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Godey's Lady's Book
References for Grits and Hominy
Date: March, 1860
COOKERY FOR THE SICK.
MILK PORRIDGE.— Make a fine gruel of half-grits, long boiled; strain off; either add cold milk, or warm with milk, as may be approved. This is a most wholesome breakfast for children.
Date: November, 1865
MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.
MUTTON BROTH.— Take two pounds of scrag mutton; to take the blood out, put it into a stewpan, and cover it with cold water; when the water becomes milk warm, pour it off; then put it in four or five pints of water, with a teaspoonful of salt, a tablespoonful of best grits, and an onion; set it on a slow fire, and when you have taken all the scum off, put in two or three turnips; let it simmer very slowly for two hours, and strain it through a clean sieve.
Date: September, 1865
RIGHT FOOD FOR INFANTS AND CHILDREN.
Oatmeal Gruel.— Take a dessertspoonful of fine oatmeal, and mix it smoothly with a little water in a basin. Then pour gradually upon it— stirring it well all the time— half a pint of boiling water, until well mixed and free from lumps. Boil it gently for ten minutes or rather more, add a few grains of salt and a little loaf sugar. It may be given either alone, or with the addition of a little warm new milk. This, or the following formula, will be found especially serviceable where there is a tendency to confinement of the bowels. It will, generally, be found to regulate the bowels well, without the use of laxative medicines. Oatmeal Gruel. (Another Receipt.)— The following formula for the preparation of oatmeal gruel is given by Dr. A.T. THOMSON, in his work on the Domestic Management of the Sick Room: “Take two ounces of oatmeal, free from mustiness, and a pint and a half of soft water. Rub the meal in a basin, with the back of a spoon, in a moderate quantity of the water, pouring off the fluid after the grosser particles have subsided, but whilst the milkiness continues, and let this operation be repeated until no more milkiness is communicated to the water. Next, put the washings into a pan, after having stirred them well, in order to suspend any fecula which may have subsided, and boil until a soft mucilage is formed.” This excellent form of gruel may be given with a little loaf sugar and a grain or two of salt, and either with or without the addition of warm new milk. Grit Gruel.— Take two ounces of grits. Wash them, and having poured off the water, add two pints of fresh water, and boil slowly until the gruel is reduced to one pint. Strain through a sieve and add a little loaf sugar and a few grains of salt. For cases of extreme delicacy of the bowels, this is the preferable form of oatmeal food. Like the two preceding forms of gruel, it may be given alone, in cases where milk disagrees with the infant stomach; but, in all other cases, a portion of warm, new milk should be added.
Date: November, 1861
CAKES, CUSTARDS, ETC.
HOMINY CAKES.— A pint of small hominy or Carolina grits, a pint of white Indian meal, sifted, a saltspoonful of salt, three large tablespoonfuls of fresh butter, three eggs or three tablespoonfuls of strong yeast, a quart of milk. Having washed the small hominy and left it soaking all night, boil it soft, drain it, and, while hot, mix it with the Indian meal, adding the salt and the butter. Then mix it gradually with the milk, and set it away to cool. Beat the eggs very light, and add them gradually to the mixture. The whole should make a thick batter. Then bake them on a griddle in the manner of buckwheat cakes, greasing or scraping the griddle always before you put on a fresh cake. Trim off their edges nicely, and send them to table hot. Eat them with butter. Or you may bake them in muffin rings. If you prefer making these cakes with yeast, you must begin them earlier, as they will require time to rise. The yeast should be strong and fresh. If not very strong, use four tablespoonfuls instead of two. Cover the pan, set it in a warm place, and do not begin to bake till it is well risen and the surface of the mixture is covered with bubbles.
Date: January, 1860
PLAIN DINNERS FOR WINTER.
CHRISTMAS DINNER.— Roast turkey, cranberry sauce, boiled ham, turnips, beets, winter-squash; mince pies. NEW YEAR'S DINNER.— A roast goose with apple-sauce, a boiled turkey with oyster-sauce, smoked tongue, turnips, cold-slaw, winter-squash; plum pudding. Boiled ham, cabbage, beets, cold-slaw, hominy; apple-pie. Chicken-pie, cold ham, turnips, beets, hominy; boiled batter pudding. Pease soup, beefsteaks, onions, turnips, beets, cold-slaw; baked rice pudding. Roast goose with apple-sauce, turnips, beets, winter-squash; cranberry-pie. Pork and beans, stewed fowl, winter-squash, turnips; Eastern pudding. Salt codfish with onions and eggs, parsnips, pigeon dumplings, turnips, beets; apple-pie. Pickled pork with pease pudding, hominy, winter-squash; molasses-pie. Roast turkey with cranberry-sauce, turnips, winter-squash, salsify; custard pudding. Pork pie with apples, oyster fritters, turnips, stewed pumpkin; boiled bread pudding. Round of beef stewed, parsneps, kale-canon, carrots, turnips; baked Indian pudding. Fried rabbits, cold beef, turnips, winter-squash, hominy; boiled batter pudding. Pot-pie, winter-squash, turnips, beets; pumpkin pudding. Boiled corn pork with Indian dumplings, stewed pumpkin, turnips; baked bread pudding. Bean soup, beefsteaks, onions, turnips, winter-squash; squash pudding. Boiled leg of mutton with nasturtion sauce, turnips, stewed pumpkin, hominy; pumpkin pudding. Boiled ham, cabbage, winter-squash, hominy; dried peach-pie. Roast fowls, turnips, winter-squash, salsify; cranberry-pie. Roast-beef, horseradish, winter-squash, turnips, cold-slaw; pumpkin pudding. Family soup, veal cutlets, turnips, winter-squash, parsneps; dried apple-pie. Roast pork, apple-sauce, turnips, stewed pumpkin, parsneps; baked rice pudding. Beefsteak pudding, fried ham and eggs, turnip; winter-squash; rice custard. Boiled fowls, oyster fritters, turnips, winter-squash; Carrageen blancmange.
Date: December, 1860
VERY NICE WINTER DINNERS FOR FAMILIES.
