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Rh then bade the hall be set on fire, and thus they racked the bodies of the knights with fire and flame. Fanned by the breeze, the whole house burst into flames full soon. I ween, no folk did ever gain such great distress. Enow within cried out: “Alack this plight! We would much rather die in stress of battle. It might move God to pity, how we all are lost! The queen now wreaketh monstrously on us her wrath.”

Quoth one of them within: “We must all lie dead. What avail us now the greetings which the king did send us? Thirst from this great heat giveth me such dole, that soon, I ween, my life must ebb away in anguish.”

Then spake Hagen of Troneg: “Ye noble knights and good, let him whom pangs of thirst constrain, drink here this blood. In such great heat, ’tis better still than wine. We can purvey us at this time none better.”

One of the warriors hied him then to where he found a corpse, and knelt him down beside the wound; then he unbound his helmet and began to drink the flowing blood. However little wont to such a drink, him-thought it passing good. “Sir Hagen, now God requite you,” spake the weary man, “that I have drunk so well at your advice; seldom hath better wine been proffered me. And I live yet a while, I shall ever be your friend.”

When now the others heard this, it thought them good, and soon there were many more that drank the blood. From this the body of each gained much of strength; but many a stately dame paid dear for this through the loss of loving kin. Into the hall the fire


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286 fell thick and fast upon them, but with their shields they turned it from them to the ground. Both the heat and the smoke did hurt them sore; in sooth, I ween, that nevermore will such anguish hap to heroes.

Again Hagen of Troneg spake: “Stand by the sides of the hall. Let not the firebrands fall upon your helmet bands, but stamp them with your feet down deeper in the blood. Forsooth it is an evil feast which the queen doth give us here.”

In such dire woes the night did wear away at last, and still the brave minstrel and his comrade Hagen stood before the hall, a-leaning on their shields. More scathe they awaited from those of Etzel’s band. Then spake the fiddler: “Now go we into the hall. Then the Huns will ween, that we all be dead from the torture that hath been done us here. They’ll yet see us go to meet them in the strife.”

Now spake Giselher of Burgundy, the youth: “I trow the day dawneth, a cooling wind doth blow. May God in heaven let us live to see a liefer time, for my sister Kriemhild hath given us here an evil feast.”

Again one spake: “I see the day. Sith we cannot hope for better things, so arm you, heroes, think on your life. Certes, King Etzel’s wife will come to meet us soon again.”

The host weened well, that his guests were dead from their toil and the pangs of fire; but yet within the hall six hundred brave men, as good as any knight that king ever gained, were still alive. Those set to guard the strangers had well seen that the guests still lived, despite the damage and the dole that had been done both to the lordings and their men. In the hall one saw

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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Rh them stand full safe and sound. They then told Kriemhild that many were still alive, but the queen replied: “It could never he, that any should have lived through such stress of fire. Rather will I believe that all lie dead.”

The lordings and their men would still fain have lived, had any listed to do them mercy, but they could find none among those of the Hunnish land. So with full willing hand they avenged their dying. On this same day, towards morning, men proffered them a fiere attack as greeting, which brought the champions in stress again. Many a stout spear was hurled upon them, but the bold and lordly warriors warded them in knightly wise. High rose the mood of Etzel’s men at the thought that they should earn Queen Kriemhild’s gold. Thereto they were minded to perform whatso the king did hid them. Many of them because of this must soon needs gaze on death. Of pledges and of gifts one might tell wonders. She bade the ruddy gold be carried forth on shields and gave it to whomsoever craved it and would take it. Certes, greater wage was nevermore given against foes. To the hall a mickle force of well-armed warriors marched.

Then cried bold Folker: “We ’re here again, ye see. Never saw I heroes more gladly come to fight than these that have taken the king’s gold to do us scathe.”

Then enow did call: “Nearer, heroes, nearer, that we may do betimes what we must bring to an end. Here dieth none that is not doomed to die.”

Soon their shields were seen sticking full of darts that had been thrown. What more can I say? Full twelve hundred men tried hard to match them, surging


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288 back and forth. The strangers cooled well their mood with wounds. None might part the strife, and so blood was seen to flow from mortal wounds, many of which were dealt. Each one was heard to wail for friends. All the great king’s doughty warriors died, and loving kinsmen mourned them passing sore.


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Page:FACT SHEET Competitive Infrastructure Funding Opportunities for Local Governments.pdf/7

 #Establish relationships with the regional offices for key federal agencies, who can help direct you to resources and provide technical assistance.

The American Rescue Plan also provided over $350 billion in critical resources to every state, county, city, and unit of local government to support their response to the COVID-19 public health emergency, including in making the investments needed to ensure a durable and equitable economic recovery. Cities should look to leverage those resources to help prepare for the transformative investments included in the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law including training the workers needed to build high quality infrastructure; hiring back the public sector workers needed to help manage potential federal investments; and getting a jump start on water, sewer, and broadband projects that could complement investments from the infrastructure law

We recognize local capacity may be strained due to the pandemic, historic underinvestment, or just the challenges of day-to-day governance. A city’s lack of capacity to apply for federal funds can create significant inequities – and for many communities, this will be their first time applying for funds from a suite of federal agencies. While many funding streams in the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law specifically set aside funds for disadvantaged communities, the White House Infrastructure Implementation Team will be engaging states, Tribal governments, territories, federal agencies, philanthropies, and others to leverage all available resources to quickly deliver the necessary technical assistance and capacity to underserved communities.

Agency Contact Information

Environmental Protection Agency: State&Local@epa.gov Department of Transportation: intergov@dot.gov Department of Interior: OIEA@ios.doi.gov Department of Commerce: CommerceIGA@doc.gov Department of Energy: DL-RegionalSpecialists@hq.doe.gov Department of Agriculture: EIA@usda.gov Department of Homeland Security: dhs.iga@hq.dhs.gov


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text: The Hind and the Panther/Part 1

title: The Hind and the Panther/Part 1


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Rh The face of the country between the Blue Ridge and the North Mountain was, of course, diversified by hill and dale, as it is now, but forest trees were less numerous than at the present time, the growth of timber being prevented by the frequent fires kindled by hunting parties of Indians. Old men living within the writer's recollection, described this region as known by them in their boyhood. Many acres, now stately forests, were then covered by mere brushwood, which did not conceal the startled deer flying from pursuit.

At the time of which we speak, wild animals abounded in this section. The buffalo roamed at will over these hills and valleys, and in their migrations made a well-defined trail between Rockfish Gap, in the Blue Ridge, and Buffalo Gap, in the North Mountain, passing by the present site of Staunton. Other denizens of the region at that day were the bear, wolf, panther, wildcat, deer, fox, hare, etc. It would appear that wolves were very numerous There were no crows, blackbirds, nor song birds, and no rats, nor honey bees till the coming of the white people.

The first passage of the Blue Ridge, and entrance into the Valley by white men, was made by Governor Spotswood in 1716. About the last of July, or first of August in that year, the Governor, with some members of his staff, starting from Williamsburg, proceeded to Germanna, a small frontier settlement, where he left his coach and took to horse. He was there joined by the rest of his party, gentlemen and their retainers, a company of rangers, and four Meherrin Indians, comprising in all about fifty persons. These, with pack-horses laden with provisions, journeyed by way of the upper Rappahannock river, and after thirty-six days from the date of their departure from Williamsburg, on September 5th, scaled the mountain at Swift Run Gap, it is believed. Descending the western side of the mountain into the Valley, they reached the Shenandoah River and encamped on its bank. Proceeding up the river, they

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 found a place where it was fordable, crossed it, and there, on the western bank, the Governor formally "took possession for King George the First of England." The rangers made further explorations up the Valley, while the Governor, with his immediate attendants, returned to Williamsburg, arriving there after an absence of about eight weeks, and having traveled about 440 miles out and back.

The only authentic account we have of the expedition is the diary of John Fontaine, and that is very meagre. The gentlemen of the party were: Governor Spotswood, Robert Beverley, the historian. Colonel Robertson, Dr. Robinson, Taylor Todd, Fontaine, Mason, Clouder, Smith and Brooke. They crossed the Shenandoah river on the 6th of September, and called it Euphrates. The river is said to have been very deep, and "fourscore yards wide in the narrowest part." The Governor had graving irons, but could not grave anything, the stone was so hard. "I," says Mr. Fontaine, "graved my name on a tree by the river side, and the Governor buried a bottle with a paper enclosed, on which he writ that he took possession of this place in the name of King George First of England." The most astonishing thing related by the diarist, however, is the quantity and variety of liquors lugged about and drank by the party. He says: "We had a good dinner" [on the 6th], "and after it we got the men together and loaded all their arms, and we drank the King's health in champagne and fired a volley, the Princess's health in Burgundy and fired a volley, and all the rest of the royal family in claret and a volley. We drank the Governor's health and fired another volley. We had several sorts of liquors, viz: Virginia red wine and white wine, Irish usquebaugh, brandy, shrub, two sorts of rum, champagne, canary, cherry punch, cider, &c." Bears, deer and turkeys were abundant, and in the Valley the foot-prints of elk and buffalo were seen.—[Dr. Slaughter's History of St. Mark' s Parish.]

