. The New England magazine . of almost similar collisions —skates ; all classes are represented, fromthose with turned-up points and with theheel end under the hollow of the foot,fastened on by an ingenious arrange-ment of strings and straps, to the mostmodern kind of clamp. Some of themare ladies skates; those strap andbuckle kinds made for gallant escortsto show their devotion by, in perform-ing the duty of putting them on. But what an armory have we now gotinto ! Here are swords, spears, andshields, evidently the property of ama-teur theatricals or some costume party ;and here are tuneless
. The New England magazine . of almost similar collisions —skates ; all classes are represented, fromthose with turned-up points and with theheel end under the hollow of the foot,fastened on by an ingenious arrange-ment of strings and straps, to the mostmodern kind of clamp. Some of themare ladies skates; those strap andbuckle kinds made for gallant escortsto show their devotion by, in perform-ing the duty of putting them on. But what an armory have we now gotinto ! Here are swords, spears, andshields, evidently the property of ama-teur theatricals or some costume party ;and here are tuneless harps, and a tallsham clock, — all of which have figuredon the stage in many different combi-nations. This miniature navyattracts my attention, —the work of some boysbusy fingers. What a Ifleet — everything, fromthe ironclad ram andmonitor, to the superbship of the line, all fullyrigged, armed, and man-ned ! Doubtless theyhave been engaged insevere conflicts, thoughthey show nomarks; now theyare at rest, Do you not smell something good?No ? But I do ; else is it a ghostly smellof dainties of the misty past. There isreason to recognize such ghostly odors, —for see this tin kitchen. Its hollow caveseems ample to contain a large fowl orjoint of meat. There is the spit with itscrank handle, — what a weapon in thehands of an angry woman ! I am faraway in good old colony times, —Thanksgiving to-day, a roaring fire withlots of glowing coals; in the tin kitchenis a large turkey slowly receiving adelicate brown as it is turned on thespit before the fire. It must havebeen hot work, and the spit turnermust have felt, like the Indian whowas pounding his own thumb : Heapglad when done. This baker, too— what visions of golden Johnny cake,-and delicately browned biscuit suchas our grandmothers made ! Really they lived in those days, evertif they did not have the modern ad-vantages. These primitive utensilshelped to develop that splendid raceof Yankees, now to be f
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidnewenglandma, bookyear1887
