f LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. % 
 
 Chap, 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. S 
 
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Nothing to Eat. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 
 J^*-NOT "^ 
 
 gg i\t %nt\n 0f '' gotbhtg ta Mmr 
 
 " I ni nibble a little at what I have got." 
 
 "My appetite's none of the host, 
 
 And so I must pamper the delicate thing/ 
 "The least mite willsuflicc; 
 
 A side bone and dressing and bit of the breast. 
 The tip of the rump— that's it— and one of the fli's." 
 
 NEW TO 
 
 DICK AND FITZGERALD, 
 
 No. 18 Akn Strekt. 
 1857. 
 
f^\ 
 
 > 
 
 v^^' 
 
 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. 
 
 KDWARI) O. JENKINS 
 
 ipiintfr anU 5tfrfO'42pec» 
 2C Frankforl St. 
 
TO ALL LADIES " DYING WITH DYSPEPSIA. 
 
 *♦ Wif)txe fa0^ion anti follg are all of a suft." 
 
 BY A JOLLY GOOD NATURED 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
xtha. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FAOB 
 
 THE AEGUMENT 9 
 
 THE PROOF— THE QUEEN OF FASHION 11 
 
 THE OBJECT AIMED AT 18 
 
 WHAT ANOTHER POET DID 14 
 
 HOW THE AUTHOR SOMETIMES DINES 15 
 
 MERDLE THE BANKER 17 
 
 PLACES WHERE MORTALS DINE 18 
 
 THINGS THAT MORTALS EAT THERE 24 
 
 THE INVITATION 29 
 
 THE MERDLE ORIGIN . . . .• 81 
 
 MRS. MERDLE AT HOME 40 
 
 MRS. MERDLE GOES TO MARKET 4T 
 
 THE DINNER-BELL RINGS 49 
 
 THE DINNER TABLE TALK 51 
 
 MRS. MERDLE DOUBTS PARADISE'S UNEATING PLEASURES 5S 
 MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF THINGS EARTHLY ... 56 
 MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF THINGS EATABLE . . 59 
 MRS. MERDLE ORDERETH THE SECOND COURSE ... 61 
 MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF HYGIENE AND FISH SAUCE 62 
 
 MRS. MERDLE DESCRIBETH HER DOCTOR 66 
 
 MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH AGAIN ON DINNER ... 66 
 MRS. MERDLE ACCEPTETH OF A SLIGHT DINNER, SUIT- 
 ABLE FOR A WOMAN SUFFERING WITH DYSPEPSIA . 71 
 MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF WISHES AND HER SUF- 
 FERINGS 73 
 
 MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF PUDDING . . . . 76 
 
VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGH 
 
 MRS. MEEDLE DISGOUESETH OF THE NECESSITY OF GOOD 
 
 WINE AND OTHER MATTERS 86 
 
 MRS, MERDLE SUGGESTETH THAT DINNER BEING FINISH- 
 ED, THE GENTLEMEN WILL SMOKE. IN THE MEAN- 
 TIME, SHE DISCOUESETH 92 
 
 MRS. MERDLE, HAVING "NIBBLED A LITTLE" FOR TWO 
 HOURS AT DINNER, RETIRETH FROM THE TABLE UN- 
 SATISFIED 99 
 
 THE POET MORALIZETH.— HE DISCOUESETH TO THOSE 
 
 WHO GOEGE AND COMPLAIN 101 
 
 HE DISCOUESETH OF THE WHEEEFOEE OF BACHELOEISM 102 
 HE DISCOUESETH OF WHAT SOME MOETALS LIVE FOR . 105 
 HE IMPLOEETH MEECY UPON THOSE WHO ARE CONDEMN- 
 ED WITH FASHIONABLE FOLLY TO MARRY, AND ILLUS- 
 
 TRATETH THEIR CONDITION 107 
 
 HE IMPLORETH MERCY FOR OTHER UNFORTUNATE 
 
 BEINGS 110 
 
 HE DISCOUESETH OF A COMMON PEAYER .... 112 
 HE DISCOUESETH OF TEOUBLE AND SOEEOW .... 113 
 HE MOEALIZETH UPON WHAT A DAY MAY BEING FOETH 114 
 HAVING EEACHED THIRTYSIXTHLY, THE AUTHOR IS 
 ABOUT TO MAKE THE " APPLICATION," AND PRAY FOR- 
 GIVENESS, BUT CONCLUDES BY REMAINING INCOG. . 116 
 
 ILLUSTEATIONS. 
 
