against the other half of it, and then tumbling and rolling one over the other in the dirt like hogs.—Here the brethren of another profession, who should have run in opposition to each other, flying on the contrary like a flock of wild geese, all in a row the same way.—What confusion!—what mistakes!⸺fiddlers and painters judging by their eyes and ears—admirable!—trusting to the passions excited—in an air sung, or a story painted to the heart⸺instead of measuring them by a quadrant.
In the foreground of this picture, a statesman turning the political wheel, like a brute, the wrong way round⸺ against the stream of corruption—by Heaven!⸺instead of with it.
In this corner, a son of the divine Esculapius , writing a book against predestination; perhaps worse—feeling his patient’s pulse, instead of his apothecary’s⸺a brother of the Faculty in the background upon his knees in tears—drawing the curtains of a mangled victim to beg his forgiveness;—offering a fee—instead of taking one.
In that spacious hall , a coalition of the gown, from all the bars of it, driving