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Rh It was in commemoration of this famous expedition that Governor Spotswood sought to establish the order of "Knights of the Golden Horseshoe" But the Governor's account of the expedition, as far as we have it, is very tame and disappointing. He was thinking chiefly of protecting the English settlements from the encroachments of the French, and apparently cared little for anything else. He also either misunderstood the Indians whom he encountered, or was grossly deceived by them in regard to the geography of the country. In his letter to the Board of Trade, under date of August 14, 1718, he said:

"The chief aim of my expedition over the great mountains, in 1716, was to satisfye myself whether it was practicable to come at the lakes. Having on that occasion found an easy passage over that great ridge of mountains w'ch before were judged unpassable, I also discovered, by the relation of Indians who frequent those parts, that from the pass where I was it is but three days' march to a great nation of Indians living on a river w'ch discharges itself in the Lake Erie; that from ye western side of one of the small mountains w'ch I saw, that lake is very visible, and cannot, therefore, be above five days' march from the pass afore-mentioned, and that the way thither is also very practicable, the mountainsto the westward of the great ridge being smaller than those I passed on the eastern side, w'ch shews howeasy a matter it is to gain possession of those lakes."—[Spotswood Letters, Vol. II, pp. 295-6.]

The country thus discovered by Governor Spotswood, and claimed by him for the British crown, became a part of the county of Essex, the western boundary being undefined. Spotsylvania was formed from Essex and other counties in 1720, and Orange from Spotsylvania, in 1734.

The expedition of the "Knights of the Golden Horseshoe," trivial as it may now appear, was at the time regarded as very hazardous; and it no doubt led to important results. The glowing accounts given by Spotswood's followers, if not by himself of the beauty and fertility of the Valley, attracted immediate attention, and induced hunters and other enterprising men to visit the country. Of such transient excursions, however, we have no authentic account; and at least sixteen years were to pass before any extensive settlements were made by Europeans in this region.

At length John and Isaac Vanmeter, of Pennsylvania, in 1730,

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PREFACE ...nifest traces of the Shanscrit. The meagre remnants of Coptic antiquities afford no scope for comparison between that idiom and this primitive tongue : but there still exists sufficient grounds for conjecture that Egypt has but a disputable claim to its long boasted originality in language, in policy and in religion. In support of this opinion I shall mention only one circumatance. The Raja of Kishenagur, who is by much the most learned and able antiquary which Bengal has produced within this century, has very lately affirmed, that he has in his own possession Shanscrit books which give an account of a communication formerly subsisting between India and Egypt; wherein the Egyptians are constantly described as disciples, not as instructors and as seeking that liberal education and those sciences in Hindostan, which none of their own countrymen had sufficient knowledge to impart. The few passages which are extant in the ancient Greek authors respecting the Bracmans at the same time that they receive a fresh light from this relation, very strongly corroborate its authenticity.

But though these several proofs of the former prevalence of the Shanscrit are now thinly scattered over an immense continent, and interspersed with an infinite variety of extraneous matter, arrising from every possible revolution in the manners...


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 obtained from Governor Gooch a warrant for 40,000 acres of land to be located in the lower valley, and within the present counties of Frederick, Jefferson, etc. This warrant was sold in 1731, by the grantees, to Joist Hite, also of Pennsylvania. Hite proceeded to make locations of his land, and to induce immigrants to settle on his grant. He removed his family to Virginia, in 1732, and fixed his residence a few miles south of the present town of Winchester, which is generally believed to have been the first permanent settlement by white men in the Valley.

Population soon flowed in to take possession of the rich lands offered by Hite; but a controversy speedily arose in regard to the proprietor's title. Lord Fairfax claimed Hite's lands as a part of his grant of the "Northern Neck." Fairfax entered a caveat against Hite, in 1736, and thereupon Hite brought suit against Fairfax. This suit was not finally decided till 1786, long after the death of all the original parties, when judgment was rendered in favor of Hite and his vendees. The dispute between Fairfax and Hite retarded the settlement of that part of the Valley, and induced immigrants to push their way up the Shenandoah river to regions not implicated in such controversies. In 1738 there were only two cabins where Winchester now stands. That town was established by law in 1752.

A strange uncertainty has existed as to the date and some of the circumstances of the first settlement of Augusta county Campbell, in his "History of Virginia" (pages 427-9), undertakes to relate the events somewhat minutely, but falls into obvious mistakes. He says: "Shortly after the first settlement of Winchester (1738), John Marlin, a peddler, and John Sailing, a weaver, two adventurous spirits, set out from that place" (Winchester) "to explore the 'upper country,' then almost unknown." They came up the valley of the Shenandoah, called Sherando, crossed James river, and reached the Roanoke river, where a party of Cherokee Indians surprised and captured Sailing, while Marlin escaped. Sailing was detained by the Indians for six years, and on being liberated returned to Williamsburg. "About the same time," says Campbell, "a considerable number of immigrants had arrived there, among them John Lewis and John Mackey. * * Pleased with Sailing's glowing picture of the country beyond the mountains, Lewis and Mackey visited it under his guidance," and immediately all three located here.

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Rh Whatever the truth may be in regard to other matters, Campbell's dates are entirely erroneous. He would seem to postpone the settlement of Lewis in the valley to the year 1744, although he immediately refers to him as residing here in 1736.

Foote, in his "Sketches of Virginia," is silent as to the date of the settlement. He mentions, upon the authority of the late Charles A. Stuart, of Greenbrier county, a descendant of John Lewis, that the latter first located on the left bank of Middle river, then called Carthrae's river, about three miles east of the macadamized turnpike. Thence he removed to Lewis' Creek, two miles east of Staunton, where he built a stone house, known as Fort Lewis, which is still standing. According to Foote, Mackey and Salling came with Lewis, or at the same time, Mackey making his residence at Buffalo Gap, and Salling his at the forks of James river, below the Natural Bridge.

We are satisfied that Mackey and Salling did explore the Valley, but that it was about the year 1726, before there was any settlement by white people west of the Blue Ridge. Withers, in his "Border Warfare," gives the following account of Salling's captivity:

Salling, he says, was taken, to the country now known as Tennessee, where he remained for some years. In company with a party of Cherokees he went on a hunting expedition to the salt licks of Kentucky, and was there captured by a band of Illinois Indians, with whom the Cherokees were at war. He was taken to Kaskaskia and adopted into the family of a squaw whose son had been killed. While with these Indians he several times accompanied them down the Mississippi river, below the mouth of the Arkansas, and once to the Gulf of Mexico, The Spaniards in Louisiana desiring an interpreter purchased him of his Indian mother, and some of them took him to Canada. He was there redeemed by the French governor of that province, who sent him to the Dutch settlement in New York, "whence he made his way home after an absence of six years."—[Border Warfare, page 42.] Peyton, in his "History of Augusta County," gives an account of the coming of Lewis to the Valley quite different from Campbell's version of the matter, and somewhat at variance with Foote' s narrative. He says Lewis "had been some time in America, when, in 1732, Joist Hite and a party of pioneers set out to settle upon a grant of 40,000 acres

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text: Familiar Studies of Men and Books/Some Aspects of Robert Burns


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8 in the coolest manner, simultaneously dropped out of their respective bedroom windows, hand over hand by their counterpanes, to “overhaul” something mysterious in the garden.

The engagement among us was faithfully kept, and nobody revealed anything. All we knew, was, if any one’s room were haunted, no one looked the worse for it. Christmas came, and we had noble Christmas fare (“all hands” had been pressed for the pudding), and Twelfth Night came, and our store of mincemeat was ample to hold out to the last day of our time, and our cake was quite a glorious sight. It was then, as we all sat round the table and the fire, that I recited the terms of our compact, and called, first, for

cousin, John Herschel, turned rather red, and turned rather white, and said he could not deny that his room had been haunted. The Spirit of a woman had pervaded it. On being asked by several voices whether the Spirit had taken any terrible or ugly shape, my cousin drew his wife’s arm through his own, and said decidedly, “No.” To the question, had his wife been aware of the Spirit? he answered, “Yes.” Had it spoken? “Oh clear, yes!” As to the question, “What did it say?” he replied apologetically, that he could have wished his wife would have undertaken the answer, for she would have executed it much better than he. However, she had made him promise to be the mouthpiece of the Spirit, and was very anxious that he should withhold nothing; so, he would do his best, subject to her correction. “Suppose the Spirit,” added my cousin, as he finally prepared himself for beginning, “to be my wife here, sitting among us:”

I was an orphan from my infancy, with six elder half-sisters. A long and persistent course of training imposed upon me the yoke of a second and diverse nature, and I grew up as much the child of my eldest sister, Barbara, as I was the daughter of my deceased parents.

Barbara, in all her private plans, as in all her domestic decrees, inexorably decided that her sisters must be married; and, so powerful had been her single but inflexible will, that each of them had been advantageously settled, excepting myself, upon whom she built her highest hopes.

Most people know a character such as I had grown a mindless, flirting girl, whose acnowledged vocation was the hunting and catching of an eligible match; rather pretty, lively, and just sentimental enough to make me a very pleasant companion for an idle hour or two, as I exacted and enjoyed the slight attentions an unemployed man is pleased to offer. There was scarcely a young man in the neighbourhood with whom I had not coquetted, j. had served my seven years’ apprenticeship to my profession, and had passed my twenty-fifth birthday without having achieved my purpose, when Barbara’s patience was wearied, auid she spoke to me wit a decision and explicitness we had always avoided; for, on some subjects, it is better to have a silent understanding than an expressed opinion.

“Stella,” she said, solemnly, “you are now five-and-twenty, and every one of your sisters were in homes of their own before they were your age; yet none of them had your advantages or your talents. But I must tell you frankly your chances are on the wane, and, unless you exert yourself, our plans must fail. I have observed an error into which you have fallen, and which I have not mentioned before. Besides your very open and indiscriminate flirtations which young men regard only as an amusing pastime you have a way with you of rallying and laughing at any one who begins to look really serious. Now your opportunity rests upon the moment when they begin to be earnest in their manner. Then you should seem confused and silenced; you ought to lose your vivacity, and half avoid them; seeming almost frightened and quite bewildered by the change. A little melancholy goes a deal further than the utmost cheerfulness; for, if a man believes you can live without him, he will not, give you a second thought. I could name half a dozen most eligible settlements you have lost by laughing at the wrong minute. Mortify a man’s self-love, Stella, and you can never heal the wound.”

