y, and
efficient. There was Emily, a dignified personage, portly and composed,
an excellent and faithful woman and a good manager, unfailingly kind to
us little folks, a wondrously skilful compounder of pies, cakes, and
gingerbreads. She was wont to wear a white turban or similar head-dress
of wreathed draperies; and often, with serious face, she puzzled me, and
silenced my childish inquiries about the nature or purpose of ingredient
or process, by saying that it was "Laro for meddlers." In those days I
speculated deeply as to whether there did exist any such real substance
as "Laro." In this mystic and apparently underived term, the _a_ is
broad, as in "ah!" It may be spelled "Lahro," for what I know.

I do remember, in particular, a tidy, laborious, parsimonious,
pragmatical little Scotchwoman, Christiana. Once upon a time, in the
days of allopathic rule, my mother compounded a mighty pitcher of senna
mixture. This--its actual deglutition, by some blessed chance, not
becoming necessary--she set up, with a housekeeper's saving instinct, on
the pantry shelf, instead of pouring it into the gutter. So Christiana,
thrifty soul, and still more saving, could not endure the wasting of so
much virtue, and set herself stoutly to utilize the decoction by
consuming it to her own sole use and behoof, which she accomplished by
way of relaxation, so to speak, in single doses, at leisure times,
within a few days. Her own and her employer's respective economies were
fitly rewarded by an illness, through which my mother had to take care
of her.

One morning, so early that it was not quite light, I hung about the
kitchen table, slyly securing little lumps of the cold hasty-pudding
which was being sliced in order to be fried for breakfast. Having
snapped up a very nice one, as big as a walnut, lo and behold! when I
chewed, it was lard. There was direful retching and hasty ejection. The
disagreeable, cold, soft, greasy rankness of the morsel is extreme: if
you don't believe it, try it. I think this affair may have been a
cold-blooded scheme of the hired-girl. But it was years before I became
so suspicious as to place this sad construction upon the occurrence,
though I often remembered it.

Like all children, I was fond of candy, sweetmeats, and spices. Yet not
of allspice or nutmeg, nor of mace, which tastes of soap. I have known
of cases where parents claimed that their children were not fond of such
things. Believe them not. I liked