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The system of Shoddyism, so decried, may in | billows; and many other children's toys in the time exercise an all-important influence over same brittle material. this science. Financiers have ever been its most liberal votaries; and as bad is permitted, frequently, that good may come of it, these parvenus, nobles of the future, may yet surprise the world in this particular; thus making some amends for their unwarranted intrusion into society.

The tests of gastronomic excellence vary with the age and people, and there can be nothing more striking and curious than to follow these changes. Fashion, which seems in an incomprehensible manner to regulate this as well as other matters, is undoubtedly answerable for many of these freaks.

At a later date huge figures followed in the wake of these tiny sweets; and Horace Walpole speaks of a celebrated confectioner (Lord Albemarle's), who complained that, “After having prepared a middle dish of gods and goddesses, eighteen feet high, his lord would not cause the ceiling of his parlor to be demolished to facilitate their entrée: 'Imaginez vous,' he said, 'que milord n'a pas voulu faire ôter le plafond!'"

These immense figures were sometimes in wax. Just think, dear reader, if you can bring your mind to it, of a Madame Tussaud exhibition as a finis to one's dessert!

The nearest approach to this droll fashion that we remember to have seen was the introduction, at one of the Royal tables of Germany, of an immense silver-gilt vase, large enough to be a garden ornament; and, what with running vines and drooping tendrils, looking extremely as though it had lately been acting in that capacity.

One of the customs of the good old times, long since exploded, was the employment of éprouvettes (i. e., dishes of such undoubted excellence that the very sight of them excites all the faculties of taste) by negation. For instance, a magnificent fish, or other dish of extraordinary merit, would be destroyed, as by accident, just as it was about to be placed upon the table. A dread Another change is in the preparation of food, pallor would thereupon overspread the faces of which is no less surprising. Again, what was the guests, who were only restored to equanim-esteemed a luxury at one time is tabooed at anity by the production of an exactly correspond-other. As an instance, take the choicest dishes ing dish, which was allowed, this time, to be served in safety. The inventor of this twofold surprise was the Cardinal Fesch-a name famous in the annals of gastronomy.

Another was the introduction of curious pieces of confectionery, of the extravagances of which the following description of a ship and castle thus composed may give some idea. Tiny guns were mounted upon these marvels of gastronomic skill; and after giving a description of their firing, etc., the writer continues: "All dangers being seemingly over, by this time you may suppose they will desire to see what is in the pyes; where, lifting first the lid off one pye, out skip some frogs, which makes the ladies to skip and shreek; next after the other pye, whence come out the birds, who, by a natural instinct, flying in the light will put out the candles; so that, what with the flying birds and skipping frogs, the one above, the other beneath, will cause much delight and pleasure to the whole company. At length the candles are lighted, and a banquet brought in; the musick sounds, and every one, with much delight and content, rehearses their actions in the former passages."

After this absurd custom had died out, one only worthy of the period (1610), a less objectionable feature was advanced by that fickle goddess, Fashion, for public approbation.

of the Romans, which would now, if presented, disgust our more refined sensibilities. Some things, on the contrary, which were disliked by the ancients are now regarded with favor: witness eels. The Romans held this fish very cheap. By-the-by, Ude, speaking of skinning these slippery creatures, recommends a most cruel system: "Throw them into the fire," he says, "and as they are twisting about on all sides, lay hold of them with a towel in your hand, and skin them from head to tail." This extracts the oil, which is injurious, and besides rendering their meat white and palatable, makes it more digestible.

Apropos of the Romans, it may be interesting to our Yankee friends to learn that their favorite dish, pork and beans, is strictly a classical one, being eaten by the Romans during the calends of June, in honor of the goddess Carna, this comfortable promise being made: "Quæ duo mista simul sextis quicunque kalendris ederat huic ladi viscera posse negant."

To the Teuton we would fain render a service, also, by proving that his beloved beverage was that of the Amphitryons of old. Be that as it may, malt liquor was certainly used in Egypt B.C. 450; and there is no good reason why Lager should not have been discovered as soon as any other kind of beer.

Butter, which by many is supposed to be com

Shepherdesses of Saxon china, Turks, Chi-paratively a modern addition to our mundus edinese, and other mantle ornaments-for we can call them nothing else-surrounded by groves of curled tissue-paper and French flowers, were consequently soon the rage."

To these succeeded cottages in sugar, for the ornamentation of the dessert. Pigmy Neptunes in cockle-shells, reflecting themselves in mimic scas of looking-glass, or resting on silver-tissue

bilis, was known to the Scythians: was called pikerion by Hippocrates; eaten by the Thracians at the wedding entertainment of Sphicrates; and used by the Lusitanians instead of oil. Pliny ascribes its invention to the Germans. To learn properly how old butter is, a cheap boarding-house victim must be questioned.

