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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nothing to Eat, by
+Horatio Alger and Thomas Chandler Haliburton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Nothing to Eat
+
+Author: Horatio Alger and Thomas Chandler Haliburton
+
+
+Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5868]
+This file was first posted on September 15, 2002
+Last Updated: July 2, 2013
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTHING TO EAT ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+NOTHING TO EAT
+
+By Horatio Alger and Thomas Chandler Haliburton
+
+Illustrated.
+
+NOT By the Author of "Nothing to Wear"
+
+"I'll nibble a little at what I have got."
+
+ --"My appetite's none of the best.
+ And so I must pamper the delicate thing."
+
+ --The least mite will suffice:
+ A side bone and dressing and bit of the breast.
+ The tip of the rump--that's it--and one of the fli's"
+
+
+[Illustration: "PROTESTING, EXCUSING, AND SWEARING A VOW,
+SHE'D NOTHING WORTH EATING TO GIVE US FOR DINNER."]
+
+
+
+NEW YORK
+
+1857
+
+
+Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1857,
+by EDWARD O. JENKINS, in the Clerk's Office of the District
+Court for the Southern District of New York.
+
+
+Respectfully Dedicated
+
+TO ALL LADIES "DYING WITH DYSPEPSIA.
+
+"Where fashion and folly are all of a suit."
+
+BY A JOLLY GOOD NATURED AUTHOR.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ARGUMENT
+
+THE PROOF--THE QUEEN OF FASHION
+
+THE OBJECT AIMED AT
+
+WHAT ANOTHER POET DID
+
+HOW THE AUTHOR SOMETIMES DINES
+
+MERDLE THE BANKER
+
+PLACES WHERE MORTALS DINE
+
+THINGS THAT MORTALS EAT THERE
+
+THE INVITATION
+
+THE MERDLE ORIGIN
+
+MRS. MERDLE AT HOME
+
+MRS. MERDLE GOES TO MARKET
+
+THE DINNER-BELL RINGS
+
+THE DINNER TABLE TALK
+
+MRS. MERDLE DOUBTS PARADISE'S UNEATING PLEASURES
+
+MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF THINGS EARTHLY
+
+MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF THINGS EATABLE
+
+MRS. MERDLE ORDERETH THE SECOND COURSE
+
+MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF HYGIENE AND FISH SAUCE
+
+MRS. MEEDLE DESCRIBETH HER DOCTOR
+
+MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH AGAIN ON DINNER
+
+MRS. MERDLE ACCEPTETH OF A SLIGHT DINNER, SUITABLE FOR A WOMAN
+SUFFERING WITH DYSPEPSIA.
+
+MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF WISHES AND HER SUFFERING
+
+MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF PUDDING
+
+MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF THE NECESSITY OF GOOD WINE AND OTHER
+MATTERS
+
+MRS. MERDLE SUGGESTETH THAT DINNER BEING FINISHED, THE GENTLEMEN
+WILL SMOKE. IN THE MEANTIME, SHE DISCOURSETH
+
+MRS. MERDLE, HAVING "NIBBLED A LITTLE" FOR TWO HOURS AT DINNER,
+RETIRETH FROM THE TABLE UNSATISFIED
+
+THE POET MORALIZETH.--HE DISCOURSETH TO THOSE WHO GORGE AND COMPLAIN
+
+HE DISCOURSETH OF THE WHEREFORE OF BACHELORISM
+
+HE DISCOURSETH OF WHAT SOME MORTALS LIVE FOR
+
+HE IMPLORETH MERCY UPON THOSE WHO ARE CONDEMNED WITH FASHIONABLE
+FOLLY TO MARRY, AND ILLUSTRATETH THEIR CONDITION
+
+HE IMPLORETH MERCY FOR OTHER UNFORTUNATE BEINGS
+
+HE DISCOURSETH OF A COMMON PRAYER
+
+HE DISCOURSETH OF TROUBLE AND SORROW
+
+HE MORALIZETH UPON WHAT A DAY MAY BRING FORTH
+
+HAVING REACHED THIRTYSIXTHLY, THE AUTHOR IS ABOUT TO MAKE THE
+"APPLICATION," AND PRAY FORGIVENESS, BUT CONCLUDES BY REMAINING
+INCOG
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+
+PLATE I, NOTHING TO EAT
+
+PLATE II, THE "DINING SALOON"
+
+PLATE III, THE INVITATION TO DINNER
+
+PLATE IV, KITTY MALONE'S INHERITANCE
+
+PLATE V, THE MEAT MARKET
+
+PLATE VI, THE DINNER
+
+PLATE VII, THE WATER CURE
+
+PLATE VIII, AFTER DINNER
+
+
+
+
+NOTHING TO EAT.
+
+Not by the Author of "Nothing to Wear."
+
+
+
+
+
+The Argument
+
+
+ THOUGH famine prevails not at all in the city;
+ Though none of starvation have died in the street;
+ Yet many there are now exciting our pity,
+ Who're daily complaining of nothing to eat.
+
+ The every-day cry and the every-day fare,
+ That's every day heard where the Livewells are dining,
+ Is nothing to eat, or else nothing to wear,
+ Which naked and starving rich Merdles are whining.
+
+ There's Kitty Malone--Mrs. Merdle 'tis now--
+ Was ever on earth here before such a sinner;
+ Protesting, excusing and swearing a vow,
+ She'd nothing worth eating to give us for dinner.
+
+ Why Kitty, if starving for want of a meal,
+ And had'nt a cent in the world to buy meat,
+ You wouldn't exclaim with a more pious zeal,
+ "I'm dying of hunger--we've nothing to eat!!"