Winter soup, roast beef, stewed onions, cole-slaw, turnips; apple pie, custards. Boiled ham, oyster pie, turnips, parsnips, stewed pumpkin; baked rice pudding, preserved tomatoes. Chicken pot-pie, oyster fritters, turnips, parsnips, beets; pumpkin pudding, preserved peaches. Boiled turkey with oyster sauce, smoked tongue, turnips, salsify, beets; cranberry pie, custards. Roast fowls with cranberry sauce, oyster fritters, turnips, beets, winter-squash; potatoe pudding, preserved quinces. Bean soup, roast pork with apple sauce, turnips, pumpkin, beets; pumpkin pudding, preserved tomatoes. Roast beef, scalloped oysters, turnips, parsnips, winter-squash, stewed beets; cranberry pie, boiled custard. Pease soup, roast fowls, turnips, beets, hominy, winter-squash, cold-slaw; squash pudding, baked apples. Roast turkey with cranberry sauce, boiled ham, winter-squash, turnips, salsify; mince pudding, lemon custards. Ham pie, oyster fritters, turnips, winter-squash, salsify, stewed beets; raisin pudding, baked pears. Venison soup, roast fowls, stewed beets, turnips, winter-squash; sago pudding, baked apples. Roast venison with currant jelly, chicken curry, turnips, winter-squash, salsify; cranberry pie, custards. Roast fowls, boiled corned beef; cabbage, carrots, parsnips, turnips; apple pie, boiled custard. Roast beef, stewed fowls, cole-slaw, stewed beets, turnips, hominy, salsify; plum pudding, cranberry pie. Soup a la Julienne, roast goose with apple sauce, scalloped oysters, turnips, stewed onions, stewed beets pumpkin pudding, preserved pears.
Date: May, 1880
HOMINY CAKES.
Ingredients.- One teacupful of hominy, One pint of milk, Three eggs, Two tablespoonsful of flour, Salt to taste. Soak the hominy five hours, and then boil it until it will mash with a spoon. Mash to a smooth paste through a colander, and add the milk, salt, eggs well beaten, and lastly the flour. The flour should make a batter as thick as that for buckwheat cakes. Bake on a hot griddle and serve hot with honey. Butter each cake as it is taken from the griddle. Many like powdered spice and sugar, in equal parts on hominy cakes.
Date: June, 1860
CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.
ANOTHER JOHNNY CAKE RECEIPT.— I see asked for a receipt for johnny cake. The one given, made of rice or hominy, we call rice or hominy bread— that is, in the country, where johnny cake is made differently and a constant dish, also in this State (Florida). The true johnny cake is made of finely sifted meal salted and shortened with lard— or ham-dripping, which gives a pleasant flavor— and made up, either with milk or warm water, to a consistency to prevent its falling from the board. Spread it equally, and place slanting before the fire till browned on both sides. Bread baked in this way has a very sweet taste.
Date: November, 1860
HEALTH DEPARTMENT.
BY JNO. STAINBACK WILSON, M.D.
DIET, ETC. AFTER WEANING.— After a child has been weaned, it should be restricted for some time to the light, bland, semi-fluid preparatory vegetable diet already recommended. After continuing for three or four months the rice, arrowroot, grated crackers, and other things mentioned under the head of “Food and Drinks before Weaning,” soft-boiled eggs, rice pudding, hominy and syrup or molasses may be added by way of variety. It is a common error to have the food of infants too concentrated, too much divested of those husky, innutritious matters that are necessary to the proper performance of the functions of the bowels. After the laxness and irritation from teething have subsided, Graham flour, mush, hominy, potatoes, squashes, stewed or baked apples, etc. etc. are much better than fine flour, farina, starch, fine sugar, and all such concentrated food so much used. Of this we will have more to say when we come to treat of the diseases of infancy, many of which are caused by this very practice. Another error very prevalent is the mistaken notion that growing children require a great deal of meat to sustain them. Many mothers commence stuffing their children with meat— and that the worst kind of meat, fat bacon and pork— even before weaning, and before Nature has provided teeth for chewing solid food: indeed with some people bacon and collards are the staple articles of food for men, women, and babies. No wonder that children thus fed are very liable to bowel affections, convulsions, fevers, foul eruptions, and severe inflammations from the slightest injury or exposure! And children thus raised are not only exposed to all kinds of aches, pains, cramps, and an endless train of physical derangements, but mental and moral deterioration must ensue from such a course. A sound mind cannot exist in an unsound body— in a child, at any rate; and a child who is forever sick and puny must, as a necessary consequence, become fretful and ill-tempered; and, “feeling bad, will act bad,” to use the language of a late popular writer, “in spite of good counsel, parental authority, the nurse's lullaby, or the barbarian's rod.” These things are worthy of the most serious consideration of parents who “would train up a child in the way in which he should go.” Physical and moral health are, with very few exceptions, inseparably connected, and mothers cannot reasonably expect to raise bright, sweet-tempered children when the habits of the latter are such that they must inevitably be tortured with multiplied and intolerable physical disorders. A very few men and women, fortified by all the aid that philosophy and religion can give, may be able to maintain their moral integrity under such Job-like trials, but for a child no such hope can be entertained. The conclusion of the whole matter, then, is that a vegetable diet is best for infants, and for children after weaning, and even to adult age. When a child reaches the age of three or four years, solid animal food, such as beef mutton, chicken, etc. may be allowed; but we are satisfied from personal observation in our own family that they can do as well or better without any kind of meat even at this age. In our opinion it is time enough to give a child meat when he engages in active labor; and even then his principal food should consist in milk, eggs, and vegetables, using this last word in its most comprehensive sense, and not confining it by any means to the productions of the garden. The reason for this is the well-established fact that all children and young persons are peculiarly prone to inflammatory affections, and hence the propriety of having their diet to consist principally of cooling vegetables instead of strong, heating meats. As to the nutritiveness of a vegetable diet, there need be no fears; in the various productions of the vegetable world Nature has furnished an abundant supply of all the elements necessary to sustain growing persons, and all others. Columbus, Ga.
Note the "worst meat" and the "mental and moral deterioration" references above. :wink_smil
Date: December, 1859
CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.
MR. GODEY: As you wish receipts that are good, I will send you some that I have proved:—
CORN MUFFINS.— One gill of milk, half pint of soft boiled hominy or mush, a spoonful of butter, two eggs, three large spoonfuls of corn flour, and salt. Bake in rings. CORN BREAD (yellow flour).— Six large spoonfuls of corn flour, three spoonfuls of wheat flour (the flour to be wet several hours before using with milk), two spoonfuls of molasses; add, when ready to bake, one egg, salt, and a teaspoonful of soda.
Date: March, 1860
CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.
FOR MAKING SOUTH CAROLINA JOHNNY OR JOURNEY CAKE.— Half a pint of boiled rice or hominy, two eggs, one tablespoonful of butter, a little salt, flour enough to make a stiff batter; spread on an oaken board, and bake before a hot fire; when nicely baked on one side, turn, and bake the other; cut through the centre, and butter well. It pays for the trouble. This is the way our servants made it at my home in Charleston, South Carolina.
Date: March, 1847
MAIZE IN MILK. A CHRISTMAS STORY OF THE SOUTH. BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE," ETC.
