Marion Harland's Complete Cook Book: A Practical and Exhaustive Manual of Cookery and Housekeeping

thereafter. In her book, “The Voice of the People,” Miss Glasgow tells a story, which I can certify is not exaggerated, of an old aunt who came to her nephew’s house on a visit of a week and stayed twenty years, guarded by the viewless, but potent, ægis of hospitality. A plate was put upon the table for the poor relation in town and country house in that lavish land, as freely as for the chief magistrate, and was filled as bountifully. When relative, acquaintance or stranger tarried but a night, the householder, in the homely speech of his fathers, asked in gentle sarcasm, “if he had come for a chunk of fire?” In his father’s day, lucifer matches were unknown. When the fire went out upon the kitchen hearth of plantation or cabin, a swift runner was sent across fields to borrow a live brand from the nearest neighbor. He must hurry back before it went out. _We_ invite people to come to us at a stated time and for a given period. When the time is up, we tell them graciously that we have enjoyed their visit, and hope we shall meet again before long. When the carriage that takes them to the station is out of sight, we say, “That is well over!” and make a note to that effect in our visiting book. Leaving the general view of our subject for individual illustration:— If satirists and grumbling wives are to be believed, a husband can hardly do a more imprudent thing than to bring home an unexpected guest to dinner, or luncheon, or supper. The ill-used wife contends that he always does this—as if with malice aforethought—at the most inconvenient times and seasons. From her standpoint he might have recollected—it seems incredible that he could have forgotten—that it is washing or ironing day, or Thursday, which is the cook’s afternoon out, and that the housemaid is not equal to a regular dinner. When the mistress has planned to have a “pick-up” composite of the substantial meal required by a man after his day’s work, and the