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" º vº, I-II "I * Wºrs tº C, CA Q Mºſſºſºlillºtilliºtºplºlºſſºpiſtºtlºttiſtilliºnºſºlſtºniſtſ ſtillſº wº. . . . invitrittentinuintinuºuntrilintinuintullunultinenturnintuititutiºnaliſtinuºuſlſºlillſ • • • • •■ ■، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ،~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ： ~ º） ： ģiſiiiiiiiiiſiſſiſiſſiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiſſä 73 /%T 7-22 **ae * * • • • • • • * • • → → *** …º Boise-Élip-Ho A. A 2. J - 2 < * , , } > * º CG) TVW H LG T G , , , * > * .* * * ..) .# .* • HOUSEWIPE'S GUIDE EY NMARION HARLAND. Terhune, Pºrs, Mary V *2 ºn, 4 (Alys's “God help us on the Common Days, The level stretches, white with dust!” MARGARET E. SANGSTER. With Qriginal er)gravings. L. A. SHAFER, WALTER SATTERLEE, RUE & HOELFFLER, B. G. GOODLINE, WILL, PHILLIP HOOPER AND F. L. V. HOPPIN. J. H. MOORE & COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA, PA. \ Seva i wº : i i Copyrighted by MARY VIRGINIA TEREIUNE, 1889. HOUSE AND HOME. CONTENTS. *AG.E. THE HOUSEKEEPER AND THE HOME-MAKER . © º II Every House has a Keeper.—Exception.—Lowest Form of Human Living.—The Model Housekeeper.—Her Four Utensils.-Supererogatory Works of Cleanliness. —Is Her Life Worth Living 2—Keeping House not Wisely, but Too Well.—The “Nasty-Particular ’’ Housewife.—“My House’’ and “Our Home.” IF NOT STRAw—STUBBLE . o © o © e e 17 The Esthetic Craze, and its Effects upon American Homes.—Respectable “Specimens' of Our Homes.—The Substantial Three-Story-Brick, and How it is Furnished.— Honest John's Views on the Subject.—Husbandly and Wifely Conferences, anent Changes.—The Quiet-Eyed Woman who Loves Beauty.—Modern Manuals. —“There is No Use Trying.”—The Back-Parlor.—Mortuary Memorial Mantel.— Fire-Place.—Mantel Shelves.—Book Shelves.—Japanese Drapery and Family Portraits.—Reading-Table and Lamp.–Pillows, Cushions and afghan.—Resting- Place.—Curtains, Easels, and Palm.—The Old Arm-Chair.—THE PRESENCE.- Reconciliation of Carpet and Wall-Paper. — “Strengthen the Things that Remain.”—The Front-Room.—Hints Few and Feasible.—Live in Your Rooms. THE DINING-RooM, MEALS AND SERVING . e º º 33 Ingenious Architect's Utopian Plan.—Why He Failed.—The Genteel Tank in which People Eat.—Disadvantage.—Make the Best of what is.—A Meal a Graceful Ceremony.—The Dumb Man's Visible Thought.—Hard and Homely Lives.— The Discouraged House-Mother.—Baron Trenck’s Etched Pannikins.—Jane Welsh Carlyle.—“Waiting for a Rise.”—The Table.—Care of and Respect for Dainty Wares.—Living up to the Old Blue Teapot.—Decorous Serving and Waiting.—How “Father ” Carves and Helps.—Major Trencher and Saucerlings. —College Sons and Society Girls.—“Feeds" versus Dining.—Mothers over Fifty Years Old.—Too Late to Rectify Little Matters which are Not Trifles.— Children as Waiters.-How to Waitaud be Waited Upon.—Fear of Innovations.- John is—JoBN 1 I II HOUSE AND HOME. PAG). Q © tº 48 What is a “Cottage P’”—Barbarism of White Paint and Green Blinds.-Exscind “Massive" and “Rich.”—Hard-Wood Floors, and Painted Boards.—Sanitary Rugs and the Week's Work—Carpets.—Farmeress and Her “Taypestry Brus- sels.”—Cheap Carpets a Blunder.—English Ingrain.—Mattings.-Styles and Prices.—Shades and Curtains.—Straw Chairs.—Sets and “Setts.”—YoURSELF, Your Mark.-Books are Aristocrats.-Bamboo Settee and Cushions.—Domestic Upholstery.—Trunk Lounges.—Cheese-Box.—Covered Bath-Tub.—How to take off the Edges of the Strictly Useful.—Bed Coverings.—Table-Ware, Cheap and Pretty.—Extremes of Scantiness and Crowding.—Jumble of Ornaments.- Seasoning, to taste. CoTTAGE FURNISHING º © º Q * LICENSED BEGGAR, OR BUSINESS PARTNER 2 . . . 64 Loveless Marriage, Legalized Crime.—Thoughtless Marriage, Sinful Folly.—Truest- Happiness Found in Marriage.—The Ideal Marriage.—Nice Every-Day, Pretty Well-Satisfied Couples.—The Great Majority of Couples.—A Good Thing that Might be Made Better.—The Great Stumbling Block. The Family Income.— The Scorpion-Lash that Drives Wives Mad.—John Has His Say.—Why a Woman Minds Asking for Money.— Wives Should not Mind Being Treated as Paupers, But they do.—An Ill-Favored Curling.—“Man the Bread Winner; Woman the Bread Eater.”—The Old, Old, Hateful Story.—“Ole Marster an’ My Chillun.” —Mrs. A. and Her Dividends.—Charley's Whim.—Mrs. B. and “the Sivinty- five Cints.”—Mrs. C. and the Penciled Butcher’s Bill.—Mrs. D. and How She Duped Her John.—Mrs. E. and Her Ethics.—A Forgetful Husband.—Mr. Fºs Story.—No Shoes to Wear.—A Guild of Privileged Paupers.—Ask Them how They Like It.—Representative John to the Front.—“Would You Have MY WIFE Earn Her Own Living?” Nine Times Over.—Flattening the Base of the Egg.— Solomon Grundy and His Query. THE ETIQUETTE OF FAMILY LIFE . . . . • 79 Another Fellow's Sister.—Grace Over the Whole Barrel.—Philemon Nemo and Bau. cis—Definition of Courtship.–“Temporary Insanity.”—Breakfast in the Nemo Household.—The Scalded Hand.—Then and Now.—Sentiment Dies Hard in Women.—Cup and Tumbler.—“Brute?’ and “Boor.”—Sketches from Life.—A Savage in Every Man.—Not a Trial Effort.—Model Daughter and Gray-haired Father.—Company and Every-Day Manners.-The Inference is Patent.—One of Two Things is Wrong.—The Responsibility of Wives in this Matter.—“Only My Wife.”—Baucis a Cipher.—The Husband Has Gone Out of the Business — Taking the Boys Down.—Seed of an Ugly Plant—The Toss-and-Tumble Style of Home Life—Crockery Platters and Garnished Porcelain—“We Understand Each Other.”—“Hallo, Old Girl | "--Pet Hedgehogs.—Human Pig-nuts.-Sincere and Sweet, and Sincere and Sour.—Hearts Won are Not Hearts Kept.—A Simple Rule of Action.—Rough Words and Smooth. * CONTENTS. III PAGEe THE VEXED QUESTION.—DOMESTIC SERVICE IN AMERICA . 9I English Journal and American Manual.—“Are there No Servants in the United States?”—English “Servantgalism”—Continental Pikes and Butcher-knives.— Iron and Clay.—“Ich Diem.—“I Serve.”—An Obvious Truth.-“Girls.”—“Her and She.”—Daughter Robbed.—Mother Robbed and Shorn.—If no Servant, No Mistress.-Bridget, Katrine, and Victoria-Columbia-Celeste.—English Phillis and English Abigail.—Service as Truly a Trade as Millinery.—“Miss" Howard, Halyburton and Hamilton.—Ellen and the Country Aunt.—“Me Mother's Sis- ter, Mem l’’—The Handicapped Mistress.-The Cross of “Living Out.”—Is the Situation Hopeless?—Mrs. Whitney’s “May-be.” You Are the Firm.—Auditor and Junior Partner.—The Head the Only Indispensable Member of the Corpora- tion.—Belt and Wheel.—A Crying Need.—“The Girl” Holds the Winning Card. “A Stiff-Ticket.”—Reference a la mode.—Margaret’s Tricks and Drawbacks.- A Cyclone in Calico.—A Treasure, But Dishonest.—Purblind and Virtuous Complacency.—Only Safe and Honorable Thing To Do.—Nine Cases Out of Ten.—Ten Cases Out of Ten.—Rule that Should Work Both Ways.-The Hard Mistress.-The “Hard Place ’’ a Small Poz Placard—Curses to be Shunned for Others as for Ourselves.—A Word of Caution—A Paragon in Every Hireling Not To Be Expected. WHY MONDAY P © º º © ſº tº © ge IO4 “Not Customary, You Know !”—Is Any Day Less Convenient?”—Steam, Stress and General “Stew” of Washing-Day.—Tommy Snooks and Betsey Brooks.- Abrupt Change From Day of Rest.—Blessed Calm of Sunday.—Monday Like a Cold Snap in Spring.—Peter and Paul.—Blue and Black Monday.—Warmed- overs, Pick-ups and Make-shifts.-Homeliness of Home.-One Mother’s Pretty Device.—Astonishing Slowness of Apprehension and Narrowness of Mind,- What the Brave Lady of the Future Will Elo.—Haunting Demon of Civilization. —Dirt. t * LADY" . º o tº Ç © O Q © e II 2 “Loaf. Giver.” — Lettice of Warwick; Elizabeth of Hungary; Katherine Parr; Lady Lothrop.–Definition of “Lady.”—Meaningless Application.—General S and the Washlady's Husband.—The Boarding-Home and Sewing-Ma- chine.—Resolution of the Board of Management.—Refinement of Sarcasm—Ar- rogant Claim of Silly Illiteracy.—The Royal Name of Woman.—“Salesladies; ” “Foreladies.”—Ruskin's Deliverance on this Subject.—Correspondent Title to “Lady” being “Lord.”—“Saleslords: ” “Washlord.”—No “Below-stairs” in a Republic.—Action, Not Condition, Makes the Noble Man or Woman.—Totter- ing on the Main Truck-"Lady-Help Wanted.” IV HOUSE AND HOME. PAGE, MOUSE OR RATP Ç gº © © º Q tº º I2O Anecdotes Like Comets.-Madame and Monsieur.—Stubborn Effort to Set Other People Right.—Society By the Ears.-Little Foxes.—Story of Vulgar Fellow in His Carriage, and Gentleman Driving a Wagon. — Hard To Allow One's Friends To Be Mistaken.—A Good Story.—My Neighbor's Opinions.—Your Sister’s Carpet.—Musician and Mistaken Performer.—Restiveness of Reformer Under Criticism.—Web not of our Weaving, Nor For Our Wear.—Let Others Enjoy Their Opinions,—If They Annoy You, Get Away From Them 1 HOUSEHOLD WORRIES © © © o O Q © I26 Woman's Daily Life, One Part Work and Three Parts Worry; A Man's, One Part Worry and Three Parts Work.—Men Are Courageous, Women Patient.—“Not My Way of Doing Business "-Difference in Man's and Woman's Method.— Usually the Woman Has None.—Veteran Housekeepers and Printed Manuals.- “No Particular Rule.”—Administration and Execution. “Keeps a Dog and Does His Own Barking.”—Hands and Assistants.-Wife's Agony of Self-Upbraiding.— Husband's Criticism.—The Large Establishment No Exception.—The Most Defenceless Class in the Community.—An Uneasy Ocean Casting Up Mire and Dirt.—Household Worries Should Be Superficial.—Prince Henry.—Woman in Insane Asylum Polishing One Window-pane.—Type of Thousands. VISITED © C © o & tº © $ Q ſe I 3 2 Is Hospitality a Duty?—Syllogism.—The Fisherman Apostle.—Latch-string super- seded by Spring-bolt and patent Key.—R. S. V. P. The quid pro quo of Receiving and Entertaining.—“Quite one of The Family.”—Young Girls in Virginia Country House.—One Day's Experience.—Flying One's Own Colors.—The English Method of Giving Invitations.—Fashion of “At Home.”—What it Means.—Compliment, Not Slight.—Unconscious Impertinence of Coming “Some Other Time.”—Fatuous Self-Conceit.—Too Much Ceremony.—Benev- olent Torture.—Definition of “a Bore.”—Talent of Entertaining Well.—Visitor of the Spongiest Type.—Roasted Hostess,—The Blessed Three.—A Misnomer.— VISITOR . O © cº © © O © O © I42 “Hospitate.”—Crust of the Loaf.—Tasteless Shell.—Successful Hosts depend upon Appreciative Guests.-Patronizing Visitor.—“Can't you let me off this once P’’ Delicate Flattery.—One Guest, and His Exactions.—The Health-Bread of Another.—Mungo Park and Zulu Woman.—Too Late, and Too Early.—Piano at Dawn.—Do not Gossip of your Host.—Over-Praise is Patronage.—Exertion to be Agreeable. CONTENTS. V PAGE. WITH OUR GIRLS . º º º tº © & ge I53 “Heaven Help the Men.”—Requisites for Spinster, and for Wife.—“Low.” Our Girl Speaks Her Mind.—Drift of Thistle-Down.—The Man who Knows No Better.—The Man who Means Well.—Free-and-Easy Youth.-Friendship Between the Sexes.—Missionary Work. OUR VOICES e tº © & © iº tº sº tº 16o Pompeiian Guide upon American Voices.—Bayard Taylor's Definition.—“National Catarrh.”—Indignant Divine.—Statesman and Kinsman.—Cause and Possible Cure. — Loudness of Tone.—“Sweet-faced and Shrill-voiced.”—“Peacocks' Gala-Day.—Family Party at Delmonico's.-Quality and Key of Voice.—Use of Soft Pedal and Legato Movement.—Heredity.—Ben Jonson and John Sylvester. How WE SPEAK . * > º e tº G sº tº 167 Common Sense and Sad Experience.—Go Astray as Soon as Born, Speaking Double Negatives.—A “Real Lady.”—Magnificent Woman and Her Speech.-Persistent Mangling of Vernacular.—A Mystery.—Self-Made Man and Murdered English. —Diamonds Set by Blacksmith.-An Anomaly.—People Who ! A D. D., F. F. V.--When the Foible becomes Guilt.—No Excuse.—Impossible to Speak Too Well.—What We Owe to Our Mother Tongue, and to Ourselves. THE CANDY CURSE . tº © © {} ſe o wº I73 Candy-Eating Babies.—The Family Sweet Tooth.—Pound a Week.-“Sweeties” Follow Civilization.—Literary Club and Candy.—Girl of Fourteen and Her “Bedside Comforter.”—Sugar as an Exclusive Article of Diet.—Dr. Edson’s Analysis of Poisonous Candy.—Natural Taste for Sweets, A Feminine Vice. WITH OUR Boys . tº gº © e e Q © 178 William Wirt.—“Small, Sweet Courtesies of Life.”—Gentleman of the Old School. —“To Herd.”—Etiquette of Men's Hats.-Our Boys, and Graceful Ways.- Cheap and Easy.—Undue Familiarity of Speech Leads to Freedom of Touch.- Bovine Gambols.-‘‘Honored Madam.”—Womankind, and Respect due Them –4s Such. VI HOUSE AND HOME. FAGE OUR BOY AND OUR Boy's FATHER & * @ e I85 Anecdote of Boston Clergyman and Deacon.—“The Only way to cure Your Boy I" -Girls like Hop-Vines, are Brought Up.–Boys Grow Up.—Dick's Evenings at Home.—Bumptiousness and What It Means.—Dutch Justice.—“Mothers some- how make Allowances for Everything.”—a' Out Again "-The Mother's Reply. —Other Words. LITERARY LIFE OF THE HOUSEHOLD e © (> º I93 Some Households have None.-Representative Middle-Class Families.—Definition of “Literary.”—Home-Education to School Children.—Rising Man without Early Advantages.—Above the Mud.—Business Man and The Newspaper.— “Fooling over Books.”—Silas Lapham.—“No Time to Read.”—No Higher Mission than the Mothers.-The Mother's Duty.—The Woman who Will Read. —“Life Without Letters.” WOMEN As MOTHERS s © © Q o © 2O2 “Reasons why Women should not Vote.”—The House-that Jack-built.—A Mystery, —Society Girl.—The Young Wife.—Chronically-fatigued.—No Training for Maternal Office. — The First Baby.—Margaret Fuller's Cry. — Unique of Motherhood. OUR BABY . tº tº & © * tº © Q © 2O8 Queen.—Mother Nature.—Pair of New Mothers.--All the Difference in the World.— The Wonderful Baby.—Elsie Venner and “Rose-Bud.”—Husband's Work and The Wife's.-Living Over Our Own Lives Again.—Plaint over the First-Born. —This Life Worth Living. VAGARIES OF THE AMERICAN KITCHEN . • * Q 2I5 “Twenty-Seven Religions and One Gravy.”—Our Housewife's Warm, Substantial Breakfast.—Boiled Tea.—“Some Substance into It.”—Grilled Leather-and-Fat. —Soup and Slops.-Family Pastry.—Fat and Frying-Pan.—Drained Dishes and Undrained Vegetables —Burnt Toast.—Jamestown Tower and Plymouth Rock. —Sooty Idol.—Hope for the National Cuisine. CONTENTS. VIf PAGE. BREAKFAST As IT SHOULD BE . . º . . . 223 Our Movable Feasts.-Jones, Mechanic.—Melchius Jones, Esq., Manufacturer and Millionaire.—Continental Breakfast.—Why We do not Adopt It.—Paterfamilias utters His Mind.—Goblin Care at Early Morning.—Father at Breakfast Behind Newspaper.—Like Spavined Horses.—Bill-of-Fare, and How to Eat Breakfast. —Christianizing Influence of Breakfast-Table. THE TEA TABLE . c tº tº e C & * 23 I Yorkshire Tea, Eighty Years Ago.—Our Big and Varied Teas.-Supper.—An Over- s WHAT grown Caricature.—Family Tea versus “Spread.”—Dry, Cold and Cheerless Evening Meal.—Something Better.—“Our Best China and Sunday Nights.”— Supper-Rolls and Wifely Devotion.—Omelette, rather than Rose-bud.-Means of Grace and Beauty. OUR CHILDREN EAT . ſº * > * dº * 239 . Fothergill upon Food for the Nursery.—“With Impunity.”—Two-Year-Old Baby and wind-fall Pears.—Whey-faced Three-Year-Old.—Bobby's Breakfast, Dinner and Supper.—Why the Trial-Balance does not come out Right.— Heredity? Our British Cousins.—American Lad upon Diet of Princes.—Bobby's Baby-Brother. INTRODUCTION TO MENUS © (> C tº Q tº 245 SPRING BILLs of FARE . * > e e º e 247 I25 Recipes Arranged in Bills of Fare for Breakfast, Luncheon and Dinner. SUMMER BILLS OF FARE . & ſº Q. Q e tº 32 I 125 Recipes Arranged in Bills of Fare for Breakfast, Luncheon and Dinner. THE PLAGUE OF FLIES . § Q ſº tº º © 378 THE DINNER PAIL . © & © © C. gº * > 383 AUTUMN BILLS OF FARE . e o e © º © 389 125 Recipes Arranged in Bills of Fare for Breakfast, Luncheon and Dinner. THANKSGIVING DINNER . . . . º © • 443 WINTER BILLs of FARE . te s tº tº º © 449 125 Recipes Arranged in Bills of Fare for Breakfast, Luncheon and Dinner. CHRISTMAS DINNER . tº © © º 0. º o wº 5OO I. 2. . • IS). • 20. . 2I. . 22. • 23. • 24. • 25. . 26. . 27. . 28. • 29. • 3O. ILLUSTRATIONS. Portrait of Marion Harland. . e te & o © º Withdrawing-Room. º © e Q & © e . Family Sitting-Room. . . . . . . . . . . Reception-Room. e e º c e o O © . Waiting for a “Rise.” . . . . . . . . . Every-Day Service. . . © tº e º e & . Sunnybank. Marion Harland's Summer Cottage. . tº . “I wanted you should see my new carpet!” . e o . Cottage Bed-Room. e - © e © e º © . The Forgetful Husband . e e tº tº º Q. • II. . I2. • I3- • I4. • I5. . I6. . I7. . I8. Another Fellow's Sister.” wº º * > © © ſº e 66 A. Fellows OWI1 Sister.” $ & s e º Ç º Wooing. • a e e º º -> <- e tº Won. e º & º º e & sº e e “Me mother's sister, ma'am!” . © © e wº º Tommy Snooks and Betsey Brooks.-Sunday. * se Tommy Spooks and Betsey Brooks.—Monday. . © e “I been hear that a wash-lady named Mrs. Johnsing had bring home for a ’oman named S-.”. ge e “Made too much at Home.” . º º º e º º Finical Visitor. . . . . º © © e * True courtesy. º º º e * º e º o The free-and-easy youth. . e e e e Q o Gentleman of the Old School. e º º º tº e Our Boy and Our Boy's Father, tº º e º º The Woman who will Read. e © e e © Q Mother and Baby. . e e º e © e º Our Baby. • * * e & © e e tº º The American Housewife's Crest. . tº º ge e Our American Citizen at Breakfast. . --> Qe tº º Our Sabbath-Day Tea. o o e º º º e YPAGE. Frontispiece. : 23 27 32 38 45 5O 55 6o 7I 77 77 86 86 95 Ioë o6 I II4 I35 I46 I49 I56 I79 I90 I99 2O5 2II 217 228 235 THE HOUSEKEEPER AND THE HOME-MAKER. * …, HE country is full of housekeepers. Some are better than their fellows; some are worse. Every house in which fires are made, meals cooked and served, and people sleep, must have a keeper. The only exception to this rule that has ever come under my personal observation was a certain old homestead tenanted by three sisters, a widow and two maiden ladies, with their bachelor brother. It was at the South in ante bellum days, and slaves lived in the Kitchen and quarters. These cooked food by the quantity, when convenient, and deposited it in pantries and cellar. There were no fixed hours for going to bed or getting up, and no table was ever set. When sister or brother was hungry, she or he repaired to the cupboard, or foraged in the cellar and ate whatever came to hand. Sweeping, dusting and scrubbing were spasmodic and very occasional events. Sometimes, the beds were not made for several days, and it was not an infrequent occurrence for none of the white family to rise all day long, except to seek food. As they all were omnivorous readers, and even students, the story prevailed in the neighborhood that much learning had made them partially mad, and, although all lay down to sleep long ago in the bed that needs no re-making, and the old house was burned shortly I 2 HOUSE AND HOME. after the death of the last member of the queer quartette, the tradition of their eccentricities is still a county tale. An overwhelming majority of the tenements built for human residence are kept after one fashion or another by women, and most of them are kept fairly well. That is, the inmates are clothed and fed decently and do not suffer unreasonably from cold and heat; the forms of cleaning and keeping clean are observed, and a few of the laws of health. The same may be said, with trifling variations, of an ant-hill or mole-burrow. The lowest form of human living is accomplished by her who is a Model Housekeeper— and nothing more. The interior of a bee-hive, a wasp’s or hornet's nest better accomplishes the ends at which she aims, perfection of neatness, order, and systematic working. We all know The Model Housekeeper. She lives next door to some of us. We could wish her further for good reasons of our own. Besides being a descendant in the direct line of him who thanked God he was not as other men were, herself, her house and her ways are a continual discouragement to us. She is in no other sense than the accident of contiguity, what Mrs, Whitney calls our “Next.” Her very door-knobs reproach us by their sparkle; her chairs never huddle together in the middle of the room, and a microscope could find not a grain of dust in the joints, or in the sharpest turn of the carvings. She dusts her ROOMS (pronounced in capitals) with her own hands, using, she tells you, Four Utensils for the purpose. No conscientious house- lceeper can dust properly with less. No. 1, a wicker paddle that beats out the dust, without injury to plush or silk upholstery; No. 2, a pointed brush for boring into crevices and corners ; No. 3, a fluffy bunch of feathers with which the dust is dislodged; No. 4, a soft cheese-cloth duster for wiping it off. This last is washed and dried every morning “and generally ironed.” She THE HOUSEKEEPER AND THE HOME-MAKER. 