Interesting description
And first, then, for the inevitable dish of Indian corn, in its capacity of vegetable rather than breadstuff— hominy ! Now, your yellow corn won't do for hominy — the color and the flavor are alike against it. It must be the genuine semi-transparent flint, ground at a water-mill, white as snow, and swelling out in two huge platters at convenient places upon the table. A moderate portion of each plate is provided with this vegetable, boiled to a due consistency, neither too soft like mush, nor too stiff, hard and dry for easy adjustment with a spoon. It requires long experience on the part of the cook to prepare this dish for the just appreciation of an adept. There must be no rising lump in the mass; there must be no dark speck upon the surface. The spoon should lie upon it without sinking below the rims, and hominy should always be eaten with a spoon or fork of silver. I name all these little particulars, as I assume the time to be approaching fast when Great Britain and Ireland, and one-half the continent of Europe will be fed out of the American granaries, and when hominy will arrive at its position of true dignity and distinction in the cuisine of the Old World. The Carolina breakfast-table would he a blank without hominy .
The rest of this is mostly a Christmas description
That of "Maize-in-milk" had its usual bountiful supply on the present occasion, and was not without its variety of breadstuffs. There were loaves and cakes of wheat, corn and rye, all the growth of the plantation— Colonel Openheart not being one of those conceited wiseacres who rely only upon the cotton market and neglect every other interest. It may be that he relied still too much upon the profits and prospects of the cotton market so as to indulge in a too ready habit of expenditure, but he never was that purblind proprietor who forgets the farm in the staple— a class of people still quite too large in Carolina for their own and the good of the country. His table rejoiced in its rice cakes and waffles also, among his breadstuffs— rice being also one of the grains of his own production. But of these, enough is said already. Among the meats on table, to say nothing of cold corn beef and boiled venison, we must spare a passing sentence to the sausages and black-puddings. Christmas on the southern plantation is emphatically the sausage season. Then it is, as old Mr. Bond was wont to say, that every negro is heard to whistle, and every mouth looks oily. But perhaps it is not every reader who knows what black puddings are. Well, we shall not pretend to enlighten those who are unhappily ignorant. It is enough to say that a black-pudding is something in the nature of the Scotch haggis, so sublimely sung by Burns, without the deficiencies and infirmities of that venerable compound. It is less unsightly to the eye and less unfriendly to the taste, more delicate in its flavor, and perhaps even more various in its ingredients. You shall find it a goodly commodity, taken along with its kindred, sausage and hominy , at a southern breakfast, when the Yule log is blazing. Colonel Openheart had just killed his usual hundred head of hogs, and this was one of the great events to bring happiness to the negro quarter. The great beef had also been slaughtered, and plenty and pleasure were conspicuous in every visage. No wonder the breakfast went off swimmingly. The boys were the happiest creatures in the world, and the achievements of the great gun were thrust into all ears. Not that they were either obtrusive or uproarious in the house with the guests or at the table. On these points, our colonel, though very indulgent generally, was something of a martinet, and breakfast was discussed and dispatched with a degree of order and quietude which only was not solemnity and stiffness. After breakfast the girls continued the work of decoration, and the boys went out to play. The lady of the house had her preparations still in some degree to make, and the worthy colonel took charge of good Mr. Bond, and they went together to the farm-yard, comparing notes, and discussing peas, ploughs and potatoes as they went. Soon, however, their attention was drawn to farther arrivals. First came poor old Kinsale, a worthy old Irishman— a farmer of small degree, who had been so long in America as to insist that yams and Spanish were the real potatoes of green Erin, and that the Irish potato had never been otherwise than sweet from the days of Sir Walter Raleigh. He was a good old man, seventy-six years or more, for whom Colonel Openheart sent his own horses and carriage every Christmas. Unlike Irishmen, who are not generally tenacious of early customs, he still wore small clothes and long stockings, having no better reason for his adherence to ancient fashions than the possession of a pair of legs which were formed after the best of ancient models. The youngsters of the day, however much they might smile at the tottering gait and rheumy eyes of old Kinsale, were not without a sufficient degree of taste to prompt envy of his calves. The red bandana about his neck, and the great hanging cape and flaps of his Marseilles vest were in odd contrast with the modern sack, of newest pattern, which had lately beguiled him by its cheapness, its bright colors and glittering buttons, at a Charleston slop-shop. The old fellow was now all agog for the war with Mexico, and his first demand was for the last newspapers which spoke of that event. But that the approaches of age were quite too unequivocal to suffer such an absurdity, it might have been that we should have heard him talk of volunteering in the Palmetto Regiment. But he was still strong to totter about field and stable; he disliked the house, and placing his chair under the shade of a group of great oaks that circled the centre of the lawn before the mansion of "Maize-in-Milk," he indicated to the other gentlemen the propriety of choosing that as the place for the reception of the arriving company. So here they all took seats together, with the newspapers in the grasp of old Kinsale, and a variety of potatoes of the largest dimensions, yam, Spanish and brimstone at his feet. These, With a laudable brag of Colonel Openheart, he had displayed as the largest which had been made anywhere that season. A few superior cotton-stalks were also beside them, with some mammoth turnips and great ears of corn. While they sat together, in rolled the barouche of Captain Whitfield with his family, five or seven in number, soon followed by Squire Whipple and a Mr. Bateman, who had just bought a snug farm in the neighborhood, and had been invited to share the Christmas hospitalities of "Maize-in-Milk." All of these were farmers of moderate resources, well to do in the world without being wealthy, a comfortable and improving people. Colonel Openheart's pleasure was to feel himself in a neighborhood with which he could sympathize, and with this object he had been for a long period engaged in the politic task of endeavoring to secure the affections of those around him. He made but little difference between his neighbors, except such as was called for by moral differences among themselves; and if he thought of the poverty of any among them, it was only that he might remember the needy with more seasonable assistance. But now other guests began to make their appearance, and as a stately carriage came whirling down the road, dear Bessy Clinton ran out to the trees where her father was seated, exclaiming— "It's Mary Butler, papa— that's the carriage;" and the eager eyes of the damsel sparkled as dewily bright as if the sunshine which they showed was about to issue from a tear. Sure enough, it was Mary Butler,— but who is it with her? Bessy Clinton had never been so fortunate as to know Elijah Skinflint, Esq., the lawyer of Messrs. Ingelhart and Cripps, to whom the temporary charge of Mary Butler had been confided. Mr. Skinflint, though he owned a plantation a few miles above that of Col. Openheart, was a practicing lawyer at a distant court-house, which he seldom