Chapter I: The Secret of the Alcohol Habit 17 (2)

The common, or Irish potato, as distinguished from the sweet potato, bears the botanical name of _Solanum Tuberosum_, and belongs to the natural order Solanaceæ. This group or family of plants is characterized by rank scented herbage, often abounding in narcotic poison. The flowers are regular, parts usually in fives, and the ovaries mostly two-celled and many-seeded. Among the more important members of the family are the tomato, egg-plant, cayenne pepper, and tobacco. Belladonna, hyoscyamus, and stramonium are better examples of the poisonous and medicinal properties of the plants in the order, which gives us so wholesome a food as the potato, and so vile a weed as tobacco. The herbage of the potato plant is not unlike that of its first and second cousins, but by means of these narcotic leaves and stems the plant is enabled to transform crude materials into starch and other valuable substances which are afterwards stored up in a suitable form for the use of man. The potato itself, which nearly all persons relish when well prepared for the table, is not a thick root, as many have supposed, but an enlarged underground stem, called a tuber. These thickened subterranean stems bear small leaves, reduced to mere scales, under which are buds, better known as eyes. A potato is as much a stem as the tender and delicious shoots of early spring asparagus. The potato plant has three kinds of stems: those bearing the foliage, those bearing the flowers and the underground stems which may be styled starch-bearing.

The early history of the potato is very obscure. It is doubtless a native of South America, where it has been frequently found in the wild state. The Spaniards are given the credit of first introducing the potato into Europe in the early part of the sixteenth century. It passed from Spain into France, and from there on into Germany and other countries of Europe. The first potatoes to reach England were those carried by Sir Walter Raleigh on his return from Virginia in 1584. “In the time of James the First they were so rare as to cost two shillings (sterling) a pound, and are mentioned in 1619 among the articles provided for the royal household.” The culture of the potato was encouraged by the Royal Agricultural Society. Since 1760 it has become an established garden and field crop, and one it would be a calamity to lose.

The chemical composition of the potato tuber varies greatly according to the conditions under which it has been grown, namely: soil, weather, manure, etc. It contains about seventy-five per cent. of water. The composition of the twenty-five per cent. of dry substance is as follows: protein, 2 per cent.; fat, .03; starch and other carb-hydrates, 20.7; fibre, 1.1; ash, .09. By protein is understood the various compounds containing nitrogen, like the gluten of wheat, white of egg, etc. This is considered the flesh-forming part of a food. Lean flesh is made up largely of protein compounds, or albuminoids, as they are sometimes called. The carb-hydrates contain no nitrogen, and are compounds of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen. Among the most familiar of this class are starch, sugar, and gums. The carb-hydrates, in contrast with the flesh-forming protein compounds are frequently called heat producing substances. This classification aids in giving a general idea of the part the two groups play in the animal economy. Both classes of foods are required, the amount of each depending upon the wear and tear of the body and the conditions of temperature, etc., under which the animal lives. A man who is working hard needs more of the protein compounds to build up the muscles than the person of leisure. When exposed to severe cold, an increase of the starchy substance is demanded to make good the losses caused by the excess of animal heat produced. From the average of many chemical analyses given above, it is seen that the potato is a heat-producing food, and not a muscle-forming food. The fat in foods—of which there is very little in the potato—is used both as fuel and to build up the fatty substance of the body. The proteins or albuminoids are the most expensive portions of any food; the fats come next, and the carb-hydrates last. (In this way a chemist is able to compute the nutritive value of a food from the per cent. of the classes of constituents found present by analysis.) Wheat contains about eleven per cent. of protein, and seventy per cent. of carb-hydrates. There is far less water, but more than that, it has a higher ratio of protein. It is a richer food. Corn has the same per cent. of starchy matter, but only nine per cent. of the albuminoids. It is not so rich a food as wheat. Beans and peas have about fifty per cent. of oil and starch and twenty-five per cent. of the flesh-formers. This is a very high protein ratio, and those grains approach closely to the composition of meats, and may replace them to a large extent. This is all to show that both chemistry and culinary experience do not rank the potato as a rich food. It serves the animal economy best when eaten with some other substance far richer in protein. Thus we have meat and potatoes as a wholesome and complete food.

The potato thrives in an open, warm, deep, mellow and rich soil. If the soil is not naturally fertile it needs to be supplied with well rotted manure; or if this is not available in sufficient quantities, supplement with some good commercial fertilizer. Thorough tillage, that is, frequent plowing and harrowing, will supply two other essentials, namely: depth and mellowness. Drainage may be necessary to remove the excess of water, the presence of which shuts out the air, and renders the soil cold and unfit for growing plants. A soil that will grow a good crop of corn will usually yield a paying crop of potatoes. Both corn and potatoes grow for only a short season, and have no time to wait for plant food. The roots need to have all the plant food they can absorb close within reach. As a rule, land can not be made too rich for potatoes.

