Stanzas XLI–L

XLI
"No, Ike," says Doc, "this world hain't saw
no brains like yourn and mine
With sense enough to grasp a law
'at takes a brain divine.--
I've bared the thoughts of brains in doubt,
and felt their finest pulse,--
And mortal brains jes won't turn out
omnipotent results!"

XLII
And Doc he's got respects to spare
the rich as well as pore--
Says he, "I'd turn no millionaire
onsheltered from my door."--
Says he, "What's wealth to him in quest
o' honest friends to back
And love him fer hisse'f?--not jes
because he's made his jack!"

XLIII
And childern.--Childern? Lawzy-day!
Doc worships 'em!--You call
Round at his house and ast 'em!--
they're a-swarmin' there--that's all!--
They're in his Lib'ry--in best room--
in kitchen--fur and near,--
In office too, and, I p'sume,
his operatin'-cheer!

XLIV
You know they's men 'at bees won't sting?--
They's plaguey few,--but Doc
He's one o' them.--And same, i jing!
with childern;--they jes flock
Round Sifers natchurl!--in his lap,
and in his pockets, too,
And in his old fur mitts and cap,
and heart as warm and true!

XLV
It's cur'ous, too,--'cause Doc
hain't got no childern of his own--
'Ceptin' the ones he's tuk
and brought up, 'at's bin left alone.
And orphans when their father died,
er mother,--and Doc he
Has he'pped their dyin' satisfied.--
"The child shall live with me

XLVI
"And Winniferd, my wife," he'd say,
and stop right there, and cle'r
His th'oat, and go on thinkin' way
some mother-hearts down here
Can't never feel their own babe's face
a-pressin' 'em, ner make
Their naked breasts a restin'-place
fer any baby's sake.

XLVII
Doc's Lib'ry--as he calls it,--well,
they's ha'f-a-dozen she'ves
Jam-full o' books--I couldn't tell
how many--count yourse'ves!
One whole she'f's Works on Medicine!
and most the rest's about
First Settlement, and Indians in
here,--'fore we driv 'em out.--

XLVIII
And Plutarch's Lives--and life also
o' Dan'el Boone, and this-
Here Mungo Park, and Adam Poe--
jes all the lives they is!
And Doc's got all the novels out,--
by Scott and Dickison
And Cooper.--And, I make no doubt,
he's read 'em ever' one!

XLIX
Onc't, in his office, settin' there,
with crowd o' eight er nine
Old neighbers with the time to spare,
and Doc a-feelin' fine,
A man rid up from Rollins, jes
fer Doc to write him out
Some blame p'scription--done, I guess,
in minute, nigh about.--

L
And I says, "Doc, you 'pear so spry,
jes write me that recei't
You have fer bein' happy by,--
fer that 'u'd shorely beat
Your medicine!" says I.--And quick
as s'cat! Doc turned and writ
And handed me: "Go he'p the sick,
and putt your heart in it."