Like the varied combinations of the kaleidoscope, the scenes in our social life at Peterboro were continually changing from grave to gay.  Some years later we had a most hilarious occasion at the marriage of Mary Cochrane, sister of General John Cochrane, to Chapman Biddle, of Philadelphia.  The festivities, which were kept up for three days, involved most elaborate preparations for breakfasts, dinners, etc., there being no Delmonico’s in that remote part of the country.  It was decided in family council that we had sufficient culinary talent under the roof to prepare the entire menu of substantials and delicacies, from soup and salmon to cakes and creams.  So, gifted ladies and gentlemen were impressed into the service.  The Fitzhughs all had a natural talent for cooking, and chief among them was Isabella, wife of a naval officer,—­Lieutenant Swift of Geneva,—­who had made a profound study of all the authorities from Archestratus, a poet in Syracuse, the most famous cook among the Greeks, down to our own Miss Leslie.  Accordingly she was elected manager of the occasion, and to each one was assigned the specialty in which she claimed to excel.  Those who had no specialty were assistants to those who had.  In this humble office—­“assistant at large”—­I labored throughout.

Cooking is a high art.  A wise Egyptian said, long ago:  “The degree of taste and skill manifested by a nation in the preparation of food may be regarded as to a very considerable extent proportioned to its culture and refinement.”  In early times men, only, were deemed capable of handling fire, whether at the altar or the hearthstone.  We read in the Scriptures that Abraham prepared cakes of fine meal and a calf tender and good, which, with butter and milk, he set before the three angels in the plains of Mamre.  We are told, too, of the chief butler and chief baker as officers in the household of King Pharaoh.  I would like to call the attention of my readers to the dignity of this profession, which some young women affect to despise.  The fact that angels eat, shows that we may be called upon in the next sphere to cook even for cherubim and seraphim.  How important, then, to cultivate one’s gifts in that direction!

With such facts before us, we stirred and pounded, whipped and ground, coaxed the delicate meats from crabs and lobsters and the succulent peas from the pods, and grated corn and cocoanut with the same cheerfulness and devotion that we played Mendelssohn’s “Songs Without Words” on the piano, the Spanish Fandango on our guitars, or danced the minuet, polka, lancers, or Virginia reel.

During the day of the wedding, every stage coach was crowded with guests from the North, South, East, and West, and, as the twilight deepened, carriages began to roll in with neighbors and friends living at short distances, until the house and grounds were full.  A son of Bishop Coxe, who married the tall and stately sister of Roscoe Conkling, performed the ceremony.  The beautiful young bride was given away by her Uncle Gerrit.  The congratulations, the feast, and all went off with fitting decorum in the usual way.  The best proof of the excellence of our viands was that they were all speedily swept from mortal view, and every housewife wanted a recipe for something.