There is a wide difference of opinion as to the size and manner of cutting the “seed” potatoes. If we will remember that a potato is a stem it will be seen that planting potatoes is virtually setting out cuttings; as much so as when portions of a grape vine or a currant cane are placed in the ground. The potato to serve as “seed” should be well matured and carefully kept through the winter. It is poor economy to plant small and half matured tubers. As much care should be taken with the “seed” potatoes as in the selection of scions, with which to engraft a tree. This leads to another very important point in potato growing. Be sure and plant good varieties. The list of names of the varieties of potatoes would fill a volume. The Early Rose has been for several years the type of excellence. The Beauty of Hebron takes a front rank for quality and productiveness. The Peach Blow has long been a favorite, though now less grown. The White Elephant, Snow Flake, and Burbank are three of the better sorts. The point of growth in a potato is the bud or “eye,” and the substance of the tuber around this eye furnishes it with nourishment for its initial growth. The results of experiments uphold the deductions of science that it is best to cut large potatoes to single “eyes,” guiding the knife so that each bud shall have an abundance of surrounding substance. The cut pieces may be planted in hills two and one-half feet each way, or in drills. A rapid and satisfactory method is to drop the pieces fifteen inches apart in the furrows made by a light plow. If placed in every third furrow, the rows will be wide enough for horse cultivation. In this way the plow prepares the place for the “seed,” and afterward covers it. When the potato plants are just coming through the ground, the surface may be stirred with the back of an ordinary harrow. This loosens up the soil and kills the young weeds. The further culture consists in frequently passing the cultivator between the rows to keep the surface soil open and free from weeds. The soil may be thrown toward the vines after they have attained considerable size.

The potato has met with some serious enemies. The worst pest of late years is the Colorado beetle. This is now so wide spread and well known that a description is unnecessary. The remedies are numerous, but Paris green and London purple are the most effective. These arsenical compounds are applied in both the dry state and mixed with water. The latter is generally considered the better method. A teaspoonful of either the “green” or “purple” is stirred in a watering-pot and applied to the infested foliage through a fine nozzle. This voracious beetle has a natural enemy in the shape of a mite that sometimes occurs so abundantly as to completely cover the victim. Other insect enemies are the stalk borer and the large potato worm. Burn the vines infested with the former, and pinch off and crush the latter.

The wet rot, so destructive some seasons, is caused by a minute parasitic fungus which grows within the substance of the potato leaves and stems, and afterward descends to the tubers and causes them to decay. Wet and hot weather are particularly favorable for the development of this mould. Nothing has been successfully used to stay its ravages. This rot has swept over Europe, Great Britain and Ireland, at different times, bringing great distress to all the inhabitants, but especially to the lower classes, whose daily food is made up largely of the potato. The tubers should be dug so soon as the fungus is found to have “struck” the foliage. In this way they may be removed before the rot has invaded them. Store the potatoes in a dry and uniformly cool place. As the rot does not come until midsummer, it is best to plant quick maturing varieties, and plant these early. In this way some of the insect enemies may also be avoided. Take it altogether, the potato is an easy and profitable crop to raise.

METHODS OF COOKING THE POTATO.

BY MRS. EMMA P. EWING.

There are only seven distinct methods of cooking potatoes, namely: roasting, baking, boiling, steaming, stewing, frying, and broiling. But the culinary possibilities of this simple esculent are so illimitable it can be served in about as many different ways as there are days in the year, and be acceptable in all of them, if properly done; for no member of the vegetable kingdom returns a richer reward for the care bestowed upon it than the potato.

ROASTED POTATOES.—The primitive method of roasting potatoes under, or among the ashes of a wood fire, is an excellent one. Bury the potatoes in hot ashes to the depth of two or three inches, cover with live coals, and leave undisturbed for half an hour, or until thoroughly roasted. As soon as done, which can be ascertained by taking one of them from its bed and testing it, remove, brush clean, break tenderly, place in a dish, and serve. The starch in a potato will absorb moisture when the starch cells are broken by heat, and unless roasted or baked potatoes are cracked as soon as cooked, and the steam allowed to escape, they will become sodden, dark colored, and rank in flavor. After being broken they can be kept for a considerable length of time, without much deterioration.

BAKED POTATOES.—Potatoes can be baked by placing them in the oven of a stove or range, either in a pan or on the grate. To bake a potato just right, it should be washed clean, wiped dry, put in an oven at a moderate temperature, and subjected to a gradually increasing heat until the skin assumes a light brown color, and becomes firm. The white flesh inside will then be well cooked and mealy, and will possess the exquisite aroma and delicious flavor of a perfectly roasted potato. If the oven is at the proper temperature, potatoes will bake in from forty to sixty minutes, according to size, and like those roasted under the ashes, should, as soon as done, be removed and broken.

If the flesh is scooped out of partly baked potatoes, mashed, mixed with sausage meat, seasoned, replaced in the scooped-out shells, and re-baked, they are called German potatoes; if it is mixed with grated cheese, bread crumbs and other ingredients, and similarly treated, they are called stuffed potatoes.

Potatoes are nice when pared and baked with fowl or meat of any kind. Wash, pare, parboil, and place them in the pan containing the fowl, or meat. Turn over when partly cooked, that they may brown evenly. They can be baked in drippings, without meat, and also without being parboiled.