 Plate I, NOTHING TO EAT Feontispeeok 
 
 Plate II, THE "DINING SALOON" 22 
 
 Plate III, THE INVITATION TO DINNER 28 
 
 Plate IV, KITTY MALONE'S INHERITANCE 87 
 
 Plate V, THE MEAT MARKET 44 
 
 Plate VI, THE DINNER 70 
 
 Plate VII, THE WATER CURE 80 
 
 Plate VUI, AFTER DINNER ........ 92 
 
^0j|ing 10 ^Et. 
 
 M^- g;ot '^©ll hg i^t gittt^0r 0f '' fotfemg t0 ^ear/' 
 
 i^^f^HOUGH 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 Ve 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, 
 
 1* [9] 
 
lo Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 — weVe nothing to 
 
 eat!!" 
 
Nothing to Eat. ii 
 
 ^t '§xaaf—i\t (^mm 0f |as|wn. 
 
 HE point I advance, if it need con- 
 
 ^^ firmation, 
 
 I'll prove bj a witness that few will dis- 
 pute, 
 
 A pink of perfection and truth in the na- 
 tion 
 
 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 ; 
 
12 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 For money's a pilot, a master, a king, 
 Which men follow blindly through quick- 
 sands 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 weH^e 
 
 seen 
 Her money and fortune in fashion has kept 
 
 her ; 
 While slaves of the queen with her hoops 
 
 rules the day, 
 
Nothing to Eat. 13 
 
 Expanding their utmost extent of expan- 
 sion, 
 And mandates of fashion most freely obey, 
 And would if it bid all their souls to ex- 
 tinction. 
 
 UT 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-telhng lay, 
 That should in its reading the world set 
 
 to weeping, 
 
14 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 While telling the sufferings from head to 
 
 the feet, 
 Of poor human beings with nothing to eat. 
 
 NOTHER 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, 
 
Nothing to Eat. 15 
 
 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. 
 
 |0to t\t ^ut\ax smttm^ §m. 
 
 ND 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 transcend- 
 ental 
 And things more substantial, like women 
 and wine 
 
i6 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 skin- 
 ner, 
 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. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 17 
 
 I 
 
 iltrWj tilt "gmhx. 
 
 O^OW Merdle this day having toss'd 
 
 with his horns 
 The bears that were puUing 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 *Hwo forty'' 
 
 speed, 
 Where dinner was waiting — ''a jolly good 
 
 feed/' 
 
i8 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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. 
 
 |tos \xi\m ll0ttals §mt 
 
 HE 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 as- 
 sert, 
 
Nothing to Eat. 19 
 
 Who eat where his chance was, to coun- 
 teract fate, 
 
 '^ To eat during Hfe 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 
 
 , Hfe," 
 Or those who are driven by fortune to 
 journey, 
 
20 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 ^^coflfee-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, 
 
> S 
 (a 5 
 
 O ;:; 
 
Nothing to Eat. 23 
 
 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. 
 
24 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 ND 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 
 
Nothing to Eat. 25 
 
 Is like to the juice of the grape in perfection, 
 Or Hke as the candidate after election 
 Is like the fair thing that we hoped or ex- 
 pected 
 Before the base thief was exposed or de- 
 tected ; 
 
 As like truth and virtue — and more is the 
 pity — 
 
 The men we elected to rule our own city. 
 
 In *' council^' while sitting, though ''com- 
 mon'' we call them. 
 
 In common opinion, if people at large 
 
 Are 's common in mofals, no worse could 
 befal 'em 
 
 If Satan should take them at once in his 
 charge. 
 
26 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 ^'re- 
 storation,'* 
 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. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 29 
 
 But fighting just now is not our intention, 
 But dining with Merdle, the banker, in state, 
 And only these items Uke side dishes men- 
 tion, 
 While waiting the coming the main dinner 
 plate. 
 
