One of the most unsatisfactory effects of good living is that the demon invoked over-night does not always assume the same shape in your waking hours. Many sufferers will feel a loathing for any sort of food or drink, except cold water. "The capting," observed the soldier-servant to a visitor (this is an old story), "ain't very well this morning, sir; he've just drunk his bath, and gone to bed again." And on the other hand, I have known the over-indulger absolutely ravenous for his breakfast. "Brandy and soda, no, dear old chappie; as many eggs as they can poach in five minutes, a thick rasher of York ham, two muffins, and about a gallon and a half of hot coffee--that's what I feel like." Medical men will be able to explain those symptoms in the roysterer, who had probably eaten and drunk quite as much over-night as the "capting." For the roysterer with a shy appetite there are few things more valuable than an _Anchovy Toast_. The concoction of this belongs to bedroom cookery, unless the sitting-room adjoins the sleeping apartment. For the patient will probably be too faint of heart to wish to meet his fellow-men and women downstairs, so early. The mixture must be made _over hot water_. Nearly fill a slop-basin with the boiling element, and place a soup-plate over it. In the plate melt a pat of butter the size of a walnut. Then having beaten up a raw egg, stir it in. When thoroughly incorporated with the butter add a dessert-spoonful of essence of anchovies. Cayenne _ad lib_. Then let delicately-browned crisp toast be brought, hot from the fire. Soak this in the mixture, and eat as quickly as you can. The above proportions must be increased if more than one patient clamours for anchovy toast; and this recipe is of no use for a dinner, or luncheon toast; remember that. After the meal is finished turn in between the sheets again for an hour; then order a "Doctor," or a "Surgeon-Major" to be brought to the bedside. In another twenty minutes the patient will be ready for his tub (with the chill off, if he be past thirty, and has any wisdom, or liver, left within him). After dressing, if he live in London and there be any trace of brain-rack remaining, let him take a brisk walk to his hair-dresser's, having his boots cleaned _en route_. This is most important, whether they be clean or dirty; for the action of a pair of briskly-directed brushes over the feet will often remove the most distressing of headaches. Arrived at the perruquier's, let the patient direct him to rub _eau de Cologne_, or some other perfumed spirit, into the o'er-taxed cranium, and to squirt assorted essences over the distorted countenance. A good hard brush, and a dab of bay rum on the temples will complete the cure; the roysterer will then be ready to face his employer, or the maiden aunt from whom he may have expectations.