Now, all these things may gratify the palate; but the point is, are they worth the price that is paid for them? I confess that it fairly makes me shudder, sometimes, to see those strong men sit down at table, and, with appetites sharpened by out-of-door exercise, sweep off so unthinkingly and unthankingly the results of Mrs. Fennel’s long and weary toil. Do they not _taste something_ in those delicacies? detect a flavoring that was never set down in any grocer’s bill? They probably do not. Long habit has so accustomed them to the flavor of this _essence of life_, this compound extract of backache, headache, exhaustion, prostration, palpitation, that they do not notice its presence. It would be well for them to do so, however; for it is a terribly expensive article. Oh, no! they don’t taste any thing but what may be bought at the grocer’s, or raised on the farm. If they did, if the cost of all these dainties were once made clear to our kind-hearted men-folks, they would not only be satisfied without them, but would beg Mrs. Fennel to stop cooking them; for neither Mr. Fennel nor the boys are wanting in affection for her. Whenever, by overwork, she becomes alarmingly ill, they are ready to harness the horse, and go seven miles for the doctor at any time of day or night. Mr. Fennel never spends his money so freely as in medicine for his wife; and the boys seldom come home from the pastures without bringing her mullein, or some kind of herb, to dry. “So thoughtful of them!” the dear woman remarks with moistened eyes, and cheeks faintly flushed. If they could only be so thoughtful as to consider that rest is better for her than herbs! All women are not as feeble as Mrs. Fennel? This is true; yet she represents a large class, and one which is rapidly increasing. Mothers of families calling themselves well and strong are hard to find. They too commonly either break down and die, or break down and live. Go into almost any town, any country village even, where pure air and other conditions of health abound, and mark in the sharpened, worn, pinched faces of its elderly women, the effects of overwork and unwholesome food. Work is necessary. I believe in it; believe in eating too, and in eating what “tastes good,” as the phrase is. But to a person of healthy appetite plain food “tastes good,” and “topping off” is quite unnecessary. The words “topping off” express the exact truth: implying, that, when the stomach is already full, something is put on the top. (By the way, it is doing this, unless the something be very simple, which spoils the appetite for the next meal.)