But to return to our subject-matter. We

have proved, we trust, that as a civilizer the stomach may rank pre-eminent, being beyond cavil the First Master of Arts in the world. Others have gone quite as far--men, too, high in council, esteemed, and the pride and honor of their states. One of these insists even that he will never "regard the sciences as sufficiently honored or adequately represented" until he sees a cook in the first class of the (French) Institute;" with which opinion we beg leave to agree. If we have proved our case, then we claim that we have done thereby a service of some magnitude to the world, and rendered a grateful tribute of justice to that much underrated and abused organ, the stomach.

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If we have not proved it, we can only say that among ancient philosophers there were no less than three hundred different opinions respecting what constituted the summum bonum, or chief good; and at a period like the present, when blessings multiply so rapidly, there can scarcely be fewer than that number, one of which is here humbly submitted.

NETTY'S TOUCH-STONE.

"'M only Netty's maiden-aunt; but for all that

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"Indeed I must go," responded Henry, in the same style, "sorry to distress you, but" (with an air of intense security) "I leave you in such good company that I doubt not your tears will soon be as mist."

"Oh, oh!" interrupted Netty, laughing, “almost a pun, I declare. I really thought better

than that of you, Mr. Kirtland. But before
you leave us do tell me one thing. Is it truc
that you are going to the war?
Some one at
Mrs. Watkin's soirée told me that you had been
drafted."

"Not I, indeed! I believe this goodly town
did do me the honor of drawing my poor name
from one of its autocratic wheels, but I have al-
ready canceled the obligation. A better sol-
dier than I would care to be in this fraternal
brawl will do that share of my work for me,
while I shall remain here attending to my own
affairs, which he would be quite incompetent to
manage. Our social scheme, you see, balances
all these things beautifully," and Henry Kirt-
land, with a graceful bow which somehow in-
cluded George and myself, though he didn't fair-
ly look at either of us, took his departure with-
out waiting to discuss the matter further.
A puzzled expression gleamed in

I'I couldn't help noticing how beautiful she eyes as she bade him a good evening, and then

appeared on a certain evening not long ago, when George Holmes and Henry Kirtland sat talking with her by the library window. Both of the young men were evidently of my opinion; but George Holmes, if I may say it, seemed to take in the idea rather differently from Henry Kirtland. The clear, haughty eye and softly modulated voice of the latter seemed to say, as plainly as eye and voice could say, "You're very pretty, Miss Netty, pretty enough to suit even my fastidious taste, and I can well appreciate your satisfaction in having a fine young fellow like me among your admirers." But George Holmes seemed to just sit and drink in her loveliness until it choked him.

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turning toward George said, rather abstractedly,

"I suppose I must congratulate you upon a better fortune, for I have not yet heard of your name being among those drawn."

"You are right," returned George, quietly. "I have taken care that mine shall never be upon their lists."

"Why," exclaimed Netty, opening her eyes wider yet, "have you really such a horror of being drafted ?"

"I have indeed," was the candid response.

Poor Netty! Those three words from George's lips evidently stung her far more than she would have confessed. I saw that plainly enough, though I hardly raised my eyes from my knitting. Meantime my own opinion of the young gentleman fell down nearly to zero.

"Oh, if I were but a man!" burst almost unconsciously from Netty's lips.

He looked at her inquiringly while, strange to say, a pleased expression played about his face. "And if?" he suggested.

I liked George by far the best, and it provoked me enough to see him looking almost gawky in his self-forgetfulness, while Henry Kirtland posed himself elegantly upon the sofa, holding his hat like a prince of the blood, and sending forth a flow of rippling small talk that caused Netty's eye to sparkle with merriment. If she chanced to shyly look up at either of them, I (sitting "Why, I'd act like a man," was the indignearly behind her in my corner) could readily nant rejoinder. And if Netty had looked prettell at which one she was looking. If at Hen-ty an hour ago I am sure she was doubly beaury, I knew it by a peculiar brightness in his tiful now, with her flushed cheek and flashing glance, and a placid elevation of his eyebrows. eye, and her head, with its rich waves of golden If at George, the stupid fellow looked instantly hair, thrown proudly back. as red as a beet and as expressionless as a pumpkin. I had no patience with him, and I could not help thinking to myself, as I sat there knit-ica" were ushered into the room. ting, that if he lost Netty altogether it was just his own fault.