13 has a way of announcing these supererogatory works of cleanliness that is a hot knitting needle in your guilty soul. When she tells you that every picture in her house is wiped off with a cloth every day except Sunday, and, once a week, taken down, that the back and cords and hooks may be carefully dusted; that she could not reconcile it to her conscience if all the plated and brass rings and handles upon her premises were not polished twice a week, and all the silver looked after every day; that every dish- towel and wash-cloth is inspected by her delicate fingers and nose daily, and that every closet passes under the same; that she could go at midnight to any drawer in any room of her house, and find without a light any article named; that she carries her lists of linen, china and glass “in her head,” and defies any careless or dishonest “girl” to embezzle or fracture with- out speedy discovery, your heart, like Nabal's, dies within you, and you become as a stone for despairing impotency. “I don't see how you find time for it all !” said a disheartened friend to The Model Housekeeper, “By not wasting a minute, and by giving my whole time to my work!” rejoined The Model, glancing severely at a magazine laid upon the other's work-basket. “In My Opinion, domestic duties should have the first place in a woman's thoughts.” She was right. The only loop-hole of escape from her con- demning sentence opens in the question: “What are domestic duties?” “Have you read, ‘Is Life Worth Living?” asked a rosy- ſcheeked girl of a pale one in my presence. “No, but I can answer the question. It is not worth living in our house. We are professional house-cleaners, only we have no rest between seasons. When I get married I mean to revel in dust and disorder-at least until the honeymoon is over.” I4 HOUSE AND HOME. Taking the liberty an old acquaintance might claim, of remarking upon the shining purity and absolute order of a country-house to the daughter of the hostess, I was shocked at the dark look that came over a young face which I had noted as weary to haggardness, She followed me to my room that night. “Please don't praise my mother's housekeeping again!” she said bitterly. “Ours is the cleanest house in the township, but we pay well for it. It has driven my brothers from home to find comfort in disreputable haunts, It is driving me into my gravel That Model Housekeeper has now no drawback to the fulfill- ment of her “domestic duties.” The boys will never again leave dusty footprints upon her polished floors, or wear a track down the middle of her stair-carpet when she has warned them a dozen times to go up one side and down the other. The daughter who once declared she would not know her own photograph unless it had a duster in its hand, no longer interferes with her parent's perfectly 1aid plans. There will be, in the days to come, no marks of grand- babies' fingers upon the mirrors and plate-glass windows. Some of the most careless housekeepers I have ever known were born and brought up in the “cleanest houses in the township.” The apprenticeship wrought out the determination to have Homes of their own, and in the attempt, they strayed into the opposite extreme of negligence of everything but so-called “comfort.” It is possible to keep a house not wisely, but too well. She, whom those who appreciate this stigmatize as the “nasty-particular.” house-wife, falls into selfish bigotry that swallows up consideration for other people's taste and convenience. Recipes for cookery and methods of work, and observance of times and seasons are formu- lated into an iron-clad routine stamped as “MY WAY.” Intelligent system has elasticity when the pressure is removed. The oft- THE HOUSEKEEPER AND THE HOME-MAKER. 15 quoted My WAY of our Model Housekeeper requires a dynamite blast to stir it, and the fragments are dangerous. No sensible person complains of a woman's love for, and pride in her Home. Such love and pride ennobles her. It is when she binds thought, strength and sentiment down to slavish toil, over and beyond the obligation to keep her house clean, comfortable and tasteful, that she comes short of the queenly office of Home-Maker. For, be it distinctly comprehended, our “nasty-particular” house- wife does not slave herself and daughters to death for others' good. Husband and children would live as happily, die as peacefully and go to heaven as surely if the picture-cords and hooks were left undusted for six weeks at a time. It is but decent and wholesome to wipe the dust from tables and chairs, but one's spiritual status should not depend upon the daily use of the Four Utensils. An overlooked cobweb in the garret is a minor violation of the duty owed to God and man by comparison with rusted sympathies and Pharisaical condemnation of the publican woman who, standing afar off in the court littered with toys and books, her happy, boisterous children clinging to her skirts and climbing into her loving arms, durst not lift up so much as her eyes toward the speckless abode ruled over by her sneering censor. Housekeepers may be hired. Home-Makers are won by no wages except love. The Housekeeper says “My house,” pridefully, arrogantly— sometimes, when her subjects are “difficult”—defiantly. The Home-Maker talks with tender humility of “Our Home” —recognizing within the material structure, the building not made with hands, eternal in the hearts of those who have borne, each a share, in rearing and beautifying it. If, in this, the last volume upon strictly domestic topics I shall give to the public for several years, I can lead my sister women to a higher plane of home-life and home-duties than they now I6 HOUSE AND HOME. occupy, I shall feel that the mission to which I devoutly believe myself to be called, viz.: that of dignifying the so-called common- placeness of housewifely and maternal duties, Lhas been carried forward a generous step toward a glorious fulfillment. º º - My Yºº Y ºº § - ~ jº * T. - º - º, **s * @ 43 º º & Zºº º / sº jºisº (). ºf: Sºğº Mº.), 2 Zºxeſ fºº. . . ºf ** {\ 2. ºf Lºs: As - - > -º 2. * * º |F NOT STRAW–STUBBLE. HILE there is scarcely a township or country neighborhood in the United States that has not felt, in some measure, the quickening of interest and endeavor in what is loosely termed “Household Decoration,” there are thousands of homes that have undergone no visible change in consequence of it. With an inconsiderable minority of these, this is the result of indifference. The owners and tenants stand still upon one and a narrow platform. What was good enough for the fathers and mothers should satisfy the sons and daughters. Or, in honest contempt of aesthetic trumpery and distrust of innovations that menace what habit has made to be solid comfort for them, they set granite faces against the violent removal of ancient hall-marks of taste or usage. These idiosyncrasies may account for perhaps one in forty of the commonplace, unattractive homes inhabited by fairly-educated native Americans. How well we all know such abodes They are melancholy enough in the country, but that interior is not entirely uninteresting from which open doors and windows give views of curving hills and winding streams, billowy forest and draping vines. That rural housefitters and keepers do not draw in appre- ciation of the laws of beauty at the pores is one of the anomalies 17 I8 HOUSE AND HOME. of civilization. In the city we have rows, blocks, streetsfull of “specimens’—ugly, uncompromising, hopeless, in the desolation of respectability. Buildings that were thoroughly and substan. tially furnished when the proprietors went to housekeeping, usually by the wife's parents, or when the thrifty owner recognized the fact of substantial citizenship by buying and fitting up (substan- tially) No. 10 of the substantial three-story brick block in a healthy and eligible location. He settled within the stanch walls (24 feet front in the clear), with the intention of passing the rest of his days there, and dying in the nest he had builded. To him the glaring efflorescence of the body-Brussels, the square piano, cov- ered by a green cloth embroidered in yellow silks, the crimson reps upholstery, faded into lurid dinginess, of the pair of sofas, the pair of marble-topped tables, the dozen chairs to match the sofas, the what-not—all in solid black walnut—the pair of portraits of self and wife, the pair of oil-color landscapes bought at an auction to fill two vacant spaces on the wall, the gilded clock and pair of white-and-gilt vases on the mantel, the gilded chandeliers and cut- glass globes, are, one and all, so entirely and altogether “the gen- teel thing,” that the thought of change never approaches his imagination. If he notices that other parlors are furnished differ- ently, he draws a comparison in favor of his, as the lover of plain roast and boiled repudiates entrees and garnishes. Honest John is consistent so far as his lights go. He craves no different disposition of the furniture of office or counting room, sits in the same chair, and writes at the same desk he used thirty years ago. The best men comprehend so imperfectly what her house is to a woman, that nobody thinks of addressing domestic talk to them. It is from no want of love for his wife and desire to please his daughters, that the wine of John's contentment settles upon its lees, and, when shaken, grows muddy. IF NOT STRAW-STUBBLE. I9 I wonder, sometimes, if husband and wife ever talk a thing out as two men, and (more rarely) as two women do. The realm of feeling lies with them so dangerously near that of sense that the wife is almost certain to pass the frontier before the conference has lasted five minutes. If she could but once drill into his mind, by the regulation argument, the truth that what business methods, business profits, business reputation are to him, house- keeping and home-making are to her, her point would be gained, and forever. Failing this, she flies into the face of his prejudices and runs the house to suit herself, or accomplishes changes strat- egically. If she is too pacific for one course, too upright for the other, things remain as they were from the beginning. Sometimes, and this is the posture of affairs we assume in the present paper—honest John is amiably indifferent as to the appointments of the edifice in which he takes his meals and sleeps, provided he is well fed and lodged, and “Mother’s ” whimsies do not involve a hard pull upon his pocket. She is welcome to make the furniture dance all over the house if she goes in for that sort of amusement, but he will not pay the piper if his bill is heavy. Our house-wife perceives a certain reasonableness in his objec- tions. Still, having eyes, she sees; having intellect and taste, she learns. If she has not kept pace with the march of improve- ment, she is not so far behind as to lose the echo of her flying foot- steps. She knows as well as do you, aesthetic and wondering visitor, that reps and hair-cloth were never pretty, and have now gone out completely. The sprawling garlands of the body-Brussels, the pairs of everything else may offend your eye. They are a grief of soul to her. She “just hates” the lambrequins overhanging the Holland shades, one large scollop in the middle, a small scollop on each side, a tassel dependent from the plumb center of the middle and biggest bulge. In sheer desperation she is sometimes 2O HOUSE AND HOME. tempted to throw the dozen chairs frantically at the piano that has stood in the same place for seventeen years. She loves beauty, does this quiet-eyed woman—and would express love and longing by visible signs if she had the means with which to do it. Casting about for these as a vine sends out filaments, she has fastened upon sundry charmingly-written manuals for house- furnishing and woman's part in the same, and has been sunk into foggier depths. What is it to her that carved wood mantels, with beveled mirrors at the back, tiers of shelves at the sides and painted tiles below, display treasures of bric-a-brac and ceramic art? That a “crimson carpet of very small pattern, in two or three soft shades is very pretty, particularly if the paper be pale pink or cream-color with corner lines of crimson in it?” That “with this carpet, the furniture-covering should be ashes of roses, ornamented with crimson fringe, the sofas of divan shape, well stuffed, with no wood-work visible?” With augmented anguish of despair, she reads, that “a portiere of pale resedas serge, bordered with brown velvet, has a deep dado of the same velvet, and is embroidered in crewels with reeds, grasses and pale-hued swamp-flowers springing from the dado.”” “As when a hungry man dreameth, and behold he eateth ; but he awaketh, and his soul is empty.” The appointments of her pair of parlors are incontrovertible facts of which she cannot get rid, ugly, inharmonious, irretriev- able, but hers and here. Carpets, wall-paper, solid furniture, chosen, like Mrs. Primrose's wedding-gown, for qualities that will wear, are more odious for the dreams of beauty evoked by the reading from which we have quoted. It was characteristic of Israelitish thrift that some of the captives who were ordered to furnish the tale of bricks when straw * Literal quotation. IF NOT STRAW-STUBBLE. 21 was withheld, betook themselves to reaped fields to gather stubble as a substitute. Their example may revive the courage of the housewife who has made up her mind that “there is no use trying ” to alter the aspects of her surroundings. We will begin, if you please, with the back parlor. As a key- note, drop from your mental vocabulary that misused word “parlor.” To yourself, speak of both apartments as drawing-rooms; of the inner, as a “withdrawing room.” Pull out the flat, severe summer front and make a hearth for the room by inserting a grate, or arrange, if you dare, the very much better fire-place for burning wood. If you can lay hold of a pair of old brass andirons, you have a prize. But neat, and not expensive ones can be bought of a Hardware merchant. The chimney may be shallow, but it will probably “draw'' well. At any rate, try the experiment of kind- ling a fire within it. Set a fender in front of it, and before that a rug. Avoid imitations of Turkish or Persian manufactures. If you cannot pay from eighteen to thirty dollars for a small, genuine article, choose one from Lowell looms, small of figure, modest in hue. If you can afford neither, just now—wait. The looking forward to better and better things is one of the many privileges people of moderate means enjoy above those who can buy whatever they want, whenever they like. Ask John boldly if he will let you have the Mortuary Memorial Mantels painted to match the wood work of the room. If the latter is white, let the marble be ebonized. Should he object decidedly (as he probably will) to “have so handsome an article ruined,” do your best to hide it, or to shade the white stare at that side of the apartment. Have a board made of the size and shape of the mantel- shelf and cover it yourself with felt (two yards wide, $1.37 per yard). Select the color advisedly, consulting the fixed conditions of your field. It is almost certain that the present complexion will need 22 HOUSE AND HOME. toning down. To this end, you will choose olive or old gold, or gold-brown, or some other of the soft subduednesses dear to the eye of artists. Tack along the outer edge, with brass-headed nails, a felt lambrequin, trimmed with plush of a warmer and good contrasting color, with long scarf-like ends to conceal the upright shafts which are the ghastliest part of the construction. At the back of the mantel set three shelves, shorter than the felt-covered board by a foot. A carpenter will make them for you of hard wood, red cherry, ash or walnut, at one-third of a cabinet-maker's prices. Ebonized pine is cheap and not bad. Behind them tack velveteen of only fair quality, in color matching the plush trimmings of the lambrequins, to throw into relief the mantel arrangements. Let these be simple in form, and not crowded as to room. Bits of old china, Japanese jars, loose photographs, an odd-shaped bird's nest pinned against the velveteen; on the uppermost shelf a good plaster bust, and a slender vase with one, or at most two peacock feathers drooping towards the bust—set on such trifles as these as irregularly as possible, nothing balancing anything else, and no one prominent object exactly in the middle of the shelf. One of your objects is to break up the pairing system. Taking the fire-place as the heart of the design, we will humor the fancy by considering the draping, shelves, fender and rug as the pericardium, and work outward. Direct your carpenter to make breast-high shelves, five or six in number, for the recess on each side of the chimney, tack notched morocco two inches deep, + dark green, red or leather-colored—on the edges of the shelves with brass-headed nails; cover the topmost shelf with felt like that on the mantel, and fill all with the family library. The top gives standing-room for easeled photographs, statuettes, ink-stand, port- folios and the like. Family portraits are less out of taste in a library or living room than in a place where you receive general ！ YŁºcºººſ! ¿pšºs ！ ·º ae ∞ * * * * * s --！bºº}}=EË∞}~ğ)ſººſ ſº º eº№te m→-* · ：∞=3，7×， ſ.， ， ，● -^ ： •∞ ، ae №. ：） •••• • • • • • • • •*№. ||| №ſ Jºſ și { { ،ſ ºſ º * ） ... ！----≡ + +|-\\№ •[2] n.A • • • . . . . . ~~~~';. №-§ . . …~ . .~--~º º± ae~ º , y :=≡ **** «»*→ •*："!!!…Innanº （ſynaen ... •·• • •kļ, ， ， ，()} ،ſ)Œ}} !}\\}\\}\\| |ſiúñiñiñi， Jiiliſill!!!!!!！!!!! ſ-№º-，№.