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At last mother had an idea, and she made a sort of Spanish stew—what they call an olla podrida, you know.

It is an olla podrida of dark, poor, smoky mud huts; narrow dirt-heaped alleys, with bones and offal lying about; gaunt yelping dogs; bottle-green slimy pools, and ruins.

To complete the olla podrida, we must remember that no old acquaintance, or family connections, however remote their actual station or style of manners from his own, were forgotten or lost sight of.

An olla podrida of every set in the Hague.

In that curious olla podrida of fact and fiction, "The Curiosities of Literature," D'Israeli gives a list of six of these problems, which he calls "The Six Follies of Science."