I paused for a minute or two before I answered; for the original suppressed nature that I had inherited from my unknown mother, was stirring unwonted feeling in my heart.

“Barbara,” I answered, with timidity, “among all the people I have known, I never saw one whom 1 could reverence, and look up to; nor, I am half ashamed to use the word, whom I could love.”

“I do not wonder yon are ashamed,” said Barbara, severely. “At your age, you cannot expect to fall in love like a girl of seventeen. But I tell you, definitely and distinctly, it is necessary that you should marry; and we had better work in concert now. So, if you will decide upon any one, I will give you every assistance in my power, and, if you will only concentrate your wishes and abilities, you cannot fail. Propinquity is all you require, if you once make up your mind.”

“I do not like any one I know,” I replied, moodily; “and I have no chance with those who have known me; so I decide upon besieging Martin Eraser.”

Barbara received this announcement with a snort of derisive anger.

The neighbourhood in which we lived was a populous iron district, where, though there were


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 One? Alas! I fear every man and woman of us is "greatly dark" to all their neighbours, from the day of birth until death removes them, in their greatest virtues as well as in their saddest faults; and we, who have been trying to read the character of Burns, may take home the lesson and be gentle in our thoughts.


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Rh few families of ancient birth or high standing, there were many of our own station, forming a pleasant, hospitable, social class. Our residences were commodious modern houses, built at convenient distances from each other. Some of these, including our own, were the property of an infirm old man, who dwelt in his family mansion, the last of the many gabled, half-timbered, Elizabethan houses which had stood upon the undiscovered iron and coal fields. The last relics of the rural aristocracy of the district, Mr. Eraser and his son led a strictly recluse life, avoiding all communication with their neighbours, whose gaiety and hospitality they could not reciprocate. No one intruded upon their privacy, excepting for the most necessary business transactions. The elder man was almost bedridden, and the younger was said to be entirely absorbed in scientific pursuits. No wonder that Barbara laughed; but her ridicule only excited and confirmed my determination; and the very difficulty of the enterprise gave it the interest that all my other efforts had lacked. I argued obstinately with Barbara till I won her consent.

“You must write to old Mr. Eraser,” I said. “Do not mention the young one, and say your youngest sister is studying astronomy, and, as he possesses the only telescope in the country, you will be greatly indebted to him if he would let her see it.”

“There is one thing in your favour,” Barbara remarked, as she sat down to write; “the old gentleman was once engaged to your mother.”

Oh! I am humbled to think how shrewdly we managed our business, and extorted a kind invitation from Mr. Eraser to the “daughter of his old friend, Maria Horley.”

It was an evening in February when, accompanied only by an old servant for Barbara was not included in the invitation I first crossed the threshold of Martin Eraser’s home.

An air of profound peace pervaded the dwelling. I entered it with a vague, uneasy consciousness of unfituess and treachery. My attendant remained in the entrance-hall, and, as I was conducted to the library, a feeling of shyness stole over me, which was prompting me to retreat; but, with the recollection that I was becomingly dressed, I regained my confidence, and advanced smilingly into the room. It was a low, oaken-panelled room, sombre, with massive antique furniture that threw deep and curious shadows around, in the flickering light of a fire, by which stood, instead of the recluse, Martin Eraser whom I expected to meet, a quaint, little child, dressed in the garb of a woman, and with a woman’s self-possession and ease of manner.

“I am very glad to see you. You are welcome,” she said, advancing to meet me, and extending her hand to lead me to a seat. She clasped my hand with a firm and peculiar grasp; a clasp of guidance and assistance, quite unlike the ordinary timidity or inertness of a child’s manner, and, placing me in a chair before the fire, she seated herself nearly opposite me.

I made a few embarrassed remarks, to which she replied, and then I noticed her furtively and in silence. A huge black retriever lay motionless at her feet, which rested upon him, covered with the folds of the long robe-like dress she wore. There was an expression of placidity, slightly pensive, upon her tiny features, heightened by a peculiar habit of closing the eyes, which is rarely seen in children, and always gives them a statuesque appearance. It seemed as though she had withdrawn herself into a solitary self-communing, of which there could be no expression either by words or looks. I grew afraid of the silent, weird-like creature, sitting without apparent breath or motion in the dancing fire-light, and I was glad when the door opened, and the object of my pursuit entered. I looked at him inquisitively, for I had recovered from my sense of treachery, and it amused me to think how unconscious he was of our definite plans concerning him. Hitherto the young men I had met had a fear of being caught, greater than my desire to catch them, so our contest had been an open and equal one; but Martin Eraser knew nothing of the wiles of woman. I remembered that my brown hair fell in curls round my face, and that my dark blue eyes were considered expressive, when I looked up to meet his gaze; but when he accosted me with an air of grave preoccupation and of courteous indifference that would not permit him to notice my personal charms, I trembled to think that all I knew of astronomy was what I had learned at school in Mangnall’s Questions.

The grave, austere man said at once:

“My father, Mr. Eraser, is altogether confined to his own rooms, but he desires the favour of a visit from you. Upon me devolves the honour of showing you what you require to view through the telescope, and, while I adjust it, will you oblige him by conversing with him fora few minutes? Lucy Eraser will accompany you.”

The child rose, and, taking my hand again in her firmhold,led me to the old man’s sitting-room.

“You are like your mother, child,” lie said, after looking at me long; “you have her face and eyes; not a whit like your sister Barbara. How did you come by your out-of-the-way name, Stella?”

“My father named me after a favourite racer,” I answered, for the first time giving the simple derivation of my name.

“Just like him,” laughed the old man; “I remember the horse well. I knew your father as well as I do my sou Martin. You have seen my son, young lady? Yes, I thought so; and this is my granddaughter, Lucy Eraser, the last chip of the old block; for my son is not a marrying man, and we have adopted her as our heir, and she is always to keep her name, and be the founder of another line of Erasers.

The child stood with pensive, downcast eyes, as though already bowed down by her weight of cares and responsibilities; the old man chatted on, till the deep tones of an organ resounded through the house.


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10 “My uncle is ready for us,” she said to me.

We paused at the library door, for I laid my hand restrainingly on Lucy Eraser’s shoulder, and stood listening to the wonderful music the organ poured forth. It WAS such as I had never heard before; roaring and swelling like the ceaseless surging of the sea; and, here and there, a single wailing note -which seemed to pierce me with an inexpressible pain. When it had ended, I stood before Martin Fraser silent and subdued.

The telescope had been carried out to the end of the terrace, where the house could not intercept our view; and thither Lucy Eraser and I followed the astronomer. We stood upon the highest point of an imperceptibly rising table-land, the horizon of which was from twenty to forty miles distant. An infinite dome of sky was expanded above us, an ocean of firmament of which the dwellers among houses and mountains can have but little conception. The troops of glittering stars, the dark, shrouding night, the unaccustomed voices of my companions, deepened the awe that oppressed me, and, as I stood between them, I became as earnest and occupied as themselves. I forgot everything but the incomprehensible grandeur of the universe revealed to me, and the majestic sweep of the planets across the field of the telescope. What a freshness of awe and delight came over me! What floods of thought came, wave upon wave, across my mind! And how insignificant I felt before this wilderness of worlds!

I asked, with the humility of a child for all affectation had been charmed away if I might come again soon P

Martin Eraser met my uplifted eyes with a keen and penetrating look. I did not quail under it, for I was thinking only of the stars. As he looked, his mouth relaxed into a pleased and genial smile.

“We shall always be glad to see you,” he replied.

Barbara was sitting up for me when I returned, and was about to address me with some worldly speculative remark, when I interrupted her quickly. “Not one word, Barbara, not one question, or I never go near The Holmes again.”

I cannot dwell upon details. I went often to the house. Into the dull routine of Mr. Eraser’s and Lucy’s life, I came (I suppose^ like a streak of sunshine, lighting up the cloud that had been creeping over them. To both, I brought wholesome excitement and merriment, and so I became dear and necessary to them. But over myself, there came a great and an almost incredible change. I had been frivolous, self-seeking, soulless; but the solemn study I had begun with oilier studies that came in its train, awoke me from my inanity, to a life of mental activity. I absolutely forgot my purpose; for I had at once perceived that Martin Fraser was as distant and as self-poised as the Polar Star. So I became to him merely a diligent and insatiable pupil, and lie was to me only a grave and exacting master, to be propitiated by my most profound reverence. Each time I crossed the threshold of

his quiet home, all the worldliness and coquetry of my nature fell from my soul like an unfit garment, and I entered as into a temple, simple, real, and worshipping.

The happy summer passed away, the autumn crept on, and for eight months I had visited the Frasers constantly, and had never, by word, or look, or tone, intentionally deceived them.

Lucy Eraser and I had long looked forward to an eclipse of the moon, which was visible early in October. I left my home alone in the twilight of that evening, my thoughts dwelling upon the coming pleasure, when, just as I drew near The Holmes, there overtook me one of the young men with whom I had flirted in former times.

“Good evening, Stella,” he exclaimed familiarly, “I have not seen you for a long time. Ah! you are pursuing other game I suppose; but are you not aiming rather too high this time? Well, you are in luck just now, for if Martin Fraser does not come forward, there is George Yorke, just come home from Australia with an immense fortune, and he is longing to remind you of some tender passages between vou before he went out. He was showing us a lock of your hair after dinner at the Crown yesterday.”

I listened to this speech with no outward demonstration; but the reality and mortification of my degradation was gnawing me; and, hastening onward to my sanctuary, I sought the presence of my little Lucy Eraser.

“I have done wrong to-dav,” she said. “I have been deceitful. I think I ought to tell you, that you may not think too well of me; but I want you to love me as much as ever. I have not told a story, but I have acted one.”

