She will never touch these keys again."

"Pooh!" I exclaimed. "You, madam, discourage her. Let me sing something that will awaken her from her lethargy."

No matter how I played, or what I sang. It was the right key, the sympathetic chord. The first notes aroused her. She lifted her great, dark eyes for the first time. Great tears burst their bonds, thawing out the winter-locked senses, awakening the spring-time flowers of hope, that led to a summer season of health and happiness....

I know this was decidedly unprofessional; but what care I? The young girl was aroused from her despondency, and her precious life saved. Medicine, which before was of no avail, now took effect. O, I pity the poor fool who _only_ has learned to cram drugs by the scruple, dram, and ounce down the unwilling throats of his more pitiful patients because musty books tell him to.

Dr. Mason F. Cogswell, a graduate of Yale, was a man eminent for piety and benevolence, a scholar, and a successful pract.i.tioner, which none can gainsay. "In music he was a proficient," said Professor Knight. While practising medicine in Stamford, Conn., he was said to have instructed the choir in psalm tunes and anthems, and other music, and adapted one to every Sabbath in the year. He possessed a great library, and was for ten years president of the State Medical Society. Dr. Cogswell had a deaf and dumb daughter, and he originated the design of an asylum, which was more fully developed by Mr. Gallaudet, in the Hartford asylum for the deaf and dumb. He died in 1830, at the age of seventy.

I know of a great many excellent physicians who are musicians and lovers of music. Guilmette is a first-cla.s.s primo ba.s.so.

Who does not love to listen to the beautiful heart and home songs of Dr.

J. P. Ordway, such as "Home Delights," "Come to the Spirit Land," etc.?

"The twinkling Stars are laughing, Love," has been sung in every land, and arranged into band music by all the best leaders of the world. A Boston musician said to the writer recently, "After the audience had been disgusted a whole hour by cla.s.sic music, the house came down enthusiastically on hearing one of Dr. Ordway's touching melodies."

The Germans seldom die of consumption. They are all musicians. There are many authors and poets among the German doctors. The following gem, it is needless to add, is not by one of the best authors:--

"December's came, and now der breezes Howls vay up amidst der dreeses; Now der boy mit ragged drouses s.h.i.+vering feeches home der cowses.

His boots vas old, und dorn his gloze is, Und bless my shdars, how blue his nose is!"

INFLUENCE OF MUSIC UPON ANIMALS.

Some wild animals are easily caught and readily tamed by the a.s.sistance, of music. "Whistle the rabbit and he'll stop," is as true as trite. The most common exhibition of the influence of music on animals is, perhaps, that witnessed in circuses, and other equestrian entertainments, where the horse is affected in a lively and exhilarating manner by the performances of the band, often waltzing and prancing, and keeping perfect time with the music.

Dogs are affected by music, but it is difficult to determine whether agreeably or otherwise. Many naturalists believe it to be disagreeable to them. Owls have been known to die from the effect of music. On the other hand, it is well known that many kinds of birds are affected in a very agreeable manner, often approaching as near as possible the instruments, or persons, and remaining as long as the music continues, and then flapping their wings, as we should clap our hands, in approbation of the performance.

Many of the wild animals are said to be fond of, and even charmed by, music. The hunters in the Tyrol, and some parts of Germany, often entice stags by singing, and the female deer by playing the flute. Beavers and rats have been taught to dance the rope, keeping time to music.

Among the insects, spiders are found to be very fond of music. As soon as the sounds reach them, they descend along their web to the point nearest to that from which the music originates, and there remain motionless as long as it continues. Prisoners sometimes tame them by singing or whistling, and make companions of them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "MUSIC, THE SOUL OF LIFE."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MUSICAL MICE.]

But perhaps the most remarkable instance of the influence of music on animals occurred at a menagerie in Paris a few years ago, when a concert was given, and two elephants were among the auditors. The orchestra being placed out of their sight, they could not perceive whence the harmony came. The first sensation was that of surprise. At one moment they gazed eagerly, at the spectators; the next they ran at their keeper to caress him, and seemed to inquire what these strange sounds meant; but at length, perceiving that nothing was amiss, they gave themselves up to the impression which the music communicated. Each new tune seemed to produce a change of feeling, causing their gestures and cries to a.s.sume an expression in accordance with it. But it was still more remarkable that, after a piece had produced an agreeable effect upon them, if it was incorrectly played, they would remain cold and unmoved.

MUSIC AMONG THE MICE.

The writer used to amuse himself and friends by attracting a pair of mice into his room by means of a guitar. The following, relating to the same, is from the "American," 1856:--

"We called upon our friend, and found him alone in his room, 'touching the guitar lightly.' He arose, greeted us with his bland smile, and said,--

"'Perhaps you would like to see my pupils. If you will be seated, and remain very quiet, I will call them out.'

"We did so. He resumed his seat, and, taking his splendid-toned guitar, touched some beautiful chords from an opera, and, in a moment, two or three mice ran out from the corner of the room, pointed on a 'bee line'