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.

Horatio Alger, Jr.

Horatio Alger, Jr. was a prolific 19th-century American author, best known for his many young adult novels about impoverished boys who rise from humble backgrounds to lives of middle-class security and comfort through hard work, determination, courage, and honesty. His works, which typically feature a rags-to-riches narrative, were immensely popular and instilled the American Dream ideal. Alger's stories were a reflection of the societal values of his time. However, despite his success as a writer, he lived a rather modest life and never married.

Horatio Alger, Jr.

How The Author Sometimes Dines.

Horatio Alger, Jr., Simple Poetry

The Church At Stratford-On-Avon.

Horatio Alger, Jr., Simple Poetry

Song Of The Croaker.

Horatio Alger, Jr., Simple Poetry

He Discourseth Of What Some Mortals Live For.

Horatio Alger, Jr., Simple Poetry

English

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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 ...

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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...

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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.

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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.

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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 suffe...

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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?
...

Horatio Alger, Jr.