This kind of poem has the advantage of being easily produced, yet being
at the same time pleasing, and not unwholesome. As, too, it admits of no
variety, the chance of going wrong in it is very small. Take one
midnight storm, and one fisherman's family, which, if the poem is to be
a real success, should be as large and as hungry as possible, and must
contain at least one innocent infant. Place this last in a cradle, with
the mother singing over it, being careful that the babe be dreaming of
angels, or else smiling sweetly. Stir the father well up in the storm
until he disappears. Then get ready immediately a quantity of cruel
crawling foam, in which serve up the father directly on his
re-appearance, which is sure to take place in an hour or two, in the
dull red morning. This done, a charming saline effervescence will take
place amongst the remainder of the family. Pile up the agony to suit the
palate, and the poem will be ready for perusal.