ſº :|×№ º:：:• ·:：:：--:- IF NOT STRAW-STUBBLE. 25 visitors, therefore, bring your's and John's in here, and hang above the book shelves. A loose fold of Japanese drapery (60 cents a yard) cast over a corner of the gilt frame will dignify a common picture, and bring out the best points of a good one. Break up sharp rectangles by such ingenious devices whenever you can do it without artistic affectations. Now for the table with the horizontal slab, inviting obituary record of the death by slow torture of the twins, Comfort and Elegance. In a front parlor a center-table is a solecism. There is no reason why it should stand under the chandelier, since nobody ever sits there to read or write, and every reason why it should be wheeled to one side, or a corner of the apartment, to be out of the way of the entering or retiring guests. But in our with- drawing-room, it symbolizes family concentration, conference, cheer. Cover it with a cloth that will hang low on every side. Should you have to make one, let it be of felt like that you have already used, with a band of the contrasting plush set on about six inches above the edge. I hope you have a reading lamp. There is one in nearly every house now-a-days. Hang on the porcelain or glass shade a banner screen, or a tissue-paper rose or sunflower, to shield the eyes of worker and reader, and set the lamp invitingly nearer one side of the table than the other, where it will mean something. In the middle it is almost expressionless. Scatter around it books that are readable and have been read. The used covers invite the handling of other fingers. A work basket, a glimpse of bright crewels at the mouth of a pretty work bag, a bit of incomplete embroidery, are suggestive, and help to individualize your terri- tory. If practicable, have the piano in here, too, at the back of the room opposite the fire, and open it in the evenings. Send four or five of the solid first inhabitants in reps and walnut into the other room to fill the place vacated by the instrument, and substitute 26 HOUSE AND HOME. for them three lacquered reception chairs and a straw chair or two. You can buy these last for three dollars apiece; ebonize or stain them brown yourself—any paint store will furnish the bottles of staining liquid. Tie into the seats cushions of gayly colored stuff; make a much bigger cushion of a confiscated pillow, cover with a stouter fabric—a remnant of momie cloth or turcoman— and lay it on the corner of the rug. Throw an afghan or shawl, the larger the better, over the arm of the sofa, and pull it away from the wall at the further end in recognition of the fire-place. The drooping fringes of the wrap will go far toward correcting the obdurate expression of the behemoth. Perhaps no one will throw himself there to rest while his wife reads aloud by the evening lamp, or his daughter draws lulling music from the piano; but the altered angle of the sofa, the waiting afghan, lend a touch of human interest to the arrangement. Hang scrim or madras curtains under the lambrequins and over the linen shades of the windows; a felt portiere with a broad plush band, eighteen inches from the bottom, from pole and rings in the folding doorway. Or, this may be of momie cloth, serge, or some other of the many cheap and effective stuffs sold for such purposes. Buy a bamboo easel for $5, or show the carpenter how to make one of pine, and have it ebonized, with lines of gilt or scarlet relieving the black. This will cost about $3.50. Excellent reproductions of fine engravings by the heliotype and autotype processes are sold for from fifty cents to one dollar apiece, and can be simply framed for another dollar. Send to an art-store for a catalogue, and select one or more to fill the easel. A palm in the latticed flower pot in the back window most remote from the fire, a box of ivy in the corner, are points of cheer in winter time. If you can re-cover an old arm chair that belonged to your grandmother, and turn it socially inward toward the table, you * <！=） \！！！！！！！！！！！！！… * *•■* → . §¶√∞∞∞∞∞ - Tºº ： aes ）.' ****）<<<，*（ <！-- * → … ：）**= *（.*-- （） ſºſ № - * *· *»-±é..！！！±žº~ --- × ×·…--„ ， ！|-：5） ， ºſ-;ºs- & *：№. 3*, ，ſae ae *** …，*№.«…, ！,:.，.：.，，，，，，¿? №！ ！ ！ ！！ ！！ ！！ ！！ ！！º¿№ * … （…~**… •*. - . . .-aeį， º ſººſ **. - ， ":： - （ ）... * *…==~ * * * ** ** *（） rw*， *）?）.*s*=\s,№ſºſ，ſ.-！8* a.№ º،? \||$); ºff=№Ë Ë Ï ï ¶ ¡ ¿ № šīſ%%| ºſº;= ===. *E. ; #E. º- Hº º3.; § --- T - * Sºs : º º º E: º § -sº~. d ſ! | º- S º & 5-2 -. \ º § i a kºº RSSSR º º STS º- sº *Nºwºw N & NY essº SRSS ºv-ºn - º THE DINING-ROOM, MEALS AND SERVING. 47 Home, with its inmates, is your world—your canvas—your sculptor's clay. It may be only a tin cup in the eyes of strangers. Let the etching be clear, and the design an expression of yourself at your worthiest—what you would be, rather than what you are. COTTAGE-FURNISHING. O the word “cottage,” in this connection, is to be applied the first definition set over against it in Webster:—“A small habitation.” It does not, in our hands, mean a suburban villa, trebly-storied, with far-spreading roofs and towers flanked by conservatories, and stabling for twenty horses. Nor a Queen Anne mansion (pronounced by the mistress, as the supreme touch of aesthetic mincingness—“An-ne,”) breaking up with hyphen- like suddenness, the continuity of a city block,-a thing of buttresses and gables; amazing corners and carving, painted windows and fabulous cost. Nor should the word necessarily suggest the Ameri- can rendering of the modern ornate in cottage-building for the million, as exhibited in town and hamlet and isolated farmstead. Homes where the unexpected runs riot in staircases, bulging windows, balconies and audacious flights of color. It is easy to make the interior of such habitations picturesque. It is as frequently impossible to introduce real comfort into the irregularly-shaped cup- boards marked in the plan as chambers—sometimes, in sarcastic courtesy, as “living rooms.” Our cottage may be rectangular in form, and the divisions of the interior commonplace to ugliness. I am afraid the inside walls are kalsomined, and it may even be that the exterior is painted white with green blinds. Why people who 48 }‘º ‘N NO Lc{WOd LU \\ «qN\，T\，\！H Nol\}\}w/ \ Jo 30\/L LOO H3lw wnS/ , | \\ MNWGANNns ）{|\\-·. ''}\\&{}\\}， （A）}}\，ſae¿}}! ¡ ſae， }}\\ }， ĶķĹĺĻļĽľŁługh， ，'']， W}{\\{\\{\\1\]}}·• \}}\\|í%%{{N//(\\\\\\\\^ ^^®^ ^^^~*~~~~––––--------- §§§§） iſ：WNJ \，S（X，Saeſº， ！ ！=>=） { $ſ\\ſ\\ſ\\A'}\\∞ \ , v Nº%，∞§.L3）ſ ºWºſº，| 0$*$|× N. ：§§&，{\ſ.N ```，``'; ' ， , ！}►ĶŅŇ,\!%}§ī，ĀŽ↓#ſae s ≠ √æ.«»（ *\,\！||%%\}\\\\$\. N ● ∞ .£ º .º dºø№ º| v ſ：-->* ， ， . ）： • • ►► &&：،· ∞©： Œ * ſìÈ№ ∞ ∞：?ſºD. ∞£*· ●| ！ ∞, : ， :№！\ 00È i： ：. ,,'.ae .：·ºg|،$（ '>*'.| } |«»©-p •0 ،！،]■ Œ œ\，\！§.|| T.ſå№ ‘’，1ſ§§， →-- ：| . || №∞ √*=sae ~„” ºV º,| ſ→，：Sae\，ąŅS：№.N، ، ، ، ،- º -zae±~*~*=~！ , , ， \,v § →-…：---• ∞Ņ|ANS， §vaeſſºſ'，：&---- |ffffff;$'， ）, （№№ē. Ä\}\\MS}}§%.ſºſ' > ， ;،„ “· º º ſº}}\§È∞ ∞§§5 % }}}}#}}}}}¿ $¢; ¿? |ſ=|\'\'\'\''}} \\$N： ' .ſ. ºmae?\;\; *** - *=+<= = . №. ſºfi ） COTTAGE-FURNISHING. 5I have eyes to be blinded, if not taste capable of taking offense, should have persisted during eight generations, in rearing these obtrusive constructions under sapphire skies and amid groves of vividest verdure, is beyond the comprehension of the lover of true harmony. It is yet more strange that the white, glaring walls dotted with unsympathetic green should be chiefly affected in the regions where forests are leafless for half the year, and the heavens pale as from the reflection of the snow-shrouded earth. Let this pass for the present. We are learning and practising better things. One of the new lessons we will take as the starting point and controlling tint of our cottage furnishing. We are forgetting as fast as is consistent with the adhesive properties of prejudice, the tenet that, in the matter of upholstery, “heavy” and “handsome" are synonyms. Mahogany has refused to be driven from the field, although pressed hard by red cherry, but hair-cloth has for a season —we would fain hope, forever—bidden the world of fashion fare- well. The bedstead, uncompromising, yet indispensable obstacle to the graceful negligence with which we would like to dispose our furniture in upper rooms, is lighter every year, and ambles from wall to wall at the housewife's will, more readily than our grand- mother's arm-chair ever moved, even at the semi-annual house-clean- ing. Our cottager will practically exscind the adjectives “massive” and “rich" from her vocabulary. They throw everything out of joint, and become her modest plenishing as ill as a remnant of her mother's brown satin brocade would accord with the plump pretti- ness of the wearer were it made into a slip for the cottager's baby. To begin with the floors ;—respectable manuals of economy and sanitary tirades to the contrary notwithstanding—the practical housewife who keeps but one maid-of-all-work (and that one, as likely as not, herself) shakes her head doubtfully over the recom. 52 HOUSE AND HOME. mendation of hard wood or painted floors all over the house. The former require careful treatment and much polishing to keep them in really excellent order. A scratch from a chair roughly pushed back is a blemish not easily removed; the gradual grind and grime of passing feet into the grain of the wood are a defacement which, in time, involves the necessity of planing, or rubbing down with sandpaper. Unless properly treated from the first, they are a grievance to eye and spirit. But hard wood floors are seldom seen in cheap houses, built for sale or rent. The floors in your habitation are probably of pine, the boards of unequal length, the cracks between them wide. You can fill the fissures with putty, and by applying several coats of paint, obtain a smooth surface. Our sanitarian says, “Having done this, lay down rugs here and there, which may be shaken every day.” Unquestionably, a carpet that is not swept and dusted several times a week is the least cleanly of floor coverings. There is as little question that painted floors must be dusted daily and washed weekly—oftener, if the apartment be in daily family use. In the Kitchen a painted floor is almost a necessity, and the stated scrub- bing is taken into consideration in the appointment of the week's work. When the sum of this task is multiplied by the number of rooms in your house, the outlook is disheartening. Before offer- ing a solution to the difficulty, let us have a word more together touching carpets. For many years the array of tawdry lengths of carpeting that hang with a sort of nightmare tapestry at the fronts of “bargain shops,” was an inscrutable enigma to me. Somebody must buy them, or the display would not be perennial and the exhibitors still hopeful. “What manner of men and women deliberately select and pay current coin for the pendant horrors 2 ° is a riddle that COTTAGE-FURNISHING. 53 may well nonplus a Grand Street or Bowery CEdipus. Much sur- vey of country taverns and third-rate city hotels helps one to account for a majority of these mysterious disappearances. “Smart” cottages, farm houses and flats are responsible for the rest. It is not many months since I was taken by a thrifty farmeress out of the “living room,” where a small figured ingrain carpet of subdued colors harmonized with her and the well-saved furniture, across a Hall to a locked door. Turning the key, the good woman threw it open with an air Mrs. Pullet could not have outdone when heading the procession bound upon the memorable pilgrimage to view the new bonnet kept in the locked drawer of the locked wardrobe of the best spare bedroom—also locked. & “I wanted you should see our new parlor carpet,” said my guide, hastening to unclose the shutters, then tip-toeing back to the thres- hold where she had left me. Her husband, married daughter, and three grandchildren joined us there, and all gazed at The Carpet. There were two large par- lors connected by folding-doors. It must have taken at least seventy-five yards to cover the floors. If the average bargain in pseudo-Brussels be a nightmare, this particular specimen was delirium tremens. As the light from the unbarred windows smote it, it seemed to leap up and strike me in the face, so aggressive were the chromes, vermilions, blues and greens, that fought for mastery in the tormented superficies of eighteen by forty feet. “And only fifty cents a yard!” the owner of this magnificence was saying when I could listen to her. “Real tay-pestry body Brussels/’” “You see,” explained the daughter, “it was an old pattern and clean out of style. That made it come so cheap. To my mind, it's cheerfuller and more tasty than the fady things folks chase after now-a-days.” 54 HOUSE AND HOME. Before I could do more than remind myself that such coarse incongruity had never been in style with people of just tastes, the father added his tribute: “It’l last for fifty years, seein’ we never use the room to set in week days. It jes' dooz Mother's soul good to set in that 'ere big chair a-Sunday afternoons in her go-to-meetin' close, an’ read her ‘Saints' Rest.’ I tell her she'll never get nearer heaven in this world.” * “Mother” was a good woman, and, I make no doubt, could meditate upon the glories of the New Jerusalem with her feet on that blasphemy of the loom, when my unsanctified imagination suggested The Inferno. $ Don't be persuaded into buying anything because it is cheap. What does not suit you is dear at any price. Cheap carpets are the most serious blunder a housekeeper can make, inasmuch as they last forever (in a “best room'') and are so obvious while they are here. Since you cannot afford to purchase expen- sive ones, get none unless you spread a figureless ingrain on your bedroom, or nursery, or wherever the baby is dressed and plays, and where you sit with him on winter days. Carpeting of this kind is a yard wide and the best costs from $1.00 to $1.25 per yard. An old gold, with a border of scarlet and dull blue, is pretty and will wear well. If the hall is trodden by many feet it may be wise to put an English ingrain (unfigured)—what carpet-men call “filling ”—on that floor also. In choosing colors, remember that dark shades show dusty foot-tracks more than light'shades. Get mattings for the rest of the house. They are cheaper than any other floor covering, ranging from twenty-five to fifty cents a yard for the yard-wide pieces woven in different colors, less for the plain. Moreover, they are clean, easily kept neat, pretty, and just now, fashionable. Besides the yellowish and bluish-white, and that * ~---¿№ ：=====- - ---- *T-“~~~~–------ -----<--… （**<！-- <--*~）. ----*******~~~~）.- ••••*=~&=& ~ ~~ ~~ ~~~~* --~~~~-~--~~~~ *=~~~~--~ * -----• → ---- ~~~~~====***·~--~ *** →~FÈș------~~~~==~~<！---~«====æę--***=- ·™=~~~~E ~~ ~~~~）=T（™）0 ·№ “№ №. º || ||};{}}|||||||||ĖĒĒĒĒĒĒĒĒĒĒĒĒĒ№·<！--->Ē ē │ ├ſ:ſfhſjffĒĒĒĒĒĒĒĒĒ： Affffffffffff||||||||||||||||№żjį|};||||||||||||||||||ffffff;#/ sººſēžº§ſſſ!!！}ſaeſae… ）2：4）ſį|}};}||||||||||||||#íſ|#||[[|--~~~===T & {ÐX® X«)·===№№…|##||&5§§įjį s== º - It tº , ， ， • • • • • • • • • ſ * > v & Q 8 * * * * * ºn miſ , ， ， ， , ， ， , , ; " áſ pº！！！E E= | -##:::: : „-, ，-|- ș，~ __ _ - ?? ***！#####№sse№s， TheförgrifilHaşbaņd�� �==+）--> = LICENSED BEGGAR, OR BUSINESS PARTNER2 73 At the dawn of the second twelvemonth, a happy inspiration visited her. Her butcher rendered his weekly account in pencil, on loose leaves torn from a memorandum-block. Each of these was ingeniously doctored before it was submitted to the auditor. A cent per pound was added here, half-a-cent there, delicacies were taxed in proportion to season and rarity, and the sum total con- firmed the evidence of the items. She boasted gleefully to her sis- ter, who was her confidante, that she had several times pocketed $1.50, twice, $2.00 a week by the ruse. Each member of the par- sonage family had a token at Christmas tide from the lucky daughter and sister who had drawn a prize in the matrimonial lottery. Mrs. D. sat so near me at a “Board meeting” one day that I overheard her voluble preference for giving “goods " towards fur- nishing the new hospital, rather than money. “You know,” she said with a jolly, unctuous giggle to the sec- retary “my husband is the kindest creature in the world, but he does’nt believe in charities. He is as liberal as can be about the housekeeping and so forth, only he insists on paying the bills himself. He says that women are not fit to be trusted with more than fifty cents at a time. My husband will always have his joke. Now, he will never know that the piece of sheeting I shall send here is not used at our house. Nor the table-cloth and napkins.” The good soul's relish of the two-fold pleasure of charity and of outwitting her close-fisted spouse was edifying—if the beholder chanced to like that sort of thing. Mrs. E., refined in sensibilities and a fond parent, submitted a case of ethics to a motherly friend. Her daughter has a passion for music and is already a brilliant performer. Her father thinks she knows enough of the art and declines to spend more money in tuition fees. The better educated wife, sympathizing with the girl's 74 HOUSE AND HOME. desire to be thorough, pays without his knowledge, for lessons from a distinguished professor, saving the money out of the allowance placed in her hands for marketing. & “I hope it is not wrong,” she faltered in making the confession. “It does seem as if nobody is defrauded. The allowance is very liberal and I am careful to keep a good table. The thing which \troubles my conscience is that my girl is privy to a deception practised by her mother on her father.” Mrs. F.'s husband tells the following anecdote of his early mar- ried life as a lesson to other thoughtless Benedicts: “It never occurred to me that my wife might need to buy new clothes. Yet I knew that women went shopping, and might have reflected that even so bountiful a trousseau as hers could not last for- ever. Nor did the thought that she might want a few cents for carfares caramels, hair-pins and the like, present itself to my stupid mind. We boarded at a hotel, had nice rooms, excellent fare, pleasant society and went somewhere every evening. My little woman was always well dressed, looked happy, and gave no indication of the impecuniosity that was playing Spartan fox at her vitals. One evening, more than two years after our wedding day, I came up town with tickets for the opera and a bouquet for her to carry, for which, I recollect, I paid three dollars. She made one excuse after another for declining to go and when all were overruled, burst into tears, and confessed that she had no shoes fit to wear out-of-doors. In proof of this she showed me her best boots bunglingly cobbled by her poor little fingers. “Why have’nt you bought new ones?” asked I, naturally enough. I never shall forget the piteous, shame-faced look she gave me. “I had no money, dear. The fifty dollars mamma put into my purse when I left home went for little necessaries long ago. I tried, again and again, to ask you for more, but the words would not leave my tongue.” LICENSED BEGGAR, OR BUSINESS PARTNER2 75 The reader will please note that in recounting these phases of matrimonial experience, I refrain from commendation or from censure of the feeling that moved the actors to diplomacy, deception and reserve. If necessary, I could give a hundred instances to prove how obstinate and universal is the aversion to the role of chronic bene- ficiary, how powerful the temptation to evade it by every device feminine cunning can bring to bear upon the situation. Let us look at the matter as if we had never thought of it before. Can that which consolidates the best women of the land into a guild of privileged paupers be anything but an evil that calls for redress 2 This particular form of mendicancy may be honorable in all things, and alleviated in a multitude of cases by the tenderest assiduity of affection, but, in the estimation of their husbands and society—to their own shamed eyes—it is to wives dependence and vassalage. Ask them (when their lords are not by) one and all, leaving out the ten thousandth woman alluded to awhile ago —how they like it. Representative John comes gallantly to the front once more. “Would you have MY WIFE earn her own living 2" Yes!