Lucy Fraser leaned her tiny brow upon her tiny fingers, and her eyes closed in silent self-reading.

“My uncle says,” she continued, looking up for a moment, and blushing like a woman, “that women are, perhaps, less truthful than men. Because they cannot do things by strength, they do them by cunning. They live falsely. They deceive their own selves. Sometimes women deceive for amusement. He has taught me some words which I shall understand better some day:

To thine own self be true, And it will follow as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.”

I stood before the child abashed and speechless, listening with burning cheeks.

“Grandpapa showed me a verse in the Bible which is awful to inc. Listen. ‘I find more bitter than death, the woman whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands: whoso pleaseth God shall escape from her, but the sinner shall be taken by her.’ “I hid my face in my hands though no eye was on me; for Lucy Fraser had veiled hers with their tremulous lids; and, as I stood confounded and self-accused, a hand was laid upon my arm, and Martin Fraser’s voice said,

“The eclipse, Stella!”

I started at this ii.-st utterance of my name, which he had never spoken before. I was com-


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 CHRONOLOGICAL SYNOPSIS BOOK FOUR: BLOSSOMS OF RENASCENCE IN ASAMIYA LITERATURE I. THE PRELIMINARY FACTS OF THE Pos. Historical Survey. Social Back- ground. Revival of Learning. (pp. 122-125). II. LINGERING MAVAL SONGS AND Ercs. Epies of Snake-workship. Poet Durgibar. Oja Pali Institution. Sukavi Nariyandew. Sorrows of Kali Nig. Sasthibar. Arithmetical, astrological and ethi- cal verses. Bakul Kayastha. Pagan poetry on the Bhigawat. An carly North- India Mahibhiret (pp. 125-126). IIL PREPARATIONS FOR THE THEATRE OF RENAISSANCE. Migrations of the Bira-Bhuyls. Early life of Sankardow. A finished scholar. An early dramatist. A Guru of Gurus. Pilgrimage for twelve years. Surrender of hereditary secular leadership. Early life of Madhawdew. A scholar in fata lore. An eple meeting. The historie debate. Abandoning eastern Asam. Närkyan alias Bhawinanda. Damodardew, Sankar-Süryya and Caitanya-Candra. At Koe Behár. The great end of Bahkardew. An unfortunate split. Similar versions. Midhaw- dew's leadership. At Kocbehir. Uncompromising votary of truth. The great end of Midhawdew. (pp. 136-160). IV. Tim Case OF THE The or RENASCENCE A BLOOM OF Erics. Sankardew's earlier works. Cihna Yatrd. Uddhava Sambid. Bhakti's supremacy. Orhead-varean. Hariscandra Upakhyn. Rulmmisi Heran Key Tremendous popularity. Magleal descriptions. The comic and the human elements. Bhakti Pradip. Superiority of Bhakti. Utters Kinda. Verse-rendering of the Bhigawat Anddi Pisen. Byhet Ajámil Uplkhyls. Remains of Sankar- dew's food. Bhakti Ratniker. Nissi Neva Siddha Sambid. Togey. Gemila in Kusum-máls. B. KTAN GHOSA. Caturelesati Awatir, Nimiparidh. Planda Merdes. Dhyne-varnan. Ajamil Updlhyds. Prehlad Carit. Gajendropakkin. Hara-Mohen. Bali-chales. Aliu Lild. Rise Kridä. Kerse bedh. Copi-Uddhava Sambid, Kubjir Väicha Pinde. Akrárer Välehd Perla, Jardaandhe Badh. Kala- Janan Badh, Mueuleunds Stuti, Sylmentaks Heren. Nåreder Kysa-Derian. Vips- putra Anayan. Deieskir Patre Anayen. Vede-stuti. Lili-Mai. Avi Kryear Val- kunghe Prayle. C. CRADLE OF ASAMIYA PLAYS AND Prose. Originality. Differences, The Aslya Satradhár. Rise of Modern Indian Prose. Patni Presid. Prijat Heres, Ni. D. RE or BAG. Sankardew's originality in Philosophy and Lite- rature. (pp. 100-228). V. THE SOLAR SYSTEM OF ASAMIYA RENASCTCE. A. MADAW- DEW'S GREAT CONTRIBUTION. Early works. Bhekti-Ratnäteell. Nam Malik, Nim Ghop. A great literary masterpiece. Spurious works. Cordhen Nit. Pimpend Gued Na Bhimi Lotowl Net. Suspected Plays Bargits. B. O GAT LA Harlearan Ananta Kandall. Byttir Belk. Kunar Heras. Ratni- kar Kandall. Sridhar Kandall Kisklou. Aniruddha Rim Saraswati. Patron- nge of king Nara Näriyan. Autobiographical colophons. Date of Aniruddha Bhim Cerit. C. CONTRIBUTIONS OF MINOR PORTS. Sirva-Bhauma Bhatticlayya Vidy Pulcinan. Rim Saraswati, a dupliente. Kamsiri Kayastha. Rimearan Gajapati's Dipol Candra. Aniruddha, founder of the Maymari seet. Ratnakar Miira D. Cost or me. Vaikunthanith Bhattadew, the last flower of the renascence. Development of Asamiyä prose. Momentum of the tide. The Mid- mard upheaval. The Asamiya Renascence. (pp. 228-279). xlv BOOK FIVE: THE POST-RENASCENCE ASAMIYA LITERATURE. 1 PHILINANT FACTS OF P. Political Summary. Miyimarl Upheaval. Development in Prose. (pp. 280-283). 11. CONTINUANCE OF REAS LARG Rendering of the Rimlyana literature. Hedayananda eller Ananta Ati. Rim Mira Purupottam Thakur, Riminands Dvija. Bhusan Dvija. Bhavinanda. Rimeandra Barpátra. Rimnih Mahanta. Nariyandis. Kaviraj Cakravart. Miscellaneous


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 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS xi tations, taken as a whole, is not considered as clear proofs of piracy, as though it were a matter of course. Besides this, coterie leaders emerge every now and then thinking it a divine mandate to pose as authorities, self-constituted though, however pure their ignorance and poor their performance. For these and such reasons, there has been much movement as in a circus ring, but little progress in fact.. Against this background, I embarked on the enterprise of present- ing the true literary achievements of the Asamiyä people attempting at showing the manifestation of their national genius with a background. of intellectual and social history. Huge as the task had been, it was no sooner executed fifteen years ago than found mega bibilon mega kakon (a big book is a big evil). Vast vested interests, about which the lesser said the better, stood in the way and could not be surmounted eve. the best help offered by Prof. Chatterji. Then with the advice of Pi f. Bloch I have reduced the present volume rather to a history of authors and their books reserving the rest of the matter for a second volume where more will be said about movements and tendencies, cur rents and cross-currents of thoughts which tended to produce these authors and their books. As a matter of fact, no literature could ever be read in vacuum; for even a little, but that much real, knowledge of the historical and social surroundings is definitely a pre-requisite for a proper apprecia- tion of the literature, the more so when the atmosphere is dusty and the perspective is wronged already as in case of Asam. In order to secure the correct perspective I had to do the spade-work myself by reconstructing probable situations and fixing important dates; and whenever I had to refer to any of my predecessors in the field, it had been to differ more often than not-a troublesome and unplea- sant task which could not be helped. Amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas. Dear is Plato, but dearer is Truth. And while as a literary critic I am not entitled to any wages for these drudgeries, I have pro- bably myself paid their price already. Early history and geography of a country may have ordinarily little to do with the history of its literature, but when a vital portion of both the land and literature lies in adverse possession, certainly the historian cannot wink at it. By references to Vedie and pre-Vedic Aryan invasions of ancient Asam the historian may have been thought guilty of invading another's territory, but he is surely acquitted when facts of such invasions are found to have very important bearing on the history of the language and literature of the people. Similarly, it might be warned that origin of language may have no importance in


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 xli ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS judging literature and is outside the scope of literary history; but when a considerable portion of the literature is estopped on false grounds of linguistic jurisdiction, a literary history cannot afford to be mute. Any way, these facts are put as Antecedents, outside the pale of the literary history proper, lest any of any learned reader should choose to skip over them. In my earlier histories I understood the facts and movements of the literature as local, and at most as pan-Indian. Now I realise that they are really universal, and a part and parcel of world movements. Darkness of mediaevalism which enveloped Europe, also enveloped India and Asam; and the flood of light in renascence that swept over the continent also swept over this sub-continent of India and the coun try of Asam. So I have now described the history of Asamiyā litera- ture in this new light. My heartfelt thanks are due to the authorities of G. S. Press, Madras, particularly to its late lamented proprietor, G. Srinivasachari, whose memory I hold so dear to my heart, for printing this book against so many odds. The original typescript was a pre-Independence fact; added to this time factor are the continuous corrections, additions and alterations of matter with numerous pastings of correction slips. On the top of this is the endeavour to make the diacritical marks in old and new typed copies consistent and up-to-date, and what not. Evi- dently it was almost an ordeal for the Press, and I am happy to say that they have come out quite successfully through it. In the face of it, for any slip in print I have only myself to thank. I could not do better than assign the notice of some new discoveries and theories that came while my book was in the press to the Appen- dices, as they may have some permanent interest. The work owes an indebtedness to the Publication Board, Assam, for the exgratia grant and loan of Rs. 5000/- which, however inadequate, has facilitated its publication. My daughters, and students withal in my Jäääram (Education Home), Srimati Sapon Madhuri and Jiwan Madhuri, have earted blessings for themselves by preparing the word-index, though I alone am responsible for any imperfection in it. For myself, I would just indulge a small moment in self-gratulation for being able, after all, to find the book in print; but even here I am warned that I must not think it worth while unless it meets approval of my learned readers. Aparitopidviduşim na sidhu manye prayoga vijnanam. March, 1962. DIMBESWAR NEG


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Rh pletely unnerved, when I found that Lucy Eraser was not to accompany us on the terrace. As Martin Eraser stooped to see if the telescope were rightly adjusted for my use, I shrank from him.