Just then the door-bell rang, and in an instant two insipid specimens of "Young Amer

Thanking my lucky stars that my time for being attractive to their particular species had passed away, I busily plied my needles, weaving in with the coarse blue yarn many a tender, yearning thought of "the brave soldier-boys" for "Are you going?" asked Netty, with mock whom I had been steadily knitting and working sorrowfulness.

Pretty soon Henry, after covertly consulting his watch, arose with a listless and at the same time reluctant air.

for months.

"So he is," interrupted Netty, excitedly. "I really am tired and sick of his nonsense; and last night his shameless avowal of unpatriotic sentiments made me fairly despise him. He is agreeable and amusing enough; but I hate these agreeable men," she added, biting off her thread with a snap, as though it were the "one neck” of all mankind so longed for by that old tyrant in Plutarch's Lives.

Presently George came to my quiet corner, | ingly. "There are plenty of brave young feland, seating himself beside me, talked so man- lows in the world, and better worthy of my girl's fully and cheerfully of the war, of our duties, thoughts. Henry Kirtland, if I am not misboth men and women, and of the many things taken, is a-" that he seemed instinctively to feel would interest a busy, happy old woman like me, that I quite forgot his paltry confession about the draft. It may seem foolish in me to say so; but I have always noticed that when a young gentleman can enjoy an hour's quiet talk with a woman neither young, beautiful, nor fascinating in any way, but simply hopeful and in earnest, there's sure to be something good and genuine in him. He even told me of a lotion which his mother had used very successfully for her rheumatism (and, by-the-way, I mean to try it myself when I get time). Then he hinted so gently that he thought I was making my sock a little too big (as if you could get a hospital thing too big!), and every thing just as natural and easy in his manner as if he'd been an old bachelor brother instead of the handsome youngster that he was.

It struck me that George wanted to outstay the other visitors; but they were so much delighted either with Netty or themselves (though she looked weary enough of their chit-chat, poor girl!) that he unwillingly took his departure late in the evening, leaving them still in possession of the field, or, rather, the sofa.

All the next day I had such trouble with Netty. It was almost impossible to get on with the child. She was neither cross nor ill-natured (my darling was too sweet-tempered naturally for that); but she was so fitful, so feverish, and so inclined to sigh every five minutes, that when I found she couldn't be coaxed into taking a little magnesia, or going to bed and having warm bricks to her feet, I began to be really worried.

At last, about four o'clock in the afternoon, as we sat working together, just as I had turned the heel of the last one of my half dozen pair, out came the real trouble.

"Did you ever see two such stupids, Aunty?" Thinking, of course, that she alluded to last night's committee from "Young America," I replied, promptly:

"They certainly were very insipid, my dear. I wondered that you could endure them for an instant."

Then you must hate George Holmes too," I said, as a sort of left-handed plea for my protégé; "for he is certainly very agreeable at times."

"I do hate him, and he isn't one bit agreeable," pouted Netty, as she made a vigorous stitch, drawing her thread through with a jerk. "He was a little gawky last night, I own," was my amiable response; "but-"

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I was just thinking what I should say next “Ma'am!” ejaculated Netty, in real aston- when the door-bell rang. ishment.

"Oh, if you mean George Holmes and Henry Kirtland," I laughed, "I'll retract. I consider them both very fine young men, though George is my favorite."

"He isn't my favorite," said Netty, tossing her head. "In times like these true men would never shrink from their duty. They're cowards, both of them; but I must say George Holmes's fear of being drafted is perfectly amusing." And she burst into tears by way of illustration.

She didn't intend that I should know it, but I saw the bright drops falling one by one upon her sewing.

"Don't think of them, dearie," I said, sooth

In an instant our new colored boy handed in a letter.

"For Miss Netty," said he, looking with no little curiosity around the room as he spoke, for it was all novel to him yet. "The man's a waitin' fur an answer."

Netty read her letter. It contained something very important; I knew that by her manner. Then she got out her little desk and sat writing for a few minutes. Her lips were pale, and I could see that her hand trembled a good deal. After the messenger had gone away with her reply, I took an old aunty's privilege and asked who her letter was from.

"From Henry Kirtland, Aunt Hester," she

"He-he won't

replied, quite sobered down.
come here any more, I think."
And this was all she ever said to me about it,
though I know very well that his letter con-
tained an offer of marriage, and that she re-
fused him.

It is a strange circumstance (but I am writ-
ing about just what happened), in less than an
hour the bell rang again, and our waiter-boy
soon after bolted into the room with a quizzical,
"Here's anudder note for Miss Netty."
"Is-is the person waiting?" stammered
Netty, holding the still unopened letter in her
hand.

