The Dinner-bell Rings.

A poem by Horatio Alger, Jr.


Mrs. Merdle Describes the Sufferings of Dyspepsia and its Remedy.

But 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 singing
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
And call for our dinner in slow-coming courses,
To kill, while we eat, all the time we are able.

Though little, I told you, that's worthy your taste
You'll find on our table, pray don't think us mean--
Your welcome is ample--that's better than waste--
Oh! here comes the soup in a silver tureen--
'Tis mock turtle too--so good for digestion:
That kills me by inches, the wretched complaint
Dyspepsia--to cure which, I take by suggestion
Port-wine in the soup, when I feel slightly faint.

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