--"Hey-dey! what's the cause of this?"
exclaimed Barrowby. "Dear Doctor," said poor Joe, in broken accents, "I
am going to poll."--"To poll!" replied the doctor, with much warmth,
supposing him of the same opinion with his wife, "going to the d--l, you
mean!--why, do you know the cold air may kill you. Get to bed, get to
bed, man, as fast as you can, or immediate death may ensue!"--"Oh! if
that is the case, sir," returned the patient in a feeble voice, "to be
sure I must act as you advise me; but I love my country, sir, and
thought, while my wife was out, to seize this opportunity to go to
Covent-garden church, and vote for Sir G. Vandeput."--"How, Joe! for Sir
George?"--"Yes, sir, I wish him heartily well."--"Do you?" said the
medical politician. "Hold, nurse! don't pull off his stockings again;
let me feel his pulse. Hey! very well--a good, firm stroke--Egad! this
will do. You took the pills I ordered last night?"--"Yes, doctor, but
they made me very sick."--"Ay, so much the better. How did your master
sleep, nurse?"--"O charmingly, sir."--"Did he! Well, if his mind is
really uneasy about this election, he must be indulged; diseases of the
mind greatly affect those of the body.
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