—emphatically. “How can she when she is already housekeeper, wife, mother, teacher, nurse, seamstress, companion—to say nothing of general inspiration, and supreme domestic headlight? She is the cleverest, pluckiest woman in two hemispheres, but the duties already bound upon her consume every waking hour. She has not a minute she can call her own. There isn't a man in town who works so hard and so well.” The catechist—chivalrous and loyal gentleman—has all unwit- tingly flattened the base of the egg until it stands upright. The woman who fills nine important offices, as you declare this one does, 76 HOUSE AND HOME. earns her living nine times over. The trouble is that as M. Jour- dain had been talking prose all his life and never knew it, you and Mary have never appreciated the truth that she is more than self- supporting. Face the fact like a man, and henceforth keep it well before her. Forego something of the complacent glow of conscious liberality, and accept, instead, the calm content of one who meets his notes when due. Or, consider that you two constitute a busi- ness firm, and pay over her share of equitable profits. The act is a just partition, not a gift. Don't remind her, when you throw money into her lap with the gesture of a sultan to a favorite dancing-girl, that, although compelled to maintain her, you are so fond of her that you do not grudge the expense. Break yourself of the habit of alluding to family expenses as if she were individually respon- sible for them, and for the family as well. Some excellent husbands fall into this tone. It is a trick of the trade easily caught, and about as fair as it would be to drag your wife into a morass and, when she is stuck fast in the mud, to thrash her with briers, because your boots are soiled by the operation. To epitomize the volume that might be penned on the theme without exhausting it:—the wife who acts well her part is as truly independent as is the husband. She has a right to have, to hold, and to use as her own, a given share of the income. Her main- tenance, pin-money, etc., are debts due her, not benefactions you are to be praised for bestowing, and she grateful in receiving. Of these things she should be made aware when she enters the firm. A true woman will love and honor her partner the more for such frank uprightness. It is only she who is at heart a courtesan, who fawns upon her spouse for hire. But Solomon Grundy has a query: “What do women know of business principles and methods P’” As much—and as little—as their husbands choose to teach them, * *=2 P. -[. |t É. 27, |ſº º i ! §º } 㺠b. & * * * * * * * Ž ſ 2. * f * % * gº 3 = * E # = * f - A E f =3 || || "...º. * sº... ºr A = tº * * * * * * … º i ; sº: i i .ºº-2 : as tº ###iº # = *illum. L| | sºmsºmºsº-º-º: - '74 - fºllows own Sister. -* \s= \ THE ETIQUETTE OF FAMILY LIFE. URING a recent journey by rail from Boston to New York, D my attention was drawn to a couple whose seats in the drawing-room car were directly across the aisle from mine. One was a young girl, pretty, tastefully clad, and refined in tone and manner. Her escort was a few years her senior, good- looking, well-behaved, and apparently on terms of friendly intimacy with his fair companion. They chatted together blithely and naturally, with no show, on one side of coyness, or on the other of love-making. Their bright faces were a pleasant resting-place for other eyes as well as mine, as I soon became aware from a low- toned dialogue going on just behind me. “Stunningly pretty girl,” said masculine accents. “And a lucky fellow.” “He is apparently of the same opinion,” answered a woman's voice. “Are they brother and sister—do you think?” “He’s too devoted by half for that. I've been watching them all the way. He has picked up her fan three times, and never told her once that she was careless to drop it. Twice, he has offered to bring her a glass of water; four times has he put up the window at stations, without waiting to be asked to do it; once, he inquired if the sun hurt her eyes, or was likely to give her a headaehe. Not a sign of the fraternal in all this. Nor is she a whit more sisterly. 79 8O HOUSE AND HOME. The smile that thanks him for his attentions settles the question beyond a doubt. She's another fellow's sister, you may be sure.” “Perhaps they are married ?” “Not unless this is their wedding trip. That sort of thing does’nt flourish after the honeymoon.” The question of relationship was not settled in my hearing. The incident is the text of my chapter on the amenities of everyday home-life. Is custom the parent of expectation, or does expectation beget the ill-favored custom of giving our second best, if not our worst things—to those we love most dearly and to whom we owe most 2 Or—to put the query differently—do we satisfy ourselves with having deeded to them once for all, our choicest treasures of affect- ion, and, the oath of allegiance taken, hold that they should not exact further guaranty of the fact of possession ? Benjamin Franklin's proposition that grace said over the barrel at packing-time should do away with the tri-daily blessing of boiled or fried pork, forecast the passion for savings of all kinds which became his leading characteristic. In the matter of family polite- ness, tens of thousands of his fellow country people put the thrifty boy's suggestion into daily practice. Mr. Philemon Nemo courted his Baucis with conventional assid- uity of devotion. As suitor and betrothed, he fell short in none of the tender arts, supposed by each newly affianced pair to be indige- nous to the Elysian groves in which they will henceforward have their permanent abiding place—whereby the lover sets his image in the highest niche of his mistress' heart, and clamps it to the pedestal. His behavior in the various trying and delicate tests to which betrothal subjects the wooer who has won, earned the plaudits of relatives and neighbors. He lived, perfunctorily, yet eagerly, only in her smiles; watched every turn of the eye, studied each trick THE ETIQUETTE OF FAMILY LIFE. 8I of phrase and inflection, that he might meet her lightest want half way in the expression thereof. Pet names and caressing words distilled and flowed from his tongue as perfume from honeysuckle. When he stood with her at the altar, he heaped his earthly all— hopes, loves, life—a glad oblation—upon it. Courtship is defined by a social satirist “as a period, long or short, agreeably spent by two people in deceiving one another to the best of their ability.” Mr. and Mrs. Ph. Nemo would have frowned down the bon mot as blasphemous on their marriage day. Fifteen years later, she smiles significantly—an arid, bitter meaning—at reading it, and he laughs, somewhat coarsely, in stumbling upon it in the “funny column " of the morning paper, “guesses that is just about the ticket,” and inquires “what the women in the house have been about all the morning, that his breakfast is not ready ?” . They have fallen by-to them—imperceptible degrees, into the matrimonal habit of speaking slightingly of romance and love. Neither, to do them justice, means any real disrespect to the other. In this sort of cant—I would still be just—the husband usually takes the initiative. It sounds “knowing ” to affect to despise former enslavement, to regret bachelor freedom, to allude to himself as the victim of a passing weakness. In very jocose moments he talks of his courtship as “temporary insanity.” It is all fun, however he may word it. Baucis might, by this time, be sure enough of his affection to understand his badinage. She ought to know, too, that when he objurgates the sloth- fulness of the “women in the house,” he refers to the cook and waitress, and not to her flushed and nervous self, who, in pouring out his coffee spills the boiling liquid on her hand. “How can you be so careless I’’ he ejaculates, in serious concern, disguised under pretended displeasure. 82 HOUSE AND HOME. He takes as much trouble to mask his softer emotions at this date as he did to exhibit them in that “insane” long ago. The lover would have bounded to his feet and rushed off for healing lotion and bandages. The husband resumes the study of his paper when she has said, coldly, that “it is a mere nothing,” wound her handkerchief about the scalded member, and given him another cup of coffee. The pretty foolishness of kissing the place to make it well is never thought of now by either. They “have got beyond all that.” Baucis resigns and suffers more than Philemon in the exchange of sweet nonsense for matter-of-fact. Sometimes, she dreams over those vanished hours; wonders, in that strange, awful constriction of heart women know so well, how her husband can ridicule the memory, as if it were an illusion. She could as soon make a jest of the loss of the little child that drew his first and last breath in one and the same day. Sentiment dies hard, even in commonplace women. If men knew how tender and warm the divine folly keeps their wives' hearts, how it glorifies the humblest home and refines menial labor, they might, sometimes, out of sheer pity, forbear to mock. There are other children now. They come pelting in to break- fast, jostling one another in their hurry. The father lowers his paper to command them to “stop their racket.” The mother frets that they are “always late, and then impatient to be waited upon.” Nobody says “good morning,” or asks after the health of the rest. The elder girl calls her mother's notice to her small brother's plate where griddle-cakes swim in a lake of butter and syrup. “I’d be ashamed to be such a pig ” sneers the juvenile monitor, and is ordered by him to “to hold her tongue! Who asked for her opinion ?” The father gulps down his coffee and bolts his steak with both eyes on the columns of the morning journal which is his THE ETIQUETTE OF FAMILY LIFE. 83 substitute for cheerful table talk. When the bickerings or the teasing waxes loud, he throws in a sharp or heavy word, as he would shy a stone at quarrelsome hounds. His meal concluded, he 1zicks back his. chair, remarks, not crossly, but as certainly not civilly, that he has no more time to waste, and takes himself off for the day without other farewell. The Nemo connection is extensive, and the branch we are describing highly respectable. It was my misfortune to be present when one of them asked his wife to bring a cup in which he could mix medicine for an ailing child. She brought a tumbler instead. “What did I ask you for 2 ” demanded her lord harshly. “I thought this would do as well, my dear,” said the gentle spouse. “You ‘thought!” That is the way with you all. You are always thanking, instead of doing as you are told to do | When I say cup, I mean c, u , p," Now, go and get it !” It was my worse luck to be one of those seated about a family board when the head of the house inquired of his fair young daughter where an article which he named—a book, or penknife, or some such matter—had been put. On receiving her reply that she had not seen it, he broke into a turbulent torrent of abuse, in reprobation of her carelessness. “What do you suppose I keep you in clothes and victuals and lodge you for P You and your sisters are as lazy and saucy a pack of bad rubbish as ever a man was cursed with,” was a clause of the peroration. Do I hear a murmur of “brute” and “boor P’” Will the verdict be reconsidered when I affirm that the speaker was an officer in a prominent church, and bore the reputation of being an estimable, affectionate husband and father? Let it be understood that I introduce here no fancy sketches, and draw my illustrations 84 HOUSE AND HOME. from “good society.” The worst happening of this evil complexion that ever befell me was was when “a perfect christian gentleman,” high in public office, informed his wife in my hearing, that “any one who made the willful mistake” of which he had just adjudged her to be guilty “was an unmitigated and malicious fool.” I know—few better—how intemperate expressions escape the tongue at the lash of anger, but these are invariably in the vernacular of the irate speaker. The man who has never uttered an oath will not let fly a volley of profane ejaculations, let the provocation be never so great. There is a wide world of difference between the fault-finding of the mistress in whose mouth the law of kindness has a familiar abiding place, and the loud tirade of her who has been elevated by sudden riches to “eat from the dish she late had washed.” There may be, as one of the sex avers, “a savage in every man,” but he is not born full-grown, war-paint on, and club in hand. It was obvious in each of the scenes I have outlined that this was not the first outbreak, by many, of the Nemo barbarian. His leap was too sure, his bellow too loud for a trial-effort. It is with shame and regret, that, in obedience to the law of stern impartiality I have laid down for my conduct in the present writing, I confess to having heard more than once, women of birth and breeding call their husbands “fools,” not in sport, but in very determined earnest; that, now and then, a sweet-voiced girl, regardless of the presence of others besides “the family,” refuses flatly to obey her parents, saying, “I won't!” and “I shant!” as tartly as if she had been born in a ditcher's hovel and had her training in the slums. Most vividly do I recall the shock of a repoof administered by a model daughter to her gray-haired father whose version of a story differed from hers: “You only make yourself ridiculous by such absurd talk,” she ſº Yº vº ſ % * * * fºLeº 2.%. º l, ſº & Sºft Ǻ 'll . . . . ," ºws S. T. % º § S. T. * , 2, NV 3%\SY S R \ A N. N. . \\ V. N. N. N \, V'\SYS, \ Nº. º º NXSYA A NS ; A" N S. N * *s / ºf , - \ º | | | || º Miſſºlſ|| º sº |\\ | º a-ºº: †Z-2 22: 2 º 2: º º #A. º Aº * Aº § Ž/º/, º % % 27% % % % % º % . 2 º' % ſº ºf N % ſº % * O § S .2% - º 2. º º , & (Cºl{}| Wºº: ºil. S$\º ~f~, * * tº a tº sº tº º tº ** * == a | * A *. \\º “s º wº * * * = ~ss- sº> - º =. ºn & ºr º- ºr-> Sº = 2 i f W º \ | W W Fift §W! ºº:: º & º º *-sº -, --" THE ETIQUETTE OF FAMILY LIFE. 87 said judicially. “At your time of life one ought to have some regard for the truth.” She loved her father dearly ; was his nurse, amanuensis, flousekeeper—his main stay, prop and anchor. But I doubt not that the vitriol of her rebuke burned as hotly as if she had been none of these. The number of times I have known sisters to bandy compliments on the eminent propriety of each minding her own business, is hardly surpassed by that of the “snubs’ administered by sisters to brothers, and the interchange of the yet more spicy courtesies between brothers. Lack of room and strength, not to mention common decency, forbid the expose. Everybody is familiar with the truth and the superabundant examples of it. It is of a piece with the code which enjoins a distinction which is more than a difference between “company” and every day manners, and even keeps back grammatical speech for such occasions as visits and visitors. “Not a sign of the fraternal in all this l’” said the astute railway critic, in summing up the civilities extended by the young man to his compagnon de voyage. The inference is patent. In the like circumstances, the brother would have sat in his revolving chair, his back to his sister, and jerked monosyllables over his shoulder in response to her queries; have waited to be asked for the glass of ice water, then, brought it ungraciously. He would not have bethought himself of her possible desire to get a breath of fresh air at every station, or that the sun might be oppressive. The tokens of their common humanity would have been reserved for “another fellow's sister.” We have not to deal now with the fact of natural affection, still less with the question of conjugal fidelity. These are presupposed in the assertion that we take too much for granted in our intercourse with those of our own blood and households. The seed of the ugly 88 HOUSE AND HOME. weed is planted when the newly made husband remits, for the first time, a polite office to his wife which he would blush to remit were she his guest, or mere acquaintance. One of two things is wrong: —the painstaking devotion of the suitor, or the nonchalance of the married man. If it was Philemon's bounden duty and delight, before wedlock, to pick up the handkerchief of Baucis, to set a chair for her at her entrance into the room where he was sitting, to hand her in and out of carriages and up stairs, to spare her heavy lifting and needless steps, to be urbane in tone and language—in short, to testify in action to the world of his love and respect for the woman he has chosen to bear his name and share his fortunes—it is his duty (even without the flavoring of delight), to treat her in the same manner for the entire period of their united lives, Wives have a responsibility in this respect which they are too apt to ignore, or to shirk when it is admitted. There is much written now-a-days of the propriety of mothers “keeping themselves up” for the sake of their children. If wives do not keep their lords up in what are not the trivialities of courteous attention to themselves, they (the wives) will go without these in the end. There is something sadly demoralizing in the sudden or slow slip of the band on the wheel, when the bride and bridegroom days are accomplished, and the petted angel drops into, “only my wife.” I have called this lapse the seed of the ugly plant which is of rapid growth, and as ineradicable, if once rooted, as pursley and rag-weed. Philemon saunters into his wife's boudoir, hands in pocket, hat on head, cigar in mouth, with never a thought of saying “By your leave,” or “Excuse me.” He pushes before her in passing out or entering a room; sits down to the table in his shirt sleeves and cleans his nails in the parlor when