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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



" fallen out" just as they prophesied it would, 

 — they have " no pity" for such people. 



The most important and the most truly 

 comfortable part of a well-managed house, is 

 the kitchen. Though the parlors and draw- 

 ing-room are more poetical places, the 

 " kitchen " is unrivalled for its hospitable 

 appearance and domestic splendor ; it is a 

 place where the finest amongst us are not 

 ashamed to be seen sometimes; and from 

 whose savory area proceed those dishes and 

 soups, which throw life and fatness into the 

 aristocratical chambers. And let me ask any 

 reader who has had the happiness to spend 

 some of his juvenilian days at an " academy 

 for young gentlemen" — if he has not con- 

 sidered himself to be in the third Heaven, 

 when he has been able to steal into the 

 kitchen on a gusty winter's day, have a little 

 polite converse with the cook, collect hints 

 respecting the dinner, and entice her into 

 some treasonable act in the manufacture of 

 the silky " sky-blue ?" 



With this regard for the kitchen, what a 

 damp comes upon the heart when we enter 

 into a " kitchen," on an auction day ! Where 

 are all the culinary murmurs that used to 

 greet the ear in such a complex jingle of 

 copper, tin, and china ? Where is the tall 

 moon-faced clock that used to click with 

 such solemn assurance, and unalterable 

 gravity, amid the hubbub of " Marys," 

 "Johns," and "Marthas?" Where is the 

 smoky jack, that helped to embrown the 

 dripping rotundity of many a well-savored 

 joint? And where ! oh where ! is the barrel- 

 figured coachman, with a visage like a scraped 

 . carrot ; and the cook, with her fiery com- 

 plexion and fire-swimming eyes ; and the 

 giggling, manoeuvring, door-haunting house- 

 maid ; and the pale, inch-waisted ladies'-maid, 

 that used to trip into the kitchen, with my 

 mistress's " drawers" to be aired? Where 

 are they all ? ask, 



And echo answers, where ! — 

 What matin counsels, what noontide 

 smacking of lips, and what evening rounds 

 of mirth, that made all the platters to go a 

 " nid, nid, noddin," were heard in this place 

 a month since ! What a homely flicker the 

 piled fire used to fling athwart the gleaming 

 covers of saucepans in array, and rose-figured 

 plates, that stood on the dresser-shelves as if 

 they were meditating a start on the floor ! 

 Pleasant was the humming bubble of the 

 boiling water, the hiss of the roasting viands, 

 the industrious patter of feet, the purr of the 

 cat banqueting in lazy raptures before the 

 fire-place, and the occasional plashy tread of 

 a Newfoundland dog stalking through the 

 kitchen with homely contentedness. 



But the most joyous scene of all that 

 occurred in the kitchen was at Christmas, 

 when the master and mistress winked at 



seasonable improprieties " below ; " and, if 

 they had any English material in their hearts, 

 never scrupled to permit their servants' 

 " friends and relatives from the country" to 

 enjoy themselves in a liberal style. It is 

 really quite charming to see how thankfully 

 the red-cloaked dame is conducted to the 

 kitchen by her town-refined daughter, there to 

 taste some of the cook's " nice things." How 

 bouncingly the young maid skips about 

 before the old lady, as if to show her fami- 

 liarity with all around her, and her perfect 

 zmastonishment at the grand assortment of 

 plate and china, glittering on all sides. And 

 now, while the door is shut, and " upstair " 

 duties over, what an honest sympathy — 

 what a k'nife-and-fork commotion, what city 

 giggles, and country jokes, are operating 

 below! This is just as it should be; good 

 servants are rare things, and occasional feasts 

 and treats serve admirably well to keep their 

 spirits and principles in tune. 



But all this has gone by ; and look ! how 

 forbiddingly the deserted kitchen (a capital 

 subject for a poem, by the bye) yawns on us 

 now! — cheerless, noiseless, and tireless. The 

 shelves are unfurnished, the walls are as 

 bald as was Caesar's head, the kitchen 

 utensils are piled up in different lots, the 

 tread of the street passengers sounds through 

 the iron railing, a chilly wind is creeping 

 through the half-opened doors, and all is 

 perfectly desolate and wretched. Who can 

 endure such an uninteresting place? not the 

 reader — so he will please to walk up two 

 pair of stairs, and be introduced to a livelier 

 scene. 



And here we are in the drawing-room, or 

 rather what has been a "drawing-room," but 

 is now converted into a turbulent auction- 

 room. And what a chamberful of characters 

 and things ! With regard to the latter, it is 

 a perfect chaos ; and if we may venture a 

 poetical figure, we might say that the fur- 

 niture has suffered insanity, and danced 

 itself into monstrous parcels, collisions, and 

 unseemly separations. Everything appears 

 exactly in that place where it ought not to be. 



But for the former; — how shall we "hit 

 off" the appearance of the different counte- 

 nances and dresses of the company, in a short 

 but masterly manner? Here are shoals of 

 noses projecting forward, like gnomons of 

 sun-dials — of all lengths and shapes. One 

 shoots forward with a sunbeam kind of 

 vivacity, as if it would start from its present 

 residence into the gentleman's visage op- 

 posite ; another sticks bolt upright, like an 

 unmannerly hair; one curls pertly at the 

 tip ; another is hooked, as if it could balance 

 a kingdom at its extremity ; one is laughingly 

 snubby, about the size of a thimble, another 

 — but, — away with the noses, and let us look 

 to the eyes ! And, first ; they are of all 



