MISCELLANEOUS. ESSAYS. fag! #7 
all our experiments. One time our 
loaf would not ris®—another time it 
would not come out—it stuck fast 
to the bottom—it wanted salt, it had 
too much salt—it was too wet, it 
was too dry! it was sometimes quite 
dough, but in general it was burnt 
to a cinder. It went on this way 
for the first week ; my wife and I 
could not discover the reason. We 
had tried potatoes in every way; 
we had boiled them, meshed them, 
pulverised them, poured water after 
water over them to make them 
white ; we had reduced (I say we, 
for being a national object, I was 
happy to take a part; besides, I 
own, I was a little on the alert, for 
I had promised my friends at 
Slaughter’s to bring them a loaf) we 
had reduced 20lbs. of potatoes to 
2, and had made excellent starch of 
it, though we could not make bread. 
We had consumed half the stock of 
potatoes that was to serve us all win- 
ter, without getting a single loaf 
that was eatable. My wife cried 
‘for vexation. She was sure there 
must be something in the matter 
that we did not dream of, for she 
‘knew as well how to make bread as 
any bakerin England; but she would 
find it out before she slept. 
An old baker, who had now 
turned flour-factor, of ouracquaint- 
ance, was called in, not because 
she did not know, as well as any 
baker in England, how to make 
bread; but there might be some 
-knack in managing the oven, that 
she was -unacquainted with—some 
thing in the way of heating it—or 
of putting the bread in it—or of tak- 
ing it out. In short, for once she 
- would take advice. ‘* Lord, Ma’am,” 
“says the flour-factor, “ it is no 
-wonder you could not succeed—- 
why Ma’am, you have got one of 
those kickshaw iron ovens. Lord 
bless you! they don’t answer, they’d 
burn all the bread in the world be- 
fore they’d Bake it. “‘There’s no do- 
ing any good with an iron oven.” 
My wife was struck dumb, but yet 
she was satisfied. She was com- 
pletely acquitted—the fault did not 
lie with her: but however, it would 
be easy to alter it, a small oven 
might be built for a mere trifle on 
the good old plan; and an oven 1 
accordingly got. 
But mark the consequences. The 
kitchen. chimney was torn. down, 
and some how or other the flue was 
injured. It was impossible to live 
in it for smoke. My maid gave us 
warning, she could not live in it; 
_and I was forced to dine at the cof- 
fee-house every day. My wife, 
however, is a woman of resource. 
‘She applied to an ingenious mecha- 
nic, who has great skill in chim- 
neys. ‘This man has invented a 
fine apparatus for a kitchen. He 
has a range that does every thing— 
it boils, roasts, stews, and bakes, 
all by the same fire; and the ex- 
penceis nothing, for it saves itself in 
fire in a twelvemonth. | Nothing 
would satisfy my wife but to have a 
new-fashioned range; and accord- 
ingly, at-an expence of more than 
501. I have got my kitchen meta 
morphosed ; and I am making mix- 
ed bread at no allowance. 
My wife has got into the way. 
This cast-iron oven on the new plan 
succeeds to a miracle; and I should 
be quite happy if it were not 
for the expence. But really Mr. 
Urban, there is nothing so dear 
as economy. I calculate that eve- 
Ty quartern-loaf of bread, which J 
make, costs me half-a-crown; and 
this is not the worst of it. Some- 
times we all get the gripes into the 
bargain. 