+
+
+
+
+The Proof--the Queen of Fashion
+
+
+ The point I advance, if it need confirmation,
+ I'll prove by a witness that few will dispute,
+ A pink of perfection and truth in the naion
+ Where fashion and folly are all of a suit.
+
+ 'Tis "Merdle the banker"--or rather his wife,
+ Whose fashion, religion, or music, or dress,
+ Is followed, consulted, by many through life,
+ As pilots are followed by ships in distress;
+ For money's a pilot, a master, a king,
+ Which men follow blindly through quicksands and shoals,
+ Where pilots their ships in a moment might fling
+ To destruction the vessel and cargo and souls.
+
+ 'Twas money made Kitty of fashion the queen,
+ And fortune oft lends queens the scepter;
+ So fortune and fashion with this one we've seen
+ Her money and fortune in fashion has kept her;
+ While slaves of the queen with her hoops rules the day,
+ Expanding their utmost extent of expansion,
+ And mandates of fashion most freely obey,
+ And would if it bid all their souls to extinction.
+
+
+
+
+The Object aimed at.
+
+
+ But what "lady patron" as queen holds the sway;
+ Or sweeping, whose hoops in the street are most sweeping;
+ The burthen is not of this truth-telling lay,
+ That should in its reading the world set to weeping,
+ While telling the suff'rings from head to the feet,
+ Of poor human beings with _nothing to eat_.
+
+
+
+
+What another Poet did.
+
+
+ Another expounder of life's thorny mazes
+ Excited our pity at fortune's hard fare,
+ And troubled the city's most troublesome places,
+ While singing his ditty of "Nothing to Wear."
+
+ "A tale worth the telling,"' though I tell for the same,
+ Great objects of pity we see in the street,
+ "With nothing to wear, though a legion by name,
+ Is not to buy clothing, but something to eat.
+
+
+
+
+How the Author sometimes Dines.
+
+
+ And now by your leave I will try to expound it,
+ In truth as it is and the way that I found it.
+
+ My dinner, sometimes, like things transcendental
+ And things more substantial, like women and wine
+ A thing is, uncertain, and quite accidental,
+ And sometimes I wonder, "Oh! where shall I dine?"
+
+ It was when reflecting one evening of late,
+ What tavern or hotel or dining-room skinner,
+ With table cloth dirty and dirtier plate,
+ Would give me a nausea and call it a dinner,
+ I met with Jack Merdle, a name fully known
+ As good for a million in Stock-gamblers' Street,
+ Where none but a nabob or forger high flown
+ With "bulls" or with "bears" need look for a seat.
+
+
+
+
+Merdle the Banker.
+
+
+ Now Merdle this day having toss'd with his horns
+ The bears that were pulling so hard at the stocks,
+ And gored every bull that was treading his corns,
+ Had lined all his pockets with "plenty of rocks,"
+ And home now was driving at "two forty" speed,
+ Where dinner was waiting--"a jolly good feed."
+
+ Himself feeling happy, he knew by my looks,
+ A case full of sadness and deep destitution
+ Was present in person, not read of in books,
+ Appealing in pity for an alms institution.
+
+
+
+
+Places Where Mortals Dine.
+
+
+ The case, too, was urgent, for there stood a sinner,
+ Whose fate hung on chance--a chance for his dinner;
+ A chance for all mortals, with truth I assert,
+ Who eat where his chance was, to counteract fate,
+ "To eat during life each a peck of pure dirt"
+ By eating at once the whole peck from one plate.
+ For true when I think of the places we eat at,
+ Or rather the places by hunger when driven
+ We rush in and swallow our bread and our meat at,
+ A bushel good measure in life will be given
+ To those who are living a "boarding-house life,"
+ Or those who are driven by fortune to journey,
+ And eat when we must with so dirty a knife,
+ I wish't could be done by the power of attorney;
+ Or where you must eat in a place called "saloon;"
+ Or "coffee-house" synonym of whisky and rum;
+ (I wish all the breed were sent off to the moon,
+ And earth was well clear of the coffee-house scum;)
+ Or where "Restauration" hangs out for sign,
+ At bar-room or cellar or dirty back room,
+ Where dishcloths for napkins are thought extra fine,
+ And table cloths look as though washed with a broom;
+ Where knives waiters spit on and wipe on their sleeves,
+ And plates needing polish, with coat tails are cleaned;
+ Where priests dine with harlots, and judges with thieves,
+ And mayors with villains his worship has screened.
+
+ [ILLUSTRATION: "WHERE KNIVES WAITERS SPIT ON AND WIPE ON THEIR
+ SLEEVES, AND PLATES NEEDING POLISH, WITH COAT TAILS ARE CLEANED."]
+
+
+
+
+Things That Mortals Eat There.
+
+
+ And what do you eat in the mess there compounded?
+ For roast beef, the gravy the soap-man should claim--
+ The soup some odd things might turn up if sounded,
+ And other "made-dishes" might turn up the same.
+
+ Decoctions that puzzle your chemical skill,
+ You get if you call either coffee or tea;
+ And milk that is made with and tastes of the swill,
+ As like milk, as wine is that often we see
+ Is like to the juice of the grape in perfection,
+ Or like as the candidate after election
+ Is like the fair thing that we hoped or expected
+ Before the base thief was exposed or detected;
+ As like truth and virtue--and more is the pity--
+ The men we elected to rule our own city.
+
+ In "council" while sitting, though "common" we call them,
+ In common opinion, if people at large
+ Are's common in morals, no worse could befal 'em
+ If Satan should take them at once in his charge.
