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?'

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.

Little Charlie.

Horatio Alger, Jr., Simple Poetry

The Church At Stratford-On-Avon.

Horatio Alger, Jr., Simple Poetry

Gone To The War.

Horatio Alger, Jr., Simple Poetry

Mrs. Browning's Grave At Florence.

Horatio Alger, Jr., Simple Poetry

English

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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 ...

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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 N...

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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;...

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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.

Horatio Alger, Jr.

Nothing To Eat. 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!!"

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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.