The peel of 6 lemons.

1 quart white whiskey or brandy.

Cut the rind into thin shreds; half fill three or four wide-mouthed bottles with it, and pour the spirits upon it. Cork tightly, and shake now and then for the first month. This will keep for years, and be better for age. It has this advantage over the distilled extract sold in the stores—country-stores especially, lemon extract being especially liable to spoil if kept for a few months, and tasting, when a little old, unfortunately like spirits of turpentine.

Orange.

Prepare as you would lemon-peel. Put into small bottles. It is said to be an excellent stomachic taken in the proportion of a teaspoonful to a glass of iced water, and slightly sweetened.

It is very nice for flavoring the icing of orange cake.

Vanilla.

2 vanilla beans.

½ pint white whiskey.

Split the bean, and clip with your scissors into bits, scraping out the seeds which possess the finest flavoring qualities. Put the seed and husks into the bottom of a small bottle; fill up with the spirits, and cork tightly. Shake it often for a few weeks, after which it will be fit for use—and never spoil.

Bitter Almond.

½ pound of bitter almonds.

1 pint white whiskey.

Blanch the almonds, and shred (not pound them), using for this purpose a sharp knife that will not bruise the kernels. Put them into a wide-mouthed bottle; pour in the spirits, cork tightly; shake every other day for a fortnight. It will then be fit for use. Strain it as you have occasion to use it, through a bit of cloth held over the mouth of the bottle.

I introduce these directions for the domestic manufacture of such extracts as are most used in cooking:, chiefly, but not altogether for the benefit of country readers. The land—town and country—is so deluged now with makers and peddlers of “flavoring extracts,” that some, of necessity, must be indifferent in quality, if not hurtful. I have purchased from a respectable druggist in a large city, rose-water that smelled like ditch-water, and tasted worse; essence of lemon that could not be distinguished by the sense of taste or smell from varnish; and vanilla that was like nothing I had ever tasted or smelled before—least of all like heliotrope, new-mown hay, or vanilla-bean.

The answer to my complaint in each of these cases was the same. “I cannot understand it, madam. The extract is of Our Own Make, and there is no better in the American market!”

In country stores the risk of getting a poor article is of course much greater. To this day, I recall with a creep of the flesh that drives a cold moisture to the surface, the unspoken (at the moment) agony with which I detected something wrong, and very far wrong in some nice-looking custards, the manufacture of which I had myself superintended, and that formed the staple of the dessert, to which I set down a couple of unexpected guests. As the first spoonful touched my tongue, I looked at John, and John looked (pityingly) at me! By mutual consent, we began to press the fruit upon our friends, and I hastened the entrance of the coffee-tray.

After dinner, we snatched a few words from one another, aside.

“The cook’s carelessness!” said he. “She got hold of the liniment-bottle by mistake.”

“It was a fresh bottle of ‘pure vanilla!’” answered I solemnly. “I saw her draw the cork!”

It was after this experience that I was assured there was “no better article in the American market.”