else have so much poetry in a book of cooking recipes."

"Perhaps not," replied her Aunt, "but you know, Mary, I believe in
combining pleasure with my work, and our lives are made up of poetry
and prose, and some lives are so very prosy. Many times when too tired
to look up a favorite volume of poems, it has rested me to turn the
pages of my recipe book and find some helpful thought, and a good
housewife will always keep her book of recipes where it may be readily
found for reference. I think, Mary, the poem 'Pennsylvania,' by Lydia
M.D. O'Neil, a fine one, and I never tire of reading it over and over
again. I have always felt grateful to my old schoolmaster. Professor
T----, for teaching me, when a school girl, to love the writing of
Longfellow, Whittier, Bryant, Tennyson and other well-known poets. I
still, in memory, hear him repeat 'Thanatopsis,' by Bryant and 'The
Builders,' by Longfellow. The rhymes of the 'Fireside Poet' are easily
understood, and never fail to touch the heart of common folk. I know
it appears odd to see so many of my favorite poems sandwiched in
between old, valued cooking recipes, but, Mary, the happiness of the
home life depends so largely on the food we consume. On the
preparation and selection of the food we eat depends our health, and
on our health is largely dependent our happiness and prosperity. Who
is it has said, 'The discovery of a new dish makes more for the
happiness of man than the discovery of a star'? So, dearie, you see
there is not such a great difference between the one who writes a poem
and the one who makes a pie. I think cooking should be considered one
of the fine arts--and the woman who prepares a dainty, appetizing dish
of food, which appeals to the sense of taste, should be considered as
worthy of praise as the artist who paints a fine picture to gratify
our sense of sight. I try to mix all the poetry possible in prosaic
every-day life. We country farmers' wives, not having the