This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
114
LETTERS OF LIFE.

oughly wiped, and wrapped in paper, ere they were committed to their reservoirs, the rough-coated pear that served the oven until spring, comfortably accommodated, and the large, golden quince, embalmed with sugar to regale the guest. Heavy sheaves of maize covered with a formidable depth the garret floor, as a field was appropriated to the culture of this majestic plant, with its humbler adjunct, the potato, having their interstices filled with the graceful bean and ponderous pumpkin, without the favor of whose yellow face our Puritan forefathers dared not adventure on their Thanksgiving. There was a rural independence in our style of living which pleased us all. Our poultry and eggs were abundant and fine, our cow furnished an overflow of the richest milk, cream, and butter, and our hams, etc., preserved by a recipe of my father's, were proverbial for their delicacy. It is something to know what you are eating. More than this, we knew what they had eaten, upon whom we fed, and their aliment had been healthful and ample. Butchers' meat, of which we were no great consumers, could be obtained daily from carts, there being then no regularly established market.

The provisions for our table, though simple, were always admirably prepared. Let no one esteem this a matter of slight importance, or to be confidently trusted to careless hirelings. Ill-cooked and over-seasoned viands may serve to help the physicians; and all trades must live. Neither should the appointments of a board