The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-10-04
For the National Era.
HOW TO CURE THE SPLEEN.

Anything but spleeny mani Our neigh
Dor, Mr.. Smith, belongs to that class. He is
always dying with the headache or the finger
ache, and the toothache invariably kills him.
Every damp day gives him touch of the rbeum.
atism, every hot day reminds him that the
cholera season is near, and at the first frost of
winter he betakes himself to the newspapers to
see what is the prevailing disease. He stands
by his long mirror, and asks his wife if he isn't
getting sallow and the dear little woman says,
"Why no, Mr.. Smith, you are looking remark
ably healthy" Then he storms and raves, tells
her she is rd-hearted, and will regret it aohen
she gets to be soidOw.
Mr.. Smiths lungs are affected at least you
would think so, for he always coughs when he
meets an acquaintance-clears his throat be-
fore he can return the salutations and when
asked how his health is, lays his hand express
sively on his chest, and says, ~ believe, sir my
-little-better,s sir; but my
s-very-distressing- I"
Then comes specimen-a violent racking of
his lungs, that is enough to tear them in pieces.
But one thing is quite observable, Mr.. Smith
never coughs unless he has an audience.
But dyspepsia is his forte. 1t makes him
irritable, so much so that his wife feels ner-
vous fear every time she sits down to the table,
lest the delicate viands she has prepared may
not suit his palate. He complains that nothing
digests-twists his face into a thousand shapes,
and screws up his lips. At breakfast, he puts
his elbow on the table, and looks contempla-
lively at the beefsteak, all the while wondering
Mrs. Smith doesn't ask him how he feels. But
no, she won't do it; she eats her own breakfast,
without even noticing that he cannot touch a
mouthful. All, she does not realize how much
he suffers He fdgets about, and at last says,
d" Mrs. Smith, how do you contrive to make your
coffee so muddy? and it seems to me this
pie. crust isn't troubled with the shorts" Then
daintly taking little of the beefsteak in his
mouth, he says, "This tastes wonderfully of
nothing. May ask if pepper has risen?" A
tear gathers in the eye Of his little wife. Il
had to trust the breakfast to the girl, l was so
tired this morning, and little Willie had such a
restless night" ooh, of course, of course,
Mrs. Smith; everybody's health is of more
consequence than mine." The illused man
his plate "Do you realize what you are
eating, Mr.. Smith," observed his wife, her eye
twinkling with a new thought. ~ have been
trying to give it name," peevishly retorted
he. eyes, but the chemical ingredients of
the pepper you are using so plentifully.
have been reading of some of the alarming
authorizations of food, and / believe that much
of your poor health is attributable to it."
"Why, how so, Mrs. Smith 2" ain the
first place, there is the article of mustard, of
which you are so fond. 1t has been found to
contain wheaton -four to give it bulk, and tur-
meric for color. Then there is the Cayenne
pepper, composed of white mustard seed, brick
dust, and red lead; and with these villanous
compounds you are dragging your stomach"
"Gracious heavens it's no wonder I'm sick"
"Wonder? no! Then there is vinegar. 1t is
first watered, and then, to give it pungency,
sulphuric acid is added Now, my dear Mr..
Smith, is it any wonder that you are a confirm
ed dyspeptic?" "No, indeed This explains
the gnawing sensation at my stomach, have
complained so much Of believe it is these
active poisons at work in my system. You
Just begin to comprehend how have been suf.
tering." "Ah, yes" said his wife, 81 can
plainly see that we have been running ourselves.
have always been in favor of simple diet"
1t was we'll he did not observe very roguish
smile dimpling the corners of his wifes mouth.
Mr.. Smith pushed away his plate and turned
despairingly to the bread. "Alum, bone-dust,
plaster of paris, &c." said Mrs. Smith. "Good
gracious! Well, can't you contrive to make 1t
into a puddingP" ooh, yes, if you will buy
an extra quart of milk, which would probably
be composed of chalk and water, with the ad-
dition of oxide of IRON"
Mr.. Smith looked more solemn than ever, but
turned his gaze somewhat affectionately to his
coffee. Roasted wheat, ground acorns, &c,
and, to make the Cruel thick, baked horses
and bullocks livers." MRS. Smith, | am a
lost man. 1 must Immediately commence a
course of medical treatment" (Which would
simply amount to this-that your physician
would give you another course of drugs"
"What shall do? l am getting weaker, and
there is nothing l can eat" Let me pre-
scribe for you, Mr.. Smith. Send home few
pounds of coffee in the berry, which will care
FULLY roast. Trust me to make some good, old
fashioned, homemade bread; and buy cow.
1 have long been wishing it, for the sake of the
children. Get good beef, and abolish nick
nacks." MIR. Smith has adopted his wife's re-
game, to her infinite delight, as she now finds
| more time to devote to her children and to the
calls of society. The last that was seen of Mr..
Smith, he was sitting by the table, eating a
| bowl of bread and milk. Whenever he ven.
| lures remonstrance, his wife has only to say.
Your health, your health. Mr.. Smith, and he
| becomes as docile as a lamb.
ANNIE LINwooD.