"Mamma, look at those pictures — 'My lord'
and his mother. Cousin Kate, w^hat does it all
mean ? Who are these people ? "
"That," I answered, quietly, "is the portrait of
my old school-mate Jennie Douglas, and this a
very good likeness of her son Gerald ; while this
is an idealized but faithful picture of his wife.
Wasn't she a beautiful w^oman ? "
"She is beautiful," said Alice. "I can't bear to
hear to hear you say she loas beautiful, as if her
]20 COOKING AND CASTLE-BUILDING.
life was ended. tiad I known her, I could
never think of her as dead, I am sure."
"Kate," asked Emelnie, "did you suspect that
our Switzerland acquaintances were your friends,
the Douglases ? "
"I did suspect, in fact was sure of their identity
from your very accurate descriptions. Quite a
romance, isn't it, Alice? And that you should
have dreamed of this man the first night you slept
under his roof, not knowing of his association with
these scenes, seems to me a singular coincidence.
But there is no accounting for dreams, or the
strange happening of events. The most unlooked
for, as well as most unwished for circumstances,
sometimes turn our lives into a new channel, and,
in after days, we see what we thought at the time
a great calamity, was, after all, for our best
good."
"Yes," said Emeline, reflectively, "this life
seems a sad muddle. We go groping about in
the dark, seeing strange shapes of evil, and
stumbling over neglected graves, longing for
light, and praying for mists and fogs to roll away ;
and sometimes catching glorious glimpses of the
evil shapes changing to friendly faces, and the
sad graves becoming mounds of bloom and green-
ness. But, Kate, w^e have been here more than a
month, and you have not devoted one hour to my
novel. Now, on the first rainy day, I shall ex-
AT DINNER. 121
pcot you and Alice to come to my room and
spend the entire morning in listening to portions
of it. I want your opinion about so many things
— even about deciding. upon a title for it. To
name my first-born- and only child, I found an
easy matter compared with determining what to
call this fledgling of my imagination. I think a
title should be attractive, and at the same time give
a hint, at least, of the contents of the ])Ook, don't
you?"
"Yes, that is well enough in a novel. But in
the case of my cook-book I have a different opin-
ion. That I intend to slip into libraries and on
centre-tables, as well as into kitchens, and have
it read by thousands, who would otherwise never
look at it, by selecting a title that suggests pleas-
ant light reading rather than a dry dissertation
upon cookery. Won't I steal a march upon many
an unsuspecting damsel, and teach hundreds how
to cook before they realize they are reading a
cook-book ? "
" I never saw a more spiritual face," said Alice,
still wrapt in contemplation of the portrait of
Helen Douglas. As represented by the artist,
she appeared a blonde with delicate features,
whose large eyes and full mouth might have had
in them a hint of voluptuousness, but for the pure,
Madonna-like expression of the whole face. A
flowing robe of fleecy white added to the effect.
122 COOKING AND CASTLE-BUILDING.
Page 50
Presented as published in 1880. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
"Mamma, look at those pictures — 'My lord' and his mother. Cousin Kate, what does it all mean ? Who are these people ? "
"That," I answered, quietly, "is the portrait of my old school-mate Jennie Douglas, and this a very good likeness of her son Gerald ; while this is an idealized but faithful picture of his wife. Wasn't she a beautiful woman ? "
"She is beautiful," said Alice. "I can't bear to hear to hear you say she was beautiful, as if her
life was ended. Had I known her, I could never think of her as dead, I am sure."
"Kate," asked Emelnie, "did you suspect that our Switzerland acquaintances were your friends, the Douglases ? "
"I did suspect, in fact was sure of their identity from your very accurate descriptions. Quite a romance, isn't it, Alice? And that you should have dreamed of this man the first night you slept under his roof, not knowing of his association with these scenes, seems to me a singular coincidence. But there is no accounting for dreams, or the strange happening of events. The most unlooked for, as well as most unwished for circumstances, sometimes turn our lives into a new channel, and, in after days, we see what we thought at the time a great calamity, was, after all, for our best good."
"Yes," said Emeline, reflectively, "this life seems a sad muddle. We go groping about in the dark, seeing strange shapes of evil, and stumbling over neglected graves, longing for light, and praying for mists and fogs to roll away ; and sometimes catching glorious glimpses of the evil shapes changing to friendly faces, and the sad graves becoming mounds of bloom and greenness. But, Kate, we have been here more than a month, and you have not devoted one hour to my novel. Now, on the first rainy day, I shall expect you and Alice to come to my room and spend the entire morning in listening to portions of it. I want your opinion about so many things — even about deciding. upon a title for it. To name my first-born and only child, I found an easy matter compared with determining what to call this fledgling of my imagination. I think a title should be attractive, and at the same time give a hint, at least, of the contents of the book, don't you?"
"Yes, that is well enough in a novel. But in the case of my cook-book I have a different opinion. That I intend to slip into libraries and on centre-tables, as well as into kitchens, and have it read by thousands, who would otherwise never look at it, by selecting a title that suggests pleasant light reading rather than a dry dissertation upon cookery. Won't I steal a march upon many an unsuspecting damsel, and teach hundreds how to cook before they realize they are reading a cook-book ? "
" I never saw a more spiritual face," said Alice, still wrapt in contemplation of the portrait of Helen Douglas. As represented by the artist, she appeared a blonde with delicate features, whose large eyes and full mouth might have had in them a hint of voluptuousness, but for the pure, Madonna-like expression of the whole face. A flowing robe of fleecy white added to the effect.