XXIII. THAT OF THE UNDERGROUND "SULPHUR CURE."

Sulphuric smoke doth nearly choke

That person—more's the pity—

Who does the round, by Underground,

On pleasure, or on business bound,

From West End to the City.

At Gower Street I chanced to meet,

One day, a strange old party,

Who tore his hair in wild despair,

Until I thought—"I would not swear,

That you're not mad, my hearty."

"Yes, mad, quite mad. Dear me! How sad!"

I cried; for, to the porter,

He did complain—"Look here! Again

No smoke from any single train

That's passed within the quarter.

"This air's too pure! I cannot cure

My patients, if you don't, sir,

Sulphuric gas allow to pass,

Until it thickly coats the glass.

Put up with this I won't, sir!"

I noticed then some gentlemen

And ladies join the chatter—

And dear, dear, dear, they did look queer!

Thought I—"They're very ill, I fear;

I wonder what's the matter."

Surmise was vain. In came my train.

I got in. "First"—a "Smoking."

That motley crew—they got in too.

I wondered what on earth to do,

For each began a-choking.

"Pray, won't you smoke?" the old man spoke.

Thought I—"He's growing madder."

"I wish you would. 'Twould do them good.

My card I'd hand you if I could,

But have none. My name's Chadder.

"My patients these. Now, if you please!"

He cried, in tones commanding,

And gave three raps, "I think, perhaps,

We'd best begin. Undo your wraps!"

This passed my understanding.

"Put out your tongues! Inflate your lungs!"

His patients all got ready;

Their wraps thrown off, they each did doff

Their respirator—spite their cough—

And took breaths long and steady.

"Inhale! Inhale! And do not fail

The air you take to swallow!"

They gasped, and wheezed, and coughed, and sneezed.

Their "doctor," he looked mighty pleased.

Expecting me to follow.

"Pray, tell me why, good sir!" gasped I,

"Before I lose my senses,

Why ever you such strange things do?

To know this, I confess my cu-

Riosity immense is."

In accents mild he spoke, and smiled.

"Delighted! I assure you.

We take the air—nay! do not stare;

Should aught your normal health impair,

This 'sulphur cure' will cure you.

"I undertake, quite well to make

Patients,—whate'er they're ailing.

Each day we meet, proceed en suite

From Edgware Road to Gower Street,

And back again—inhaling.

"That sulphur's good, 'tis understood,

But, I would briefly mention,

The simple way—as one may say,—

In which we take it, day by day,

Is quite my own invention.

"Profits? Ah, yes, I must confess

I make a tidy bit, sir?

Tho' Mr. Perkes', and Mr. Yerkes

'S system—if it only works—

Will put a stop to it, sir."

A stifled sigh, a tear-dimmed eye

Betrayed his agitation.

"Down here there'll be no smoke," said he,

"When run by electricity.

Excuse me! Here's our station!"

He fussed about, and got them out,

(Those invalids I mean, sir,)

Then raised his hat; I bowed at that,

And then, remaining where I sat,

Went on to Turnham Green, sir.