nobody (Baucis counting as a cipher) is by. If Baucis wishes to attend theater, concert, or lecture, to drive, or walk, or sail, the proposition, in five THE ETIQUETTE OF FAMILY LIFE. 89 cases out of ten, comes from her, not him. With his ante-nuptial apprenticeship in what the French have named “ less petits soºns,” he has gone out of the business. If it is kept up, it is the wife who continues it at the old stand. Children catch the tone of their elders. The sons caricature their bluff sire, and are bullies or boors in their association with mother and sisters, suave courtiers in “society.” The daughters refine upon their mother's self-defensiveness, and and become sar- castic adepts in the science of “taking the boys down.” In many households, this order of things is considered altogether natural, and not reprehensible. “What a bore you people must find it to be always on your p's and q's at home !” said an outspoken woman to one who was not of the average Nemo clan. “You are never en dishabille, in behavior, to each other, mince your words and fine down your phrases in family talk as if you were afraid of your own flesh and blood. Now, we brothers and sisters speak right out whatever we think and feel,-quarrel all around and make friends every day of our lives.” Many more men and woman, not belonging to the order of Pachydermata—suffer, first and last, with an intensity their associ- ates cannot appreciate from what may be termed the toss-and-tumble style of home life. Wives and sisters may not complain audibly when they are left to help themselves to daily bread from crockery platters while other fellows' sisters and wives are served on bended knee from garnished porcelain. But they see, and feel, and think. Husbands may appreciate the sterling worth of wives whose hands and brains toil unrestingly in the service of their families, and brothers repeat emphatically to themselves that sisters who appear to revel in opportunities of taking the wind out of their sails, are thoroughly good girls, and would go through fire and water for the 90 HOUSE AND HOME. boys they rail at as “cubs" and “rowdies.” “We understand each other,” one and all would protest were an outsider to censure their language as unkind, or to intimate that the son who accosts his mother with, “Hallo,” old girl l’’ or the daughter who interrupts her father with, “You don't know what you are talking about !” strains to snapping the commandment to honor parents. The toss-and-tumbler is fond of pleading “his way” in extenu- ation of boorish deportment and brusque speech. I know whole families whose “ways” are so many pet hedgehogs, pampered at home, and imperfectly leashed abroad. They jumble the boast of intrinsic excellence with the parade of external deformity, until weak minds confuse the two. The human pig-nut is, oftener than otherwise, like the vegetable product of the same name—bitter- Hearted when one has dragged it out of the tough, thick shell. It is as easy to be sincere and sweet, as to be sincere and sour. Hearts are not won and kept so much by the exercise of the sterner virtues as by the constant practice of loving consideration for the feelings, gentlest patience with the foibles of those with whom our daily lot is cast. Common-sense ought to have proved to us by this time that oil is a better lubricator of domestic machinery than vinegar. May I offer to the younger members of the home circle a simple rule of action that will reduce to a minimum the friction of daily living, even with those whose individuality is as pronounced, whose views are as independent as your own 2 A caution that will spare you many a stormy scene, and, perchance, avert the heart- break of unavailing remorse 2 Do not say a rough word when a smooth one will serve your purpose as well. Before indulging in retort, or sly thrust or deadly “crusher”—whatever the provocation—ask yourself: “Would I wish this unsaid if I were never to behold his living face again P’’ THE VEXED QUESTION-DOMESTIC SERVICE IN AMERICA. N English journal remarks in the course of a review of an American manual of cookery: “One thing which im- presses the British reader as strange and even droll, is that the presence of the mistress in the kitchen and her active co-operation in the business of cookery are taken for granted. Yet there must be some servants in the United States.” Making the marginal annotation of an interrogation point over the last sentence, I digress to observe that if the testimony of English books and papers be admitted, the ques- tion of what Punch styles “servantgalism,” is a knotty one in the Mother Country, where social and caste-lines are sharply drawn, and the existence of a lower class is not disputed by those who belong to it. On the continent, the problem is not only knotty, but prickly. Two or three times in a century, it bristles with pikes and butcher-knives, a complication which, fortunately, does not enter into our discussion of our own puzzle of domestic service. “System,” it cannot be called. Even as a dissected pattern, it is unsatisfactory. It is a construction of iron and clay, and the attrition of the parts must work confusion. To return to our interrogation-point;-Have we, as a nation, any domestic servants 2 9I 92 HOUSE AND HOME. Every public functionary, from constable up to the Chief Magis- trate of the Union, is proud to call himself the servant of the people. “Ich diem ’’—“I serve’’ is the motto surmounted by the three white feathers in the crest of the heir to the British throne. “Let the greatest among you be your servant,” said the Prince of princes, who took upon Himself the form of a servant. In our Christian land and age, we weakly evade the obvious truth that if some are to be served, there must be others whose part it is to render that service. Having yielded to a certain—or uncertain—class the names of “lady” and “gentleman,” and taken up for ourselves and made honorable the titles of “man” and “woman,” we carry amiable forbearance a step further in recog- nizing as “helps,” and most frequently as “girls,” inferiors in birth, station and culture, whom we hire and wheedle to do such daily tasks as will leave us free to discharge aright duties which they are incapable of performing. I wonder the real American girl does not protest passionately against her dispossession of a royal title. It is amusing, and pitiable, to hear a fond mother extricate herself from the mesh of misunderstanding induced by her mention of “my girls.” Unless interpreted by the immediate context, the listeners cannot determine whether she has in mind the accomplished queens of the drawing-room, or the illiterate despots of the kitchen. In fact, our daughters have been doubly robbed. As “young ladies,” they went out of being more than a decade ago. “We girls,” sug- gests, to all except the readers of the charming volume bearing that title, the conclave below-stairs, sitting in judgment upon the multifarious iniquities of the Anonyma everywhere known to the guild as “Her,” and “She.” For, if the daughter be shorn of her titles, the mother is beggared utterly—reduced to a pronoun, and a monosyllable. DOMESTIC SERVICE IN AMERICA. 93 There are no more mistresses than there are servants. If the reader would verify the statement, let her use the brace of obnox- ious words in the hearing of Bridget, Katrine, or the dusky-cheeked Victoria-Columbia-Celeste of the present generation. (Let it be noted that the middle-aged mother or aunt of the smart colored damsel furnishes us with the best “help" to be had in this, or any other country, and speaks of herself and her congeners in her honest self-respect, as “servants.”) English Phillis enters the service for which she has been trained, as scullery-maid, and works her way steadily up to the station of cook, then housekeeper. The summit of her ambition is reached when the united savings of herself and the butler warrant them in marry- ing and setting up for themselves in the public house, or genteel lodging business. English Abigail usually obtains, besides the education given in the village school, some knowledge of dressmaking and of hair- dressing, before she ventures to apply for a place as lady's maid. Once established in this capacity, her aim is to keep a good home, with the prospect of higher wages as time develops her talents. Being better educated and more refined than Phillis, she is not so likely to marry, unless tempted to change a position she feels to be eminently respectable by the blandishments of a handsome valet, or the solid worth of some thrifty shop-keeper. “Service ’’ with these women is as truly a trade as millinery. It is a lift in the social scale for the daughters of the day-laborer, a safe and desirable settlement for the children of the small farmer and mechanic. On this side of the ocean, Bridget, Katrine, and Victoria-Colum- bia-Celeste—who, on calling to see if she will hire you as a tempor- ary employer, gives her name as “Miss" Howard, or Halyburton, 94. HOUSE AND HOME. or Hamilton—are “living-out-girls.” This is the utmost degree of servitude they will acknowledge. A young woman who “lived out” in my family as child's nurse for eight years, was once obliged to introduce to me a relative newly arrived from Ireland. As is well-known, those who have lived here long enough to learn the ways of an independent republic hide the “granehorns” from stranger eyes until the bog-moss is, in a measure, rubbed off. But I happened to enter the kitchen while the stranger sat there in linsey petticoat and short gown, hob-nailed brogans and cotton cap, and Ellen had no choice but to name “me mother's sister, mem.” While I asked how she had borne the voyage and bade her welcome, the worthy creature dropped her dame-school courtesy with every bashful reply—the niece growing redder at each obeisance. That evening, she came to my room to apologize for her kinswoman’s “quare behavior.” “It’s a thrick as is 'tached 'em at home, mem, where there's the raal quality and all that. They soon larn better nor to do it here. Ochl’—the Irish temper flashing up—“It makes me that mad to see a woman dhrop a curchy in Ameriky, I could kill her l It's a shame and a disgrace in a free-an’-aiqual country.” With this free-and-equal theory, the mistress (nominally), is Handicapped throughout her association with her underlings who repudiate wrathfully the thought of subordination. It is the germ of the prejudice against entering any household except as the controller thereof, which fills our kitchens and nurseries with mal- content Arabs. The woman who can earn a living in no other way, sees in this incapacity a manifest call to take up the cross of “living out.” Stiff and stumpy fingers that cannot sew are deemed equal to the manufacture of the dainty entremets we covet (and do not get) as variations of homely fare. The brain that cannot com- pass the mysteries of a trade, can carry weights and measures, | ſ'|||| 11 | | | | | | | ſae ſä ...m.------- -as-s-s-s------ -—=== |�N � } ſ ºſffſ | ſiſ}} | | ！|| º ffr ffºſſ ſl%\\ \\\ }} |||||||||)\\\\\\||||||| |||||||||： |||||||||| | }} \||\|\} | | Sºº s- R [- >< ºr --> \\ \\ i Ax ， ， ， ,\\$\\\\\\\\\ NŅ\\}\\ſſ || ||||{{ſae2 %~ ！！！!!Aſſiſ!!!!!!!!!!…№#|#|#| | ``** » waea:-） - №ae,ºſ ſl |∞ ~！----JA&\'\'\'\, .¿----====* * *•： º ， ！ ：●º º# №ſºſ， ſº-aear= ~ ? , ！：ſaeza---- & & *º º （）. 22 2 $2 \s-ŠīšTER MA' AM” — __'： ME MOT DOMESTIC SERVICE IN AMERICA. 97 and concoct soups and desserts. O ! these “plain cooks l’ how rough and crooked they make the daily walk of faint and fagged flousewife It is not worth the trouble of saying that such bunglers further degrade the work they have taken up as a pis aller. It is drudgery, and a hateful bondage to them; far more irksome than to the mistress whose fine, clear sense discerns that nothing is com- mon or unclean to willing hands, nothing slavish to the earnest spirit. Is the situation hopeless 2 Beyond a doubt, unless, as a prelim- inary measure to the making of servants, we make mistresses. The only independent American housekeeper is she who understands her profession and her position. As the corner-stone of both, dignify them yourself. Whatever you may think of the principle involved in Mrs. Whitney's eloquent remonstrance against woman's suffrage, you must perceive matter for thought, as well as amuse- ment, in the sketched “May-be’” that follows: “Perhaps it may even be discovered, to the still further detriment of our already painfully hampered and perplexed domestic system, that pursuit of fun, votes, or offices, is more remunerative, as well as more gentlewomanly,–as Micawbermightexpressit—than the cleans- ing of pots and pans, the weekly wash or the watching of the roast. Perhaps in that enfranchised day there will be no Katies and Mag- gies, and the Norahs will know their place no more. Then the enlightened womanhood may have to begin at the foundation, and glorify the kitchen again. And good enough for her, in the wide, as well as primitive sense of the phrase, and a grand turn in the history that repeats itself toward the old, forgotten, peaceful side of the cycle, it may be.” Establish in your own mind that house-keeping is a distinct and important line of business, and that you are the firm which has the conducting of your “establishment.” If you choose to let your 98 1HOUSE AND HOME. husband audit accounts, do so. Should you, as age advances or cares thicken, admit a daughter as junior partner, need may justify the step. On no account alter the standing of a paid, uneducated subordinate with regard to your authority and right. There is no necessary hireling, or should be none in a house where the mistress has health and intelligence. The only indispensable member of the corporation is the head. Whatever may be the excellences of your faithful and attached servant, she is your inferior in mental discipline and judgment, if you are fit for the place you hold. To con- sult her as a peer; to suffer her judgment to bear down yours habitu- ally ; to commit the control of any department of the household absolutely to her, is to cast off the belt that steadies a wheel of the machine. In strength, in swift, even motion, it may be all you could desire, may seem more essential to the progress of the work in hand than the band encompassing it. But let the latter break, er slip, and the wild whirl, aimless, if not disastrous, is a significant type of that domestic interior where amiability, or indolence, or mis- taken judgment leads to a transfer of the balance of power. Close upon the heels of the resolution to be commander-in-chief of your household forces, should come the recognition of others in a similar capacity in their respective homes. This is not corollary, but a step in the solution of the problem. A crying need in our free country is the organization of a Harry Wadsworth Club of house- wives whose “lend a hand ’’ shall be a living bond of union. As matters now stand, each so-not-called mistress is a free lance with relation to other nominal heads of households. With a few honorable exceptions, every matron engages cook, housemaid, laundress and—most important of all—child's nurse, without heed to the reputation she has borne in her last situation. If a form of investigation is made, the “girl” holds the winning card from the first. & .DOMESTIC SERVICE IN AMERICA. 99 “An' shure, yez is the furrest pairson as iver had the face to ax me for the loike l’” spluttered an ornament to the culinary profes- sion when I inquired innocently if she had credentials of character and ability. “I sez the one thing to all thim as applies for me. Take me or lave me ! sez I. But I won’t demane mesilf by askin nor showin' a stiff-ticket to plase no woman in Ameriky.” When the independent freewoman condescends to exhibit her * ca-racter’’ or submits to the greater indignity of a visit of inquiry to her late employer, the information elicited has no weight in the decision of the question, if it be adverse to the questioner's desire to “get in the new girl” as soon as possible and be rid of the bother of “changing.” We change often enough to get used to the national “bother,” one might think, yet it is a disagreeable business whenever it occurs. Let me illustrate: Early in my housewifely life, I dismissed a cook for good and sufficient reasons. She asked for a certificate to the effect that she could wash and iron tolerably well, and I gave it, subjoining voluntarily, that she was honest and obliging. We parted with expressions of mutual good-will, and I supposed our intercourse was at an end. Not that my conscience was tranquil. The plausible certificate told only half the truth. Would not some confiding fellow housekeeper have the right to accuse me of fraud when she should discover for herself why the woman who was a good cook and fair laundress, whose temper was excellent, against whose sobriety and honesty there was no impeachment, was discharged from my service P But veteran managers had taught me that the superior should lean to the merciful side in dealing with underlings. The servant was dependent upon her reputation for her living. What Christian woman would imperil the poor thing's chances of getting an honest support? IOO HOUSE AND HOME. The impersonal aspect of the affair was dissipated by a call from a neighbor whom I liked extremely. My quondam cook had presented her credentials, and my friend had “run around to find out all about her before engaging Margaret.” The “all” was that the woman was disgustingly and incurably untidy, and careless beyond compare. Superadded to these faults was a habit of staying out late every night, and leaving a door or blind unfastened that she might return unperceived. Once, she had set a curtain on fire with a match as she crept in at the dining- room window; another time, a policeman had come up to the second story at one o'clock A. M., to say that the front door was ajar. On a third occasion, finding every other avenue closed, she had gone home with a girl whose employer lived in our block; walked on the roof until she reached the sky-light in ours, and descended through the scuttle, awakening the chambermaid by a misstep. The latter's screams at the approach of the supposed burglar alarmed the household and betrayed Margaret's ruse. She had a genius, furthermore, for breaking valuables. A rough computation of her performances in this line showed that she had, in six months, cost us, beside board and wages, $150. I stated these facts to my friend without reserve, but when three or four others called on the same errand, I modified the story as far as was consistent with truth, not wishing to hurt Margaret's prospects of getting a good home. To each visitor I said that the woman had excellent points, and might do well with a more strict manager than myself. Finally, I was astounded by the apparition of Margaret herself. She burst into my presence, a cyclone in calico, her eyes red with fury. “I want to know why I can't get a place when oncet the wimmen has been to see you / " she vociferated. “It’s no