Kentucky potatoes are potatoes pared, sliced, put in layers in a baking dish, moistened with milk, seasoned with salt, pepper, etc., and baked in a quick oven. If they are moistened with broth or other liquid, and the seasoning varied somewhat, each variation will produce a slightly different dish, and each can, without impropriety, be named after one of the different States of the Union.

BOILED POTATOES.—Very few people know how to boil a potato so it will be dry, mealy and fine flavored. To prepare potatoes for boiling unpared, or in their jackets, wash well in lukewarm water with a brush, and rinse in cold water. To prepare for boiling without their jackets, wash, pare, remove all the eyes and dark spots, and soak well in cold water. To boil either pared or unpared, put the potatoes, when prepared, in a liberal allowance of slightly salted boiling water, let them boil gently until tender enough to be easily pierced with a fork, then drain, cover with a folded towel, and set back on the range, or near the fire, to dry off. If treated in this manner, they will, when served, be tender and mealy—perfect powdery snow balls in appearance—and will be apt to tempt even the most fastidious.

Scooped potatoes are made by scooping balls of the required size from pared potatoes, with a vegetable scoop, boiling them, and serving with a sauce or gravy of some kind. Old potatoes treated in this manner are quite frequently mistaken for new ones, even by professed epicures.

STEAMED POTATOES.—Prepare as for boiling, and cook in a steamer over a pot or kettle of boiling water. When only a few potatoes are wanted, a small sized steamer should be used, but by placing a folded towel or cloth over the potatoes to prevent the escape of steam, even two or three can be nicely cooked, without inconvenience, in almost any sized steamer. This is an excellent mode of cooking potatoes, and should be more generally adopted.

STEWED POTATOES.—Cut pared potatoes in slices about an eighth of an inch in thickness, put in salted boiling water, cook gently until moderately tender, then drain off the water, add milk, and season with salt and pepper.

Use cream and butter, instead of milk, in its preparation, and plain stewed potato is converted into potato _à la crème_. A little minced parsley, if liked, can be added in either case.

FRIED POTATOES.—Slice raw pared potatoes very thin, soak well in cold water, drain the slices in a colander or sieve, dry them on towels by rolling and tumbling from one towel to another, separate them, and drop into a kettle of boiling grease. As soon as they assume a light brown color, lift with a skimmer, drain on a sieve, sprinkle with salt, and serve. The browning will be facilitated if the slices, when partly cooked, are taken from the kettle, exposed to the air a few seconds, and then returned to the boiling grease. These are the famous Saratoga potatoes, or Saratoga chips.

If a crimped knife, instead of a plain one, is used for slicing the potatoes, they will, when fried, be Julienne potatoes. If, instead of being sliced, the potatoes are cut in balls with a vegetable spoon or scoop, they will, when fried, be _Parisienne_ potatoes, etc., etc.

Potatoes cut in thin slices in long strips, in globular, angular, rhomboidal, and other irregular shapes, and fried in a kettle with a quantity of grease, are served as Saratoga, Julienne, Parisienne, and so on, while those fried in a spider or skillet in a smaller quantity of grease are served as potato _à la Français_, potato _à la Provençale_, potato _à la Barigoule_, etc., etc. But however varied the styles and however fanciful the names under which potatoes cooked in grease are made to do duty, they are all simply _fried potatoes_; and the important feature of their preparation is to have the grease in which they are to be fried—whether lard, butter, oil, or drippings—boiling hot when they are put into it, and to keep it so during the entire process of cooking. It is generally supposed that fried potatoes to be at all eatable must be served the moment they are taken from the fire; but if kept moderately warm, and at an even temperature, any of the above varieties—although not so delicious as when freshly cooked and hot—will remain in quite nice condition a considerable length of time.

BROILED POTATOES.—Parboil potatoes, cut in slices about half an inch in thickness, place in a wire gridiron, and broil over a slow fire until well browned on both sides, then season with salt and pepper, and serve hot, with a little melted butter poured over them. Cold boiled potatoes are very nice broiled in the same manner.

MASHED POTATO.—Special attention should be given to the preparation of such a universally favorite dish as mashed potato. Boil or steam pared potatoes till well cooked, drain, dry off, mash till fine and free from lumps, in a warm kettle or pan, stir in a little warm milk—unless the potato is preferred dry—add a small lump of butter, season with salt and pepper, and beat until light, with a wooden spoon or potato masher. The secret of making nice mashed potato consists in mashing the potato until very smooth before, and beating it until very light after, it has been seasoned.

Cream potato is made by stirring cream into nicely mashed potato until of the desired consistency—snow potato by rubbing the potato through a colander or sieve, and allowing it to pile up in the dish in a snowy mass, and curly potato by rubbing it through a colander, letting it fall in long, white curls, in a pyramidal form, on the dish in which it is to be served, and then putting it in a hot oven till the surface is crisped.

Potato croquettes are made by enriching mashed potato with beaten egg yolk, seasoning with salt, pepper, nutmeg or other condiments, forming into little balls or rolls, dipping in egg and bread crumbs, and frying in boiling grease.

Duchesse potato is made by adding beaten egg to mashed potato, squeezing it through a pastry bag, or cutting in narrow strips two or three inches in length, and browning in the oven.

