ment." It was not because he felt himself to be a poet that Dr. Grainger wrote the "Sugar Cane" in verse, but because that was the form most acceptable to the public. The ever famous line,
"Now Muse, let's sing of rats!"
which made merry Sir Joshua Reynolds and his friends, is indicative of the good doctor's struggles to employ an uncongenial medium. He wanted to tell his readers how to farm successfully in the West Indies; how to keep well in a treacherous climate; what food to eat, what drugs to take, how to look after the physical condition of negro servants, and guard them from prevalent maladies. These were matters on which the author was qualified to speak, and on which he does speak with all a physician's frankness; but they do not lend themselves to lofty strains. Whole pages of the "Sugar Cane" read like prescriptions and dietaries done into verse. It is as difficult to sing with dignity about a disordered stomach as about rats and cockroaches; and Dr. Grainger's determination to leave nothing untold leads him to dwell with much feeling, but