leddy ye are to be takin' the bread out of an honest girl's mouth !” DOMESTIC SERVICE IN AMERICA. IOI As I have said, I was inexperienced, honest in intention and in action, and imagined that I had no alternative but to tell the truth when appealed to directly by a sister housekeeper. I have learned, since then, that my conduct was sufficiently extraordinary, accord- ing to American usage, to warrant Margaret's frenzied protest. An acquaintance once expressed to me her satisfaction that a lady who had called to inquire into the character of a cook had not touched upon the subject of honesty. “The girl lived with me, four years, and I trusted her more than I shall ever trust another,” she said. “At last, we discovered that she was robbing us systematically, and allowing suspicion to rest upon an innocent person. Her trunk was full of stolen hand- Rerchiefs, napkins, stockings, etc., belonging to my daughters and myself. We searched it before her eyes, and sent her out of the house. I charged her not to give me as a reference, but it seems she has done it. The cool assurance of the act made me so indig- nant that I was tempted to tell just why I discharged the creature. Then I reflected that it would be mean and unkind to ruin a work- ing-woman, and held my tongue. I praised her neatness, industry, cooking, and so on, until the new mistress went off persuaded that she has a treasure.” The virtuous and purblind complacency with which this state- ment was offered would have struck me dumb with admiration had the exhibition been less common. On the rare occasions when I have been obliged to make changes in the domestic corps, I have adhered to the rule of calling on a former employer, believing that it is the only safe and honorable thing to do. In nine cases out of ten, I have been assured directly, or by insinuation, that my action was eccentric and quite unnecessary. In ten cases out of ten, there was the slightest possible allusion to the imperfections of the late incumbent IO2 HOUSE AND HOME. consistent with a belief in human frailty. It is manifestly a matter of form and charity to give clean papers to every applicant. There is an immense reserve of amiability in mortal men and women, unsuspected and immeasurable depths of it in the maligned native housewife, when her help has once quitted her service-but it all runs in one channel. t I write down deliberately the conviction that if there were in the ranks of housekeepers one-half of the class-spirit that prevails among those we employ, The Vexed Question would right itself in less than one generation. None of us affect to ignore the existence of the informal, but mighty trades' union of domestics. In every community, the understanding between those who compose this nameless association is thorough. Your home-rules, the work expected of each hireling, the wages paid, the “privileges’ accorded —are as well known as if daily proclamation were made of them at street corners. Let a situation in your house get the name of a “hard place,” and you may resign all reasonable hope of stability and peace below-stairs. Were you an angel of love and mercy, trials and tribulations await you, and may not be averted. None save indifferent servants can be tempted to cross your threshold, and they often tarry (literally) but a night. The abhorrent “Small Por" placard affixed to the panels of the front door would scarcely be more effectual in keeping aloof those you would fain have the opportunity to treat equitably and kindly. The “hard mistress’” reputation spreads fast and far, and is— alas ! too easily earned. The incompetent, slothful, dishonest, dirty servant may, if it pleases her whim, live in every house in every block in every street of your town, if the one means of checking her ravages be a candid, fearless description of her works and ways, written or oral, furnished from her “last place.” DOMESTIC SERVICE IN AMERICA. IO3 In all this we are untrue to each other, to ourselves, and to our order. If the “girl” found it impossible to get a new situation without a satisfactory testimonial of character and qualifications from a former employer, she would think twice before marching off without giving an hour's warning. If the employer felt her honor as a woman, her credit as a housekeeper involved, when she writes out the paper which is to transfer one she knows to be disagreeable or inefficient to another's home, she would choose words and phrases with care. “The usual thing” would not run so glibly from her pen, nor the omission of the weightier matters of the law of neigh- borly kindness be so ingeniously slurred over. There is nothing inhuman in the truth in such circumstances. Dishonesty, ungovern- able temper, immorality—are curses we ought to shun for our friends, as for ourselves. We break the second great command- ment when we suffer, by default, the virus to enter other homes. In this sense every one of us is—whether she admits it or not—her sister's keeper. It is impossible in the space of a single chapter to present more than a few features of this many-headed subject. I can add but a word of caution to those who demand a paragon in every hireling. It often happens that the servant who suits you will not fill the measure of your next-door neighbor's requirements, and vice versa. In the frank interchange of query and reply respecting recommenda- tion and disadvantage, take this into consideration. If Abigail’s faults are not vices, and Phillis' drawbacks are such as may be over- come by patience and judicious training, it may be a wise experi- ment to try her, and thus indulge the national (feminine) propensity to give the “girl” all the odds compatible with the preservation of the lives, liberties and sacred honor of the benevolent employer and her household. WHY MONDAY 2 T is humiliating to one in whose creed the tenet that “Life is growth" finds place, to acknowledge how many things are done by civilized, intelligent beings for no better reason than because everybody else does them. “Why have you not introduced the luggage-check into your railway system 2 ” I asked an Englishman, at the Paddington Station in London. Cabmen, porters, valets, waiting-maids, foreign and domestic passengers, were stirred up into a seething mass of anxious impati- ence, awaiting the identification of each separate box and portman- teau. The thought was inevitable, the query irrepressible. The average Briton has, at home and abroad, always on hand a patent repeater, loaded and self-cocking, when the institutions of his native island are criticised. “It is not customary in England, you know,” was all I got for my inconvenient inquisitiveness. Have we any better reason for not changing our National wash- day? Freeing our minds of prejudice and tradition, let us ask if any other working-day, unless it be Saturday, could be less con- venient for the purpose to which we dedicate (or degrade) the first in the line of descent from Sabbatical heights? IO4 TOMMY s Nooks, & BET SY BRooks, SUNDAYS. ÀXXX \ % %ſae *% %% *%()// ſººs:№~ £&#：#| £? arī SS sº N 2% 2á 2. |×2） 2. 2，2% -- ſº º ºsmº SNN | *~）. SR ！!!!！ ºl-lºss * ºgê 2} 2âfîȚſ||||| { ſ！ ſººſ &5 ∞ºſ E• （~~~~ \l § N | º ſ | Ki | ji º \ | * | All Q \\ º | YA § | | | W | | \ | º º BET SY ON MONDAY WHY MONDAY 2 Io'7 Setting an argument which may be called “a lightweight,” fore- most, we must acknowledge that the close proximity of the steam, strain, stress, and general “stew’’ of washing-day to the holy calm of Sunday's rest and worship offends the artistic sense. The linking together of the two is a palpable misfit, and harshly inharmonious. Mother Goose's implication in regard to this discordant element of everyday prose is, as is often her way, more pregnant than her actual assertion: “As Tommy Snooks and Betsey Brooks Were walking out one Sunday, Says Tommy Snooks to Betsey Brooks, “To-morrow will be Monday.’” Poor Tommy! The revolt of the poetic nature under the encroachment of the barrenly-realistic upon exaltation of soulful imagination was never more succinctly uttered. Betsey, in her Sunday rig, a bonnet on her head, instead of a cap, a sprig of southernwood in her belt; clean cotton gloves hiding the toil-marred hands,--is such a different being from Betsey in pattens, with apron rolled up to the waist, and sleeves pinned back to her shoulders, her face interlined with worry, and blowsy with the vapor of hot suds, that the lover may well recoil from the vision. His jeremiad may go on file with Moore's: “All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest.” The abrupt change from Sunday to Monday is a putting-out, at a breath, of a holy flame, not a flicker or fading. Like the instanta- neous nightfall that comes in the tropics with the sinking of the sun, it is bad for eyes and spirit. Seriously, it is strange that physical economists have not long ago condemned this “customary” IO8 HOUSE AND HOME. overloading of the second day of the week as a violation of a prime principle which declares the danger of sudden and violent extremes. In most families in this Christian land, Sunday is the happiest day of the seven—a period of serene relaxation, of home-comfort and religious enjoyment. In the time when imprisonment for debt was lawful and common, the creditor could not seize the body of his debtor between Saturday midnight and the same hour of Sunday night. A like immunity from business cares and solicitudes falls with the dawn of the Blesséd Day upon weary head and eyes. For twenty-four hours, the wolf is out of sight of the door. The house- wife crosses Her aching wrists, and has leisure to bethink herself of the eternal Sabbath in the land where she will get “rested out.” The household machinery runs without creak or jar; or, if there are faults she overlooks them, “because it is Sunday.” Even our Puritan grandmothers thought it wrong to whip naughty children on Sunday—perhaps from some shadowy and unacknowledged asso- ciation with the threshing-floor—but the little sinners reaped the benefit of the scruple until the interest was compounded, according to the Puritan method of computation, on Black Monday. It must be as injurious to health as to temper to tighten every screw, and crowd on all steam while the soft languor of the rest- day still lingers in the soul and body. Monday morning bounds in upon us like a frosty snap in early autumn, or late spring. We are never ready for it. Saturday is the Peter robbed that the Paul of Monday may not actually suffer for the necessaries of existence. Marketing is done for three days, and cooking also, in many households where the cook is likewise the laundress. The remains of Sunday’s dinner do coldly set forth the morrow's table. If there be a shadow of the chilly shade left over for Tuesday, the house-mother accounts it economy. º why MONDAYP IO9 The children, spoiled for work by two days “off” recognize as an important element in the general hatefulness of Blue Monday, the Hurried breakfast, at which the freshest bread is thirty-six hours old, and the hash of Saturday's inevitable corned beef is as sure to be at the foot of the board, as the pre-occupied face they hardly know for that of the genial father of yesterday. “ Mother” is still more business-full than her partner. This is, for her, the field day of the week, and she has neither word nor caress to waste. Luncheon, or the early dinner, brings no respite. The father, if he be wise, takes his down town. The children miss the orderly waiting, the dainty desserts of other days; the mother is too busy to know what she eats. Lessons go worse on Monday than at any other time. Tempers and nerves would be soothed by the reasonable anticipation of a bountiful repast in amends for the indifferent breakfast, but the dejected home-comers know better than to expect it. Warmed-overs, pick-ups, and make-shifts go as naturally with wash-day as the odor of yellow soap-suds and the steam-crumpled hands of the sulky waitress. That was a wisely-sweet device of a mother whom I once knew, who made it a rule and practice to go into the kitchen herself on Monday, and prepare savory entrees or delicate desserts, selecting the favorite dishes of husband and children in turn. It was her opportunity for trying new recipes, and there was a pretence of mystery about the bill-of-fare that brought the participants in the feast to it with eager, smiling faces and merry tongues. It was the only household I ever saw where Monday was heartily welcomed. The knowledge that the mamma's dainty surprises were the expression of her resolution to lift her charges above the reach of the soapy surf, lent sentiment and poetry to the material comforts of her providing. IIO HOUSE AND HOME. Wiser still is she who dares on this question to think, decide and act for herself: to do all that one woman can to remove the odium from the luckless day by shifting the fardel, and dividing the weight. It seems so rationally expedient to attempt this, that we are astounded at our own slowness of apprehension and the narrowness of mind which indisposes us to a beneficent innovation. Little housework is done on Sunday, less than on any other day of the seven. If ever a room is dusted carelessly, a bed made up “with a lick and a promise,” as our black mammies used to say, books and papers tossed aside to be put to rights by-and-by-this is the time. “Father and boys’ spend the day at home. It is needless to enter into particulars of such occupation, or to sketch the house they leave behind them in their Monday morning flight. Nothing is where it was at nightfall on Saturday night; but who is to restore order? Mamma's execution of “up-stairs work” is as if one hand were tied behind her. The maids have no time to think of anything but “getting out the clothes.” With more to do in her special depart- ment than at any other season, the head of the establishmentis crip- pled in power. Should she emulate my heroine, and supplement the typical wash-day dinner (with what groanings are the words uttered and heard 1) by toothsome manufacture of her own devising, the menu is restricted by the pre-emption on the part of the boiler of the top of the range, and the moral and material disorganization of the lower regions—which then, if ever, deserve their name. The ovens are out of temper; dressers are crowded with pans of starch ; piles of wrung-out clothes in big baskets stand about on chairs; the priestess of the abhorrent rites is damp and dangerous. Our “brave lady” of the future will apply the screw tactfully which is to bring herself and household up to washing-day ten- sion. Monday's breakfast will be excellent and nicely cooked, and not slurred over with loins girt for a start, and staff in hand. WHY MONDAYP III The maids fresh from yesterday's surcease of labor, will be in spirits and bodily case for a thorough sweeping, dusting and setting to rights of the whole house. Luncheon-time will find everything in place. That meal and dinner will be of materials bought and prepared for this especial occasion, and of quality that will revive the hearts of lesson-learners in whose mind the trail of tasks, con- ned on Saturday, got cold over Sunday. The soiled linen will be brought down stairs in the afternoon, sorted, and if need be, mended, then the white things be put to soak. Supplies of soap, starch, bluing, etc., will be inspected and laid ready to hand; bread baked and a custard or pudding or cream, or blanc-mange, prepared for the morrow; and the servants, always up later on Sunday night than any other, because of outings and “company,” be sent early to bed to be ready for Tuesday's wash. The whole system—mental, moral, and physical—will be brought up naturally and gradually to the wrestle with the omnipresent, haunting demon of civilization— DIRT. º . . - - - º ººz º. Cº., e--" § *ś W Sºº Nºs S . & 6 ºf SN º ſº ſº º ‘. " SS ...A . . . OME words are inherently vulgar; some are dragged into vulgarity by association; some have vulgarity thrust upon them. To this latter class belongs the pretty dissylable which stands as the caption of this article. Everybody knows where we got it. “Loaf giver,” or “loaf. server,” in the Saxon, described the mistress of manor or castle, whose was the dispensing power and office. The title brings up ancient and gracious pictures to the mind. The rude, abundant hospitality of the Saxon “franklin’ owed its every softening feature to the presence at the board of the stately woman whose rule in kitchen and bower-room was as strict, yet gentler than that of her lord in hall and court-yard. We dream, as we speak the words “hlaf’’ and “digan,” of the fair Lettice, wife of Prince Guy of Warwick, who for twenty, say some—others, forty years— superintended the feeding at her castle gate of all the poor who would come, none receiving less than a loaf apiece; of Elizabeth of Hungary, and the apronful of 1oaves that became roses to her lıusband's scrutiny—a story we never tire of hearing; of Katherine Parr's sweet, dark eyes glistening with tears at the thanks of her pensioners; of our own New England ancestresses, in high heels, powder, hoop and farthingale, 1ooking wisely after the ways of the households, yet receiving and holding, until within this century, XI? grº * ºr ºf ZººZA/AAAA. º.º. º. a a % % º Ž. º: #iffiliſ ſºftº: #########||||}} tiſſilſº | ||ſ|≤s. ſ º Tººl | | ſ º º º E. g Ś c. -** ſ i. º Tºza gº --~. §§ º º ſº | ff f9. G *= \\ \,\ ,t W | Alſº § § sº º SSº & S. * S Sr. t ."< ºS §§ tº º º | gº § § trº l ~ | º SN Ø § º |iº g :::S Tºº * - . . .” * | * * * , º º § § $º | fººl!" ºft||||||| § Wºº % W * W ** \{4 C º º () Åluſ\!