+
+ If food as their filth was as plenty for diet,
+ No lack would they feel of the coveted cash,
+ Or power they maintain with the power of a riot,
+ When heads of opponents are served up as hash
+ By Star-chamber cooks of the club "restoration,"
+ That rules now the city and would rule the nation,
+ If "Sachems" were willing the "Wigwam" to yield,
+ And give the arch-traitor a fair fighting field.
+
+ [Illustration: "JACK WARDEN DROVE UP IN HIS CARRIAGE AND BAYS."]
+
+ But fighting just now is not our intention,
+ But dining with Merdle, the banker, in state,
+ And only these items like side dishes mention,
+ While waiting the coming the main dinner plate.
+
+
+
+
+The Invitation.
+
+
+ While waiting debating I stated before,
+ Jack Merdle drove up in his carriage and bays,
+ "Halloo," said the banker, "I see you're ashore--
+ No wonder--this weather is all in a haze--
+ But come in my carriage, and truly confess
+ You're a victim of hunger and dinner down town;
+ A case of most common distressing distress;
+ When dining in public with Jones, Smith or Brown,
+ Or some other practical men of the nation,
+ Is worse on the whole than a little starvation.
+
+ But come home with me for the sake of Lang Syne,
+ And see Mrs. Merdle and see how we dine.
+
+ I must not expect," he advised in advance,
+ "To meet with a dinner got up in perfection,
+ But must run the risk of the luck and the chance,
+ As candidates do on the day of election."
+
+
+
+
+The Merdle Origin.
+
+
+ Now Merdle, _en passant_, I had known for a score
+ Of years, when a dinner with Jones, Brown or Smith
+ As good as one gets for a quarter or more,
+ Was a thing unthought of, or else but a myth
+ In Merde's day-dreaming of things yet in store,
+ When hope painted visions of a painted abode,
+ And hope never hoped for anything more--
+ I'm sure never dreamed he would dine _a la mode_.
+
+ In dreams wildest fancy I doubt if he dreamed,
+ That time in its changes that wears rocky shores,
+ Should change what so changeless certainly seemed,
+ Till Merdle, Jack Merdle, would own twenty stores,
+ Much more own a bank, e'en the horse that he rode,
+ Or pay half the debts of the wild oats he sowed.
+
+ I knew when he worked at his old father's trade,
+ And thought he would stick to his wax and the last,
+ But Fortune, the fickle, incontinent jade,
+ A turn to his fortune has given a cast;
+ "A wife with a fortune," which men hunt in packs,
+ To Jack was the fortune that fell to his share;
+ A fortune that often is such a hard tax,
+ That men hurry through it with "nothing to spare,"
+ With "nothing to eat," or a house "fit to live in,"
+ With "nothing half decent" to put on their backs,
+ With nothing "exclusive" to have or believe in,
+ "Except what is common to common street hacks."
+
+ So fortune and comfort, that should be like brothers,
+ Though fought for and bled for where fortunes are made,
+ Though sought for and failed of by ten thousand others,
+ Are not worth the fighting and fuss that is made.
+
+ But fortune for Merdle by Cupid was cast,
+ And bade him look higher than wax and the last,
+ That Merdle his father, with good honest trade,
+ Had used with the stitches his waxed end had made.
+
+ I knew when old Merdle lived down by the mill,
+ I often went fishing and Jack dug the bait;
+ But Jack Merdle then never thought he should fill
+ With fish and roast meat such a full dinner plate:
+ Nor I, when my line which I threw for a trout
+ While Jack watched the bob of the light floating cork,
+ Ever thought of the time in a "Merdle turn out"
+ To ride, or to dine with a pearl handle fork
+ In Jack's splendid mansion, where taste, waste and style,
+ Contend for preemption, as then by the mill,
+ Old Merdle contended with fortune the while,
+ For bread wherewithal Jack's belly to fill.
+
+ [Illustration: "I NEVER THOUGHT THEN LITTLE KITTY MALONE, AS HEIR TO
+ OLD CRIPUS WOULD BRING HIM THE CASH."]
+
+ I never thought then little Kitty Malone
+ As heir to old Gripus would bring him the cash,
+ 'Pon which as a banker Jack Merdle has shone,
+ And Kitty in fashion has cut such a dash;
+ Nor when as a girl not a shoe to her feet,
+ She accepted my offers of coppers or candy,
+ She would tell me in satin "we've nothing to eat,"
+ While eating from silver or sipping her brandy,
+ And wond'ring that Merdle, the Jack I have named,
+ Should bring home a friend--('twas thus she exclaimed--
+ The day that I've mentioned--a day to remember--
+ When Merdle and I in his carriage and bays,
+ Through Avenue Five on a day in September,
+ Drove up to a mansion with gas-light ablaze.)
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle At Home.
+
+
+ She Discourseth of Nothing to Eat and the Cost thereof.
+
+ Why Merdle--why did you bring Dinewell to-day?
+ So very, though welcome, so quite unexpected!
+
+ For dinner, if any, I'm sure I can't say,
+ Our servants with washing are all so infected.
+
+ If any's provided, 't is nothing but scraps
+ Of pot-luck or pick up of some common fare;
+ Or something left over from last week perhaps,
+ Which you've brought a friend, and an old one, to share.
+
+ I never, I'm sure now, so much was ashamed,
+ To think he'll discover--what's true to the letter--
+ We've nothing, or next to't that's fit to be named,
+ For one who is used every day to what's better.
+
+ But what can you expect if you come on a Monday?