 ^l^^HILE waiting debating I stated be- 
 
 ^^^^ fore, 
 
 Jack Merdle drove up in his carriage and 
 
 bays, 
 ** Halloo," said the banker, '^1 see you're 
 
 ashore — 
 No wonder — this weather is all in a haze — 
 
30 Nothing to Eat. I 
 
 s - 
 
 But come in my carriage, and truly con- 
 fess I 
 
 You're a victim of hunger and dinner 
 down town ; 
 
 A case of most common distressing dis- 
 
 tress ; | 
 
 When dining in pubhc with Jones, Smith 
 or Brown, 
 
 Or some other practical men of the na- 
 tion, \ 
 
 Is worse on the whole than a little star- ! 
 vation. 
 
 But come home with me for the sake of \ 
 Lang Syne, | 
 
 And see Mrs, Merdle and see how we i 
 dine. ! 
 
Nothing to Eat. 31 
 
 I must not expect/' he advised in advance, 
 
 **To meet with a dinner got up in per- 
 fection, ^ 
 
 But must run the risk of the luck and 
 the chance, 
 
 As candidates do on the day of election/' 
 
 »■ 
 
 O^OW 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 
 
32 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 In Merdle'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, 
 
Nothing to Eat. 33 
 
 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," 
 2^ 
 
34 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 be- 
 lieve 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 for- 
 tunes are made. 
 
 Though sought for and failed of by ten 
 thousand others. 
 
 Are not worth the fighting and fuss that is 
 made. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 35 
 
 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 din- 
 ner plate : 
 
36 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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. 
 I never thought then little Kitty Malone 
 As heir to old Gripus would bring him 
 
 the cash, 
 
!?; CO 
 
 5 2 
 
 o o 
 
 
Nothing to Eat. 39 
 
 Ton 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 — 
 
4-0 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 The day that IVe mentioned — a day to 
 
 remember — 
 When Merdle and I in his carriage and 
 
 bays, 
 
 Through Avenue Five on a day in Sep- 
 tember, 
 
 Drove up to a mansion with gas-light a- 
 
 blaze.) 
 
 XL Mtx^ilt at 3mt 
 
 ^^OJ^^^VHY Merdle — why did you bring 
 
 ^^^^^ Dinewell to-day? 
 So very, though welcome, so quite unex- 
 pected ! 
 
Nothing to Eat. 41 
 
 For dinner, if any, I'm sure I can't say, 
 
 Our servants with washing are all so in- 
 fected. 
 
 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 '11 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. 
 
42 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 ■ 
 
 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 din- 
 ners. 
 If Merdle had told me a friend would be 
 
 here, 
 A dinner I 'd get up in spite of the 
 
 bills — 
 
AND THAT IS JUST WHAT, AS OUR BUTCHER EXPLAINS, 
 
 THE DICKENS HAS PLAYED WITH OUR BEEF AND OUR MUTTON.' 
 
Nothing to Eat. 45 
 
 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 ex- 
 panded 
 
 And flooded the country with ^ lamp-black 
 and rags,' 
 
 Which poor men has ruined and ship- 
 wrecked and stranded 
 
 On Poverty's billows and quick-sands and 
 crags. 
 
 And that is just what, as our butcher ex- 
 plains. 
 
 The dickens has played with our beef and 
 our mutton ; 
 
4.6 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 hke a king and his court on a tour. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 4.7 
 
 I feel, I acknowledge, sometimes quite de- 
 jected 
 
 To think, as it happens with you here to- 
 day, 
 
 To drop in so sudden and quite unex- 
 pected, 
 
 How poor we are living some people will 
 say. 
 
 xs. llerMe ^m ia ilarket. 
 
 4^ ^l^rj^ITH prices outrageous they charge 
 
 ^-^^^^ now for meat, 
 And servants so worthless are every day 
 growing, 
 
48 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 I wonder we get half enough now to eat, 
 And should n'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 ? ' 
 
Nothing to Eat. 4.9 
 
 
 ^ ^ ^jf) UT 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 sing- 
 ing 
 
 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 
 8 
 
50 Nothing to Eat. j 
 
 And call for our dinner in slow-coming | 
 
 I 
 
 courses, \ 
 
 To kill, while we eat, all the time we are \ 
 
 i 
 alDle. 1 
 
 Though little, I told you, that's worthy i 
 
 \ 
 
 your taste i 
 
 You ^11 find on our table, pray don 't think | 
 
 us mean — 
 Your welcome is ample — that 's better than 
 
 waste — I 
 
 Oh! here comes the soup in a silver ■ 
 
 j 
 tureen — i 
 
 'Tis mock turtle too — so good for diges- j 
 
 tion : : 
 
 That kills me by inches, the wretched ! 
 
 i 
 
 complaint ! 
 
