Juniata sentinel and Republican. [volume] (Mifflintown, Juniata County, Pa.) 1873-1955, 1891-12-02
BACK-DOOR REFLECTIONS.

window, screened outside by a tho
green grape vine, and fisnked within
by an ancient lounge, whose deficien
eies in the way of upholstery are
closked by an ample gray shawl, not
more impervious to the prying eve
than are the msntles of charity com
monty prevalent. This corner, where
one can drop crumbs unobserved behind
the bsrricade of book or portfolio, is
my favorite post of observation on
those cool and almost frosty afternoons
which visit our mountain altitude even
in midsummer. The small tide of
events runs on undisturbed by my
presence; my landlsdy placidIy fours
her rolling pin and bestows on me an
occasional seed cake; Tim, the chore-
boy, combs his blonde locks and naive
ly ogles his image in the little cracked
glass, and even the cat curls herself up
for her usual nap on the fuzzy cushion
that supports my elbow.
A kitchen, find, is an admirable
place for the minor medItations of life
a place where Pegasus is stabbed, and
groomed, and made to feel his legs in
stead of his wings, and philosophy con-
sents to rest for an hour in the agree
Some kitchens, to be sure have a
coarsely material look, expressive of
the lower realities OF life, and few can
hope to acquire the melIowing grace OF
q half century of affectionate occu-
pancy. Doubtless these walls, with
their time-stained woodwork, have
looked down on much of the humber
by-play that marks the lot of our COM
-. . L. l.,
dances and ruder games, lighted by tai
low dips and lanterns, where the scrap
ing of the fiddle was drowned by loud
bursts of laughter echoed back from
the beams overhead; Dick and Dolly
have courted and kissed and quarreled
over the popping of corn and tying of
green's; the wedding loaf and the funer-
eral baked meats have come forth from
the me nth of that capacious oven, and
now those silent, scaIding tears have
been shed that betray the breast they
cannot relieve. All that is swept away;
those labors, the merry-msking, the
loves, hates, griefs, and the very actors
themselves are burned up and forgot
ten like so much fuel; new characters
appear on the scene, and still the pa
tient churning and securing, the laugh
ter ana the weeping, go on.
And this leads me to reflect on the
variety of troubles which life, that de-
tests monotony, presents to us. There
are many troubles-business troubles;
those affections of the pocket book
which make all others seem bsseless
and visionary; or, if the screw is re-
liked little in that quarter, there are
troubles of the heart that scare away
sleep; or the pangs Of disappointed
ambition; or ill health, which creates q
yellow fog about us; or finally there is
the brood of imaginary troubles, which
must have filed by far the greater part
of Pandora's box, those luxurious
griefs which are the special prerogative
of all who are otherwise unprovided
for, since no one is too rich or too for
tunate to be the sorry possessor of an
imaginary trouble. In short it would
seem that the human spirit demands
this condiment with its diet, and one
suspects that MIR. Bellamy's national
banquet would prove somewhat taste
less without the ingredient.
The kitchen is apt to play large part
in our recollections of childhood, its
upper shelves and inaccessible closets
were regions of the most delightful
mystery, and the genius Looi, Maggie
or Bridget, was reigning deity whose
moods were studied with all the pene-
tration of an infaAt acolyte. In pro-
pitious seasons we were sometimes
admitted to construct e mensgerie from
a remnant of dough, or study the syn
thesis of black berry tarts, but woe to
US it we ventured to lift up our heads
when the domestic Olympus was IN
volved in storm. Perhaps we turn
most fondly to grandmother kitchen,
where we romped unreproved during
vacations and holidays-where grand
mother herself was mistress of cere-
monies, the dear old lady, with her
round, huted cap, her pleasant ruddy-
checked face like a puckefed apple, her
one lame foot and conveniently dim
eyesight-ah, when shall We see such
Thanksgivings againi How we stopped
at the corners of the huge old fire. place
TO catch a glimpse of the sky through
its soot-begrimed galleries, or sat
around the hearth to roast apples and
ounces while the snow sifted in
through the crack of the doorl Then
you remember the famous household
receipt-book with its cumbrous head
lines and elaborate hourishes, whose
faded manuscript leaves Gf they are
still in existence) might make the
mouth of a gourmand water for apple
butter and pumpkin -breadl A cook
book, in those days of intellectual twi-
light, was no series Of scientific formu-
las, but humored the foibles OF femin-
inc nature as it existed in hoop-skirts
and paper -soled shoes. "a handful"
and ga pinch we're not contraband
terms; and those discursive Directions
for Making Elder Flower Wine by the
Hon. Mrs. Samuel Pettigrew," or
"Aunt Betsy Totten's Family Recipe
for Hartford Election Cake 100 years
old" seemed to breathe spirit of leIs-
urely elegance unknown to the pots and
pans of to-day.
Although it is chiefly in modern
New England that we find the favorite
type of girl, who makes jam and scrubs
the floor in the forenoon, and in the
afternoon reads Mill and plays Beeth-
ovens sonatas, yet how often the lives
of illustrious women afford US delight
full bacx-door gIimpsesl Who has not
paused over the picture of Emily
Bronte, that fercest daughter of the
Yorkshire moor, kneading her bread IN
Haworth parsonage, with her German
lesson book propped before her ;or of that
supper prepared by Rachael for Alfred
De Musset. in the brightest flush of her
genius and fame, when she came in
"1ooking beautiful" with ga foulard
handkerchief tied under her chin, and
regaled him with soup and q saucepan
of spinach? Doubtless George Sand.
in the old pastoral days in Berry,
-
conftures" and the girl Marian Evans
in her fathers dairy, wore an apron
and mob-cap times out of mind. Poetry
itself has not disdained gastronomics;
and sssuredly in the pages of novels
and romances the culinary art Is by no
means despised, and many a heroine
has captured the readers heart from the
homely underground Of the kitchen
Reflections like these, which lead
one far afeld, are apt to be Interrupted
nv praparafj0na for aunDar and nv