REWARMED POTATOES.—Cold potato should never be thrown away. It should all be saved and utilized. There are numerous ways in which cold potato can be rewarmed, and in many of them it is almost as good as when first cooked. Much of the potato served up at leading hotels in fanciful styles and with foreign names, is merely rewarmed potato, and can be prepared readily and inexpensively in any private kitchen.

_To stew cold potato._—Slice cold boiled potatoes, put in a stew pan with cold gravy of any kind, season with salt and pepper, stew gently for ten minutes, or until thoroughly heated, and then serve.

Dust potato, heated in this style, with bread crumbs, grated cheese, etc., and brown in the oven, and it becomes potato _au gratin_.

Stir together in a sauce pan over the fire, a little butter and flour, add some milk, stew cold sliced potato in it, and the product, when seasoned with salt, pepper, lemon juice and chopped parsley, will be _maitre d’hotel_ potato. Omit the seasoning from potato thus warmed, and pour caper sauce over it, and it will be transformed into potato _polonaise_.

_To fry cold potato._—Cut cold boiled potatoes in slices, dredge lightly with flour, and fry brown in butter, lard or drippings—or, fry without dredging—or, hash fine, season with salt and pepper and fry.

Cut cold boiled potatoes in little balls, fry, with an onion, in oil, butter, lard or drippings, and it will be potato _à la Provençale_. Cut them in the shape of olives, fry in olive oil, with a spoonful of chopped herbs, and it will be potato _à la Barigoule_.

_Potato Hash._—Melt some butter or drippings in a spider or skillet, pour in a little sweet milk, season with salt and pepper, add cold boiled potato hashed, cover closely, and set where it will simmer slowly until the potato is thoroughly heated.

_Potato and Meat Hash._—Mix well, in about equal proportions, finely minced cold meat of any kind, and cold potato, moisten with milk, gravy, or soup stock, season with salt and pepper, make into a roll, or shape into cakes, put in a greased pan and bake in the oven.

_Potato Fish Balls._—Mix two parts of mashed potato with one part of finely picked up fish of any kind, season to taste, form into balls or cakes, and fry brown. The grease in which fish balls are to be fried should be boiling hot before they are put into it. Freshly cooked potato is considered best for making fish balls, but cold answers very nicely.

_Potato Soup._—Mix together over the fire an ounce each of butter and flour until the mixture begins to bubble, then add gradually a quart of boiling milk, season with salt and pepper, and stir in half a pint of mashed potato that has been rubbed through a sieve. The quantity of potato can be varied to suit the taste, and, if liked, a little minced may be added. This is sometimes called potato _purée_, and sometimes _potage Parmentier_—after the man who introduced the potato into France.

_Potato Cakes._—Mash cold potato to a smooth paste with a little milk, season to taste, form into cakes half an inch in thickness, and either fry or bake.

_Potato Biscuit._—Add a cup of milk to a quart of mashed potato, stir in sufficient flour to make it the proper consistency, mold into biscuit half an inch thick, and bake on a griddle or floured pan.

_Potato Soufflé._—Put a quart of mashed potato in a saucepan over the fire, add an ounce of butter, season to taste, pour in gradually half a pint of milk, stir till the mixture begins to thicken, then turn into a baking dish, smooth the surface with a knife, put in a quick oven and brown lightly.

_Potato Pie._—Cover the bottom of a baking dish with cold roast meat of any kind cut in small pieces, add a layer of cold sliced potatoes, then meat and potatoes in alternate layers till the dish is full. Add a little gravy or soup stock, or a lump of butter, season with salt and pepper, cover with a crust and bake.

_Potato Fritters._—To a pint of milk add the yolks of three eggs, half a dozen medium sized cold, boiled potatoes grated, or finely mashed, and flour enough to make a batter the proper consistency for ordinary fritters—add the beaten whites of the eggs, and a little salt, and fry in boiling lard.

_Potato Puffs._—To two cups cold mashed potatoes add two tablespoonfuls of butter, two beaten eggs, a cup of milk, and a little salt. Stir well together, pour into a baking dish, and bake in a quick oven.

With a lively imagination, a liberal supply of potatoes, and a few other ingredients, one can go on and multiply almost indefinitely the different styles in which potatoes can be prepared for the table; but through all the variations the seven cardinal methods of cooking them remain unchanged, and cover and include all the styles of serving, whether designated by plain unassuming names or dignified with pretentious, aristocratic titles.

SUNDAY READINGS.

SELECTED BY THE REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D.

