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 

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