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'No, marm."

"You may go, then."

I wouldn't have been human if I hadn't looked up from my knitting a few times while the child was reading it-any how I couldn't help doing So. At last, after seeing her blush and start, and finally bury her face in her hands with a quick sob, I walked straight up to her and wound my arms about her neck.

I only know that I am very busy now, for Netty and the Captain are to be married when he comes home on his first furlough, and there are lots of things to be made.

MRS. BRADDON'S HOME.

So Jane Braddon had bought the old place.

All the morning the windows had been opening; a brisk figure had been shaking mats and dusters out at the door; and the blue smoke had been curling up from the kitchen chimney, rising and fading into the frosty air. All the morning Mrs. Risley, through her blinds, had watched these signs of life in the brown house opposite, till she could watch no more from impatience. Faith must have its fruition. She must discover what ever possessed Mrs. Braddon to come back to that house. So the morning's work was divided among a group of outwardly obedient but inwardly refractory children. The baby was deposited into the meek arms of a very thin, very mild-faced little man, known as

"What is it, dearie ?" I whispered, kissing" Mrs. Risley's husband." Then she caught up

her.

She handed me the letter to read, and I held it up with one hand while with the other I stroked her soft, beautiful hair.

her green sun-bonnet, opened the door, and disappeared, leaving the little man by the stove regent of her realm. He clutched the baby as if he had been drowning and it were the fabulous straw we hear so much about, holding its

of his vest, submerging it in blankets and then diving into their depths with a terrified celerity to find its face, meekly reproving the children, and otherwise behaving in a very obedient and proper way; while his sovereign crossed the street, and stood knocking at the door of the brown house.

Surely the men must have been possessed after my Netty that day. This letter, too, con-head to the fire and its feet against the buttons tained an offer of marriage; but it was from George. Oh! how beautifully he told the old, old story. I can't remember half the letter contained, but I know it said that he had loved her for a long time but had not been in a position to offer her a fitting home; that he had at last gained, what for her sake he had steadily labored for-a competence; but he felt he had no right to linger by her side now that his country was in danger, and that he had lately entered the army. He had intended the night before to tell her about it, and all he felt, and so on. In the evening he would call to "learn his fate," he said, and bid her farewell for a time, unless, indeed, she should banish him forever. There was much more in it that I can't recall now, but I remem-house appeared. ber the letter made me fairly cry with joy; for Netty was the orphan child of my only sister, and the young man was one after my own heart. Netty looked up at me when I had finished reading.

"You see," she said, smiling brightly through her tears, 66 we were mistaken about his courage after all. God grant that mine may not falter. It is right for him to go."

"So it is," I responded, heartily. "We might have known, bless his heart! what he meant by saying that his name should never be upon the drafted list."

Netty was looking dreamily before her, but with such a happy light in her eye that I thought it wasn't best to talk much, so I sat down again and narrowed off my toe.

I wasn't in the room that evening, so I can not, of course, be expected to tell what happened.

"Good mornin', Miss Braddon! Didn't calc'late on seein' callers so airly? I s'pose I'm dreadful in the way, and I sha'n't stay but jest a minute. Come in to see how you was gettin' along, and if maybe my Jim couldn't help do some of your chores till you get kinder put to rights," she said, in her most neighborly tone, as the door opened and the occupant of the

She was a woman of perhaps thirty-five years, tall and strongly built, with a face which would not strike you as worthy of special notice, unless you were well used to reading the features of the women on our New England farms, and could select for yourself, in brow, or lip, or eye, the index of the presence or absence of that inner life which looks beyond the drudgery of their daily toil, which chafes and frets at its galling bonds, and so, flying away, makes a little world of its own, into which no weary work can enter, but where the real woman, such as God made her, communes with herself and with Him. Her hair, which had once been brown, was growing gray fast-too fast for the touch of years alone--and was pushed back from a forehead crossed with deep lines. Her eyes were blue and calm, but it was a smothered calm; there was something hidden behind it. Her lips were thin and determined, not sparing of smiles

when she talked, but sad when her face was in repose. The whole look of the woman, for the most part, was a quiet one; there was nothing nervous about her but a quick way she had of fluttering her hands, and an occasional start of something into her eyes which glittered there a moment and was gone.

