MORNING BATHS.

VALETUDINARIANISM

Doth my soul inspire;

Ye who rave of health and cleanness,

Hearken to my lyre.

"Sweet it is to splash and spatter,

Standing in the tin;

Sweet to feel the fresh cool water

Trickling down your skin.

"Then to rub the shaggy towel

Briskly to and fro,

Till it leaves you panting, breathless,

In a fiery glow.

"What a sense of coolness, vigor,

All your languor gone!"

So I sang at summer's end,

With winter drawing on.

Out of bed I crept one morning,

Touched the icy tin, -

All my blood seemed curdled where the

Metal met my skin.

My joints grew numb, my poor teeth chattered,

My lips turned stiff and blue,

As from the frozen sponge I spattered

Water freezing too.

Morning baths may do for others;

I shall take no more.

Valetudinarianism

Is a horrid bore.