Thus saith the poet, and forthwith turns the world over into the hands of
the cook. And into what better hands could you fall? To you, my fat,
jolly, four-meals-a-day friend, Mr. Gourmand, but more especially to
_you_, my somber, lean, dyspeptic, two-meals-a-day friend, Mr. Grumbler,
the cook is indeed a valuable friend. The cook wields a scepter that is
only second in power to that of love; and even love has become soured
through the evil instrumentality of the good-looking or bad-cooking cook.
This is no jest, it is a very sad fact.

Now, the question arises, how can the cook preserve the health of her
patrons, maintain happiness in the family, and yet not throw the gourmands
into bankruptcy? Very simple, I assure you.

1. You must have _the_ cook. I mean by this, that not every one can occupy
that important office. The greatest consideration in the qualities of a
cook is, does she like the work? No one can fulfill the duties of any
noteworthy office unless he labors at them with vim and willingness.

2. You must have good articles of food originally.

3. As our honest Iago said, "You must have change."

When one arrives at adult age, he should have learned by experience what
articles of food _do_, and what articles of food do _not_, agree with him,
and to shun the latter, no matter how daintily served or how tempting the
circumstances. The man who knows that _pates de foie gras_, or the livers
of abnormally fattened geese, disagree with him, and still eats them, is
not to be pitied when all the horrors of dyspepsia overtake him.