She invited her visitor to enter the house cordially; her voice in itself was a whole story of hospitality-it was clear and sweet.

there was a strange sharpness in the voice which answered her:

"Mrs. Risley, it isn't the sins and abusings of her husband that she praises; it isn't the hardhearted creature that starves her and strikes her little babies; but it's what he used to be in the old days when they were young; it's 'the man that courted her, and kissed her, and put the ring on her finger, and promised to be true to her; that's who she loves and cries for, and I'm sorry for her."

Mrs. Risley, with many protestations that she must return home in "half a second," divested She spoke with an impetuosity that seemed herself of her sun-bonnet and shawl, took the to startle herself. She stopped abruptly, turnchair Mrs. Braddon held out to her, drew forthed away to the window, and went on dusting. her knitting from the cavernous depths of some Mrs. Risley coughed and changed the subject. unseen pocket, where the marbles of disobedient The fortress was hers. She understood now Jim and the doll of sulky Susan were mourn- why Mrs. Braddon had come back to the old ing in darkness their lost playmates, and pre- brown house. After a half hour of indifferent pared for a morning's gossip. gossip she crowned her head again with the brown sun-bonnet, hoped Mrs. Braddon wouldn't be lonely in this drearsome house, was afeard she would, invited her to drop in any time, and took her leave.

"You jest go right on with your work, Miss Braddon," she said, glancing around the room, where the process of "putting to rights" had evidently but just begun.

Mrs Braddon said that if her visitor would excuse her she thought she would dust a little, as she had a great deal to do before night.

"So you've come back agin, true as Gospel, haven't you?" remarked Mrs. Risley. "I've heern you was goin' to, a long spell since; but I allers disbelieved it. "Twarn't only t'other day that Miss Hodges-she that was Sarah Gould, you know-was a tellin' me how you'd bought the old house; and says I, 'She ain't never comin' back to live in that place alone by herself, after there's been such doin's and treatin's of her there; for my part I should jest rather go to some place where Mr. Braddon hadn't never been before me.""

"I liked this house best," answered Mrs. Braddon, in a dry tone, standing with her back to her visitor and dusting an old rocking-chair carefully, not noticing that she was cleaning its arms for the fourth time. Mrs. Risley was Yankee enough to see that this direct mode of attack would never storm the fortress, so she changed tactics.

Jane Braddon stood at the door a moment before she closed it, not to watch her visitor's disappearing form, but to get a bit of fresh air. She felt stifled somehow. She kept repeating in her mind the words she had just heard; they hurt her. She drank in the cool of the frosty morning eagerly, her eyes fixed on some hills, whose purple summits were painted clearly against the western horizon. The sun crept warmly over them, touching in spots of gold here and there among the woodlands. The brilliant blue of the November sky softened the outlines of the sharp bare trees; the crisp leaves, with their coat of feathery hoar-frost, were dancing and rustling over the meadows, and the wind, as it swept round the corners of the house, had a sharp, cheery sound. There was something glad and healthful in the whole stir of the bright morning. So there was, too, in the woman's face as she stood watching it, taking it in to her soul like a beautiful promise. The hand that had written heavily in the dark places of her life had not crushed her. There was no"So Sarah Hodges said. Says she, 'I'd go thing morbid looking out of her quiet eyes and back if I was her.' By-the-way, did you know hiding in her sad lips; only a great sorrow how dreadful Hodges has been abusin' on her? healthfully borne, and trusted with all its mysI've heern tell things about him that would-tery into the care of a love that looked at her well I could make you open your eyes if I would. He went on from bad to wus, and last month he desarted her, and she with them twins, and the other one's teeth skercely cut; and you wouldn't believe it now, but the woman acterly hain't opened her lips agin him! For my part I call it nonsense. I guess Mr. Risley wouldn't find me mournin' for him if he run away from me and his helpless offspring. Run away! Why the man dersn't do it. I say when a man goes to treatin' his family as Tom Hodges did his'n, it's downright senseless in a woman to go to excusin' of him, and praisin' of him up, and cryin' for him, and carin' for him jest the same."

The quiet figure which her keen eye had been watching while she talked turned suddenly, and

with a smile from over those sunlit hills. She ▾ gave a sigh of relief as it came to her with its healing for the pain of a moment before, closed the door, and went back to her work about the house with a smile.

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Drearsome, is it? Why, no, it shall not be," throwing back all the blinds to let the fresh morning into every corner of the silent rooms. It was a busy day to Mrs. Braddon, but the neighbors were kindly folk, and did not forget her. One sent her in a bit of cold chicken and a pudding for her dinner, because "twa'n't expected she'd do much cookin' that day;" another sent to know if "her gal Biddy couldn't pick up a bit for her;" and Mr. Risley was dispatched by his wife directly after dinner, as soon

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