[_October 5._]

THE STRANGE BARGAIN.—In a well known city there lived two merchants—one of them a skillful arithmetician, and generally an able man; the other, inexperienced in figures, and by no means a match for the former in talent. They made the following bargain: The first sold a horse to the second; but instead of fixing a definite sum of money as the price, they agreed that it should be regulated by the thirty-two nails with which the four shoes were fastened to the animal’s hoofs, and should be paid in millet, one grain being given for the first nail, two for the second, four for the third, eight for the fourth, and so on; that is, doubling the number at every nail. The buyer was at first delighted at purchasing a fine charger for what he fancied a very moderate price; but, when the account came to be settled, he found that the quantity of grain which, by the terms of the agreement, he was required to pay, was enormous. In fact, he would have been reduced to beggary, if some sensible friends had not interposed and procured a dissolution of the bargain. Gotthold, who heard the story, observed: “Well does it exemplify the wiles of Satan. By promising merry hours and temporal gain, he persuades and seduces man at first into what he calls venial faults, and labors to keep them in these until they have grown into a habit. Afterwards he advances by geometrical progression. Sin grows from sin, and one transgression follows another, the new being always the double of the old; and so the increase proceeds, until at last the base pleasure which has been bought, can be paid for only with that which is above all price, namely, the immortal soul; unless, indeed, God mercifully interpose in time with his holy spirit, opening the sinner’s eyes, convincing him of the deception, and inducing him to revoke the bargain, and implore help and deliverance from his Savior, Jesus Christ. It is therefore best to keep one’s self aloof in every way from Satan and his concerns, and to regard no sin as venial and small. How can it be that, when it is committed in opposition to the holy will of the Most High God?”

My God! teach me to reckon every sin great, so long as I live; but oh, let me look upon the very greatest sins as little, when I die!

THE LOCK.—A lock was shown to Gotthold, constructed of rings, which were severally inscribed with certain letters, and could be turned round until the letters represented the name Jesus. It was only when the rings were disposed in this manner that the lock could be opened. The invention pleased him beyond measure, and he exclaimed: Oh that I could put such a lock as this upon my heart! Our hearts are already locked, no doubt, but generally with a lock of quite another kind. Many need only to hear the words _Gain_, _Honor_, _Pleasure_, _Riches_, _Revenge_, and their heart opens in a moment, whereas, to the Savior and to his holy name it continues shut. Lord Jesus, engrave thou thy name with thine own finger upon my heart, that it may remain closed to worldly joy and to worldly pleasure, self-interest, fading honor and low revenge, and open only to thee!

THE FRUITFUL TREE.—Passing a garden, Gotthold observed a pear tree whose branches were bending to the ground, as if they would break with the weight of the fruit. On asking a friend, who was with him, “What do you think it is which this tree needs?” he was answered: “A prop or two to support the overloaded boughs.” “No,” rejoined Gotthold, “but hands to pluck, and baskets to contain the fruit. It presents to us a beautiful emblem of the Lord Jesus, our beloved Savior. He needs me, and I him; and so we suit each other, nor think it strange when I say that the Lord Jesus needs me, I mean that he needs me as this tree does baskets, or as the widow’s cruse, which God had blessed, needed empty vessels to contain the oil.… Love constrains the Lord to seek me, as my wants do me to seek him. He possesses all things—heaven, earth, and all which they contain; but these he does not need. What he needs is souls and hearts to replenish with his grace and spirit, and bless with his salvation. O mighty love, tender compassion, and mercy of our Savior! He, who needs nothing else, can not do without sinful and wretched man.”

THE CHILD AT PLAY.—A little boy was running about in an apartment, amusing himself as children are accustomed to do. His money was potsherds, his house bits of wood, his horse a stick, and his child a doll. In the same apartment sat his father, at a table, occupied with important matters of business, which he noted and arranged for the future benefit of his young companion. The child frequently ran to him, asked many foolish questions, and begged one thing after another as necessary for his diversion. The father answered briefly, did not intermit his work, but all the time kept a watchful eye over the child to save him from any serious fall or injury. Gotthold was a spectator of the scene, and thought with himself: “How beautiful an adumbration of the fatherly care of God! We, too, who are old children, course about in the world, and often play at games which are much more foolish than those of our little ones; we collect and scatter, build and demolish, plant and pluck up, ride and drive, eat and drink, sing and play, and fancy that we are performing great exploits, well worthy of God’s special attention. Meanwhile, however, the Omniscient is sitting by, and writing our days in his book. He orders and executes all that is to befall us, overruling it for our best interests in time and in eternity; and yet his eye never ceases to watch over us, and the childish sports in which we are engaged, that we may meet with no deadly mischief.”

“My God! such knowledge is too wonderful for me. It is high, and I can not attain unto it; but I shall thank and praise thee for it. O, my Father! withhold not from me thy care and inspection, and, above all, at those times when, perhaps, like this little one, I am playing the fool!”—_From Gotthold’s “Emblems.”_

[_October 12._]