left, except hurriedly, to cast an eye upon the doings of his overseer. His lean and angular person, red, searching, ferret-like eyes, and gaunt, erect frame, were quite new to our Bessy Clinton, who, though anxious to embrace Mary Butler, somewhat shrunk from the idea of approaching the grim guardian who came along with her. But, Skinflint and all his terrors were forgotten, when her father lifted Mary from the carriage; and the fond damsel bounded to her friend, and took her about the neck with as much fervency as if all the blood from her heart had gone into her arms. She was about to lead the lovely orphan away, when the voice of her father called her back; and she suffered a formal introduction to the redoubted lawyer, who had himself suggested the proceeding. Skinflint was evidently struck with the appearance of Bessy Clinton; who, for her age, was a tall and womanly-looking creature. I need not say she was a very lovely one. Skinflint appeared to think her so, and threw as much gentleness and animation into his glance, when he spoke with her, as a long practice in a very different school permitted him to do. He would have given her his arm in moving towards the house, but the damsel, too anxious to have Mary Butler to herself, contrived not to appear to see the awkward half-tender of civility which the learned barrister had made. In this way she got off, and the two girls were out of sight in an instant. The gentlemen again went towards their trees, where they soon forgot the other sex in a discussion which was equally shared between politics and potatoes. Skinflint was something of a politician, but he met his match in old Kinsale. If the one was expert at weaving the knot of Gordius, the other had a prompt Alexandrine method of unloosing it. His sturdy, practical mind, and clear, direct judgment, made him more than a match for the lawyer, who soon contrived to get as far from him as possible. In a little while the attention of all parties was drawn to new objects which appeared upon the highway. These were the negroes of the Butler estate, whom Col. Openheart had so rashly purchased, and at such high prices. He had sent all his carts and wagons to bring them to their new abodes, with all their prog and furniture. And a quaint and merry-looking cavalcade they made. The carts, four in number, the wagons, too, and a great ox-cart, were all laden heavily with baggage and bedding. Grinning little urchins lay on the top, and the able-bodied walked beside the vehicles. Each carried something in his hands, or a wallet upon his shoulders. More than one old fiddle was to be seen among them, and the song with which they accompanied the crazy music of its strings, only ceased when they came in sight of the group beneath the trees. Col. Openheart, followed by his guests, went out to the roadside to speak to them as they passed. He had a pleasant word for each, and shook hands with old Enoch, the patriarch of the plantation, where the latter sat in the wagon which brought up the rear. Bedford appropriately made his appearance at this moment, and took charge of the cavalcade, which he conducted to the quarters prepared for them. Affectionate memories of his friend, Ben Butler, caused the eyes of Col. Openheart to grow dim as he shook hands with the aged negroes; but a very different sentiment was in those of Lawyer Skinflint. Be sure, that excellent citizen had thoughts in his mind, as he beheld the scene, which he would never have ventured to declare in any of his pleadings. But the worthy colonel neither saw nor suspected anything, and his deportment to Skinflint, whom he did not love, was quite as courteous and kind as to any other of his guests. For that matter, as the day advanced, Skinflint began to grow in favor. He evidently took some pains to make himself agreeable. He was a man of considerable experience and information; had traveled; was well read, and not entirely wanting in those finer tastes which so happily garnish even the conversation of the merely sensible. He could be sportive when he would; and a vein of dry humor, which at the bar was causticity, seasoned his most ordinary conversation. He was habitually a hard man,— cold, ascetic; sarcastic, selfish; with but little sympathy for humanity in its susceptibilities, and in those pliant movements of the heart and fancy, which the worldling is apt to regard as weaknesses. But he knew how to humor the moods of others; and, with an object in view, he could play the pleasant companion for an hour, or a day— nay, quite as long as he had anything to gain by it. And he had something to gain at "Maize-in-Milk;" at least, we already half suspect the grim bachelor of being more than pleased with the graces and charms of dear Bessy Clinton. We don't know that any eye but ours beheld him, as, frequently, in the progress of the day, his glance was fixed on the fair face and beautifully rounded form of the maiden, with a positive show of interest and pleasure. The insolent! He to presume on the affections of that sweet creature— that incarnation of all that is delicate and dear in humanity and woman! But the day passes,— O! most pleasantly to all; and the young increase in numbers as the hours melt into the past; and the brightness grows in every eye as, sporting on the lawn, they seem to hurry the footsteps of the sun. And he sets at last! Then emerging from an ancient closet, our host brings forth the rude charred fragments of a half-burned log. It is the Yule Log of the last year. The hall chimney is carefully denuded of all its fires— the sticks are taken out, the hearth is swept. The great back-log, chosen for the fire of the new year, is brought in, and the fragments of last year's log are employed to kindle it. Our colonel delighted to continue, as nearly as he could, with propriety, the customs of his English ancestors; and his own shoulders bore the log from the wood-pile, and his own hands lighted the brands of the new year's fire as the sun went down. Doubtless, there is some superstition in all this; but such superstitions are not without their charm, and have their advantages. The superstitions which tend, in some degree, to make us forgetful of self, are equally serviceable to humanity and religion. The tea-things are removed; the night advances, the sable fiddler has made his appearance; and, seated in the piazza, attended by an urchin with a rude tamborine, he brings forth sounds which have a strange effect upon youthful feet and fancies. The dance begins, and, for two hours, the girls and boys foot it merrily in the great hall. Then a few steal away to another apartment, and there the eggs are broken. One seizes upon the bowl, another upon the dish, and they proceed to manufacture a noggin of eggs— that luscious draught not to be foregone, styled, in homely parlance, eggnog! not an inebriating beverage in that temperate household. The dance ceases; the draught is enjoyed; the more youthful disappear, and the sweet voice of Bessy Clinton, as she sings another of her ancient Christmas carols, is the signal for the separation of the company that night at the mansion of "Maize-in-Milk." Verily, Lawyer Skinflint never, in his life before, appeared so devotedly fond of music. He hung upon the tones of the sweet songstress as if she were especially the sweet singer in Israel, while she poured forth, at her father's summons, the old "Carol for Christmas Eve." Where, among the pasturing rocks, The glad shepherds kept their flocks, Came an angel to the fold, And, with voice of rapture, told,
That the Saviour, Christ, was born!
Born in Bethlehem, sacred place, Of a virgin full of grace, In a manger, lowly spot, Symbol of his mortal lot,
Lo! the Saviour, Christ, is born
Dread and glorious was the bright Of that sudden, shining light, Which, around the angel then, Token'd to the simple men,
That the Saviour, Christ, was born
But the voice that fill'd the blaze, Cheer'd them in their deep amaze Tidings of great joy I bring," In the coming of your King:
The true Shepherd, Christ is born.
