Dr. Elisha Bartlett, physician, poet, and politician, was born at Smithfield, Rhode Island, in 1805. He was graduated in medicine from Brown University in 1826, and later practiced at Lowell, Massachusetts, of which city he was the first mayor. Dr. Bartlett lectured at Dartmouth College in 1839; and two years later he became professor of the Theory and Practice of Medicine in the medical school of Transylvania University, Lexington, Kentucky. He left Transylvania in 1844, for the University of Maryland, but he returned to Lexington two years later, occupying
JOHN BROWDIE OF NICHOLAS NICKLEBY [From Simple Settings, in Verse, for Six Portraits and Pictures, from Mr. Dickens's Gallery (Boston, 1854)] 'Twas worth a crown, John Browdie, to hear you ringing out, O'er hedge and hill and roadside, that loud, hilarious shout; And how the echoes caught it up and flung it all about. 'Twas worth another, John, to see that broad and glorious grin, That stretched your wide mouth wider still, and wrinkled round your chin. And showed how true the heart was that glowed and beat within. Yes! Nick has beaten the measther,—'twas a sight beneath the sun! And I only wish, John Browdie, when that good deed was done, That you and I had both been there to help along the fun. Be sure he let him have it well;—his trusty arm was nerved With hoarded wrongs and righteous hate,—so it slackened not nor swerved, Until the old curmudgeon got the thrashing he deserved. The guinea, John, you gave the lad, is charmed forevermore; It shall fill your home with blessings; it shall add unto your store; Be light upon your pathway, and sunshine on your floor. These are the treasures, too, laid up forever in the sky, Kind words to solace aching hearts, and make wet eyelids dry, And when you tell the story, John, to her, your joy and pride— The miller's bonny daughter, so soon to be your bride— She shall love you more than ever, and cling closer to your side. Content and health be in your house! and may you live to see Full many a little Browdie, John, climb up your sturdy knee; The mother's hope, the father's stay and comfort long to be. These are thy crown, O England; thy glory, grace, and might!— Who work the work of honest hands, from early morn till night, And worship God by serving man, and doing what is right. All honor, then, to them! let dukes and duchesses give room! The men who by the anvil strike, and ply the busy loom; And scatter plenty through the land, and make the desert bloom. |