A GOOD DIRECTION.
A CERTAIN gentleman, whose yellow cheek
Proclaimed he had not been in living quite
An Anchorite—
Indeed, he scarcely ever knew a well day;
At last, by friends’ advice, was led to seek
A surgeon of great note—named Aberfeldie.
A very famous Author upon Diet,
Who, better starr’d than Alchemists of old,
By dint of turning mercury to gold,
Had settled at his country house in quiet.
Our Patient, after some impatient rambles
Thro’ Enfield roads, and Enfield lanes of brambles,
At last, to make enquiry had the nous,—
“Here, my good man,
Just tell me if you can,
Pray which is Mr. Aberfeldie’s house?”
The man thus stopp’d—perusing for a while
The yellow visage of the man of bile,
At last made answer, with a broadish grin:
“Why, turn to right—and left—and right agin,
The road’s direct—you cannot fail to go it.”
“But stop! my worthy fellow!—one word more—
From other houses how am I to know it?”
“How!—why you’ll see blue pillars at the door!”