“What is the meaning of this, Stella?” he exclaimed, as I burst into tears. “Shall I speak to you now, Stella?” lie said, “while there is yet time, before you leave us. Does your heart cling to us as our hearts cling to you, till we dare not think of the void there will be in our home when you are gone? We did not live before we knew you. You are our health and our life. I have noted you as I never watched a woman before, and I find no fault in you, my pearl, my jewel, my star. Hitherto, woman and deceit have been inseparably conjoined in my mind; but your innocent heart is the home of truth. I know you hare had no thought of this, and my vehemence alarms you; but tell me plainly if you can love me?”

He had taken me in his arms, and my head rested against his strongly throbbing heart. His sternness and austerity were gone, and he offered me the undiminished wealth of a love that had not been wasted in fickle likings. My success was perfect, and how gladly would I have remained there till my silence had grown eloquent! But Barbara rose to my memory, and Lucy Eraser’s words still tingled in my ears. The black shadow eating away the heart of the moon seemed to pause m its measured motion. All heaven looked down upon us through the solemn stars. The rustling leaves were hushed, and the scented autumn breeze ceased for a minute; a cloud of truth-compelling witnesses echoed the cry of my awakened conscience. I withdrew myself, sad and shame-stricken.

“Martin Eraser,” I said, “your words constrain me to be true. I am the falsest woman you ever met. I came here with the sole and definite intention of attracting you; and if you had ever gone out into our circle, you would have heard of me only as a flirt, a heartless coquette. I dare not bring falsehood to your fireside, and the bitterness of death to your heart. Do not speak to me now; have patience, and I will write to you!”

He would have detained me, but I sprang away, and, running swiftly down the avenue, I passed out of my Eden, with the sentence of perpetual banishment in my heart. The eclipse was at the full, and a horror of darkness and dismay engulfed me, as I stood shivering and sobbing under the restless poplars.

Barbara met me as I hastened to hide myself in my own room, and, with her cold glittering eyes fixed inquiringly on me, said,

“Well, what is the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” I answered, “only I am tired of astronomy, and I shall not go to The Holmes again. It is of no use.”

“I always said so,” she replied. “However, to bring matters to a crisis, I gave Mr. Eraser notice we should leave at Christmas. Then you are satisfied that it would be a waste of time to continue going there?”

“Quite,” I said, and passed on to my room, to learn, through the weary hours of that night, what desolation and hopelessness meant.

The next day I wrote to Martin Eraser, in every word sacred truth, excepting that, self-deceived, and with a false pride even in my utter humiliation, I told him I had not loved, and did not love him.

The first object upon which my eyes rested every joyless morning, were the tall poplar trees, waving round his house, and beckoning maddeningly to me. The last thing I saw at night was the steady light in his library, shining like a star among the laurels. But, him I could never see; for my letter had been too explicit to suggest a hope; and I could not, for shame, attempt to meet him in his walks. All that remained, for me was to return to my former life, if I could by any means feed my hungering and fainting soul with the husks that had once satisfied me.

George Yorke renewed his addresses to me, offering me wealth beyond our expectations. It was a sore temptation; for before me lay a monotonous and fretted life with Barbara, and a solitary, uncared for old age. Why could not I live as thousands of other women, who were not unhappy wives? But I remembered a passage I had read in one of Martin’s books: “It is not always our duty to marry; but it is always our duty to abide oy right; not to purchase happiness by loss of honour; not to avoid unweddedness by untruthfulness;” and, setting my face steadily to meet the bleakness and bareness of my lot, I rejected the proposal.

Barbara was terribly exasperated; and very miserable we both were, until she accepted an invitation to spend the Christmas with one of her sisters, while I was left, with my old nurse, to superintend the moving of the furniture. I wished to linger in our old home till the last moment; and I was glad to be alone on Christmas-day in the deserted house, that, in solitude, I might make my mental record of all its associations and remembrances, before the place knew me no more. So, on Christmas-eve, I wandered through the empty rooms, not more empty than my heart, which was being dismantled of its old memories and newer but deeper tendernesses, until I paused mechanically before the window, whence I had often looked across to The Holmes.

The air had been dense and murky all day, with thickly falling snow; but the storm was over, and the moonless sky bright with stars: while the glistening snow reflected light enough to show me where stood, like a dark mass against the sky, the house of Martin Eraser. His room was dark, as it had been for many nights before; but old Mr. Eraser’s window, which was nearer to our house, emitted a brilliant light across the white lawn. I was exhausted with over-work and over-excitement, and leaning there, pressing my heated cheeks against the frosty panes, I rehearsed to myself all the incidents of my intercourse with them; and there followed through my mind picture after picture, dream within


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12 dream, visions of the happiness that might have been mine.

As I stood thus, with tears stealing through the clasped hands that covered my eyes, my nurse came in to close the shutters. She started nervously when she saw me.

“I thought you were your mother,” she exclaimed. “I have seen her stand just so, hundreds of times.”

“Susan, how was it that my mother did not marry Mr. Eraser?”

“They were like other people didn’t understand one another, much as they were in love,” she answered. “Mr. Eraser’s first marriage had been for money, and was not a happy one, so he had grown something stern. They quarrelled, and your mother was provoked to marry Mr. Gretton, your father. Well! Mr. Eraser became an old man all at once, and scarcely ever left his own house; so that she never saw him again, near as he lived: though I have often seen her, when your father was off to balls or races or public meetings, standing here just as you stood now. Only the last time you were in her arms, she was leaning against this window when I brought you in to say good night, and she whispered soflly, looking up to Heaven, “I have tried to do my d”uty to my husband and to my little child!”

“Nurse,” I said, “leave me; do not shut the window yet.” It was no longer a selfish emotion that possessed me. I had been murmuring that there was no sorrow like my sorrow; but my mother’s error had been graver, and her trials deeper than mine. The burden she had borne had weighed her down into an early grave; but it had not passed away from earth with her. It rested now, heavily augmented by her death, upon the heart of the aged man, vho, doubtless, in the contemplative time, was reviewing the events of his past life, and this, chiefly, because it was the saddest of them all. I longed to see him once again to see him who had mourned my mother’s death more bitterly and lastingly than any other being, and I determined to steal secretly across the fields, and up the avenue, and, if his window were uncurtained as its brightness suggested, to look upon him once more in remembrance of my mother.

I hesitated upon our door-step, as though my mother and myself were both concerned in some doubtful enterprise; but, with the hardihood of my nature, I drove away the scruple, and passed on into the frosty night.

Yes, the window was uncurtained. I could tell that at the avenue gate; and I should see him, whom my mother loved, lying alone and unchcercd upon his couch, as he would lie now all lus weary years through, till Lucy Eraser was old enough to be a daughter to him. And then I remembered a rumour that the old man’s grandchild was dying, which Susan had told me sorrowfully an hour or two ago; and, growing bewildered, I ran on swiftly until I stood before the window.

It was no longer an invalid’s room; the couch was gone and the sheltering screen, and Lucy’s little chair within it. Neither were there any

appliances of modern luxury or wealth; no softness, nor colouring, nor gorgeousness: it was simply the library and workroom of a busy student, who was forgetful and negligent of comfort. Yet, such as it was, my heart recognised it as home. There Martin sat, deep, as was his wont, in complicated calculations, and frequent reference to the books that were strewn about.

Could it be possible that yonder absorbed man had once spoken passionately to me of love, and now he sat in light, and warmth, and indifference, almost within reach of my hand, while I, like an outcast, stood in cold, and darkness, and despair? Was there, then, no echo of my footstep lingering about the threshold, and no shadowy memory of my face coming between him and his studies? I had forfeited the right to sit beside him, reading the observations his pencil noted down, and chasing away the gloom that was deepening on his nature; and I had not the hope, which would have been really a hope and a consolation to me, that some other woman, more true and more worthy, would by-and-by own my forfeited right.

I heard a bell tinkle, and Martin rose and left the room. I wondered if I should have time to creep in, and steal but one scrap of paper which had been thrown aside carelessly; but, as I tremblingly held the handle of the glass door, he returned, bearing in his arms the emaciated form of little Lucy Eraser. He had wrapped her carefully in a large cloak, and now, as he wheeled a chair to the fire and placed her in it, every rigid lineament of his countenance was softened into tenderness. I stretched out my arms towards him with an intense yearning to be gathered again to his noble heart, and have this chill and darkness dissipated; I turned away, with this last tender image of him graven on my memory, to retrace my steps to my desolate home.

There was a sudden twittering in the ivy over-head, and a little bird, pushed out of its nest into the cold night air, came fluttering down, and flew against the lighted panes. In an instant, his dog, which had been uneasy at my vicinity before, stood baying at the window, and I had only time to escape and hide myself among the shrubs, when he opened it, and stepped out upon the terrace. The dog tracked down the path by which I had come, barking joyfully as he careered along the open fields; and, as Martin looked round, I cowered more closely into the deepest shadows. I knew he must find me; for my footmarks were plain upon the newly-fallen snow, and an extravagant sensation of shame and gladness overpowered me. I saw him lose the footprints once or twice, but at last he was upon the right trace, and, lifting the boughs beneath which I had hidden, he found me among the laurels. I was crouching, and he stooped down curiously.

“It is Stella,” I said, faintly.

“Stella?” he echoed.

