?. 



fORRESPONDENCE 



— - Ineormation 



AND 



Which Was Artistic? 



(ilen Ridg-e. N. J. 

 To the Editor : 



Referring to your parable, "Which 

 Was Artistic?" it seems to me not so 

 much a question of art as of harmony. 

 A little gem of a marble palace with all 

 the modern luxuries would be a dis- 

 cordant note in the forest which the 

 rugged boulders and field stones would 

 resent. The trees, themselves, would 

 protest against the gleaming marble 

 and stain it brown, green, black; the 

 vines, the lichens, the mosses would 

 cover its nakedness and time would 

 mellow it, but it would be the melan- 

 choly mellowness of sterile decay, a 

 satire on man's vanity! 



On the other hand. Brown's concep- 

 tion of a fitting home in the forest 

 would be harmonious, therefore artis- 

 tic, and I am sure the trees would agree 

 because Brown would say to them : 

 "You are beautiful because I love 

 you !" and, as there is no real love with- 

 out sacrifice, the sacrificial axe must 

 fell a noble tree, the saw must shape 

 it into slabs and planks to build the 

 man's home, and, lo, the hidden beau- 

 ties of the tree are revealed by the 

 polished panels which adorn the inner 

 walls of the man's house ! 

 Cordially, 



Louis Cortambert. 



The Passing of the Apple Turnover. 



Boston, Massachusetts. 

 To the Editor : 



"Backward, turn backward, O time in vour 



flight. 

 Make me a child again just for tonight! 



That is what T became while reading 

 your article on the loss of the apple 

 turnover, a child in a pinafore, witli 

 braided hair tied with brown ribbon, 

 standing with clasped hands waiting 

 for a turnover to cool. 



I had not thousfht of turnovers for 



forty years but now I will make some. 

 I can make the edges "stick." I know 

 the sweet, spicy crust, but alas ! the 

 apples — where for filling can I find a 

 string of sun dried apples, with their 

 incomparable flavor, the rich, red 

 brown sauce of dried apples, pared and 

 quartered, strung on a string and dried 

 in the sun? Such apples are no longer 

 in the market. The last time I tried to 

 get them to make "old-fashioned apple 

 cake" the clerk looked at me pitingly, 

 as if I were "the last leaf ui)on the 

 tree," or so much belated that I cannot 

 appreciate a good bleached apple. No 

 fresh apple or pallid evaporated one 

 can make the rich interior of the turn- 

 over to match the crisp outside. I will 

 make some. I thank you for awaken- 

 ing the memory of that old-tiine dainty. 



The old-fashioned dried apple is no 

 more because the paring bee is no long- 

 er one of the social functions in the 

 country, as it was when all the i)eople 

 for miles around were invited and 

 came to help pare and string the apples 

 for winter use. 



When the late supper table was load- 

 ed with all the good things known to 

 the expert cooks of those days, from 

 leaked l^eans to pumpkin pie and pound- 

 cake never forgetting the lamented 

 turnover, and after all had been dis- 

 l^osed of and the apples were out of 

 the way, the chairs were set back, the 

 table pushed to a corner of the big 

 old kitchen, with a chair on its top for 

 the fiddler, then began the fun. The 

 dance was on and "Money Musk" and 

 "Fisher's Hornpipe." "Virginia Reel" 

 and "Portland Fancy" held sway till 

 the tall old-fashioned clock warned of 

 the late hour and the miles of sleepy 

 driving home. 



Nowadays, "Pa" takes the apples and 

 whisks them ofl:" to market in the "car." 

 The apple bee is no more. The girls 

 now dance the two-step and the tan- 

 go. The fiddler no longer plays till he 

 falls asleep in his chair. The good 



