(Reprinted, by permission, from the Madras Mail.)

Remembering as we all can so well the cheerful aspect of the English kitchen, its trimness, its comfort, and its cleanliness, how comes it to pass that in India we continue year after year to be fully aware that the chamber set apart for the preparation of our food is, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the foulest in our premises - and are not ashamed ? In the matter of utensils, and the general accessories of culinary work also,- knowing what things are considered essentially necessary even in the quietest establishment at home, - why are so many of us satisfied with an equipment regarding the miserable inadequacy of which it would be as well to keep silence ? Why, in short, in the one country are we scrupulously careful that our food shall be clean, and in the other at all times willing, apparently, to eat dirt?

Over and over again have revolting facts been discovered in connection with the habits and customs of the cook-room. But instead of striking at the root of the evil, and taking vigorous action to inaugurate reform, we are absolutely callous enough not only to tolerate barbarisms, but even to speak of the most abominable practices as jests ! Though cognizant, that is to say, of the ingenious nastiness of our cooks, we shrug our shoulders, close our eyes, and ask no questions, accepting with resignation a state of things which we consider to be as inevitable as it is disgusting.

But stop a moment: - is it inevitable ? Let us consider that point. The fons et origo mali, it seems to me, are to be detected without difficulty. Think, first of all, of the distances which as a rule separate our kitchens from our houses, and the fact that the room is part and parcel of a block of godowns - not unfrequently within easy access of the stables. Setting aside other considerations for a moment, do we not at once perceive here two grave evils :- in the first place that proper supervision of the kitchen is almost out of the question ; and, in the second, that promiscuous gatherings of outsiders, - the friends, relations, and children (a fruitful source of dirtiness) of our servants, - can take place in it undetected? Again : the room is generally constructed with as little ventilation and light as possible, its position with regard to the sun is never thought of, and arrangements for its pi'oper drainage are rare. As there is no scullery, or place for washing up, etc, the ground in the immediate vicinity of the kitchen receives the foul liquid (as well as all refused matter) which is carelessly thrown out upon it. The consequence is that hard by many a cook-room in this Presidency, there is a noisome cesspool containing an inky looking fluid, the exhalations from which can scarcely improve the more delicate articles of food which are sent from the house for preparation.

Now follow me into the room. It is as black as Erebus. The pungent smoke from yonder wood fire, upon which some water for a bath is being boiled, penetrates every crevice. There is no chimney, you see, so the wall, up which the smoke is creeping towards an opening in the roof, is lined by an ancient coating of soot. Observe the mass of patriarchal looking cobwebs depending from the rafters, and the floor of mother-earth, greasy, black, and cruelly uneven in its surface.

Pull yourself together now, for we are about to examine the kitchen table. It is, to begin with, a piece of furniture which it would be gross flattery to call a dresser. It is small, and very rickety. In colour it is a remarkably warm burnt umber. The legs which support it are begrimed with dust which has become coagulated from time to time by grease, and smoked a rich sable. If you wished to do so, you could scrape off this filthy tegument with your pen-knife to the depth of the sixteenth of an inch. The top of the table is notched and scored all over with wounds inflicted by the chopper, the edges are all worn down, and there are tell-tale marks which prove that it is the custom of the chef and his assistants to mince parsley, herbs, onions, aye the meat itself of which those "chicken cutlets" that he delights to give you are made, upon the oily, nut-brown board.

What are that stone slab and roller for, with traces of last night's spinach upon them ? 0 ! they are the pet articles de cuisine of tunny-ditch amnah to whose delicate fingers is entrusted the making of chutneys, and all preparations which are presented to you in the form of pulp. The boiled vegetable, or whatever it may be, is turned out upon the slab, and she rolls the pin backwards and forwards until the desired consistency is attained. How does she scrape the rolling pin, and the edges of the slab during this process, and how does she dish it ? Hush, my friend, there is not a spoon in the kitchen.

Cast your eye over that meagre array of degchees and of sauce-pans nearly as black inside as they are outside, and note that there is a spit there, a chatty oven in yonder corner, and - nothing more. There is no cupboard, neither is there a rack for plates and dishes, but such small etcetera as the cook uses are thrust at hap-hazard upon that shelf, which, in griminess, you see, matches the table, whilst it comes in handily for his turband, and the folded leaf containing his snuff. You have seen enough now, and look as if you wanted a brandy and soda, so let us return to the house.

On our way you inveigh against native filthiness, etc, etc. Come now, be just in your condemnations, for verily this is a case in which it behoves us to remember the beam which is in our own eye, before we seek diligently to pull out the mote which is in our black brother's eye. Who is really to blame for a great deal that I have shown you ? Is it the cook's fault that a wretchedly mean, carelessly constructed godown is given him for a kitchen; that the place is inconveniently far from the house, and consequently open to every passer-by; that the furniture is absolutely nothing more than one table, far too small for culinary requirements, and one shelf; that owing to faulty construction, the room ' smokes' dreadfully, and that there is scarcely sufficient light in it to detect dirt ? Is it the cook's fault that in the absence of proper appliances he is forced to practise his native ingenuity, to use chatties for sauce-pans and stew-pans, to use the - curry-stone' for a mortar, his cloth for a sieve, and his fingers for a spoon or fork ? Is it the cook's fault that, since no plates and dishes are included in his cook-room equipment, he has no alternative but to place meat, vegetables, etc, on his table; and that being without a mincing machine, or chopping board, he uses its surface in lieu of the latter? Why instead of denouncing the unfortunate man, I make bold to say that handicapped as he is, we have positively no reason to expect him to be clean!