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 

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