º º ſ /. Sº SS is . $º | s= S Nss wº — ss, sºsº. *-ºs, JOHNSING HAD 50 º sº Šs. FOR A OMAN NAMED S - - - - - “LADY.” II5 the unsolicited title of “Lady” from parishioners and neighbors. Who does not acknowledge the right of Mrs. Stowe’s “Lady Lothrop' to her dignities 2 And how many can recollect our grandmother's mention of “Old Lady” This or That, as a presiding figure in the narrator's early life 2 Philology and tradition clearly define a lady as one who has more to give than her neighbors, and whose province it is to dispense to the less fortunate. Viewed thus, the application is meaningful. To support it aright, there must be superiority to the commonalty, largeness of heart, and liberality of hand. Against this picture, bracing ourselves for the nervous shock, let us set an authentic anecdote, date of this year of our Lord, 1889. General S-, than whom no warrior is more beloved and honored of his country, met at the door of a hotel at which he was sojourn- ing, during a tour of travel in company with his wife, a colored man, who thus accosted him : “General S-, I believe, suh? Ken you tell me ef dere’s a wash-lady ob de name o' Johnsing at present engaged in dis house?” “I know nothing of the employees here. I am only a traveler and guest in the hotel.” “Yes, suh. I know dat, of co’se, suh. But I tought you might 'a' met dis partickler wash-lady, 'cause she done tole me she had some clo'es to bring home for a 'oman named S-.” There is a degree less of absurdity in another anecdote as true, and also of recent date. In one of the largest cities in America, a “boarding-home” for working-girls received a present of a handsome sewing-machine from the manufacturer, for the use of the inmates. On a small silver plate, let into the table, was engraved, “To the Working-women's Home, from .” . The name of the firm followed. II6 HOUSE AND HOME. The gift was joyfully received, and, for some weeks, was in almost constant use, the boarders being only too glad of this assistance in doing their.own sewing in the evenings and off-hours. In an unlucky moment some one descried the modestly-obscure inscription, and proclaimed the tenor thereof. A “strike” was the result. Not one of the forty girls who composed the family would touch the machine with hand or foot. So excited and bitter was the run of feeling against it that the matron found it necessary to lay the matter before the Board of Managers. Even in this body, sympathizers with the malcontents were not wanting. One of these energetically condemned the wording of the inscription as a covert insult to the class the donor pretended to benefit. “These are young ladies,” she affirmed, “with sensibilities as acute as ours, and they cannot, without violence to self-respect, overlook the wrong done them personally, and as a class.” After a lively debate, a woman of high social standing and intellectual endowments offered a resolution which, being carried unanimously, stands on the minutes of the society to this day: “Aesolved, That the Women composing the Board of Managers of the accept the sewing machine presented by & Co., as a gift to themselves, and that the matron be instructed to convey to the young Zadies now resident in the Boarding Home, the information that the word ‘working-women’ on the machine applies to the Board of Management, and not to the boarders.” The refinement of the sarcasm did not tell perhaps where it should. The lesson conveyed by the incident is unmistakable. The illustration of the trend of vulgar prejudice against what Sarah Josepha Hale used to call “the royal name of woman,” even outruns, if possible, the arrogant claim of silly illiteracy to a title they deserve in no one respect. “LADY.” 117 One must, in mental and spiritual stature, get her head well above the dust of conceit and the fogs of ignorance before she can appreciate the dignity of true womanhood. Her business in life may be that of selling “notions” over a counter. In the calm con- sciousness that she is as respectable in her station as the wife of a millionaire in hers, she will not throw up her place because the floor-walker inadvertently alludes in her hearing to “saleswomen,” instead of “salesladies.” As the honest and capable superintendent of a mill, she is royally careless whether or not she be mentioned as a “forelady.” Ruskin's oft-quoted deliverance on this subject is apt here: “It is now long since the women of England arrogated, univer. sally, a title which once belonged to nobility only; and having once been in the habit of accepting the title of gentlewoman, as correspondent to that of gentleman, insisted on the privilege of assuming the title of ‘Lady,’ which properly corresponds only to the title of ‘Lord’.” The correspondent title to “Lady” being “Lord,” our feminine sticklers for the appellation should allude to fellow-workers of the other gender as, “saleslords,” “forelords,” and to John Chinaman, as “washlord.” Or, to be a trifle more moderate and less ridicu- lous in stating the necessity of the case, the least that their brothers can ask is that they be registered as “foregentlemen’’ and “sales- gentlemen.” If all this sounds like trifling, be it remembered at what door the folly lies. High life below-stairs is a favorite theme with the satirist, mainly because it offers so many salient points of attack. It may be said that in a Republic there should be no “below-stairs.” In one, and the best sense, there is none. Strictly speaking, nothing is vulgar except groundless pretension. II8 HOUSE AND HOME. “Honor and shame from no condition rise ; Act well your part. There all the honor lies.” An Englishman said it, and may have been sincere in the enunciation of the dogma. In America, it is so true that it should be lettered in public places, be embroidered and hung up, instead of pious sampler-mottoes, in our homes. Action, and not condition, makes the noble man and the noble woman. The more stanch one's self-respect, the more careless is he or she of the frippery of a title. The broader the platform of dignity, the more room he who stands thereon has for ease of movement. Such fierce assumption of the scanty rag of a name, such touchiness of resentment at imaginary imputations, and the incessant uneasiness lest the aforesaid tatters be torn way—are like the movements of the captain's harum-scarum son (familiar to us all in the days of “Angell's Reader”), when naving climbed to the main-truck, he suddenly appreciated the narrowness of his foothold, and the height of the mast. To continue the familiar quotation from Ruskin : “I do not blame them for this; but only for their narrow motive in this. I would have them desire and claim the title of Lady, pro- vided they claim, not merely the title, but the office and duty signified by it.” The author of “Five Talents of Woman " also gives this quota- tion, and yet, a few chapters later, we come upon this: ! “Lady-help wanted as housemaid in small family where cook and nurse are ladies.” “We have just read the above advertisement, and hope that we may take it as an indication that the ‘lady-help' system is not altogether a failure. When real ‘ladies' become cooks and nurses, it will be a grand success. A real lady knows that she is just as much a lady when she sweeps a room as when she plays upon a piano, or sits on a sofa doing crewel-work.” “LADY.” II9 Without staying to comment upon the certainty that the above advertisement in an American paper would be an exaggerated form of the evil we deprecate, I remark that American ladies—born and bred—do cook, nurse, and sweep rooms, usually in their own houses, occasionally in other people's, and for wages. But these are not the clamorers for the name of “lady” in contradistinction to that of “woman.” She upon whom are laid “the office and the duty signi- fied by the title,” and who honorably fills one and discharges the other, is content to await others’ award of the honor due her. MOUSE OR RAT 2 OPULAR anecdotes, like meteoric showers, have periodical returns. After forty years or so, we elderly people are surprised if the threadbare saying or joke is not returned upon us unchanged, or fitted out with a spick-and-span application to suit the present day. Our fathers called them “old soldiers,” our children brand them as “chestnuts.” A story that has taken half a century to describe its orbit was told in my hearing the other day to illustrate a political squabble. The Honorable Somebody has used it with telling effect in a cam- paign speech. We smiled and sighed, a generation ago, over the even-then ancient incident of the pattern married couple who were divorced because they could not agree whether the rodent that ran across the hearth was a mouse or a rat. After a fierce fight of tongues for two hours, hysterics attacked the wife, and manly compunction the husband. They made up, “And kissed again with tears.” “How could we be so wicked 2 ” sobbed Madame. “And so irrational?” chimed in Monsieur. “And all on account of an insignificant mouse !” $89 MOUSE OR RATP I2 I “A mouse! A rat, you mean, my love!” cried Madame, briskly, raising the face, wet with penitent tears, from her husband's breast. “My darling ! how absurd . It was a mouse, I tell you. It was nearer to me than to you, and I saw it distinctly.” “And I vow there was never so big a mouse made I Haven't I eyes as well as you?” Etcetera, etcetera, until the breach was incurable. The student of human nature, who has plied his trade for above a score of years, finds it hard to laugh at the satire on his kind, even at the first hearing. The keen little scalpel goes too near the bone, and mangles too many nerves. The stubborn determination to set people right, at whatever sacrifice of time, temper and cellular tissue, has wrought its wicked will to a woful worst among the children of men since the day in which our common mother insisted upon modifying her husband's opinion of the forbidden fruit. Then, if never since, it was the man who had intuition on his side, and the woman with whom rested the burden of argument and demonstration. Friends of years become deadly enemies, children forswear parents, and parents disinherit children; political partisans cut one another's throats; churches are riven to the corner-stone, and nation declares war against nation, from age to age, for no better reason than the inability of the individual man to allow his brother to be mistaken. Religion and her preferred handmaiden, Courtesy, pre- scribe no more arduous task for those who would obey both. “Mouse or rat P” sets society by the ears. In the home—the woman's world—it does more mischief than bad temper and greediness. It is here that the mother's work of running down and exterminating the little foxes that will, in their early maturity, waste the vineyard, begins. The course of treat- ment is indicated by the nursery-rule: “It is not polite to I22 HOUSE AND HOME. contradict.” Contradiction—verbal—being the outcome of the moral inability aforesaid, this dogma strikes the evil directly on the head. The pity of it is that the rule so generally goes to the wall when the nursery doors are cleared. Shrewd Jacob Abbott in the unsurpassable “Rollo Book,” tells of a foolish fellow who mistook the moon-rise for a fire, and was greatly exercised by the apprehension. While he stood gaping at the red sky, “a vulgar fellow" came riding by in his own carriage, and was accosted by the clown with the tidings of the conflagration. The vulgarian disputed the assertion. “It is the moon, you fool! Can't you see that ?” Argument and dogged reiteration ran high for awhile, and the owner of the equipage drove off, furious with the other's stupidity. Presently along came a gentleman driving a wagon. “Look at the big fire over yonder l’” called the clown. “Ah!” said the gentleman, pleasantly, “I hope they will be able to put it out,” and drove on his way. The pith and power of a volume upon breeding, good sense, and forbearance with what cannot be cured, are condensed into the little episode so quaintly narrated. Inherent vulgarity in high places contradict and wrangles over an unpractical trifling difference of belief. Inherent courtesy does not challenge another's assertion causelessly. To allow other people to remain in what we consider error, requires strength of mind, true dignity, and a fine sense of perspective. A sprightly girl once gave a graceful illustration of this point. In conversation with a conceited ignoramus, she chanced to say :- “I thought it was he.” Her superior in sex instantly corrected her, in an undertone, to spare her feelings: MOUSE OR RATP I23 - “Beg pardon, you know ! But you meant to say, ‘I thought it was him.' Make it a point of honor, you know, to call my friends' attention to lapses of this sort, you know. It's true kindness, don't you see? No offence, I hope P’’ The girl's face was a merry dance of dimple and gleam. “None, I assure you!” she replied. On the contrary, I am your debtor.” As she was—for a good story. The conscientious desire to amend the ways and notions of one's friends is the specious excuse offered by wiser people than our coxcomb for what is, when analyzed, the unlovely weakness we are trying to depict in this paper. What is it to me that my neighbor holds opinions diverse to mine with regard to pie-making and predestination ? Or, to her that I prefer George Eliot to Miss Braddon 2 You may think your sister's new Moquette carpet a nuisance because the broom gathers fluff in double-handfuls during the first six months of wear, and she, that the pattern of your Axmin- ster is stiff or trite—and neither be the wiser (and worse) for the other's opinion. If you would have sisterly love continue, reserve on many points is a grace you do well to cultivate. “I must tell the dear girl that she hurries the accompaniment in that song,” I heard a musician say. “It is one of my especial favorites, and her style of rendering it excruciates my nerves. It would be a real kindness to drop her a hint. Nobody but a true friend would do it.” There was the unconscious offense of the performer. His ear was pained, his sense of fitness outraged. In like selfish regard for our own sentiments, tastes, whims and ways, is rooted nine-tenths of the officious setting-to-rights going on in homes and communities. The inability to look on, resignedly and indulgently, while others make blunders (according to our code) I24. HOUSE AND HOME. is seen, under the microscope of impartial scrutiny, to be egotism of a pronounced type. The man who is always right, and bent upon dragging his associates up to his level of observation, is a pest always and everywhere. His conceit, obstinacy, and intolerance are the animus of his zeal. The blatant reformer is most restive under criticism of himself. It is the really profound and temperate thinker who does not resent being sometimes in the wrong. Why should we object to saying in effect P “I am wiser now than I was at the time I made the statement you quote against me. I thought and said such a thing last year, or last month. I have learned better since.” The mind and character of such an one will never be pruned, as were the peacock box-trees of a hundred and fifty years ago, along set and rigid lines. While he exists, he will be a living creature that grows and betters himself, not a mummy done up in cerements and drugs. The world over, the supreme duty of minding one's own busi- ness presupposes wholesome neglect of other people’s. Violation of this principle begets gossip, scandal, slander—the three hang together as naturally in evil sequence as self, sin, and suffering. All enlarge and multiply with the using. It is the converse of philanthropy that impels us to try to pull straight a web that is not of our weaving, and was never intended for our wearing. Let the mistaken thinker cry “mouse” all day long unchallenged, even though you may have caught, killed and made an autopsy of the rat. In minor details of belief and shades of opinion, none of us is his brother's keeper. Considered as a domestic and social evil, this is outranked by few. From infancy, the boy disputes with yells and blows abstract tenets, 1 ！±，±）， ae« » . ،' （ º ）, „ º ： （ 222， Paavºase， g tº. . " . . . . wº ºf tº a , , *s * *NT, N. N. ; ºSºlº, sº S. 2 º - 2 2 2 º & 2.2% ØØ 22, º º, ſº sº. º. Özº 255. ºf C2 &G ºr. 2. %%2 º C. & i - %24 ZÉ！！！！！ĢĢás！?!?！?！?！[[ſ/Ø№Ē ģ€áźēģÉĒ 5- £2，25-ººſ Gº！）æ ： º.º.， ！% ſº|-ſae： ſae∞→=~sae. №- （--- ∞∞∞ →=~：º 222• •••！*，|- *ģĒ.5%%%2;：52±，±±،№=º -\，S ！№ -º）ſaeaeć！！！！！！！！！№*<！-- maei a ºe:№, ººººº,）↓Éź， №！№ĒĒ====¿i{№ • ， ，% Lºzzºººº..ººº<！--№ſſºſ，№Æ√∞∞∞źź№s--， -）， ±§§Ķ ŹŹZĘŹźº£，2<：2，2：ā±šāºſ NR ſae é º pae ！！！№~ ،e-----→ ∞**** • • • • • • • •Za ſº：ž%¿Éğzáž.*¿.* ■- " ' , ' ° ',E-3%）,ź∞±~*=~~ <！--2，：），x2，…№ № ſ-ºØ ∞º ſaeg！27}}ſ. 2，.→™=， ∞∞∞ aeº . .ae。é，ŹŹŽŽŻŻſ %%%%%.。、「」、。∞Zºzº， ZººZŹźCZZ ©222222Źź ' * ?. &~ Ļz-z=x 42，2%æſtſ %©ZZZZ ŹźZ，Ê， Ê ſºº~ % · •�| 7//// ∞%2-ºſe-№+%· §N，№záſ%% NSN（\\_\}，·，≤）&（2）% ،№ N∞ ' ? *， ， º#•- -SS . . №| ----`s,ſºNSNĶº.º.?№w∞*sºŅ J∞__<！s！)M \\ §§• •!！！！=|-_ae*!!! w→ ſ %ſ. º aegaeº. w ºº2 • < \，\!, №vº ſae ſā.ſºſ *<（}}）}）; & ſ) //,ſae 2：Saei }ŠS`SÑ§Ñś TRUE COURTESY. 2 （ ） VISITOR. I51 household. It is underbred and selfish to keep breakfast waiting, because you have overslept yourself, or dinner and tea, while you Have prolonged a drive or a walk unseasonably. If a meal is well cooked, it is injured by standing beyond the proper time of serving, and if your host's time is worth anything, you are dishonest when you waste it. It is quite as selfish in want of tactful regard for other's feelings, if less glaringly inconvenient, to present yourself below-stairs long before the stated breakfast hour. You may not like to sit in your bed-chamber; the parlors may be in perfect order for your occupancy, or the library tempt you to snatch a quiet hour for reading, but she is an exceptionally even-tempered hostess who does not flush uneasily at finding that you came down by the time the servants opened the house, and have made yourself at home in the living-rooms ever since. The inference is that your sleeping- room was uncomfortable, or that she is indolently unmindful of your breakfastless state. I have an anguished recollection of a long visit paid to my family by an accomplished gentleman whose every intention was purely humane, yet who descended to the parlor each morning at an hour so barbarously early that he had to light the gas to see the piano-keys, on which he strummed until breakfast was ready. There is a savage consolation in the knowledge that, if he is distin- guishing himself in the heavenly mansions as a player upon instru- ments, there is no mother with a teething baby and a headache, in the room overhead. The habits of your entertainers and such incidents of your visits as are less agreeable than you could desire or might expect, ought to be sacred from criticism while you are with them, and afterward. You are visitor, not monitor. Your mission is to please, not to reform abuses. Gossip founded on the report of “one I52 HOUSE AND HOME. who ought to know, having been a guest of the family for weeks at a time,” is so far beneath contempt that I may well be ashamed to name it as a possible outrage upon hospitality. Be explicit and courteous in answering invitations, whether you accept or decline. State at what time you will make your appearance at your friend's house, and how long you will stay. If prevented by unforeseen occurrences from fulfilling an engagement, send off your excuses and regrets instantly, that the failure may be nothing more than a disappointment. It is actual unkindness to suffer useless pre- parations to be made for receiving you and administering to your welfare. If your hostess-expectant knows your tastes, and endeav- ors to gratify them, there will be an individuality in her arrange- ments that would suit no substituted guest so well as the one for whom they were primarily intended. As a final suggestion, accept the caution not to over-praise the appointments of the establishment that widens doors and hearts to take you in. If your own home is grander, your means of enter- tainment in excess of your host's, the laudation Smacks too strongly of patronage to agree with sensitive spirits. If your house be a cottage by comparison with your frend's mansion, the anxiety to admire all that pertains to the latter has a savor of sycophancy, Adapt yourself naturally, without question or comment, to the temporary socket in which you are placed. AJo not—I entreat