References for Grits and Hominy
Date: March, 1860
COOKERY FOR THE SICK.
MILK PORRIDGE.— Make a fine gruel of half-grits, long boiled; strain off; either add cold milk, or warm with milk, as may be approved. This is a most wholesome breakfast for children.
Date: November, 1865
MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.
MUTTON BROTH.— Take two pounds of scrag mutton; to take the blood out, put it into a stewpan, and cover it with cold water; when the water becomes milk warm, pour it off; then put it in four or five pints of water, with a teaspoonful of salt, a tablespoonful of best grits, and an onion; set it on a slow fire, and when you have taken all the scum off, put in two or three turnips; let it simmer very slowly for two hours, and strain it through a clean sieve.
Date: September, 1865
RIGHT FOOD FOR INFANTS AND CHILDREN.
Oatmeal Gruel.— Take a dessertspoonful of fine oatmeal, and mix it smoothly with a little water in a basin. Then pour gradually upon it— stirring it well all the time— half a pint of boiling water, until well mixed and free from lumps. Boil it gently for ten minutes or rather more, add a few grains of salt and a little loaf sugar. It may be given either alone, or with the addition of a little warm new milk. This, or the following formula, will be found especially serviceable where there is a tendency to confinement of the bowels. It will, generally, be found to regulate the bowels well, without the use of laxative medicines. Oatmeal Gruel. (Another Receipt.)— The following formula for the preparation of oatmeal gruel is given by Dr. A.T. THOMSON, in his work on the Domestic Management of the Sick Room: “Take two ounces of oatmeal, free from mustiness, and a pint and a half of soft water. Rub the meal in a basin, with the back of a spoon, in a moderate quantity of the water, pouring off the fluid after the grosser particles have subsided, but whilst the milkiness continues, and let this operation be repeated until no more milkiness is communicated to the water. Next, put the washings into a pan, after having stirred them well, in order to suspend any fecula which may have subsided, and boil until a soft mucilage is formed.” This excellent form of gruel may be given with a little loaf sugar and a grain or two of salt, and either with or without the addition of warm new milk. Grit Gruel.— Take two ounces of grits. Wash them, and having poured off the water, add two pints of fresh water, and boil slowly until the gruel is reduced to one pint. Strain through a sieve and add a little loaf sugar and a few grains of salt. For cases of extreme delicacy of the bowels, this is the preferable form of oatmeal food. Like the two preceding forms of gruel, it may be given alone, in cases where milk disagrees with the infant stomach; but, in all other cases, a portion of warm, new milk should be added.
Date: November, 1861
CAKES, CUSTARDS, ETC.
HOMINY CAKES.— A pint of small hominy or Carolina grits, a pint of white Indian meal, sifted, a saltspoonful of salt, three large tablespoonfuls of fresh butter, three eggs or three tablespoonfuls of strong yeast, a quart of milk. Having washed the small hominy and left it soaking all night, boil it soft, drain it, and, while hot, mix it with the Indian meal, adding the salt and the butter. Then mix it gradually with the milk, and set it away to cool. Beat the eggs very light, and add them gradually to the mixture. The whole should make a thick batter. Then bake them on a griddle in the manner of buckwheat cakes, greasing or scraping the griddle always before you put on a fresh cake. Trim off their edges nicely, and send them to table hot. Eat them with butter. Or you may bake them in muffin rings. If you prefer making these cakes with yeast, you must begin them earlier, as they will require time to rise. The yeast should be strong and fresh. If not very strong, use four tablespoonfuls instead of two. Cover the pan, set it in a warm place, and do not begin to bake till it is well risen and the surface of the mixture is covered with bubbles.
Date: January, 1860
PLAIN DINNERS FOR WINTER.
CHRISTMAS DINNER.— Roast turkey, cranberry sauce, boiled ham, turnips, beets, winter-squash; mince pies. NEW YEAR'S DINNER.— A roast goose with apple-sauce, a boiled turkey with oyster-sauce, smoked tongue, turnips, cold-slaw, winter-squash; plum pudding. Boiled ham, cabbage, beets, cold-slaw, hominy; apple-pie. Chicken-pie, cold ham, turnips, beets, hominy; boiled batter pudding. Pease soup, beefsteaks, onions, turnips, beets, cold-slaw; baked rice pudding. Roast goose with apple-sauce, turnips, beets, winter-squash; cranberry-pie. Pork and beans, stewed fowl, winter-squash, turnips; Eastern pudding. Salt codfish with onions and eggs, parsnips, pigeon dumplings, turnips, beets; apple-pie. Pickled pork with pease pudding, hominy, winter-squash; molasses-pie. Roast turkey with cranberry-sauce, turnips, winter-squash, salsify; custard pudding. Pork pie with apples, oyster fritters, turnips, stewed pumpkin; boiled bread pudding. Round of beef stewed, parsneps, kale-canon, carrots, turnips; baked Indian pudding. Fried rabbits, cold beef, turnips, winter-squash, hominy; boiled batter pudding. Pot-pie, winter-squash, turnips, beets; pumpkin pudding. Boiled corn pork with Indian dumplings, stewed pumpkin, turnips; baked bread pudding. Bean soup, beefsteaks, onions, turnips, winter-squash; squash pudding. Boiled leg of mutton with nasturtion sauce, turnips, stewed pumpkin, hominy; pumpkin pudding. Boiled ham, cabbage, winter-squash, hominy; dried peach-pie. Roast fowls, turnips, winter-squash, salsify; cranberry-pie. Roast-beef, horseradish, winter-squash, turnips, cold-slaw; pumpkin pudding. Family soup, veal cutlets, turnips, winter-squash, parsneps; dried apple-pie. Roast pork, apple-sauce, turnips, stewed pumpkin, parsneps; baked rice pudding. Beefsteak pudding, fried ham and eggs, turnip; winter-squash; rice custard. Boiled fowls, oyster fritters, turnips, winter-squash; Carrageen blancmange.
Date: December, 1860
VERY NICE WINTER DINNERS FOR FAMILIES.