Nothing to Eat. 51 
 
 Dyspepsia — to cure which, I take by sug- 
 gestion 
 
 Port- wine in the soup, when I feel slightly 
 faint. 
 
 ^^Oj^rVOW soup, if you like made of 
 C-9^ 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 selec- 
 tion. 
 
52 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 My own disposition to this one in- j 
 
 J 
 
 clines, j 
 
 I 
 
 But dreadful dyspepsia destroys all the 
 
 j 
 pleasure ! 
 
 Of dinner, except it's well tinctured with i 
 
 wines i 
 
 Which plan I adopt as a health-giving : 
 measure. 
 
 A table well ordered, well furnished, and ! 
 
 neat, 1 
 
 j 
 
 No wonder our nature for ever is tempt- | 
 
 ing; i 
 
 And I'd like to know if Mahomet could 
 
 beat i 
 
 "I 
 
 Its pleasures — dyspepsia for ever exempt- i 
 
 ing— \ 
 
Nothing to Eat. 53 
 
 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. 
 
 llrs. ^tx)ilt JiffttMs $mWs Mmtm^ '§lmmtt 
 
 44 t^KOJJGK Houris are handsome, 
 
 ^^ though lovely the place — 
 More lovely perhaps than our own country 
 seat — 
 
54 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 I never could see, in the light of free 
 grace 
 
 What pleasure they have there with noth- 
 ing 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 dress- 
 ing, they tell. 
 
 E'er troubles the women, or bothers the 
 men, 
 
 Who soon grow accustomed, as people do 
 here, V 
 
Nothing to Eat. 55 
 
 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! 
 
56 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 w. ^txlilt §mmmt\ st f |ing$ (^art^g. 
 
 4^ CMVO matter how costly or flimsy her 
 
 (zj^ dresses, 
 
 i 
 
 The angel you honor with your kmd at- | 
 
 j 
 
 tentions ; | 
 
 No matter how foolish her wardrobe in- 1 
 
 j 
 
 i 
 
 ventions, ^ 
 
 You love her, or say so, from slipper to \ 
 
 tresses ; I 
 
 But, presto! you call her the greatest of \ 
 
 sinners, 1 
 
 Though smiling, she treats you to badly 
 
 cooked dinners ; j 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
Nothing to Eat. 57 
 
 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 crea- 
 tion ; 
 
 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, whea they bid "for a very ' Miss 
 
 Nancy, ^ 
 3* 
 
58 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 vic- 
 tims impaling 
 
 With mammon and misVy together have 
 wallowed. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 59 
 
 ^^Qj^OW Colonel, to husband you need 
 
 Qz)^ 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 ; 
 
6o Nothing to Eat. 
 
 Remember the praises you gave in your 
 
 letter 
 Of cooking and eating you wrote to Miss 
 
 Harris. 
 Now, Colonel, do n't ofifer 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, 
 
Nothing to Eat. 6i 
 
 ii /^OME, 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. 
 ISTow 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. 
 
62 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 
 ^^OM/IUT this is concocted by rules so 
 (3y complete ; 
 
 Though piquant, is healthy and easy di- 
 gested ; 
 
 And if you will note it as slowly we eat, 
 
 The contents 111 give for our friends in- 
 terested. 
 
 Imprimus : in fish stock, an onion we 
 stew. 
 
 And anchovy essence two spoonfuls we 
 add; 
 
Nothing to Eat. 63 
 
 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;' 
 
64 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 com- 
 plaining, 
 
 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 ! 
 
 • 
 
Nothing to Eat. 65 
 
 rs. Perirk gmnktl \tt ^attax. 
 
 4 i (y^A UT he 's an old fogy, you may 
 
 (j> 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!' 
 
66 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 en- 
 joy 
 
 In spite of the doctors we choose to em- 
 ploy. 
 
 XL llerliU ^mmtt\ apin m ^km. 
 
 a ^/lUT you are not eating, and I 
 
 (jy fear that the fish, 
 Or else ^t is the gravy 's not done to your 
 wish. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 67 
 
 You're starving while waiting for some- 
 thing 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 for- 
 give. 
 
