ting 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
opportunities of our more fortunate city sisters, such as witnessing
plays from Shakespeare, listening to symphony concerts, etc., turn to
'The Friendship of Books,' of which Washington Irving writes: 'Cheer
us with the true friendship, which never deceived hope nor deserted
sorrow.'"

"Yes," said Mary, "but remember, Aunt Sarah, Chautauqua will be held
next Summer in a near-by town, and, as Uncle John is one of the
guarantors, you will wish to attend regularly and will, I know, enjoy
hearing the excellent lectures, music and concerts."

"Yea," replied her Aunt, "Chautauqua meetings will commence the latter
part of June, and I will expect you and Ralph to visit us then. I
think Chautauqua a godsend to country women, especially farmers'
wives; it takes them away from their monotonous daily toil and gives
them new thoughts and ideas."

"I can readily understand, Aunt Sarah, why the poem, 'Life's Common
Things,' appeals to you; it is because you see beauty in everything.
Aunt Sarah, where did you get this very old poem, 'The Deserted
City'?"

"Why, that was given me by John's Uncle, who thought the poem fine."

"Sad is the sight, the city once so fair!
An hundred palaces lie buried there;
Her lofty t