Winter soup, roast beef, stewed onions, cole-slaw, turnips; apple pie, custards. Boiled ham, oyster pie, turnips, parsnips, stewed pumpkin; baked rice pudding, preserved tomatoes. Chicken pot-pie, oyster fritters, turnips, parsnips, beets; pumpkin pudding, preserved peaches. Boiled turkey with oyster sauce, smoked tongue, turnips, salsify, beets; cranberry pie, custards. Roast fowls with cranberry sauce, oyster fritters, turnips, beets, winter-squash; potatoe pudding, preserved quinces. Bean soup, roast pork with apple sauce, turnips, pumpkin, beets; pumpkin pudding, preserved tomatoes. Roast beef, scalloped oysters, turnips, parsnips, winter-squash, stewed beets; cranberry pie, boiled custard. Pease soup, roast fowls, turnips, beets, hominy, winter-squash, cold-slaw; squash pudding, baked apples. Roast turkey with cranberry sauce, boiled ham, winter-squash, turnips, salsify; mince pudding, lemon custards. Ham pie, oyster fritters, turnips, winter-squash, salsify, stewed beets; raisin pudding, baked pears. Venison soup, roast fowls, stewed beets, turnips, winter-squash; sago pudding, baked apples. Roast venison with currant jelly, chicken curry, turnips, winter-squash, salsify; cranberry pie, custards. Roast fowls, boiled corned beef; cabbage, carrots, parsnips, turnips; apple pie, boiled custard. Roast beef, stewed fowls, cole-slaw, stewed beets, turnips, hominy, salsify; plum pudding, cranberry pie. Soup a la Julienne, roast goose with apple sauce, scalloped oysters, turnips, stewed onions, stewed beets pumpkin pudding, preserved pears.
Date: May, 1880
HOMINY CAKES.
Ingredients.- One teacupful of hominy, One pint of milk, Three eggs, Two tablespoonsful of flour, Salt to taste. Soak the hominy five hours, and then boil it until it will mash with a spoon. Mash to a smooth paste through a colander, and add the milk, salt, eggs well beaten, and lastly the flour. The flour should make a batter as thick as that for buckwheat cakes. Bake on a hot griddle and serve hot with honey. Butter each cake as it is taken from the griddle. Many like powdered spice and sugar, in equal parts on hominy cakes.
Date: June, 1860
CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.
ANOTHER JOHNNY CAKE RECEIPT.— I see asked for a receipt for johnny cake. The one given, made of rice or hominy, we call rice or hominy bread— that is, in the country, where johnny cake is made differently and a constant dish, also in this State (Florida). The true johnny cake is made of finely sifted meal salted and shortened with lard— or ham-dripping, which gives a pleasant flavor— and made up, either with milk or warm water, to a consistency to prevent its falling from the board. Spread it equally, and place slanting before the fire till browned on both sides. Bread baked in this way has a very sweet taste.
Date: November, 1860
HEALTH DEPARTMENT.
BY JNO. STAINBACK WILSON, M.D.
DIET, ETC. AFTER WEANING.— After a child has been weaned, it should be restricted for some time to the light, bland, semi-fluid preparatory vegetable diet already recommended. After continuing for three or four months the rice, arrowroot, grated crackers, and other things mentioned under the head of “Food and Drinks before Weaning,” soft-boiled eggs, rice pudding, hominy and syrup or molasses may be added by way of variety. It is a common error to have the food of infants too concentrated, too much divested of those husky, innutritious matters that are necessary to the proper performance of the functions of the bowels. After the laxness and irritation from teething have subsided, Graham flour, mush, hominy, potatoes, squashes, stewed or baked apples, etc. etc. are much better than fine flour, farina, starch, fine sugar, and all such concentrated food so much used. Of this we will have more to say when we come to treat of the diseases of infancy, many of which are caused by this very practice. Another error very prevalent is the mistaken notion that growing children require a great deal of meat to sustain them. Many mothers commence stuffing their children with meat— and that the worst kind of meat, fat bacon and pork— even before weaning, and before Nature has provided teeth for chewing solid food: indeed with some people bacon and collards are the staple articles of food for men, women, and babies. No wonder that children thus fed are very liable to bowel affections, convulsions, fevers, foul eruptions, and severe inflammations from the slightest injury or exposure! And children thus raised are not only exposed to all kinds of aches, pains, cramps, and an endless train of physical derangements, but mental and moral deterioration must ensue from such a course. A sound mind cannot exist in an unsound body— in a child, at any rate; and a child who is forever sick and puny must, as a necessary consequence, become fretful and ill-tempered; and, “feeling bad, will act bad,” to use the language of a late popular writer, “in spite of good counsel, parental authority, the nurse's lullaby, or the barbarian's rod.” These things are worthy of the most serious consideration of parents who “would train up a child in the way in which he should go.” Physical and moral health are, with very few exceptions, inseparably connected, and mothers cannot reasonably expect to raise bright, sweet-tempered children when the habits of the latter are such that they must inevitably be tortured with multiplied and intolerable physical disorders. A very few men and women, fortified by all the aid that philosophy and religion can give, may be able to maintain their moral integrity under such Job-like trials, but for a child no such hope can be entertained. The conclusion of the whole matter, then, is that a vegetable diet is best for infants, and for children after weaning, and even to adult age. When a child reaches the age of three or four years, solid animal food, such as beef mutton, chicken, etc. may be allowed; but we are satisfied from personal observation in our own family that they can do as well or better without any kind of meat even at this age. In our opinion it is time enough to give a child meat when he engages in active labor; and even then his principal food should consist in milk, eggs, and vegetables, using this last word in its most comprehensive sense, and not confining it by any means to the productions of the garden. The reason for this is the well-established fact that all children and young persons are peculiarly prone to inflammatory affections, and hence the propriety of having their diet to consist principally of cooling vegetables instead of strong, heating meats. As to the nutritiveness of a vegetable diet, there need be no fears; in the various productions of the vegetable world Nature has furnished an abundant supply of all the elements necessary to sustain growing persons, and all others. Columbus, Ga.
Note the "worst meat" and the "mental and moral deterioration" references above. :wink_smil
Date: December, 1859
CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.
MR. GODEY: As you wish receipts that are good, I will send you some that I have proved:—
CORN MUFFINS.— One gill of milk, half pint of soft boiled hominy or mush, a spoonful of butter, two eggs, three large spoonfuls of corn flour, and salt. Bake in rings. CORN BREAD (yellow flour).— Six large spoonfuls of corn flour, three spoonfuls of wheat flour (the flour to be wet several hours before using with milk), two spoonfuls of molasses; add, when ready to bake, one egg, salt, and a teaspoonful of soda.
Date: March, 1860
CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.
FOR MAKING SOUTH CAROLINA JOHNNY OR JOURNEY CAKE.— Half a pint of boiled rice or hominy, two eggs, one tablespoonful of butter, a little salt, flour enough to make a stiff batter; spread on an oaken board, and bake before a hot fire; when nicely baked on one side, turn, and bake the other; cut through the centre, and butter well. It pays for the trouble. This is the way our servants made it at my home in Charleston, South Carolina.
Date: March, 1847
MAIZE IN MILK. A CHRISTMAS STORY OF THE SOUTH. BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE," ETC.
