CHAPTER XVI. 



SUPPER. 



" La decouverte d'un mets nouveau fait plub pour le bonheur du genre humain 

 que la decouverte d'une dtoile." Brillat Savabin. 



Who is there, accustomed to American rural scenery, that can- 

 not remember the summons that calls to dinner at the country 

 farm ? A stout housewife, when the sun-dial points to noon, walks 

 out on the lawn, among the inverted milk-pans, where lies the 

 house-dog stretched under the locust trees, and, turning her face 

 toward the harvest- field, gives a long winding blast on the horn 

 that wakes the echoes down the orchard, and over the meadow, 

 and all along the hills, calling the farmers to their noontide meal. 

 The watch-dog howls at the summons, and the workmen in the 

 sidtry grain toss their cradles by and turn homeward, the heavy 

 oxen saunter away in couples, and the horses are unhitched and 

 fastened in the shade by the trough of corn. The farmer, with his 

 stalwart sons, and " the hands," crowd into the kitchen, with their 

 necks bare to the pleasant wind, and the sweat of their labours on 

 their brow. The laugh is light, the words are gentle, for they are 

 confined to the simple subjects of the crops, the weather, and the 

 farm news. The goodwife is at the head of the table, and pours 

 out the tea or milk ; the daughters sit among the men, coming and 

 going as occasion requires to bring water, or bread, or pie. Their 

 attire is plain, their manners are simple and frank. Before the 

 old man there is placed a huge dish of stew ; it is made of potatoes, 

 carrots, chicken, and large squares of boiled fat pork, and he helps 

 it out with no niggard hand, and when he has finished his own 

 portion, he quaffs a huge cup of cider, and leans back in his chair, 

 with a great sigh of satisfaction, to wait till his youngest daughter, 