He lifted me from the ground like a truant child, whom he had expected home every hour, carried me across the terrace into the library, and set me down in the light and warmth of


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Rh his own hearth. One little kiss to the child, whose eyes beamed with a strange light upon us; and then, taking both my hands in his, he bent down and read my face. I met his gaze unshrinkingly, eye to eye. We sounded the depths of each other’s heart in that long, unwavering look. Never more could there be doubt or mistrust; never again deception or misconstruction, between us.

Oar star had arisen, and full orbed, rounded into perfection, shed a soft and brilliant light upon the years to come. Chime after chime, like the marriage peal of our souls, came the sound of distant bells across the snow, and roused us from our reverie.

“I thought I had lost you altogether,” said Martin to ine. “I believed you would come back to me, somehow, at some time; but this evening I heard, that you were gone, and I was telling Lucy Eraser so, not long since. She has been pining to see you.”

Now, he suffered me to take the child upon my lap, and she nestled closely to me, with a weary sigh, resting her head upon my bosom. Just then, we heard the carol singers coming up the avenue, and Martin drew the curtains over the window, before which they stationed themselves to sing the legend of the miraculous star in the East.

When the singers ended and raised their cry of “We wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!” he went out into the porch to speak to them, and I hid my face in the child’s curls, and thanked God who had so changed me.

“But what is this, Martin?” I cried in terror, as I raised my head, on his return.

The child’s downcast eyes were closely sealed, and her little firm hand had grown lax and nerveless. Insensible and breathless, she lay in my arms like a withering flower.

“It is only fainting,” said Martin; “she has been drooping ever since you left us, Stella;

and my only hope of her recovery rests in your ministering care.”

All that night, I sat with the little child resting on my bosom; revived from her death-like swoon, and sleeping calmly in my arms because she was already beginning to share in the life and joy and brightness of my heart. There was perfect silence and tranquillity enclosing us in a blissful oasis, interrupted only once by the entrance of my nurse, who had been found by Martin in a state of the utmost perplexity and alarm.

The happy Christmas morning dawned. I asked my nurse to arrange my hair in the style in which my mother used to wear hers. And when, after a long conversation with Susan, Mr. Eraser received me as his daughter with great emotion and affection, and oftener called me Maria than Stella, I was satisfied to be identified with 7iiy mother. Then, in the evening, sitting amongst them, a passion of trembling and weeping seized me, which could only be soothed by their fondest assurances. After which I sang them some old songs, with nothing in them but their simple melody; and Mr. Eraser talked freely of former years and of the times to come; and Lucy’s eyes almost laughed.

Then Martin took me home al Dng the familiar path, which I had so often traversed alone and fearless; but the excess of gladness made me timid, and at every unusual sound I crept closer to him, M’ith a sweet sense of being protected.

One sunny day in spring, with blithe Lucy and triumphant dictatress Barbara for my brides-maids, I accepted, humbly and joyfully, the blessed lot of being Martin Eraser’s wife. And even in the scenes of the empty-headed folly of my girlhood, I thenceforth tried to be better, and to do my duty in love, gratitude, and devotion. Only, at first, Martin pretended not to believe that on that night I stole out to have a last glimpse, not of him, but of his father: I knowing nothing of the change that had transformed Mr. Fraser’s sitting-room into his own study.

the next Ghost on my list. I had noted the rooms down in the order in which they were drawn, and this was the order we were to follow. I invoked the Spectre of the Double Room, with the least possible delay, because we all observed John HerschePs wife to be much affected, and we all refrained, as if by common consent, from glancing at one another. Alfred Starling, with the tact and good feeling which are never wanting in him, briskly responded to my call, and declared the Double Room to be haunted by the Ghost of the Ague.

“What is the Ghost of the Ague like?” asked every one, when there had been a laugh.

“Like?” said Alfred. “Like the Ague.”

“What is the Ague like?” asked somebody.

“Don’t you know?” said Alfred. “I’ll tell you.”

We had both, Tilly by which affectionate diminutive 1 mean my adored Matilda and your humble servant, agreed that it was not only inexpedient, but in the highest degree contrary to the duty we ow r ecl to the community at large, to wait any longer. I had a hundred arguments to bring forward against the baleful effects of long engagements; and Tilly began to quote

poetry of a morbid tendency. Our parents and guardians entertained different opinions. My uncle Bonsor wanted us to wait till the shares in the Caerlyon-upon-Usk Something or Other Company, in which undertaking I was vicariously interested, were at a premium they have been at a hopeless discount for years. Tilly’s papa and mamma called Tilly a girl and


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Page talk:All the Year Round - Series 1 - Volume 2.djvu/589

Column 2, paragraph 5, lines 2–3: should "brides-/maids" be "brides-maids" or "bridesmaids"? -- Yodin T 15:09, 10 December 2023 (UTC)


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Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXVI.pdf/97

PETERSON’S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XXXVI. THE LAME COBBLER.

BY MRS. N, A. DENTAON.

His name is Jake, and a jolly old soul is he as one may meet in this world of care. He winks at all the passers by; it is a habit of his, and everybody pardons him because-well, be- cause he is Jake, the lame cobbler. Deformed, uncouth, solitary old body though he is, he is universal favorite. The children from the great houses, yonder, attired in dainty apparel, shout and run after old Jake. The man of business greets old Juke with a bow; and many a lady smiles toward him with a grace and freedom that the young beaux might covet.

Old Jake is a character.

He lives in a little shingled house, whose one room holds his bed, his tools and himself, and there he cobbles from morning till night. The little child-that child with the wide brow and unshadowed eyes-he is gone now-but stop; I'll tell you the story.

One day-it was in the long ago, the old man waked up from an extempore nap over his lap- stone, and found himself nodding in the face of a queer-looking woman, who sat heated and dusty before him, holding a little child. She told him, {a strange smile by no means making her more attractive.) that she had taken the liberty of coming in, seeing his door open, for she had walked a long way, and was very tired.

“Sartingly, ma'am, sartingly!” said old Jake, giving the baby one of his queer winks, and favoring her with another, ‘‘jest set as long as you like;” and he commenced sundry contor- tions, intended to amuse the little one, with whose beauty he seemed mightily taken, and whose large, blue eyes, through some sort of  magnetic influence, were fastened on his face, while its rosy mouth dimpled with a good-natured smile. Presently the woman asked if she might lay the baby down for a few minutes, while she went into a shop a little ways down on the street.

jake, winking with redoubled energy. So, after the woman had gone, he took the child in his lap, trotted it and sang to it till it went to over the lapstone as Jake had done; and then he laid it on the floor, and fell to wondering why the mother didn’t come after it.
 * Sartingly, ma’am, sartingly!” responded

An hour passed. The cobbler had been stand- ing in his shop door, winking at every woman that passed in his perplexity-looking in vain for the red face and green veil that had intro- duced the little innocent who slept so soundly on his floor.

Night came, and nobody claimed the child. What was Jake todo? It had lain awake kick- ing and crowing for another full hour, while Jake, forgetting his supper, sat meditating with his hands thrust in his pockets. But the child never asked to be cared for, or even to be looked at. It was a strange baby, and his good heart would not let him turn it off; so hoping that the woman had lost her way and would return on the morrow, he resolved to keep the child all night Many a night after did it sleep on his broad chest-many a day did it eat of his coarse bread and fresh milk, thriving, handsome, and so sweet-tempered that he declared it would learn everything but one—-and that was—how to cry.

So pretty it looked! in its coarse, unshapely garments—which I shrewdly suspect the old cob- bler made himself—laughing and crowing, by-   and- by talking its pretty baby talk over the bars   the old man put up for it.

It never seemed to interfere with his business: never teased him nor his customers, but was so   gentle and tractable that more than one rich man   made an offer to take it off his hands. But no— it made old Jake too proud and happy—he  couldn’t hear of it; wait till he was dead and  gone, he said, then they might have his pet.

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Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXVI.pdf/80

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FASHIONS

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JULY.

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The operation of properly shifting plants has been already §_ either cut out in a point. or where there is an objection to described in a previous number. cutting the material, they may be laid underneath quite tint; It will be very proper at this time to examine the pots and these false plaits are made to avoid so very much fullness tubs in general, and where the earth is inclined to bind, let being set in at the waist. and the skirts sit round and ﬂow the surface be carefully loosened to a little depth, breaking gracefully toward the bottom: at a little distance below the the earth small with the hands. and at the same time add waist the large, double plaits form round tiutings. giving to thereto. if not done in any of the preceding months, some these materials an appearance of greater richness. One of fresh compost; then level the surface. neatly. the prettiest ornaments for the skirt or body of a dress sre This dressing will do the plants more good than many bows of ribbon of the color of the dress, with steel buckles in the centre of each bow. people might imagine; but in particular to such as are in All bodies. except for evening wear, are made quite high small pots. ' Collect all the different sorts of seeds as they ripen, spread and perfectly plain: for those ladies who prefer them trim them upon paper in a dry, shady place, and when sufficiently med, the ornaments should correspond with those on the hardened, let them be calefuliy preserved in their pods or skirts. Jackets or basqucs will be worn much narrower. husks, or in paper bags, till the proper season for sowing the basque Media's being the most in favor: generally the waists will be pointed. without basquu, or round with a belt them. and buckle or flowing ends. The seeds of gcraniums. and of any other quick growing Sunnis are very wide, either resembling the pagoda. or kinds of green-house plants, may now be sown. and if pro open to the shoulder; for morning costume. the deep, wide perly attended to will attain to a neat size before winter. mnusqurlui'rc cuff is very stylish. it is rumored that waists will be shortened and without points, and that sleeves will be made with two seams. fitting the arm perfectly: there is also an attempt to revive the FASHIONS FOR JULY. Fm. t.—Evi:xi.vo Dares or ltu's SILK, With ten flounces, gored skirt. Snoa'r Titans are likely to become fashionable; they cer each fiounce being trimmed with white silk fringe. The body is made low, and the sleeves, which are composed of 2 tainly are extremely graceful in a room, particularly in two rufﬂes, very short and wide. Pull puffed, short under satius and all iich materials. L. i£s' LlNEN continues to be profusely ornamented with slseves, and a cape composed of white thullo. trimmed with blonde edging and black velvet. The head-dress of blue lace, ribbons and velvet. The large puffed muslin sleeves ribbon and white flowers. This style of head-dress is very are bordered with velvet or ribbons. and have black lace fashionable, particularly for young ladies, the bow and band ruffles. Others are intersected lengthwise by velvet hands P.“-‘ -'I I / I I 'J