Thus all history is swallowed up in boundless sorrow and remorse for that he is still laden with his boundless infirmity. But he hath delight and joy in that he seeth that the goodness of God is as great as his necessities, so that his life may well be called a dying life, by reason of such his griefs and joys, which are conformable and like unto the life of our Lord Jesus Christ, which from beginning to end was always made up of mingled grief and joy. Grief in that he left his heavenly throne and came down into this world; joy in that he was not severed from the glory and honor of the Father. Grief in that he was the son of man; joy in that he nevertheless was and remained the Son of God. Grief, because he took upon him the form of a servant; joy in that he was nevertheless a great Lord. Grief, because in human nature he was mortal, and died upon the cross; joy, because he was immortal, according to his godhead. Grief in his birth, in that he was once born of his mother; joy, in that he is the only begotten of God’s heart from everlasting to everlasting. Grief, because he became in time subject to time; joy, because he was eternal before all time, and shall be so forever. Grief, in that the word was born into the flesh, and hath dwelt in us; joy, in that the word was in the beginning with God, and God himself was the word. Grief, in that it behooved him to be baptized, like any human sinner, by St. John the Baptist, in the Jordan; joy, in that the voice of his heavenly Father said of him: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Grief, in that, like others, sinners, he was tempted of the enemy; joy, in that the angels came and ministered unto him. Grief, in that he ofttimes endured hunger and thirst; joy, because he is himself the food of men and angels. Grief, in that he was often wearied with his labors; joy, because he is the rest of all loving hearts and blessed spirits. Grief, forasmuch as his holy life and sufferings should remain in vain for so many human beings; joy, because he should thereby save his friends. Grief, in that he must needs ask to drink water of the heathen woman at the well; joy, in that he gave to that same woman to drink of living water, so that she should never thirst again. Grief, in that he was wont to sail in ships over the sea; joy, because he was wont to walk dry shod upon the waves. Grief, in that he wept with Martha and Mary, over Lazarus; joy, in that he raised their brother Lazarus from the dead. Grief, in that he was nailed to the cross with nails; joy, in that he promised paradise to the thief by his side. Grief, in that he thirsted when hanging on the cross; joy, in that he should thereby redeem his elect from eternal thirst. Grief, when he said, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me;” joy, in that he would, with these words, comfort all sad hearts. Grief, in that his soul was parted from his body, and he died and was buried; joy, because on the third day he rose again from the dead, with a glorified body.

Thus was all his life, from the manger to the cross, a mingled web of grief and joy. Which life he hath left as a sacred testament to his followers in this present time, who are converted unto his dying life, that they may remember him when they drink of his cup, and walk as he hath walked! May God help us so to do! Amen.—_From Tauler._

[_October 19._]

I count it the most grievous offense which the honor of Christianity has to sustain, that some of its ostentatious disciples confine their piety to the Sabbath and its ordinances, and banish God from the week-day employment of ordinary business. Whence that disgusting censoriousness which spreads the tincture of gall over so many a religious conversation? Whence that low tone of honesty and truth, which … is so often found to accompany the uniform appearance, and I believe, too, the occasional reality, of zeal in matters of religion? Whence, in fact, that separation of religious from social duty we so often meet with, not merely in their conception, but in their example and practice?… Alas! against them, too, we can prefer the charge of not “doing all things,” and we can substantiate it. With the mark of godliness upon their forehead, their conduct for the great majority of their time says: “We will not have God to rule over us.” He is only their occasional God. The easy offering of their prayers in the family, or of their attendance in the church and at the table, is ever in readiness. But the living sacrifice of the whole body, soul, and spirit, is withheld from him. He is deposed from his right and sovereignty over every minute of their existence; and instead of his law reaching to all their concerns, and bringing the whole man under its obedience, we see that in the vast majority of their doings they cast him off, and are as much the slaves of their own temper, and inclination, and interest, as if God had not a will for them at all times to obey, and as if Christ had never set an example before them to study and to imitate.

Hold, ye hypocrites! who talk of this as the season that is given to the love of Christ and to the memorial of his atonement! Did not Christ order away a disciple from his altar?—and upon what errand? Upon what you, it seems, would call the very worldly and unsuitable employment of making up a quarrel with a neighbor? Did not Christ say, “If ye love me, keep my commandments?” And yet the minister who expounds these commandments, and presses their observance upon you, is looked upon as preaching another gospel than what Christ left behind him. Oh! when will men cease to put asunder what God hath joined; and taking their lesson from the Bible, as little children, submit to it without a murmur, in all its parts, and in all its varieties!

But let the minister of God be gentle with all men, and humble under the feeling of his own infirmities. Let him, however zealous for the truth as it is in Jesus, learn that there is nothing in the purity of his own practice to justify a tone of indignant superiority to others. It is easy to see and to approve that which is excellent; but how shall we compass the doing of it? It is easy to expatiate on the frailties and the delusions of men; but how shall he manage for himself, when told by his own melancholy experience that he shares in them? It is easy to acknowledge the right and the sovereignty of God in all things, and to press his earnest assurances upon you, that you are wrong, if you suffer not the word of exhortation urging you to the daily walk and duties of the Christian; but to what refuge can he fly, when he finds that he is himself a defaulter, and that after having warmed his heart at the inconsistency of others, and penned his sentences against it, he mingles in the business of his work and his family, and forgetting that the eye of his God follows him there, falls a helpless victim to the imbecilities of our ruined nature?—_From Dr. Chalmers._

[_October 26._]