 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 — 'tis all he 
 can lift — 
 
 And Colonel, that turkey, you know ^tis 
 my wish — 
 
68 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 ; 
 
B 
 « Q 
 
 o S 
 
 
 a W 
 
 S ^ 
 ^ ^ 
 
Nothing to Eat. 71 
 
 It's nice while the wine at our leisure 
 
 we sip ; 
 And good with a cracker in wine we can 
 
 dip. 
 
 fax a Mmxm suffmng toit| §wwi^* 
 
 H ^C^OME 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, 
 
72 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 73 
 
 XL PtWe ^ismxut]^ at Wiu\t^ m^ \tx 
 
 444. ^F wishes were horses' — IVe heard 
 
 (c^ 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 ; 
 4 
 
74 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 'twill ease them to sip sherry 
 
 wine. 
 Tis sad, though, to be such a sad in- 
 valid — 
 Dear me, Colonel Dinewell, you've done 
 
 eating meat — 
 
Nothing to Eat. 75 
 
 Your doctor, like mine, I hope liasn't for- 
 bid, 
 
 That you should n^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. 
 
76 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 4iQi 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, 
 
Nothing to Eat. 77 
 
 /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 thiis well compounded with delicate 
 
 skill, 
 
78 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 With wine sauce is eaten, to finish the 
 
 feast, 
 And suits the digestion of ladies quite 
 
 m, 
 
 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. 
 
 There's one of all others so much recom- 
 mended 
 
 To cure every ill of old Eve's every daugh- 
 ter, 
 

 8 2 
 
 
 K < 
 
 O !5 
 
Nothing to Eat. 8i 
 
 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. 
 4^ 
 
82 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 83 
 
 Yes, yes, Mr. Merdle, I knew by the 
 
 smelling 
 The pudding was ready, without any telling ; 
 So Colonel, I '11 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 11 
 
 nibble, 
 Till coffee comes in to revive with its 
 
 steam. 
 When cakes in its fragrance we '11 leisurely 
 
 dibble. 
 
84 Nothing, to Eat. 
 
 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. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 85 
 
 I 'm sure I do n'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. 
 
86 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 m M)i atlm Matters. 
 
 U ^0 while we are eating the fruits 
 
 CT^ 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 : 
 
Nothing to Eat. 87 
 
 And Sherry, though sometimes affecting 
 
 my eyes, 
 A bottle with pleasure we '11 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. 
 
88 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 i 
 Where women no longer are treated la i 
 
 Turk, \ 
 
 Where husbands descended from Saxon or I 
 
 Norman, j 
 
 For women when sickly are willing to j 
 
 work, 
 And not long for Utah and pleasures la i 
 
 Mormon — 
 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
 Where men freely marry and live with their 
 
 1 
 wives, I 
 
 i 
 
 And not live as you do, mon Colonel, so j 
 
 single. j 
 
 Such wretched and dinnerless bachelor ! 
 
 lives ; \ 
 
 You don't know the pleasure there is in 
 
 i 
 
 the tingle 
 
Nothing to Eat. 89 
 
 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 housekeep- 
 er'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 ex- 
 istence, 
 
go Nothing to Eat. 
 
 Is due to your own daily labor, and 
 share, 
 
 From breakfast to dinner of business per- 
 sistance ; 
 
 While woman is either a plaything or 
 drudge, 
 
 According to station of wealth or posi- 
 tion. 
 
 Which men help along with a word or a 
 nudge 
 
 To heaven high up or low down to per- 
 dition. 
 
 But what was I saying of a world free 
 from care, 
 
 Of eating and drinking and dresses to 
 wear? 
 
Nothing to Eat. 91 
 
 Where women by husbands are never tor- 
 mented. 
 
 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, hke my own indi- 
 gestion, 
 
 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. 
 
92 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 
 ^^ ^^MYOW Merdle — now Colonel — I know 
 
 Cz)^ 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. 
 Well then, IVe done now, and hope too 
 
 youVe dined, 
 As well as down town where you dine for 
 
 a shilling, 
 
Nothing to Eat. 95 
 
 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 quar- 
 ter, 
 
 Where port holes for windows give light 
 to the room, 
 
 Far out of the region of Eve's every daugh- 
 ter, 
 
 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. 
 