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edged with guipure.

in front being very becoming. l-‘m. n.-In.v.'i;a Daizss mm mm SKIRTS or wan-s nt nnoir>i;ar.n Rheum—The under skirt hasa deep embroidered flounce, headed by a pulling of muslin, through which is run a pink ribbon. The upper skirt is also richly embroi dered. The body. which is high, and straight round the waist. is made of muslin and strips of rich insertion. Sleeves rather short and wide, and edged with at putting of muslin 'and it worked ruflie. Full under sleeves. Head-dress of white lace and pink ﬂoWt-rﬂ. Fro. im.—Ax Evizxmo Diozss or Pisa Brazen—Skirt full and plain. and ornamented with two long, rounded ends of barege like the dress, and trimmed with a pinking of pink silk. Short puffed sleeves. Raphael cape made of black net and trimmed with rows of black lace and velvet. Bows of

For toilets approaching full dress. the

under-sleeves with two large puffs are trimmed with a detp

lace or a rich white guipure, and besprinklod with small bows of ribbon or vclt‘et.

Maxrsu'r'rss in tho shawl shape of rich chantillydaee, will be in great favor as the warm weather advances; they

will be of the half shawl form trimmed with a very broad flounce. more than half a yard deep. Boxss'rs in Paris are worn much larger. coining very for ward iu the front, and failing ed" at the sides; flowers and

feathers are both equally fashionable. and are employed in ornamenting either silk, chip. lacs. or indeed any of the ma terials now used. and of which there are so great a variety. “annual for the hair. of great beauty, havejust been in troduced. One, in a style much admired, is composed of Parma violets, intermingled with silver wheat-cars. Another.

pink ribbon in front.

[lead-dress, a plalt of black velvet

equally pretty. consists of white chrysanthemums. with tufts and pendent sprays of foliage. A beautiful wreath of ctslue

and pink ribbon. F10. lV.——DnF.~18 or BLACK SILK, trimmed with two deep fiounces. above each tlonnce are two puflings and a narrow frill of black silk. Body made low and plain, with the addi

licots, and other wild flowers, made of velvet, has an admix

ture of wheat-ears in gold. Coifl’ures of black or ponceau velvet, ornamented with stars, torssdes. and tassels in gold and silver, may be mentioned as obtaining some share of popular favor. Some of these head-dresses have, on one side, an aigrette, or small plume of white feathers.

tion of a bcrthe cape, which buttons down the front, and is

trimmed with lace. In addition to these, we give engravings of a fancy straw bonnet,a crepe bonnet. and a head-dress front Wilde's, New York. Also a dining-cap, engraved from a pattern just re ceived from Paris. Gsunau. REMARRS.—Drcsses still have the skirts exceed ingly long and very full: double skirts still divide the favor with ﬂounccs: in general. the second skirt only is trimmed, except the trimming is of velvet and put quite close to the bottom, as in Grecian borders. Where the sides are orna mented with a trimming. both these trimmings are con tinued on both i-kirts. Tqvm-m and the lighter silks will

Pm. t.—(8ee wood engraving.)—A u'rrut Gtat‘s nasss or Pious 0a MaasstLLzs. with colored ﬁgures. A long basque of the same material. Straw hat trimmed with wild flowers. Fm. tt.—-(See wood engraving.)—Dm:.<s run A urns not or wmrr. )iansmuats, made square in the neck and trim

have ten or twelve narrow flounces cut on the straight and

med with white fringe.

plainly hemmed, or the same number of bias flounces set on nearly plain. the edges finished by narrow black lace or fringe the color of the dress. Brocadcs, mm're antiques, reps "‘5 P‘ll'lim Will be vorn without trimming. the skirts long

GENERAL Kansans—Pique or Marsoill- s, both white and colored, is very fashionable for children. This material wears Very well. and is so thick that it is always made up without l hing. Some of the colored figured Marseilles, this season. is remarkably beautiful. Chaio, and many of the other light worsted mati rials, are also very much worn.

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CHILDREN’S FASHIONS.

"id "‘7." full: these will be set into the waist in large, ﬂat. double plalts; between each of these plaits is a false plait


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Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXVI.pdf/79

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Green Melon in Mammary—Make a little stiff ﬂnmmery,

FOR.

JULY.

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Semlnaries, Dealers and Teachers furnished with the

IJIJI’ c“ 1’. $1114 ./.r rJ.‘//_ .-'_lr../,/.

above, and all Artists” Goods at a liberal discount.

with s good deal of bitter almonds in it; add to it as much

Setts of the best English Oil Colors in tubes, varnish, oils,

juice of spinach as will make it a ﬁne, pale green. When it is as thick as good cream. wet your melon mould and put it in. Put a pint of clear calf’s-footjelly into a large dish. and let it stand till next day; then turn out your melon,and lay it the right side down, in the middle of your dish of jelly; then fill up the dish with jelly that is beginning to set, let

brushes, and the other needful materials for Grecian and

it stand all night, and turn it out the same way as the fruit

in jelly.

This is a pretty dish for a supper-table.

Bionic llfangn of In'nglnxs.-Boil one ounce of isinglass in one quart of water till it is reduced to a pint; then add the whites of four eggs, with two spoonfuls of rice water—to keep the eggs from poaching—and sugar to your liking. and run the liquid through ajelly bag; then put to it two ounces of sweet, and one ounce of bitter almonds; give them a scald in your jelly, and pass the whole mixture through a hair sieve, and empty it into a china bowl. The next day turn it out, and stick it all over with almonds, blanched and cut lengthwise. Orange Cream—Take the juice of four Seville oranges, paring the rind of one of them exceedingly ﬁne. Put them into a pan with one pint of water and eight ounces of sugar; beat the whites of ﬁve eggs, set it over the ﬁre, and stir it one way till it grows thick and white; strain it through a gauze sicve. stir it till it is cold; then beat the yolks of live eggs, exceedingly well, put it in your pan with the croam‘ stir it over a slow ﬁre till it is ready to boil; put it in a dish to cool. and stir it till it is quite cold; then empty it into jclly glasses.

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OUR GARDEN FOR JULY.

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Blane Mange of Carrageen.—Procure three cents worth of carragecn, and put it to soak over night; rinse it in the morning in clear, cold water, once or twice; drain it; put it

into two quarts of good milk, let it simmer awhile; then boil it ten or ﬁfteen minutes, sweeten and ﬂavor it to your liking: wet your moulds 0r cups, and strain it through a sieve into them. '

cinnamon and nutmeg, according to taste, a glass of wine, brandy, and rose water. To make the curd, boil one gill of milk at a time. stir in ﬁve eggs, beaten light, and as much

bread as curd.

Mix the whole together.

Custard—Bnilcd.—Boil one quart of milk; beat six eggs

well with a quarter of a pound of sugar. Mix the milk and eggs, and then let it cool awhile. Set it on coals till it becomes of the thickness of cream; add a little nutmeg. grated. INII‘IIIIN I), N/N /~//N//Wo

ART REOREATIONS. Foa Gascus PMNTlNG.—J. E. Tilton 8t 00., Boston, pub lish the following line and desirable engravings, which they send by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price. Size 0] Plate. Price. Courtship of Miles Standish, splendid thing, by Durley, 14 by 17 $1.50 Hiawutha's “'ooing, 14 by 18 1.50 The Farm Yard, 13 by 19 1.50 Age and Infancy, 16 by 22 2.00 The llappy Family, 13 by 17 1,25 Jean ll'Arc,

12 by 16

1,00

Les Orphclincs, The Jovvshnrp Lesson,

9 by 11 9 by 11

1,00 60

The Little Bird,

9 by 11

60

Evangeline, (Longfellow,) 16 by 22 1,00 Beatrice Cenci, 16 by 22 1,00 Madonna Della Scale, (new) 16 by 22 1.00 These are intended for Grecian and Antique Painting, and have full and separate rules how to paint each object, mix each color. They continue to publish new and desirable things in this line, of which they send notice to customers.

Ordinary Atlemhmcv.—'l'he principal flower-borders, beds, &c., must now have more than ordinary attention paid to the keeping of them clean, as well as the shrubbery-clnmps and other similar compartmcnts. Where any of the ﬂowering shrubs or evergreens have grown rude or (1i_lrt1(’l'ly, let such be trimmed or pruned into neat form; that is, if any have produced strong and rambling shoots. cut out, shorten, or reduce them to a pleasing regularity. Stake and tie up the stems of such ﬂowering plants as stand in need ot'support, to prevent their being borne down by winds or heavy rains. ézc. Cut down the sterile of such ﬁbrous-rooted plants as are past bloom. except a few of the best, where the seeds are wanted. Those have always an unplcasing appearance, and ought to be removed as soon as 1iiossible; by which means the plants, though past flowering, will appear more lively

Cheese Cake.—lngredients: Two and a half pounds of sugar, the same quantity of butter, four eggs, beaten light,

Antique Painting. furnished for three dollars. Small trial pictures for use at thirteen cents each. Directions to our new style Antique Painting. Grecian Painting, Oriental and l’otichomanie. furnished full and com plate, (so that any child may learn without other instruction,) for one dollar. post-paid. with rules for varnish, &c. Purchasers to the amount of ﬁve dollars, are entitled to all our directions free. Persons ordering the directions for one dollar, and after buying materials to the amount of five dollars, may deduct the one dollar paid for directions. Address, J. E. Til/TON J: 00., Dealers in Artist’s Goods, 141 Washington St., Boston.