+ Our French cook's away too, I vow and declare--
+ But if you would see us with something to spare,
+ Let's know when you're coming, or come on a Sunday;
+ For that of all others, for churchmen or sinners,
+ A day is for gorging with extra good dinners.
+
+ [Illustration: "AND THAT IS JUST WHAT, AS OUR BUTCHER EXPLAINS, THE
+ DICKENS HAS PLAYED WITH OUR BEEF AND OUR MUTTON."]
+
+ If Merdle had told me a friend would be here,
+ A dinner I'd get up in spite of the bills--
+ I often tell butcher he's wonderful dear--
+ He says every calf that a butcher now kills,
+ Will cost near as much as the price of a steer,
+ Before all the banks in their discount expanded
+ And flooded the country with 'lamp-black and rags,'
+ Which poor men has ruined and shipwrecked and stranded
+ On Poverty's billows and quick-sands and crags.
+
+ And that is just what, as our butcher explains,
+ The dickens has played with our beef and our mutton;
+ But something is gained, for, with all of his pains,
+ The poor man won't make of himself such a glutton.
+
+ I'm sure if they knew what a sin 't is to eat,
+ When things are all selling at extravagant prices,
+ That poor folks more saving would be of their meat,
+ And learn by example how little suffices.
+
+ I wish they could see for themselves what a table--
+ What examples we set to the laboring poor,
+ In prudence, and saving, in those who are able
+ To live like a king and his court on a tour.
+
+ I feel, I acknowledge, sometimes quite dejected
+ To think, as it happens with you here today,
+ To drop in so sudden and quite unexpected,
+ How poor we are living some people will say.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle goes to Market.
+
+
+ With prices outrageous they charge now for meat,
+ And servants so worthless are every day growing,
+ I wonder we get half enough now to eat,
+ And shouldn't if 't want for the fact of my going
+ To market to cheapen potatoes and beef,
+ And talk to the butchers about their abuses,
+ And listen to stories beyond our belief,
+ They tell while they cheat us, by way of excuses.
+
+ And grocers--do tell us--is 't legal to charge
+ Such prices for sugar, and butter, and flour?
+
+ Oh, why don't the Mayor in his wisdom enlarge
+ Both weight and measure as he does 'doubtful power?'
+
+
+
+
+The Dinner-bell Rings.
+
+
+ Mrs. Merdle Describes the Sufferings of Dyspepsia and its Remedy.
+
+ But come, now, I hear by the sound of the ringing
+ That dinner is ready; and time none to spare
+ To finish our eating in time for the singing
+ At Niblo's; or at Burton's drop in for a stare.
+
+ To 'kill time' the object, whatever the source is,
+ And that is the reason we sit at the table
+ And call for our dinner in slow-coming courses,
+ To kill, while we eat, all the time we are able.
+
+ Though little, I told you, that's worthy your taste
+ You'll find on our table, pray don't think us mean--
+ Your welcome is ample--that's better than waste--
+ Oh! here comes the soup in a silver tureen--
+ 'Tis mock turtle too--so good for digestion:
+ That kills me by inches, the wretched complaint
+ Dyspepsia--to cure which, I take by suggestion
+ Port-wine in the soup, when I feel slightly faint.
+
+
+
+
+The Dinner Table Talk.
+
+
+ Now soup, if you like made of beef very nice,
+ You'll find this the next thing to the height of perfection;
+ And eaten with ketchup, or thickened with rice,
+ Will suit you I know, if this is your selection.
+
+ My own disposition to this one inclines,
+ But dreadful dyspepsia destroys all the pleasure
+ Of dinner, except it's well tinctured with wines
+ Which plan I adopt as a health-giving measure.
+
+ A table well ordered, well furnished, and neat,
+ No wonder our nature for ever is tempting;
+ And I'd like to know if Mahomet could beat
+ Its pleasures--dyspepsia for ever exempting--
+ With all that he promised in paradise gained,
+ With Houris attendant in place of the churls
+ With which we are worried, tormented, and pained--
+ The colored men servants, or green Irish girls.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle doubts Paradise's Uneating Pleasure.
+
+
+ Though Houris are handsome, though lovely the place--
+ More lovely perhaps than our own country seat--
+ I never could see, in the light of free grace
+ What pleasure they have there with nothing to eat.
+
+ With nothing to wear, if the climate is suiting,
+ We might get along I am sure pretty well;
+ No washing and starching and crimping and fluting,
+ No muslin and laces and trouble of dressing, they tell,
+ E'er troubles the women, or bothers the men,
+ Who soon grow accustomed, as people do here,
+ To fashions prevailing, and things that they ken;
+ To dresses fore-shortened where bosoms appear;
+ To bonnets that show but a rose in the wearing;
+ To dresses that sweep like a besom the street;
+ To dresses so gauzy the hoops through are seen;
+ To shoes quite as gauzy to cover the feet;
+ But watch how a man here goes raving and swearing,
+ At wife and all hands, if they've nothing to eat!
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Discourseth of Things Earthly.
+
+
+ No matter how costly or flimsy her dresses,
+ The angel you honor with your kind attentions;
+ No matter how foolish her wardrobe inventions,
+ You love her, or say so, from slipper to tresses;
+ But, presto! you call her the greatest of sinners,
+ Though smiling, she treats you to badly cooked dinners;
+ Which proves where the seat is of men's best affections,
+ With which 'pon their honor they extol us as wives,
+ And treat us at dinner with sagest reflections,
+ Of beauty, and duty we owe all our lives
+ To you, noble lords, of this mundane creation;
+ Which, judging from some things they tell us,
+ Was made for the creatures of this trading nation,
+ Who make it a business to buy us and sell us,
+ Like 'Erie,' or 'Central,' or other such stocks;
+ With care, when they bid for a very 'Miss Nancy,'
+ That she's of a stock that the brokers call 'fancy,'
+ Or else has a pocket 'chuck full of the rocks'--
+ The rocks that are wrecking each day of their sailing,
+ More fortunes than ever in ocean were swallowed;
+ Where 'ventures' of marriage their victims impaling
+ With mammon and mis'ry together have wallowed.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Discourseth of Things Eatable.