96 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 asser- 
 tion, 
 
 I call you to witness the sticks at the 
 door, 
 
 Where they make it a daily, a^ manly' di- 
 version. 
 
 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. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 97 
 
 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. 
 
98 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 pre- 
 vails, 
 In Austria or other despotic domain, 
 My memory where most certainly fails, 
 That servants and milHners over us gain, 
 Just here in New York, and the more is 
 
 the pity, 
 Where Wood is the Mogul that governs 
 the city. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 99 
 
 rs. PerWt, ^aWng ''pbM^^ a fittU'' fax 
 tto0 |0ttrs at ginw, xttixtt\ fxm t\t %Mt 
 
 U OiMPATIENT — oh yes— just the way 
 
 C3; 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. 
 
lOO Nothing to Eat. 
 
 Now while you are smoking — what non- 
 sense 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 be- 
 side?'' 
 
Nothing to Eat. ioi 
 
 %\t |0ft parali^Jtl. — fi '§mmd\ to t\sn 
 
 § 
 
 H! 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 ; 
 
I02 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 And yet while you swallow great sirloins 
 
 of meat 
 Complain like a beggar of nothing to 
 
 eat. 
 
 ft gist0ttr5^t|][ 0f t\): Mhmiau at ^S^t\dmm. 
 
 ^^^I^HAT 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. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 103 
 
 What else do we live for than get such a 
 
 wife 
 As this of the banker of our faint descrip- 
 tion? 
 What else is the end of our fashionable hfe 
 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;" 
 
I04 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 Where men in corruption so rapidly tend- 
 ing, 
 
 In morals and wealth in bankruptcy end- 
 ing. 
 
 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 ? 
 
Nothing to Eat. 105 
 
 i^ §mmxut\ at M\nt $mt flortals f ilj^ Ux. 
 
 ^^C^I^HAT 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 
 5^ 
 
io6 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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. 
 
Nothing to Eat. 107 
 
 lasliffimbk lolls to llarrg, anJ> |Iltt5trattt|[ 
 t\m Conation. 
 
 (MVOW 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 f 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, 
 
io8 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 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 fashion- 
 able 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 ; 
 
Nothing to Eat. 109 
 
 Where women, though married, with rouds 
 
 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. '^ 
 
no Nothing to Eat. 
 
 |£ |mgl0ritl| Ittrtj tat sit\tt MnfatkmU '§tm^$. 
 
 w 
 
 (?^0W heaven in mercy be kind to the 
 
 wretches 
 Who stay on the earth Hke this Mrs- Mer- 
 
 dle ! 
 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, 
 
Nothing to Eat. hi 
 
 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. 
 
112 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 'ET look at the thousands whose every- 
 day prayer, 
 
 Tar more than their own or their neigh- 
 bor's salvation, 
 Absorbs every thought, every dream, and 
 
 all care, 
 **To eat or to wear, is anything new in 
 creation ? '^ 
 
Nothing to Eat. 113 
 
 ^l^^HAT 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 blink- 
 ing. 
 
 Their life 's but a tissue of trouble and sor- 
 row 
 
 Of what is the fashion or will be to-mor- 
 row. 
 
114- Nothing to Eat. 
 
 \t llffrali^Jtlr npn toljat a ^as was iring |0rt^. 
 
 ^^^0-MORROW!'' who'll warrant to- 
 ^^ morrow we '11 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 win- 
 ner? 
 
Nothing to Eat. 115 
 
 atot ia llak t\t ''^pliratmtt/' an^ frag 
 
 -^ ^ i^l^^^V^^ '^-'^ ^^^^ ^^^» to-morrow, for 
 ^^^^ this bit of scandal, 
 
 With maUce prepense that a cynic has writ- 
 ten? 
 
 (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 ; 
 
ii6 Nothing to Eat. 
 
 Or packed oflF to bed as you do naughty 
 
 babies, 
 To sleep, or be frightened all alone in the 
 
 dark.) 
 Who '11 care ? why the author of this ugly 
 
 poem — 
 He '11 care — for a reason — that all of you 
 
 read it — 
 He '11 care for the cash you '11 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 him- 
 self. 
 
Nothing to Eat, 117 
 
 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 
 
M 
 
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