Interesting description
And first, then, for the inevitable dish of Indian corn, in its capacity of vegetable rather than breadstuff— hominy ! Now, your yellow corn won't do for hominy — the color and the flavor are alike against it. It must be the genuine semi-transparent flint, ground at a water-mill, white as snow, and swelling out in two huge platters at convenient places upon the table. A moderate portion of each plate is provided with this vegetable, boiled to a due consistency, neither too soft like mush, nor too stiff, hard and dry for easy adjustment with a spoon. It requires long experience on the part of the cook to prepare this dish for the just appreciation of an adept. There must be no rising lump in the mass; there must be no dark speck upon the surface. The spoon should lie upon it without sinking below the rims, and hominy should always be eaten with a spoon or fork of silver. I name all these little particulars, as I assume the time to be approaching fast when Great Britain and Ireland, and one-half the continent of Europe will be fed out of the American granaries, and when hominy will arrive at its position of true dignity and distinction in the cuisine of the Old World. The Carolina breakfast-table would he a blank without hominy .
The rest of this is mostly a Christmas description
That of "Maize-in-milk" had its usual bountiful supply on the present occasion, and was not without its variety of breadstuffs. There were loaves and cakes of wheat, corn and rye, all the growth of the plantation— Colonel Openheart not being one of those conceited wiseacres who rely only upon the cotton market and neglect every other interest. It may be that he relied still too much upon the profits and prospects of the cotton market so as to indulge in a too ready habit of expenditure, but he never was that purblind proprietor who forgets the farm in the staple— a class of people still quite too large in Carolina for their own and the good of the country. His table rejoiced in its rice cakes and waffles also, among his breadstuffs— rice being also one of the grains of his own production. But of these, enough is said already. Among the meats on table, to say nothing of cold corn beef and boiled venison, we must spare a passing sentence to the sausages and black-puddings. Christmas on the southern plantation is emphatically the sausage season. Then it is, as old Mr. Bond was wont to say, that every negro is heard to whistle, and every mouth looks oily. But perhaps it is not every reader who knows what black puddings are. Well, we shall not pretend to enlighten those who are unhappily ignorant. It is enough to say that a black-pudding is something in the nature of the Scotch haggis, so sublimely sung by Burns, without the deficiencies and infirmities of that venerable compound. It is less unsightly to the eye and less unfriendly to the taste, more delicate in its flavor, and perhaps even more various in its ingredients. You shall find it a goodly commodity, taken along with its kindred, sausage and hominy , at a southern breakfast, when the Yule log is blazing. Colonel Openheart had just killed his usual hundred head of hogs, and this was one of the great events to bring happiness to the negro quarter. The great beef had also been slaughtered, and plenty and pleasure were conspicuous in every visage. No wonder the breakfast went off swimmingly. The boys were the happiest creatures in the world, and the achievements of the great gun were thrust into all ears. Not that they were either obtrusive or uproarious in the house with the guests or at the table. On these points, our colonel, though very indulgent generally, was something of a martinet, and breakfast was discussed and dispatched with a degree of order and quietude which only was not solemnity and stiffness. After breakfast the girls continued the work of decoration, and the boys went out to play. The lady of the house had her preparations still in some degree to make, and the worthy colonel took charge of good Mr. Bond, and they went together to the farm-yard, comparing notes, and discussing peas, ploughs and potatoes as they went. Soon, however, their attention was drawn to farther arrivals. First came poor old Kinsale, a worthy old Irishman— a farmer of small degree, who had been so long in America as to insist that yams and Spanish were the real potatoes of green Erin, and that the Irish potato had never been otherwise than sweet from the days of Sir Walter Raleigh. He was a good old man, seventy-six years or more, for whom Colonel Openheart sent his own horses and carriage every Christmas. Unlike Irishmen, who are not generally tenacious of early customs, he still wore small clothes and long stockings, having no better reason for his adherence to ancient fashions than the possession of a pair of legs which were formed after the best of ancient models. The youngsters of the day, however much they might smile at the tottering gait and rheumy eyes of old Kinsale, were not without a sufficient degree of taste to prompt envy of his calves. The red bandana about his neck, and the great hanging cape and flaps of his Marseilles vest were in odd contrast with the modern sack, of newest pattern, which had lately beguiled him by its cheapness, its bright colors and glittering buttons, at a Charleston slop-shop. The old fellow was now all agog for the war with Mexico, and his first demand was for the last newspapers which spoke of that event. But that the approaches of age were quite too unequivocal to suffer such an absurdity, it might have been that we should have heard him talk of volunteering in the Palmetto Regiment. But he was still strong to totter about field and stable; he disliked the house, and placing his chair under the shade of a group of great oaks that circled the centre of the lawn before the mansion of "Maize-in-Milk," he indicated to the other gentlemen the propriety of choosing that as the place for the reception of the arriving company. So here they all took seats together, with the newspapers in the grasp of old Kinsale, and a variety of potatoes of the largest dimensions, yam, Spanish and brimstone at his feet. These, With a laudable brag of Colonel Openheart, he had displayed as the largest which had been made anywhere that season. A few superior cotton-stalks were also beside them, with some mammoth turnips and great ears of corn. While they sat together, in rolled the barouche of Captain Whitfield with his family, five or seven in number, soon followed by Squire Whipple and a Mr. Bateman, who had just bought a snug farm in the neighborhood, and had been invited to share the Christmas hospitalities of "Maize-in-Milk." All of these were farmers of moderate resources, well to do in the world without being wealthy, a comfortable and improving people. Colonel Openheart's pleasure was to feel himself in a neighborhood with which he could sympathize, and with this object he had been for a long period engaged in the politic task of endeavoring to secure the affections of those around him. He made but little difference between his neighbors, except such as was called for by moral differences among themselves; and if he thought of the poverty of any among them, it was only that he might remember the needy with more seasonable assistance. But now other guests began to make their appearance, and as a stately carriage came whirling down the road, dear Bessy Clinton ran out to the trees where her father was seated, exclaiming— "It's Mary Butler, papa— that's the carriage;" and the eager eyes of the damsel sparkled as dewily bright as if the sunshine which they showed was about to issue from a tear. Sure enough, it was Mary Butler,— but who is it with her? Bessy Clinton had never been so fortunate as to know Elijah Skinflint, Esq., the lawyer of Messrs. Ingelhart and Cripps, to whom the temporary charge of Mary Butler had been confided. Mr. Skinflint, though he owned a plantation a few miles above that of Col. Openheart, was a practicing lawyer at a distant court-house, which he seldom left, except hurriedly, to