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and decent, and the advancing bloom of others will show to greater advantage. Hedges in general, of every kind, should be clipped in the early part of this month; for that purpose, advantage ought to be taken of moist or cloudy weather to do the work in, as hedges always look better after being clipped in wet weather than in dry. Another dressing of the same kind toward the latter end of September will keep them in a neat condition the year round. The various kinds of green-house plants which you may wish to increase, may still be propagated by suckers, layers or cuttings. Most kinds will succeed by cuttings of the pre sent year’s wood if carefully planted, properly shaded and moderately watered. Tin-y will now take root easily, if in suitable earth. without the assistance of a hot bed. The out tings should be taken from healthy plants; should be from four to eight inches in length, and of a stout. robust growth.

The leaves should be stripped off more than halfway up, and the cuttings planted about two-thirds of their length in pots or beds of earth. adopting for each kind its favorite soil; then give them shade and water, as directed on former 0003? sions. Such plants as require larger pots or tubs may now be shifted; this is the best of the summer months for that pur pose, as the greater number will have made their summer progress, and are now rather at a stand previous to the com mencement of their new autumnal vegetation.

Such plants as are now shifted must be immediately watered and removed into the shade, where they can have free air and protection from the sun in the heat of the day; there to remain for two, three, 0r four weeks, according to the time the respective kinds may take to reestablish them selves, and get into a fresh state of growth, when they may be replaced among the general collection.


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Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXVI.pdf/78

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FRUIT SUPPER—SUMMER. Lemon Custard—Take a pint of white wine, belt a pound of double reﬁned sugar, the juice of two lemons, the out rind of one pared very thin, the inner rind of one boiled tender and rubbed through a sieve; let them boil ngood while, then take out the peel and a little of the liquor, set it to cool, and pour the rest into the dish you intend for it; beat four yolks

,; Bread Cheese Cake—Slice 0. small loaf as thin as possible, 3 pour on it a pint of boiling cream, and let it stand two hours; § then take eight eggs, hnlf a pound of butter, and a nutmeg, E grated; best them Well together, add half a pound of cnr~ rants, (well washed and then dried before the ﬂre,) and a Q spoonful of brandy; and bske them in raised crusts or petty

and two whites of eggs, mix them with your cool liquor;

pans.

strain them into your dish, stir the whole well together; set i ComNut Custard—Ingredients: One quart of milk, six the mixture on a slow ﬁre. or boiling water to bake an nous- ‘ eggs, sugar to your taste, and rose brandy, or any ﬂavoring turd; when it is baked well enough grate the rind of a lemon you may prefer, with two cocon~nnts grated. Beet the yolk: all over the top. It may be served hot or cold. > and whites of the eggs separstely. l

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Ibmato Figs.—Make a rich syrup, taking one pound of sugar for each pound of fruit; boil the tomatoes slowly, but

thoroughly; take them out and put them into aculleuder to drain; then lay them on a dish for several days, turning [Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859. by them once so that they will dry completely; pack them in Charles J. Peterson. in the Clerk's Utlice of the District a box, or jar, placing them in layers with powdered sugar Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District plentifully sprinkled over them. When you serve them of Pennsylvania] strew fresh water over them. B'- These receipts have all been trxted, either by the author Orange ﬁlly—Cut open twelve oranges and squeeze them; ha'sdf, or by some of her frimds. Every month, we shall give Pursue sxransstr ron “rs'rsnsox’s simian."

several receipts, in various departmrnts; and the whole, at the

add to theirjuice that of two lemons, and some pieces of the

and of the year, will be found to make the most complete cook book ever published.

peel; diﬂsulvc one and a half ounces of isinglass, and mix

rassznvrs, Jsttizs, ec. Transparent JIarmaI|1de.—Tuke wry pale Seville omnges. cut them in quarters, take out the pulp, and preserve it for use in a dish, picking out the seeds and skill. Put the peels

strain it through a ﬂannel bag, and pour it into moulds.

it with the juice; make some syrup with water and one and a hall pounds of white sugar; mix all together; boil it; Peach Jam.—'l‘ake the fruit, fully ripe, peel and stone them; put them into a pan and mash them on the ﬁre till they become hot; then rub them through a sieve, and to each pound of pulp add a pound of white sugar, and hnll'an ounce of bitter almonds, blanched and pounded; put it over

in a little salt and water, let them stand all night; then boil

them till they are tender; cut them in thin slices and add them to the pulp. To every pound of murnmlmlo put a pound and a half of fine white sugar. and boil all together, gently, for twenty minutes; if it is not then clear and trans parent, boil it ﬁve or six minutes longer. stirring it gently all the time. being careful not to break the slices of heel. When cold, put it into glasses, and tie them down with brandy papers over them. Orange Marmalade—Take the best Seville oranges you can procure, cut them in two, take out the pulp, and set it

the tire; let it boil ten or ﬁfteen minutes, and skim it well.

Quince Marmalade—Take six or eight quinces, boil them until they become soft—then peel and raep them.

aside in a pan for farther use, rejecting the seeds and skins.

Boil the rinds ot' the oranges in water till they are tender, (change the water two or three times while they are boiling,) then pound them in a marble mortar, adding the juice and pulp, and put them in a preserving-kettle with double its weight of loaf sugar; set the kettle over a slow tire, boil it a little more than half an hour, and then put it into glasses with brandy papers over them. Qm'nces.—Paro your quince.- very thin, and keep them whole or cut them in quarters. Put them in a stewpan, ﬁll it with hard water, and lay the pairings over the quinces to

them injars as they are taken out.

I'i'ppins— li'lmte.—-Pare and core your pippins, and throw them into cold water as you pare them; then take the weight of the fruit of double reﬁned sugar, and dissolve it in a quart of water, boil it and scum it clean; put in the apples, let them stew gently until they become tender, and look clear, then take them out. Grapes in Brandy.—Take some close bunches of grapes, not too ripe; put them into a jar, adding a quarter of a pound of sugar-candy, and then ﬁll the jar with common brandy; tie it close with a bladder, and set the jar in a dry place. Morella cherries are done the same way. Raspberry Jelly—To one quart of berries take three quar ters ot'n pound of sugar; mash your raspberries with a spoon; clear your sugar; put the fruit in and boil it slowly. Be careful to stir it.

keep them down; cover them close, and put them overs. slow

ﬁre until they become soft and of a pink color; then take them out and let them stand till they are cold. To one pound of the fruit take one pound of sugar; take the water the quinces were in to dissolve the sugar; clarify the sugar, then put in the quinces and boil them until they become clear. Peaches—Brandi'ed.—Make a lye with pearlash, strong

enough to hear an egg, and when it is boiling hot put in a few peaches at a time, and let them remain until the skins can easily be rubbed oﬂ‘ with a coarse cloth; then throw them immediately into cold water to keep them a good color. Take an equal weight of peaches and sugar; halve the sugar and make a clear syrup of it; boil the peaches in It ﬁfteen minutes; then put the fruit on dishes to cool. Tbniato Honey—To each pound of tomatoes allow the grated peel of one lemon, and six fresh peach leaves; boil them slowly till they Hall to pieces; then squeeze them through a bag: to each pint of liquid allow a pound of sugar, and the juice of one lemon; boil all together half an hour until it becomes a thick jelly; then put it into glasses, and lay double tissue paper over the tops. This preparation can scarcely be distinguished from real honey. Rice Jell_l/.——Boil one quarter of a pound of rice ﬂour, and half a pound of lost sugar in one quart of water. till the whole becomes a glutinous mass; then strain of! the jelly and let it become cool; grate nutmeg over it, and serve it with cream flavored with vanilla. Para—To one pound of peers take three-quarters of a pound of sugar; clear your sugar, and to one pound of sugar, take halfa pint of water.

mou.

You may add some whole cinnn'

Boil the fruit gently until clear.

To every

pound of the rnsped quinces add one pound of sugar; mix the whole smooth, thuroring it with the juice and peel of a lemon, cut tine. Place it over a coal ﬁre, and stir it cou stnutly until it becomes thick. l'mcIies.—Take peaches before they are fully rlpe, lay them in a dish and strew over them their Weight of pow dered sugar; when dissolved, pour oi! the liquor. clarify it, and then put in your peaches, and boil them gently until clear. Do not put many peaches in the kettle at a time; put

10: CBZAMB, sc. Almand Cheese Cake—Take four ounces ofalmouds, blanch them and put them in cold water; then beat them in a mor tar or wooden bowl, adding four ounces of sugar, and the

yolks of four eggs, beat ﬁne; work it in the mortar or bowl till it becomes white and frothy. Then make a rich puI paste, which must be made thus: take halfn pound of ﬂour, and a quarter of a pound of butter; rub a little of the butter into the ﬂour, mix it stiff with a little cold water, then roll

I, S 5 3 2

your paste straight out, strew over it a little ﬂour, and lay over it in thin bits one-third of your butter; throw a little more ﬂour over the butter; do so for three times; then put your paste in tine, ﬁll them, grate sugar over them, and belie them in a gentle oven. Orange Custard—Boil the rind of half a Seville orange very tender, and beat it in a mortar until it is very ﬁne; add to it a spoonful of the best brandy. thejuice of an orange, four ounces of loaf sugar, and the yolks of [our eggs. Beet all together for ten minutes, and then add in by degrees n pint of boiling cream; beat it until it becomes cold, and then pour it into custard cups, placed in a dish of hot water. Let them stand until they are set, then take them out and strew

l preserved orange peel over them.