ed, when a servant brought
five little speckled plover eggs, all lying in the nest just as taken
from the tree. How they were cooked is unknown; but one would certainly
need a recipe to eat them by.

But an American woman can outdo the Duchess of Sutherland. She will find
an egg daintier than the plover's, and not stir from her own door; for
awhile since, some one, fumbling among the secrets of Nature,
discovered, not that stones were sermons, but that snow was eggs, and
straight made a cook-book to tell it, as we will do on discovering that
rain is milk. Of course all things have their limitations; and these new
eggs are not just the article for custards, will not do to poach for
breakfast, or would hardly keep in brine; but they may be used in any
compound that requires lightness without richness. Even our grandmothers
made snow pancakes; but, in the present age, to be distinguished is to
be venturesome, and in this experiment one need not stop short of
veritable loaf-cake. The volatile element in snow makes two table-spoons
of it equal to one egg; therefore to a small loaf I should allow ten
table-spoons. Cooks always put in as many eggs as they can afford, you
know.

Thus, when snow falls every day for four months, as it does in New
England, eggs get exceedingly cheap in the prudent household. Then one
can smile to think how she circumvents the grocer, and pray the clouds
to lay a good nestful every week.

A friend the other day improvised a list of edibles headed, "Poisonous
_P_s,"--pastry, pickles, pork, and preserves. She was pleased to leave
out puddings, and hereto we shall say, Amen. Not that one is to indorse
such odiously rich ones as cocoa-nut, suet, and English plum; but,
bating these, there are enough both nice and wholesome to change the
dessert every day for a fortnight, at least. At another time I may give
you some recipes, with various items by this writing omitted.

Pastry the physiologists have been shaking their heads about for some
time,--especially as many persons use soda with the lard, not being
aware that they are making soft soap. This sort of paste one often sees
in the country. But it is easy to omit the soap. On the next
bread-making day, simply reserve a piece of the well-raised dough, and
roll in butter. This gives a palatable and harmless crust. I have also
experimented with a shortening of hot, fine-mashed potato and milk,
which, if it may not be recommended to an epicure, is reall