Shore, 'Creek.
Ginger Snaps
INGREDIENTS
A cup of brown sugar you add
To a pint of molasses N. O.,
A cupfull of butter (not bad)
Must next toward the mixture go.
A pinch of salt (very pure-
not the kind that you find on the beach).
And of ginger and soda be sure
To take a tablespoon each.
GENERAL DIRECTIONS
Stir the ginger in four cups of flour,
And while at this you are toiling,
The 'lasses and sugar and butter
Should heat just up to the boiling.
In a little hot water you next
The soda disolve-nor defer
At once (follow close to the text)
It in the hot mixture to stir.
When this has been carefully done,
The flour is slowly stirred in,
If the dough appears not a stiff one
Add more flour- and roll very thin.
Of cinnamon-if you prefer it
With ginger you half and half use,
A mixture so mild, I infer it
Would never the stomach abuse.
Bizarre, huh? Here are a couple of the jokes, or "FACETIAE" as the "Harper's Bazaar" calls them.
Feminine tenderness sometimes crops out in queer places. The widow of a French chemist, famous for his researches in toxicology, was on trial for poisoning her husband. It was proven that arsenic was the medium employed. "Why did you use that poison?" asked the presiding magistrate.
"Because," sobbed the fair culpret, "it was the one he liked best."
The other day, says a Western paper, about one o'clock, a boy of about twelve years of age went up a street at such a pace that every one was astisfied he was running for a doctor. A man with a kindly expression of countenance caught the flying boy by the arm, and asked him, "Sonny, is there anybody right sick at your house?"
"No, but there will be if you don't turn me loose."
"Who is it, bubby?"
"Will you let me go if I tell you?"
"I will, my boy."
"Well, then, it's my brother Bob. He will be a remains before night if I don't get home right off. You see, we have cucumbers, green corn, clabber, watermelon, and cabbage for dinner, and if I ain't there to get my share he will founder himself and die. Please let me go, so I can save my little brother's life."
For Welsh Readers- Mrs. Coodle was telling Mary Jane that the potatoes had an oniony smell, when Coodle suggested that perhaps they had been cooked in a saucepan with a leak in it.
I reproduced these as faithfully as I could, right down to the "e" in potatoes. It's obvious to even the casual reader that today's popular press bears precious little resemblance to their forbears. If anyone wants me to pass along anything else from these periodicals, don't hesitate to ask.
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