The Christian minister needs often to be reminded of this great end of his office, the perfection of the human character. He is too apt to rest in low attainments himself, and to be satisfied with low attainments in others. He ought never to forget the great distinction and glory of the gospel—that it is designed to perfect human nature. All the precepts of this divine system are marked by a sublime character. It demands that our piety be fervent, our benevolence unbounded, and our thirst for righteousness strong and insatiable. It enjoins a virtue which does not stop at what is positively prescribed, but which is prodigal of service to God and to mankind. The gospel enjoins inflexible integrity, fearless sincerity, fortitude which despises pain and tramples pleasure under foot in the pursuit of duty, and an independence of spirit which no scorn can deter and no example seduce from asserting truth and adhering to the cause which conscience approves. With this spirit of martyrs, this hardness and intrepidity of soldiers of the cross, the gospel calls us to unite the mildest and weakest virtues; a sympathy which melts over others’ woes; a disinterestedness which finds pleasure in toil, and labors for others’ good; a humility which loves to bless unseen, and forgets itself in the performance of the noblest deeds. To this perfection of social duty, the gospel commands us to join a piety which refers every event to the providence of God, and every action to his will; a love which counts no service hard, and a penitence which esteems no judgment severe; a gratitude which offers praise even in adversity; a holy trust unbroken by protracted suffering, and a hope triumphant over death. In one word, it enjoins that, living and confiding in Jesus Christ, we make his spotless character, his heavenly life, the model of our own. Such is the sublimity of character which the gospel demands, and such the end to which our preaching should ever be directed.

… We need to feel more deeply that we are entrusted with a religion which is designed to ennoble human nature; which recognizes in man the capacities of all that is great, good and excellent, and which offers every encouragement and aid to the pursuit of perfection. The Christian minister should often recollect that man, through prepense to evil, has yet power and faculties which may be exalted and refined to angelic glory; that he is called by the gospel to prepare for the community of angels; that he is formed for unlimited progress in intellectual and moral excellence and felicity. He should often recollect that in Jesus Christ our nature has been intimately united with the divine, and that in Jesus it is already enthroned in heaven. Familiarized to these generous conceptions, the Christian preacher, whilst he faithfully unfolds to men their guilt and danger, should also unfold their capacities for greatness; should reveal the splendor of that destiny to which they are called by Christ; should labor to awaken within them aspirations after a nobler character and a higher existence, and to inflame them with the love of all the graces and virtues with which Jesus came to enrich and adorn the human soul. In this way he will prove that he understands the true and great design of the gospel and the ministry—which is nothing less than the perfection of the human character.—_From Channing._

GLIMPSES OF ANCIENT GREEK LIFE.

Selected from J. P. Mahaffy’s “Old Greek Life.”

I.—THE GREEK TOWN AND HOUSE.

Whereas modern life is very much a country life, and we see all our plains and hills studded with farmsteads and well kept houses, it was seldom so with ancient, as it is never so with modern, Greece. In old days the fear of pirates and plunderers, in later days the taste for talking and for politics, kept men from staying in the country, and brought them into the towns, where they found safety and society. The tyrants alone insisted upon country life. Thus we find in Homer that outlying farms belonging to the nobles were managed by trusty slaves, who grazed cattle, and stall-fed them for city use. In Hesiod’s time it was the poor farmer only who dwelt in the country; fashionable and idle people always came together in the towns. The very same facts meet us when we read the Greek novels of the latest age, such as the _Story of Daphnis and Chloe_. There the rich citizens of Mitylene only come out rarely, like many Irish landlords, to visit their tenants and their flocks. There are only two large instances of Greek gentry living from choice in the country. The first is that of the old Attic gentry, whom Thucydides and Aristophanes describe as living luxuriously on their estates, and coming seldom to Athens. The second is that of the gentry of Elis, who were often, Polybius says, complete strangers for generations to the town. This was so because Attica was protected by her forts and fleets from sudden attack in these early days, and because the Greeks by common consent respected the land of Elis as sacred on account of the Olympic games. Accordingly, Xenophon, who was a sportsman, settled in this country when he retired from his wars. But we must pay our chief attention to city life as the almost universal form of Greek society.

The older Greek towns were usually some miles from the sea, because many pirates went about the coasts. These towns grew out from a castle, or _Acropolis_, which at first had been the only fortified refuge for the neighboring people in times of danger. Of this we have a remarkable example in the very old ruins of Tiryns on the plain of Argos. When the population increased, they built their towns round this fort, and walled them in. But the Acropolis or hill fort, generally on some steep crag, was of course the strongest and safest part of the town. It was also the seat of the oldest temples, and of the god who took the town under his special charge. Hence it was often a sacred place altogether, and not occupied with common houses. If the town prospered, there grew up at the nearest harbor a roadstead or seaport town, where merchants and sailors carried on their trade. Thus Athens with its Acropolis is three miles from the nearest sea, and more than four miles from the Peiræus, which became its port because the harbor was so excellent. The same may be said of Argos, Megara, and other towns. Thus Corinth had even two ports, one on either sea, and both at some miles distance from the great rock on which its citadel, the Acrocorinthus, was situate. Sparta alone had no citadel, because the passes into its plain were very difficult and easily defended. It had not even walls, but looked like a few mean villages close together. This was a remarkable exception.

