How to be Healthy and Unhappy.

“They do say,” remarked Mrs. Wilkins, as she took the cover off the dish and gave a finishing polish to my plate with the cleanest corner of her apron, “that ’addicks, leastways in May, ain’t, strictly speaking, the safest of food.  But then, if you listen to all they say, it seems to me, we’d have to give up victuals altogether.”

“The haddock, Mrs. Wilkins,” I replied, “is a savoury and nourishing dish, the ‘poor man’s steak’ I believe it is commonly called.  When I was younger, Mrs. Wilkins, they were cheaper.  For twopence one could secure a small specimen, for fourpence one of generous proportions.  In the halcyon days of youth, when one’s lexicon contained not the word failure (it has crept into later editions, Mrs. Wilkins, the word it was found was occasionally needful), the haddock was of much comfort and support to me, a very present help in time of trouble.  In those days a kind friend, without intending it, nearly brought about my death by slow starvation.  I had left my umbrella in an omnibus, and the season was rainy.  The kind rich friend gave me a new umbrella; it was a rich man’s umbrella; we made an ill-assorted pair.  Its handle was of ivory, imposing in appearance, ornamented with a golden snake.