+
+
+ Now Colonel, to husband you need not be winking,
+ While wiping the soup with a smile from your lips;
+ I know just as well as he does how you're thinking
+ The soup is as tasteless as though made of chips.
+
+ You need not deny it, and swear that no better
+ Concocted was ever in London or Paris;
+ Remember the praises you gave in your letter
+ Of cooking and eating you wrote to Miss Harris.
+
+ Now, Colonel, don't offer a word more to flatter--
+ The soup may be so-so, but wait for the meat;
+ And after you've seen the last dish, plate, or platter,
+ You'll own then, I'm certain, we've nothing to eat--
+ That is compared, as described to Miss Harris,
+ With all the best tables you eat at in Paris.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Ordereth the Second Course.
+
+
+ Come, John, Jane, and Susan, the soup take away,
+ And bring in the turbot, the sheep's head and bass;
+ And have you got lobster and salad to-day?
+ And see that the celery's all right in the glass.
+
+ Now fish--Colonel Dinewell, which fish will you try?
+ And how shall I dress it to suit your nice taste?
+ For sauce to the fish is as love to the sigh,
+ Imperfect, it's worthless, and both prove a waste.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Discourseth of Hygiene and Fish Sauce.
+
+
+ But this is concocted by rules so complete;
+ Though piquant, is healthy and easy digested;
+ And if you will note it as slowly we eat,
+ The contents I'll give for our friends interested.
+
+ Imprimus: in fish stock, an onion we stew,
+ And anchovy essence two spoonfuls we add;
+ With butter, horse-radish, and lemons a few;
+ Mushrooms, too, in ketchup is not very bad;
+ And pickle of walnuts with onions chopped fine,
+ To which there is added some old sherry wine.
+
+ My doctor, so queer, when I suffer distress,
+ Inquires what I've latterly foolishly eaten,
+ And swears that to swallow this 'horrible mess,'
+ Would entitle a dog like a dog to be beaten.
+
+ But la! such a doctor knows nothing of women's complaints,
+ And talks Latin nonsense about 'regular diet;'
+ And thinks that us mortals--should live more like saints,
+ On moonshine and nonsense of a heavenly quiet.
+
+ He says that a woman of my plaint complaining,
+ If she was a woman at all half discreet,
+ Would shudder to think every day she is maiming
+ Her stomach with trash, and such stuff as we eat!
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Describeth her Doctor.
+
+
+ But he's an old fogy, you may know by this sign--
+ He don't smoke tobacco, drink lager or wine;
+ And swears that rich gravy, roast pork or chop,
+ Would kill a big ostrich, if stuffed in his crop.
+
+ He told me one day 'bout the pain in my feet,
+ 'I see what 't is ails you--you've nothing to eat!'
+
+ Provoking, absurd, foolish hint that my health
+ Was injured by eating what station and wealth
+ And fashion give right for my sex to enjoy
+ In spite of the doctors we choose to employ.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Discourseth again on Dinner.
+
+
+ But you are not eating, and I fear that the fish,
+ Or else 't is the gravy's not done to your wish.
+
+ You're starving while waiting for something to eat--
+ Thank fortune I told you how poorly we live--
+ I hope John now will give us a piece of roast meat,
+ Or else such a dinner you'd never forgive.
+
+ Why yes, Merdle, look, there is beef on that dish--
+ Jane Hill, don't you see, there's a plate here to shift--
+ That John is now bringing--'t is all he can lift--
+ And Colonel, that turkey, you know 't is my wish--
+ You know that Excelsior's your motto in carving--
+ As nothing more now we shall have on the table
+ "We'll eat and give thanks this day that we're able
+ To keep our poor bodies entirely from starving.
+
+ Now Susan's this all that you've been able to pick up?
+ Oh, no! there's a ham, and it's done to a turn
+ So nice, that the nose of a Jew needn't stick up;
+ And a tongue--well, a tongue I never could spurn;
+ It's nice while the wine at our leisure we sip;
+ And good with a cracker in wine we can dip.
+
+ [Illustration: "MY APPETITE'S NONE OF THE BEST AND SO I MUST PAMPER
+ THE DELICATE THING. AND TICKLE A FANCY THAT'S VERY CAPRICIOUS WITH
+ BITS OF A TURKEY, THE BREAST OR THE WING. WITH KIRF VERY TENDER AND
+ GRAVY DELICIOUS."]
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Accepteth of a slight Dinner, suitable for a Woman suffering with Dyspepsia.
+
+
+ Some turkey? why yes--the least mite will suffice;
+ A side bone and dressing and bit of the breast;
+ The tip of the rump--that's it--and one o' the fli's--
+ In spite of the doctor: my appetite's none of the best,
+ And so I must pamper the delicate thing,
+ And tickle a fancy that's very capricious
+ With bits of a turkey, the breast or the wing,
+ With beef very tender, and gravy delicious.
+
+ Some beef now? I thank you, not any at present;
+ I'll nibble a little at what I have got,
+ And wish for a duck, or a grouse, or a pheasant,
+ Though none of them come for a wish, in the pot.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Discourseth of Wishes and her Sufferings.