The citadel was defended by walls, wherever the natural rock was not steep enough, and supplied with tanks for water, except in such rare cases as that of Corinth which has a rich fountain on the top of its great rock. If you looked down from any of these great citadels upon the town beneath, the most striking objects were always the temples and other public buildings which were meant to be admired from without, whereas the private houses were externally poor and shabby. So also the public squares and markets were large and imposing, often surrounded by colonnades and porticoes where people lay in the sun, or even slept at night. These colonnades were adorned with rows of statues; but the streets were narrow and dirty. The great contrast to any modern city must have been first of all the absence of all spires and pinnacles, as all Greek architecture loved flat roofs, and never built even in many stories. Then the forest of modern chimneys was also absent—an advantage which may be held fully to make up for the absence of even splendid steeples. All private houses were flat and insignificant, for the Greek never intended his house to be admired from without, he merely meant to shut out the noise and the thoroughfare of the street, and spent all his care on inner comforts.

While we build our houses facing the street, with most of their ornament intended to be seen by those who pass by, the Greek did all he could to shut out completely all connection with the street. He never had ground floor windows facing the street, and his house looked like a dead wall with a strong door in it, furnished with a knocker and a handle. This door opened outward, which made it safer for those within, but when they were coming out they used to knock inside lest passers-by might be thrown down when the door was pushed open. Richer houses did not open directly on the street, but on a porch which was not regarded as part of the house. Directly inside the hall door was a narrow hall with a porter’s lodge opening off it, in which a slave sat, who was put to that work or to that of attending boys, when not useful for anything else. You passed through the hall or passage into an open square court, which was the center of the house, and was surrounded by a covered colonnade or cloister. The various men’s rooms and the dining room opened upon this cloister. The same general plan was adopted by the Romans, and inherited by the modern Italians, so that most Italian palaces in Genoa, Florence, and elsewhere are built in this way. Opposite the entrance was a second door, which led from the court into the women’s apartments, and here was situated the bed chamber of the master and mistress of the house. In richer houses the women’s rooms were built round a second court like the first. But more commonly they did not occupy so much room, and were often placed on a second story, raised over the first at the back part of the building, with a staircase going up from the court. The Greeks preferred living on the ground floor, and their houses were not lofty blocks, like those of our streets. The bed rooms and sitting rooms round the court were usually small and dark, being mostly lighted only through their door into the cloister. The upper story had windows. The roof, which was tiled, like ours, was so flat as to allow people to walk upon it. The pantries and store rooms were generally at the back of the house, and near them the kitchen, which alone was supplied with a chimney. The other rooms seldom required a fire, and, if necessary, were heated with braziers of hot coke, or charcoal. The covered way upon which they opened made them cool in summer. Of course the palaces of early kings and the country houses of the rich Attic nobles had larger rooms and courtyards than ordinary city houses, but their plan was not different. Homer describes their halls as ornamented by plates of bright metal on the walls—a fashion preserved in the house of Phocion at Athens, and of which we still have traces in the so-called treasure house of Atreus, near Mycenæ. Fresco painting and rich coloring on the walls did not come into fashion till the fourth century B. C., and then became so common that we find almost all the houses in Pompeii, which was really a Greek town, though in Italy, ornamented in this way. There are large panels of black, scarlet, or yellow, surrounded with the borders of flowers, and in the center of the panel there are figures painted, when the owner could afford it. The same style of ornament, with far better execution, may be seen in the chambers of the palace now excavated on the Palatine at Rome.

As the Greek citizen lived chiefly in the open air, and in public, and regarded his house merely as a safe and convenient place to keep his family and store his goods, it was not to be expected that his furniture should be expensive or elaborate. The small size of the rooms and the dislike of the Greeks for large entertainments also tended to the same economy. Besides, the low valuations of furniture alluded to in several speeches made in the law courts of Athens prove it clearly as a general rule in earlier days, though some cities, such as the rich Sybaris, may have formed exceptions. In later days, with the decay of public spirit, greater luxury prevailed in private life.

We must therefore consider early Greek household furniture to have been cheap and simple, but remarkable for a grace of design and beauty of form which have never since been rivalled. And these were combined with a diligent attention to comfort and to practical use. Thus the Greek chair which is often drawn on vases, and which is reproduced in marble in the front row of the theater at Athens, as we still see it, is the most comfortable and practical chair yet designed. So also the pots and pitchers and vases which have been discovered in endless variety, are equally beautiful and convenient. The chief articles of which we hear are chairs, stools and couches made in ornamental wood work, with loose cushions (unlike our modern upholstery); there were also high-backed arm-chairs, and folding stools often carried after their masters by slaves. Though men of ruder ages and poorer classes were content to sleep between rugs and skins on the ground, and a shake down for a sudden guest was always such (and is so still); yet the Greeks had beds of woolen mattresses stretched on girths. Tables were only used for eating, and were then brought in, and laid loosely upon their legs. In early days each guest had a separate table for himself. This absence of solid tables must have been the most marked contrast between a Greek room and ours. People wrote either on their knees (as they now do in the East) or upon the arm of a couch. Whatever ornaments they kept in their rooms seem to have been placed on tripods, which often carried a vase of precious metal and of elegant workmanship. The wonderful variety and beauty of their lamps must also have been a remarkable feature. They possessed all manner of cups, bowls, jars, and flasks for wine, and water, and oil, and we have long lists of names for kitchen utensils, probably not very different from those found at Pompeii. They used plates and dishes, and sometimes knives and spoons at meals, but never forks.

II.—THE GREEK—HIS DAY AND HIS DRESS.