THE DYSPEPTIC'S DILEMMA.
[Maté, an infusion of the prepared leaves of the Ilex paraguayensis, or Brazilian holly, long familiar in South America, is coming into fashion in London.]
In happy ante-bellum days,
To quote a memorable phrase,
"Whisky and beer, or even wine,
Were good enough for me"—and mine.
But now, in view of heightened taxes
And all that grim McKenna axes,
I have religiously tabooed
All alcohol—distilled or brewed.
But "minerals" are now expensive,
And, though the choice may be extensive,
I find them, as my strength is waning,
More effervescent than sustaining.
At cocoa's bland nutritious nibs
My palate obstinately jibs;
And coffee, when I like it best,
Plays utter havoc with my rest.
Tea is a tipple that I love
All non-intoxicants above;
But on its road to lip from cup
All sorts of obstacles crop up.
On patriotic grounds I curb
My preference for the Chinese herb,
But for eupeptic reasons think
The Indian leaf unsafe to drink.
Hence am I driven to essay
Maté, the "tea of Paraguay,"
As quaffed by the remote Brazilians,
Peruvians, Argentinians, Chilians.
My doctor, Parry Gorwick, who
Believes in this salubrious brew,
Has promised from its use renewal
Of my depleted vital fuel.
And so I'm bound to try it—still
I wasn't born in far Brazil,
And find it hard on leaves of holly
To grow exuberantly jolly.