+
+
+ 'If wishes were horses'--I've heard when a girl--
+ 'If wishes were horses, the beggars would ride'--
+ If wishes were pheasants, I'd wish with a skirl
+ Till cooked ones came flying and sat by my side.
+
+ A fig, then, for doctors, their tinctures and drugs;
+ Good eating would cure me, with plenty of game;
+ And as for pill boxes, and bottles, and jugs,
+ I wouldn't know one, when I saw it, by name.
+
+ Oh, dear! such a load now my stomach oppresses,
+ While eating these trifles, attempting to dine--
+ I'm sure 'taint the turkey--it must be my dresses--
+ And if so 't will ease them to sip sherry wine.
+
+ 'Tis sad, though, to be such a sad invalid--
+ Dear me, Colonel Dinewell, you've done eating meat--
+ Your doctor, like mine, I hope hasn't forbid,
+ That you shouldn't have, as I do, so little to eat.
+ Ah! well then, I see, though I've hardly begun,
+ The meats and the solids must go right away;
+ So bring in the pudding, if Susan's got one,
+ Which will for a while one's appetite stay.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Discourseth of Pudding.
+
+
+ A pudding! why yes, as I live, too, it's plum;
+ So plain, Susan makes them on purpose for me
+ I never refuse, when the plum puddings come,
+ To finish my dinner, if finished 't can be
+ On things unsubstantial, like puddings and pies,
+ So made up of suet, and currants, and flour,
+ Like this one before us, to get up the size,
+ And stirred up and beaten with eggs by the hour,
+ With bread crumbs, and citron, and small piece of mace;
+ With nutmeg, and cinnamon, and sugar, and milk,
+ And" currants, and raisins, and spices so race,
+ And what else I know not of things of that ilk.
+
+ The whole after cooking six hours at the least,
+ When thus well compounded with delicate skill,
+ With wine sauce is eaten, to finish the feast,
+ And suits the digestion of ladies quite ill,
+ Who suffer as I do, from having bad cooks,
+ And very weak stomachs, and food that near kills 'em;
+ And then such a sight of bad rules in the books
+ From contents to finis, to cure one that fills 'em.
+
+ [Illustration: "FOR NOTHING TO CURE WITH IS USED BUT COLD WATER: AND
+ WHAT WITH THE BATHING AND WASHING AND SCRUBBING--"]
+
+ There's one of all others so much recommended
+ To cure every ill of old Eve's every daughter,
+ With nothing or next to't, for medicine expended,
+ For nothing to cure with is used but cold water.
+
+ And what with the bathing, and washing, and scrubbing;
+ The packing, and sweating, and using the sheet;
+ The shower bath, and douche bath, and all sorts of rubbing;
+ And literally nothing but brown bread to eat,
+ No wonder the patient accepts of the lure,
+ To escape such a ducking, acknowledged a cure.
+
+ But Lord, what a skein I have made of my yarn,
+ While Susan's arranging and changing the plates,
+ And running all round old Robin Hood's barn,
+ Like puzzles at school that we made on our slates;
+ But talking of puzzles, no one that we made,
+ While playing the fool we played as a trade,
+ When childhood and folly joined hands at the schools,
+ Could equal the pranks of these cold-water fools.
+
+ Yes, yes, Mr. Merdle, I knew by the smelling
+ The pudding was ready, without any telling;
+ So Colonel, I'll help you a delicate slice--
+ For nothing, I'm sure, like a dinner you've eaten--
+ And afterwards follow with jelly and ice,
+ So pleasant while waiting to cool off the heat on;
+ And then with a syllabub, comfit, or cream,
+ Our dessert of almonds and raisins we'll nibble,
+ Till coffee comes in to revive with it's steam,
+ When cakes in its fragrance we'll leisurely dibble.
+
+ I'm sure after all it's a terrible bore
+ To labor so hard as we do for our victuals;
+ I envy the women that beg at the door,
+ Or hire out for wages to handle your kettles,
+ And wash, bake, and iron, and do nothing but cooking,
+ So rugged and healthy, and often good looking:
+ The doctor has told me except when they're mothers,
+ They never take tincture, or rhubarb, or pill,
+ And swears the profession if there were no others,
+ Their patients would use up, and starve out and kill.
+
+ I'm sure I don't see how that makes them exempt
+ From all sorts of sickness and woman's complaints,
+ With nothing to hinder if appetite tempt
+ From eating or drinking as happy as saints.
+
+ Oh Lord, now, this pudding so delicate made,
+ And gravy I'm sure with nothing that's rich in,
+ That one of those women who beg as a trade,
+ The whole in one stomach could leisurely pitch in,
+ Is now in my own so terribly painful in feeling,
+ Its calls for relief are most loudly appealing.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Discourseth of the necessity of good Wine and other Matters.
+
+
+ So while we are eating the fruits of the vine,
+ Don't let us forget such a health giving juice,
+ As Champagne, or Sherbet, or other good wine,
+ Nor sin by neglecting its 'temperate use.'
+
+ Now Sherbet, my husband extols to the skies,
+ With me though, my stomach is weak and won't bear it:
+ And Sherry, though sometimes affecting my eyes,
+ A bottle with pleasure we'll open and share it.
+
+ Ha, ha, well-a-day--what a queer world to live in,
+ If one were contented on little to dine,
+ We need not be longing another to be in,
+ Where women, they tell us, exist without wine;
+ Where husbands are happy and women content;
+ Where dresses, though gauzy, are fit for the street;
+ Where no one is wretched with purses unbent,
+ With nothing to wear and nothing to eat.