cast an eye upon the doings of his overseer. His lean and angular person, red, searching, ferret-like eyes, and gaunt, erect frame, were quite new to our Bessy Clinton, who, though anxious to embrace Mary Butler, somewhat shrunk from the idea of approaching the grim guardian who came along with her. But, Skinflint and all his terrors were forgotten, when her father lifted Mary from the carriage; and the fond damsel bounded to her friend, and took her about the neck with as much fervency as if all the blood from her heart had gone into her arms. She was about to lead the lovely orphan away, when the voice of her father called her back; and she suffered a formal introduction to the redoubted lawyer, who had himself suggested the proceeding. Skinflint was evidently struck with the appearance of Bessy Clinton; who, for her age, was a tall and womanly-looking creature. I need not say she was a very lovely one. Skinflint appeared to think her so, and threw as much gentleness and animation into his glance, when he spoke with her, as a long practice in a very different school permitted him to do. He would have given her his arm in moving towards the house, but the damsel, too anxious to have Mary Butler to herself, contrived not to appear to see the awkward half-tender of civility which the learned barrister had made. In this way she got off, and the two girls were out of sight in an instant. The gentlemen again went towards their trees, where they soon forgot the other sex in a discussion which was equally shared between politics and potatoes. Skinflint was something of a politician, but he met his match in old Kinsale. If the one was expert at weaving the knot of Gordius, the other had a prompt Alexandrine method of unloosing it. His sturdy, practical mind, and clear, direct judgment, made him more than a match for the lawyer, who soon contrived to get as far from him as possible. In a little while the attention of all parties was drawn to new objects which appeared upon the highway. These were the negroes of the Butler estate, whom Col. Openheart had so rashly purchased, and at such high prices. He had sent all his carts and wagons to bring them to their new abodes, with all their prog and furniture. And a quaint and merry-looking cavalcade they made. The carts, four in number, the wagons, too, and a great ox-cart, were all laden heavily with baggage and bedding. Grinning little urchins lay on the top, and the able-bodied walked beside the vehicles. Each carried something in his hands, or a wallet upon his shoulders. More than one old fiddle was to be seen among them, and the song with which they accompanied the crazy music of its strings, only ceased when they came in sight of the group beneath the trees. Col. Openheart, followed by his guests, went out to the roadside to speak to them as they passed. He had a pleasant word for each, and shook hands with old Enoch, the patriarch of the plantation, where the latter sat in the wagon which brought up the rear. Bedford appropriately made his appearance at this moment, and took charge of the cavalcade, which he conducted to the quarters prepared for them. Affectionate memories of his friend, Ben Butler, caused the eyes of Col. Openheart to grow dim as he shook hands with the aged negroes; but a very different sentiment was in those of Lawyer Skinflint. Be sure, that excellent citizen had thoughts in his mind, as he beheld the scene, which he would never have ventured to declare in any of his pleadings. But the worthy colonel neither saw nor suspected anything, and his deportment to Skinflint, whom he did not love, was quite as courteous and kind as to any other of his guests. For that matter, as the day advanced, Skinflint began to grow in favor. He evidently took some pains to make himself agreeable. He was a man of considerable experience and information; had traveled; was well read, and not entirely wanting in those finer tastes which so happily garnish even the conversation of the merely sensible. He could be sportive when he would; and a vein of dry humor, which at the bar was causticity, seasoned his most ordinary conversation. He was habitually a hard man,— cold, ascetic; sarcastic, selfish; with but little sympathy for humanity in its susceptibilities, and in those pliant movements of the heart and fancy, which the worldling is apt to regard as weaknesses. But he knew how to humor the moods of others; and, with an object in view, he could play the pleasant companion for an hour, or a day— nay, quite as long as he had anything to gain by it. And he had something to gain at "Maize-in-Milk;" at least, we already half suspect the grim bachelor of being more than pleased with the graces and charms of dear Bessy Clinton. We don't know that any eye but ours beheld him, as, frequently, in the progress of the day, his glance was fixed on the fair face and beautifully rounded form of the maiden, with a positive show of interest and pleasure. The insolent! He to presume on the affections of that sweet creature— that incarnation of all that is delicate and dear in humanity and woman! But the day passes,— O! most pleasantly to all; and the young increase in numbers as the hours melt into the past; and the brightness grows in every eye as, sporting on the lawn, they seem to hurry the footsteps of the sun. And he sets at last! Then emerging from an ancient closet, our host brings forth the rude charred fragments of a half-burned log. It is the Yule Log of the last year. The hall chimney is carefully denuded of all its fires— the sticks are taken out, the hearth is swept. The great back-log, chosen for the fire of the new year, is brought in, and the fragments of last year's log are employed to kindle it. Our colonel delighted to continue, as nearly as he could, with propriety, the customs of his English ancestors; and his own shoulders bore the log from the wood-pile, and his own hands lighted the brands of the new year's fire as the sun went down. Doubtless, there is some superstition in all this; but such superstitions are not without their charm, and have their advantages. The superstitions which tend, in some degree, to make us forgetful of self, are equally serviceable to humanity and religion. The tea-things are removed; the night advances, the sable fiddler has made his appearance; and, seated in the piazza, attended by an urchin with a rude tamborine, he brings forth sounds which have a strange effect upon youthful feet and fancies. The dance begins, and, for two hours, the girls and boys foot it merrily in the great hall. Then a few steal away to another apartment, and there the eggs are broken. One seizes upon the bowl, another upon the dish, and they proceed to manufacture a noggin of eggs— that luscious draught not to be foregone, styled, in homely parlance, eggnog! not an inebriating beverage in that temperate household. The dance ceases; the draught is enjoyed; the more youthful disappear, and the sweet voice of Bessy Clinton, as she sings another of her ancient Christmas carols, is the signal for the separation of the company that night at the mansion of "Maize-in-Milk." Verily, Lawyer Skinflint never, in his life before, appeared so devotedly fond of music. He hung upon the tones of the sweet songstress as if she were especially the sweet singer in Israel, while she poured forth, at her father's summons, the old "Carol for Christmas Eve." Where, among the pasturing rocks, The glad shepherds kept their flocks, Came an angel to the fold, And, with voice of rapture, told,
That the Saviour, Christ, was born!
Born in Bethlehem, sacred place, Of a virgin full of grace, In a manger, lowly spot, Symbol of his mortal lot,
Lo! the Saviour, Christ, is born
Dread and glorious was the bright Of that sudden, shining light, Which, around the angel then, Token'd to the simple men,
That the Saviour, Christ, was born
But the voice that fill'd the blaze, Cheer'd them in their deep amaze Tidings of great joy I bring," In the coming of your King:
The true Shepherd, Christ is born.
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