Cooking and castle-building

" Buckwheat-cakes are perhaps more universally eaten in this country than any other kind, and at the same time are more invariably and unmitigatcdly bad. A mean buckwheat-cake suggests the idea of total depravity in cakes. Imagine a Christian gentleman breakfasting on those tawny, leaden things, — leathery, gritty, sour, and half raw. In eating them, he forfeits a good share of self-respect, and goes his way after breakfast with a heavy heart in his bosom and a bitter taste in his mouth. If he did not know he was the victim of buckwheat-cakes he would be morally certain the whole world was against him, and his best friend had become his worst enemy. "A buckwheat-cake at its best is certainly queen of the griddle, a very princess among cakes, — light, brown, crisp. It has no ragged edge, no tawny, leaden-gray color, streaked with black. Sour? Why, the smoke of it is as grateful as sweet incense. You pat it tenderly with your knife, then spread it daintily with the sweet butter waiting to be gracious, adding syrup just to make the honeycomb illusion complete. I never knew a man after breakfasting on such cakes to contemplate suicide, or grumble even if his wife asked him for money." Here Emeline interrupted me w^ith, — "Kate, why don't you have Alice keep pencil and paper at hand to jot down such little ira- promptu speeches for your cook-book ? My opinion is that some of the best thoughts and choicest sayings of writers never get into their books. They come and go, with the passing moment of inspiration, known only to the fortunate few who happen to be at table, or in the drawing-room. But are you aware, that at the beginning of breakfast I asked you what kind of cakes these are that we are eatinir?" " Is it possible you don't know ? " "All things are possible, it seems, when you and Alice ]Dlay your witcheries in the kitchen ; but, although I'm not sure, I think they are rice-cakes. Rice-cakes are my favorite cakes, and these are certainly very nice." Here Alice's musical laugh rippled into the conversation with, — "Rice-cakes, indeed, mamma; you ought to have seen the stale old bread that went to make up these little brown beauties." Emeline answered with indignation, not unmixed with disgust, — "Bread-cakes, Alice, are my particular detestation,— soft, sticky, and disagreeable." " Oh fie, mamma ! how shocking ! But I hasten to heap coals of fire on your head, by giving you the exact recipe, for these delicate, delicious cakes : Pour over a pint of bread-crumbs, the same measure of boilino: milk. If the milk has been skimmed, a small piece of butter must be added. Cover closely, and let stand over night. In the morning mash to a smooth paste, and beat thoroughly with it the yolks of two eggs. Then gradually add half a pint of cold milk, beating meanwhile, and half a pint of flour with which a measure of baking-powder has been sifted. Lastly, add the wdiites of the eggs, beaten to a stiff froth. These cakes require longer baking than battercakes, and should be baked of a small size, as they are tender and easily torn, and, when served, should be spread over the plate, and not piled one upon the other." "Kice-cakes, Alice, maybe made in the same manner as bread-cakes, substituting well-boiled rice for bread-crumbs."