+
+ Where women no longer are treated la Turk,
+ Where husbands descended from Saxon or Norman,
+ For women when sickly are willing to work,
+ And not long for Utah and pleasures la Mormon--
+ Where men freely marry and live with their wives,
+ And not live as you do, mon Colonel, so single.
+
+ Such wretched and dinnerless bachelor lives;
+ You don't know the pleasure there is in the tingle
+ Of ears pricked by lectures, la curtain, au Caudle,
+ Or noise of young Dinewells beginning to toddle;
+ While plodding all day with your paper and quills,
+ And copy, and proof sheets, and work for the printer,
+ Pray what do you know of the housekeeper's bills,
+ And other such 'pleasures of hope' for the winter?
+
+ You men, selfish creatures, think all of the care
+ Of living and keeping yourselves in existence,
+ Is due to your own daily labor, and share,
+ From breakfast to dinner of business persistance;
+ While woman is either a plaything or drudge,
+ According to station of wealth or position,
+ Which men help along with a word or a nudge
+ To heaven high up or low down to perdition.
+
+ But what was I saying of a world free from care,
+ Of eating and drinking and dresses to wear?
+
+ Where women by husbands are never tormented,
+ And never asked money where husbands dissented?
+ And never see others, their rivals, in fashion ahead,
+ And never have doctors--a woman's great dread--
+ And nothing, I hope, like my own indigestion,
+ To torment and starve them, as this one does me,
+ And keep them from sipping--forgive the suggestion--
+ The nectar etherial they drink for their tea.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle Suggesteth that Dinner being finished, the Gentlement will Smoke. In the meantime, she Discourseth.
+
+
+ "Now Merdle--now Colonel--I know you are waiting.
+ And thinking my talking to eating's a bar,
+ Still hoping, by tasting, my appetite sating,
+ Will give you the license to smoke a cigar.
+
+ [Illustration: "WILL GIVE YOU THE LICENSE TO SMOKE A CIGAR"]
+
+ Well then, I've done now, and hope too you've dined,
+ As well as down town where you dine for a shilling,
+ At Taylor's, or Thompson's, or one of the kind,
+ Where mortals are flocking each day for their filling;
+ Or else at the Astor where bachelors quarter,
+ Where port holes for windows give light to the room,
+ Far out of the region of Eve's every daughter,
+ So high they are stuck up away toward the moon.
+
+ Though as for the 'stuck up' no walls built of brick,
+ Or granite, or marble, or dirty red sand,
+ Could stick up a man who himself's but a stick,
+ An inch above where he would naturally stand.
+
+ To witness the truth of this final assertion,
+ I call you to witness the sticks at the door,
+ Where they make it a daily, a 'manly' diversion,
+ To ogle each woman, and sometimes do more,
+ Who passes the hotel that's named by a saint,
+ Where boorish bad manners give room for complaint.
+
+ Where idlers and loafers, with gamblers a few,
+ Make up for the nonce the St. Nicholas crew.
+
+ The 'outside barbarians,' I freely confess,
+ Who ogle our faces and ogle our dress,
+ Who spit where we walk as dirty a puddle
+ As bipeds can make when their brains are 'a muddle,'
+ Do not prove the inside is as dirty as they are,
+ Or else the gods help all the ladies who stay there.
+
+ Why any prefer in a hotel to stay,
+ Instead of a house of their choosing to own,
+ Is just to avoid all the trouble, they say,
+ That servants to give us are certainly prone,
+ I'm sure if a tyranny more terrible prevails,
+ In Austria or other despotic domain,
+ My memory where most certainly fails,
+ That servants and milliners over us gain,
+ Just here in New York, and the more is the pity,
+ Where Wood is the Mogul that governs the city.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Merdle, having "Nibbled a Little" for two Hours at Dinner, retireth from the Table unsatisfied.
+
+
+ "Impatient--oh yes--just the way with you men!
+
+ I never have time to half finish my eating
+ Ere Merdle is done; such a fidget is then,
+ He'd starve me I think rather 'n miss of a meeting
+ Where brokers preside o'er the fate of the stocks,
+ As Pales presided o'er shepherds and flocks.
+
+ Now while you are smoking--what nonsense and folly--
+ I'll go to my room.--don't say No, for I must--
+ Put on a new dress, with assistance of Molly,
+ And then with a little strong tea and a crust,
+ My strength I may hope for a walk will be able
+ As far as the gate, and a very short ride,
+ To give me a relish again for the table--
+ What else do we live for in this world beside?"
+
+
+
+
+The Poet Moralizeth--He Discourseth to those who Gorge and Complain.
+
+
+ Oh! Kitty Malone--Mrs. Merdle 'tis now--
+ Was there ever on earth than this, greater folly?
+
+ Still gorging, while groaning, and swearing a vow,
+ That yours is a case of most sad melancholy.
+
+ With table that Croesus never had but might covet,
+ You live but to eat and to eat 'cause you love it;
+ And yet while you swallow great sirloins of meat
+ Complain like a beggar of nothing to eat.
+
+
+
+
+He Discourseth of the Wherefore of Bachelorism.
+
+
+ "What else do we live for in this world beside?"
+
+ Alas! 't is the question of ten times a day,
+ That comes on the wind, or that floats on the tide,
+ And creeps in the houses where men go to pray.
+
+ What else do we live for than get such a wife
+ As this of the banker of our faint description?
+
+ What else is the end of our fashionable life
+ From which men escape as they would from conscription?
+
+ What else is the reason so few natives marry,
+ Than this, that extravagance leads on to ruin?
