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. Not that doggrel meets with reverence here below--the statues
to it are few, and not in marble, but in the material itself--But then an
Impromptu! A moment ago our Posy was not: and now is; with the speed, if
not the brilliancy, of lightning, we have added a handful to the
intellectual dust-heap of an oppressed nation. From this bad eminence
Sampson then looked down complacently, and saw Mrs. Dodd's face as long
as his arm. She was one that held current opinions; and the world does
not believe Poetry can sing the Practical. Verse and useful knowledge
pass for incompatibles; and, though Doggrel is not Poetry, yet it has a
lumbering proclivity that way, and so forfeits the confidence of grave
sensible people. This versification, and this impalpable and
unprecedented prescription she had waited for so long, seemed all of a
piece to poor mamma: wild, unpractical, and--"oh, horror!
horror!"--eccentric.

Sampson read her sorrowful face after his fashion. "Oh, I see, ma'am,"