Celebrate! The first postwar shipment of Huntley and Palmer biscuits of London are in the shops of the nation.

This department's annual tour of inspection of the champagne circuit of the United States began, unforeseeably enough, in Boston this year.

Brooks boil. Apple bloom is on the back of the wind. Peepers shrill the news, the year's at the spring.

Happy Thanksgiving! Every thing is working toward a day of fine feasting.

For a while that summer in England, when the bull market still hung high, I went to the seashore and sat among the sounds of rocking buoys.

As one listens today to voices of indignant incredulity and looks back at one's past, I am reminded of my lawyer.

In the middle twenties, when I was an art student in Paris, there were a great many places there that advertised Real Southern Cooking.

A California food processor with a luxurious turn of mind is using the oil of the avocado to produce a French dressing.

When dying, he said, “Dieu me pardonnera, c'est Son metier,” which Mama in her inexpensive French translated as, “Of course God will forgive me … that's His business.”...

After Mama and all the rest of us got back from Europe, everyone sat around waiting for the war to end in six months.