+
+ It is because few men are able to carry
+ The load of this baking and roasting and stewing,
+ Of buying and wasting extravagant meat,
+ Where women are dying of "nothing to eat;"
+ Where men in corruption so rapidly tending,
+ In morals and wealth in bankruptcy ending.
+
+ That forging and stealing and breaches of trust,
+ And ten thousand arts of the confidence game,
+ And follies uncounted of men "on a bust,"
+ Are follies and crimes of this age to our shame,
+ Till angels who witness the folly so wide
+ Extended from palace to farm-house and cot,
+ Might wonder if mortals life's objects forgot,
+ Or Merdle's position is man's common lot?
+
+
+
+
+He Discourseth of What some Mortals Live for.
+
+
+ "What else do they live for in this world beside?"
+
+ What else but for Kittys or one of the same,
+ Do mothers their daughters at schools give the touch
+ That leaves them to live as a wife but in name
+ While position and fashion they frantically clutch.
+
+ What else do they live for, our girls so refined,
+ So forward, precocious, and gifted at ten
+ They are flirting and courting and things of the kind,
+ That never came under our grandmother's ken.
+
+ At fifteen so dressed up, and hooped up, I ween,
+ They're mothers full often before they're sixteen,
+ And fading and dowdy and sickly at twenty,
+ With one boy in trowsers and two girls in laces
+ Complaining of starving while dying of plenty
+ The fate is of ladies in fashionable places.
+
+
+
+
+He Imploreth Mercy upon those condemned with fashionable folly to Marry, and Illustrateth their Condition.
+
+
+ Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretch,
+ Who marries for money or fashion or folly;
+ He'd better accept of the noose of Jack Ketch
+ Than such a "help-meet;" or at once marry Dolly
+ The cook, or with Bridget, the maid of the broom;
+ With one he'd be sure to get coffee and meat,
+ And never hear whining of nothing to eat,
+ And 't other would make up his bed and his room;
+ And if he was blest with a child now and then,
+ As happens sometimes with your fashionable wives,
+ Who're coupled to bipeds, in nature called men,
+ He'd need no insurance to warrant their lives;
+ And need no expense of a grand "bridal tour,"
+ Or visit each season at "watering places,"
+ Where fashion at people well known to be poor,
+ In money or station, will make ugly faces;
+ Where women, though married, with roues will flirt;
+ Where widows, though widows in fresh sable weeds,
+ Spread nets that entangle like old Nessus' shirt
+ And finish with Burdell and Cunningham deeds;
+ Where daughters when fading are taken to spend
+ A month at the springs, or a week in salt water;
+ Where bachelors flirting on Ellen attend,
+ Are whispered by mamma, "engaged to my daughter."
+
+
+
+
+He Imploreth Merry for other Unfortunate Beings.
+
+
+ Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretches
+ Who stay on the earth like this Mrs. Merdle!
+
+ More wretched than ever a wretch on the hurdle
+ Was drawn by all England's official Jack Ketches;
+ More wretched, if can be, at church on a Sunday
+ A woman, who worships, than God, more her dress,
+ Would be if she heard or e'en thought Mrs. Grundy
+ Would sneer at the set of a bonnet or tress;
+ Or say that she thought Miss Freelove's new pattern
+ Of laces, or collars, or yard flowing sleeves,
+ Looked more like the dress of a real Miss Slattern
+ And not "so becoming"'s the first one of Eve's.
+
+
+
+
+He Discourseth of a Common Prayer.
+
+
+ Yet look at the thousands whose every day prayer,
+ Far more than their own or their neighbor's salvation,
+ Absorbs every thought, every dream, and all care,
+ "To eat or to wear, is anything new in creation?"
+
+
+
+
+He Discourseth of Trouble and Sorrow.
+
+
+ What else do they live for? They live but for this;
+ And nothing but this ever troubles their thinking;
+ Rich eating, rich dressing, and flirting's their bliss,
+ And life's better purposes constantly blinking.
+
+ Their life's but a tissue of trouble and sorrow
+ Of what is the fashion or will be to-morrow.
+
+
+
+
+He Moralizeth upon what a Day may Bring forth.
+
+
+ "To-morrow!" who'll warrant to-morrow we'll see?
+
+ Who'll care the next day or day after for dinner?
+
+ Or what the next fashion of new dress will be?
+
+ Or who Mrs. Grundy will say is the winner?
+
+ Having reached Thirtysixthly, the Author is
+ about to Make the "Application," and Pray
+ forgiveness, but concludes by remaining Incog.
+
+ "Who'll care for, to-morrow, for this bit of scandal,
+ With malice prepense that a cynic has written?
+
+ (That's what they will say when the poem they handle,
+ Who feel 'tis themselves whom the mad dog has bitten;
+ And wish he was treated as dogs with the rabies
+ Are treated, to stop his unmannerly bark;
+ Or packed off to bed as you do naughty babies,
+ To sleep, or be frightened all alone in the dark.)
+
+ Who'll care? why the author of this ugly poem--
+ He'll care--for a reason--that all of you read it--
+ He'll care for the cash you'll give--Oh! how he needs it--
+ (Oh! what would you give, ladies dear, just to know him?--)
+
+ But that, by your leave, by the aid of the elf
+ The printer employs, he will keep to himself.
+
+ He knows, if you knew him, what fate he would meet;
+ At every table you'd give him--nothing to eat.
+
+ Excuse then, dear ladies, the author his shyness,
+ And accept his conge at the end of this
+
+ FINIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nothing to Eat, by
+Horatio Alger and Thomas Chandler Haliburton
+
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