I heard my mother, just to-day, asking dear old dad

To buy her a nice chafing dish, and make her very glad;

Though he declared its cooking was a waste of alcohol.

Causing indigestion and perhaps a doctor's call.

I never saw a chafing dish and so I longed to know

How it looked and what 'twas for, and so and so and so;

But Mother would not answer and Daddy went away.

So I sought the kitchen, where Bridget holds her sway,

And asked her if she ever saw, since she began to cook,

A chafing dish on pantry shelf or pictured in a book?

Then Bridget turned her pug nose up with a "contemshus" air,

And gave a twist to her small knot of brick-dust colored hair,

And said, "A chafing dish, my dear, so says Miss B. Moriety,

Is but a common skillet pan that's got in High Society."