crid substance called biscuit, which many
of our worthy republicans are obliged to eat in these days, is
wholly unworthy of the men and women of the Republic. Good patriots
ought not to be put off in that way,--they deserve better fare.

As an occasional variety, as a household convenience for obtaining
bread or biscuit at a moment's notice, the process of effervescence
may be retained; but we earnestly entreat American housekeepers, in
Scriptural language, to stand in the way and ask for the old paths,
and return to the good yeast-bread of their sainted grandmothers.

If acid and alkali must be used, by all means let them be mixed in due
proportions. No cook should be left to guess and judge for herself
about this matter. There is an article, called "Preston's Infallible
Yeast Powder," which is made by chemical rule, and produces very
perfect results. The use of this obviates the worst dangers in making
bread by effervescence.

Of all processes of aeration in bread-making, the oldest and most
time-honored is by fermentation. That this was known in the days of
our Saviour is evident from the forcible simile in which he compares
the silent permeating force of truth in human society to the very
familiar household process of raising bread by a little yeast.

There is, however, one species of yeast, much used in some parts of
the country, against which I have to enter my protest. It is called
salt-risings, or milk-risings, and is made by mixing flour, milk, and
a little salt together and leaving them to ferment. The bread thus
produced is often very attractive, when new and made with great care.
It is white and delicate, with fine, even air-cells. It has, however,
when kept, some characteristics which remind us of the terms in which
our old English Bible describes the effect of keeping the manna of the
ancient Israelites, which we are informed, in words more explicit than
agreeable, "stank, and bred worms." If salt-rising bread does not
fulfill the whole of this unpleasant description, it certainly does
emphatically a part of it. The smell which it has in baking, and when
more than a day old, suggests the inquiry whether it is the saccharine
or the putrid fermentation with which it is raised. Whoever breaks a
piece of it after a day or two will often see minute filaments or
clammy strings drawing out from the fragments, which, with the
unmistakable smell, will cause him to pause before consummating a
nearer acquaintance