you by the memory of personal experiences that galled at the time like an ill-fitting shoe, and stung like sand- burrs—eacert yourself to be agreeable. The perfection of breeding is to make your entertainers believe that the illumination you bring into their home is the reflection of the light shed by their own successful hospitality. WITH OUR GIRLS. HIS sentence lies uppermost in an open letter upon my table: “Our daughter is in her eighteenth year. She has been delicate until within a few months, but seems at present quite strong. Her ill-health has interfered seriously with her studies. Of course, at her age, it is impossible to send her to school. Her manifest destiny is to marry early, and make some man a capital wife and housekeeper.” A petted, sickly, ignorant child, who has not resolution enough at seventeen, to repair defects in her scholastic training—good for nothing but marriage 1 This is the translation of the above. “Heaven help the men, to-night !” says Lady Betty, smirking at her image in the mirror, bedight for the evening foray. I take up the words solemnly and sadly. Heaven help the men and the nation, when of such material, and of stuff even more flimsy, are to be made the wives of the rising race—the mothers of the next generation The proposition that she who is best able to live alone, to con- trol herself and mold circumstances to work together for her good, is also—other things being equal—best fitted for happy, beneficent wifehood, appears simple enough to be grasped by the average intellect. It is my conviction, founded upon years of critical observation, that she who thinks of love as the business of girl-life, I53 I54 HOUSE AND HOME. and of marriage as its aim and end; whose intercourse with the other sex is colored by these views and expectations, is the last woman any rational man should wed. I join to this the belief that the prevalence of this habit of thought and purpose debases the standard of both womanhood and manhood in our country. From honest intolerance with it are born the eccentricities in the language and conduct of many pure, noble women stigmatized as “strong-minded,” for the lack of more apt classification. “I am aweer, my dear boy,” says Magwitch to Pip, in “Great Expectations,” “that on that occasion I was low /* The coarse triumph of a vulgar nature merited the epithet less decidedly than does the attitude our girls and boys, our young men and young women, occupy with respect to one another. Every sportsman knows that overmuch and untimely hunting makes game shy and wild. “Who wants to make game of them l’” says Our Girl with spirit. “Look now at me—personally and individually— myself/ I am not a husband-hunter; I do not care to get married for ages But I do like to converse with sensible men, and to have \ a good time with the boys. It may sound frivolous, but I relish innocent fun and frolics. Sleighing and lawn-tennis, and boating- parties, and the like. If I smile twice at the same man, he thinks I want to ‘catch' him The code of the parlor is no higher in this respect than that of the kitchen. Bridget does not ‘belave in followers without they mane business.’” Accepting this very personal “Myself” as the mouthpiece of a class who have a right to a hearing, I say, First: No amount of misconception of your motives alters the truth that our social, as well as our domestic atmosphere is what women make it. And ifour best women give over the attempt to refine and reform men, they will become Turks and Yahoos. Next: Respect yourself—body and spirit. There is untold might of influence in the fearless purity of 3: * * * > ęas = <= ººgº =>2-3-º-º-º: :::::::: º tº-ºx. / ... • .e~~`s） - “.~）=e^----~--~ • * ） ---* --◄. ~======= & := 3 | * . ：：-- .*?'.» · •• … • • ~~~~）; • →* 'ſ 'ſ •U, | \! º： ' *\* *（ ） ·�{ \,ſ vlſ ·|-_- == ' ~ ~;"|！ ~^, ’|-{ śÝ YOUTH. ، [] ſì ſ.|||， ， ， ， ， }'| }||}| FREE – AND -TE Á |ſ}¡ſiiſ| gº}}|ſſſſ'） || . §. ſae ſae~~£ #######įįſ;\ ESS ſº ſº ，//Zh• º ºSºº-º-ºr= -> - º * ~~~~）;ºſ WITH OUR GIRLS. I57 a nature that, having no affinity for evil, passes it unconsciously by. Smile as brightly as you please; enjoy sensible talks and harmless fun, and be as happy with the boys as the Lord meant you and them to be together. But, from first to last, never forget that your duty to them and to yourself demands that both shall be better for the association. If man's work is like that of the more majestic forces of nature—tides and glaciers and stormy wind fulfilling His word—yours is the gradual, but potent ministry of dews and showers and sunlight. Regard and regulate the drift of little things, the thistle-down of thought and action. Go to your needle and knitting-work for lessons in the slow accretion of influence and result; the disasters of unfastened threads, and stitches dropped and overlooked. For example: The man who presumes so far upon his privileges as a frequent visitor, as to cross your threshold with his hat upon his head, or a cigar in his mouth ; who lounges at half-length upon the sofa, or helps himself to an easy chair when the ladies present are less luxuriously seated; who sits, unmoved, at your grandmother's entrance, and sees you or any other woman tug at refractory blind or window, or move a heavy piece of furniture; who drops, unauthorized, the “Miss” from your name; who is fond of holding and pressing your hand, or seizing you by waist or arm in what then ceases to be innocent frolic—may become a gentleman through your tactful discipline. He may now, possibly, know no. better. “I wish he would not mean quite so well, and do a little better!” said a young lady to me, once. 3. A highly respectable youth, seeing, in the course of a call upon her, that his sock had slipped down, coolly laid his foot upon a chair, pulled up his trouser-leg, readjusted the offending garment, composed his pantaloon, and put down his foot, without intermitting his talk. 158 HOUSE AND HOME. “He is the whole support of a widowed mother, my dear,” pleaded I, faintly. “Whatever his solecisms in demeanor, he always means well.” Upon which succeeded her plaintive retort. In truth, the marvel is that the majority of our young men are so well behaved, when we remember the herding of schools, colleges, stores and business offices, and how few of them remain under the paternal roof after the age of fourteen. If you girls do not come to their help in a resolute, sisterly spirit, not only in the polishing of the shell, but in the elevation of the inner man, the race of gentlemen must diminish direfully. There are peculiar elements of strength and protection on one side, confidingness on the other, and a certain romantic fervor of attachment in the friendship—pure and simple—between a man and a woman, that cannot, from the very nature of things, enter into the intimacy of one girl with another, or into the sturdier comradeship of men. Human nature knows none sweeter and more stanch. Believing, as I do, in the value and flappiness of such attachments, I am loath that the young people I love should be denied the benefits of the same. Is there no power of common sense and will that can give us, instead of prudery and coyness, of suspicion, coquetry, manoeuvers, gossip, heart-burnings, unworthy triumphs, worn and callous and bruised affections—the free, frank association, that meditates and distrusts no snare- intercourse that shall unseal springs of healing and refreshment to us, as to our brothers? Believe me, dear girls, our Father has made no grander creature than an upright, large-souled, tender-hearted man. It is hard to get at the knowledge and understanding of his real nature under the present constitution of society. Still, the genus is so worthy of study and esteem, that you do well to strive by the exercise of what is best and highest in yourselves, to develop the latent germs of true manliness in even unlikely “boys.” There may be an WITH OUR GIRLS. I59 imprisoned angel in the block. But, -remember, public opinion condemns strongly and justly, speculation for private enrichment on the part of missionaries OUR VOICES. OME years ago it was my prideful pleasure to chaperone a party of American girls through the exhumed city of Pom- peii. The traveling group of six comprised two Southern women, one Western, two from the Middle States, and a sixth from New England. All were highly educated, refined, sprightly, and keenly appreciative of the privileges of the Grand Tour. Five out of the six spoke French, and four, Italian so well as to call forth the commendation of our guide. “It was seldom,” he went on to say, “that Americans were fluent in that tongue, although many had sufficient command of French to make their way on the Continent.” “How do you know that we are Americans?” asked a fine type of our best class of girls. “Why not English?” She had put the same question to a boatman on Lake Como, and received for reply that “The English have red faces, the Americans white.” w The Pompeiian guide was less complimentary. “The English speak from the chest,” he said, illustrating his meaning by driving his rich baritone into the depths of his lungs; “the Americans, with the nose.” 69 | OUR VOICES. I6I Lest we might not catch his meaning he translated his Italian into Roman-French: “Par le mez / Compremez-vous 2 Comme ca 2" To make sure of our not losing the point, he grasped a swarthy, aquiline member between thumb and forefinger, and reiterated the clause sonorously. The girls disclaimed the imputation as indignantly as I after- ward heard an eminent American clergyman, resident on the Con- tinent, repel a criticism passed upon himself by an English parish- ioner. “She told a friend of mine that she would enjoy my sermons more if I had not the ‘national nasal twang !’—a thing of which I was never accused before l’’ It was, I think, Bayard Taylor, who characterized the objection- able habit herein mentioned as the “national catarrh.” Nobody is conscious of his own sins in this regard. One of the most eloquent of Southern pulpit orators once con- vulsed a company by asserting, with the full explosive might of a prominent olfactory organ, that he “could detect a Yankee any- where, and in whatever disguise. They all speak through the nose, a trick from which the Southerner is entirely free.” I shall never lose the recollection of the luxury of hearkening to the clear, exquisitely modulated voice of a celebrated statesman and scholar, nor of the shock which succeeded his—“Allow me to introduce my young kinsman”—a graduate of two American and one foreign university, whose provincial “twang’’ was that of the typical Down-Easter. Evidently, domestic association, the training of the schools, and transatlantic travel are an ineffectual corrective combination in Some instances. I62 - | HOUSE AND HOME. We are so used to the “national catarrh" that we have ceased to notice it, except in the more exaggerated forms. The most serious side of the question is suggested by those who insist that —setting aside ridicule and disclaim—it is the inevitable conse- quence of the American climate. I have heard this view of the subject ably sustained in a convocation of New England physicians; a prominent New York citizen assured me (through his nose), “There is not a resident of New York or Brooklyn who is not a sufferer from catarrh in some form.” It may be added that color is lent to this hypothesis by the lessening prevalence of nasal speech as one goes Southward. It is bad enough everywhere in these United States, but the coast lands, subject to freezing fogs, and humid northern valleys between mountains where the snow lies long, carry off the evil palm. So many and such great blessings have come to us with our country and climate, that we may bear this adjunct with meek fortitude, as we strive to endure other providential dispensations. If, at the same time, it is possible, by the introduction of new elocutionary methods into nursery and school, to lift the reproach from us, the consideration of curative measures is better worth legislative interference than civil service and sanatory reforms. Another characteristic of the national manner of speech has, to our shame be it said, application rather to the gentler, than the ruder sex. Illiterate men may, and do, as a rule, add loudness to nasality of tone. Plowmen talk to each other over intervening furrows in strident monotone. The artisan, whose invention of a trunk-rivet or faucet-stop has set his educated children in “our best society,” never modulates—or thinks it expedient to attempt the feat—the harshly sustained demi-shout that used to drown the clatter of machinéry. OUR VOICES. I63 Clergymen, more than any other class of educated men, are apt, in private life, to raise their voices above the subdued pitch of well- bred conversation. This is especially true of popular preachers. The hortatory would seem to be their natural and only mode of articulate communication with their kind. Still, most men who were passably well brought up, and fairly schooled, and whose social status is good, do not habitually transgress the laws of good taste in the pitch and volume of tone. They may shriek upon the Gold Exchange, and thunder upon the hustings. At dinner and evening parties they have their lungs decorously in hand. Miss Alcott touches the blemish with a firm hand in her des. cription in “Little Women” of the Vevay party, where were collected, among the guests, “a goodly number of sweet-faced, shrill-voiced American girls.” The American “Lear” may emphasize sorrowfully the old king's praises of the voice “that was ever soft and low.” “My girls keep my foot on the soft pedal all the time,” said the fond mother of four. “Their spirits make them forgetful of the laws of proportion.” Our girls behave better, in most respects, than any others upon the civilized globe. They are prettier than English women, dress better than French women, are better read than German women, and out-scream them all. To a sensitive ear, the jargoning of a women's lunch or afternoon tea is simply intolerable. It is not only that the example of loud speech is contagious, but if one would be heard, her voice must be raised to overbear the surround- ing Babel. Dumbness is the alternative. The round of after- noon receptions and high teas during the fashionable season— entertainments where the proportion of men is comparatively small—is excruciating or diverting, as nerves are delicate or tough. 164 HOUSE AND HOME. “The peacocks' gala-day !” muttered a deep voice in my ear, as we entered the hall of a house presided over by a charming, high- bred hostess, and the tumult of shrieks and laughter bespoke her “at home” day. The phrase invariably returns to me in similar scenes. It is self-evident that, if all would moderate, as well as modulate their tones, everybody would be heard as easily as when all vociferate; that if nobody laughs loudly, the hum of revelry will not be riotous. But, for all of practical effect the aphorism exerts, it might as well never be known. Is it because our American girl “goes out” so much, and so learns to adjust her voice to the requirements of “the peacocks' gala-days,” that she acquires the habit of loud, dissonant speech in the domestic circle, in otherwise quiet drawing-rooms, and—least pardonable of all—in places of public resort P. She spoils our enjoy- ment, and makes us ashamed for her in picture-galleries, by her high, thin chatter of nothing in general and herself in particular; flirts audibly between opera acts and concert numbers; entertains the occupants of hotel parlors with full particulars of the doings of “our set,” and discusses the last bit of gossip across the aisle of a Street-car. Chancing, one day, to get a table at Delmonico's near that at which sat a stately chaperone and four pretty, elegantly dressed girls, I learned more of personal biography and family history than I could write down in an hour. Yet all of the party were evidently people in fashionable, and, presumably, refined society. They com- ported themselves courteously toward each other, and expressed their meaning in well-chosen terms, but as if they had been separated by half the width of the great room. It may be that, as I once heard a daughter answer her mother's caution “not to speak so loudly ’’ in like circumstances, our girl is OUR VOICES. I65 “not saying anything to be ashamed of.” To her honor be it said that she seldom does, in public or private. Daisy Miller was as innocent as she was indiscreet. It is the glory of the American woman, and of our land, that sinless liberty of speech and action on her part are never challenged uncharitably. But rectitude of char- acter and just taste should so interpenetrate her being as to compel their outward manifestation. A sensible thing, quietly uttered, carries conviction as certainly as when shrilled jerkily. A bon mot is as brilliant, distinctly and softly spoken, as when hurled like a catapult at an interlocutor. Animation of manner and vivacity of speech are entirely compatible with gentleness. In the next chapter I shall have something to say as to our manner of pronouncing and putting our words together. I deal now merely with the quality and key of the voice. Like a great many other personal characteristics, it is largely a matter of heredity. Once in a while, as one finds a strayed garden flower on a common, we hear the “soft and low ’’ voice among unmistakably vulgar people. Not nearly so often, however, as we find metallic ring, thick gutturals, or a viragoish edge in the tones of an educated woman, that betray the plebeian strain of her forbears. The mother's intonations descend almost surely to her daughters; the reed-like pipings of the son deepen into the father's cadences. Home-training, then, has most to do with this much-neglected branch of education. The work should begin long before the child goes into the paid teacher's hands. The use of the “soft pedal’’ and the legato movement in our home-harmonies is neglected to our national hurt. These are not pleasant things to say, or to hear. Vanity in our individual and social ways is as deep-seated in us as patriotic pride. I have but one apology to submit for plain talk which may seem 166 HOUSE AND HOME, gratuitously ungracious—an excuse offered in the form of a time- battered anecdote. John Sylvester bantered Ben Jonson to a rhyming-match, and led off with : “I, John Sylvester, Kissed your sister r" Rare Ben took his turn thus: “I, Ben Jonson, Kissed your wife.” “That's no rhyme,” quoth John. “No P’’ drawled Ben. “But it is true !” “º %; º' … * ſ/ t Yº u"USAW/ % |Z/ º § g HOW WE SPEAK. Tought to be as easy to speak correctly as to wound our mother | tongue. So says Common Sense. It must be easier to speak incorrectly than to pay decent observance to the simplest rules of English grammar. So says sad Experience. Aphorism No. 1 is not intended to apply to the confessedly and altogether illiterate, who go astray as soon as they are born, speak- ing double negatives. When the man who shovels in your winter's supply of coal, inquires, “If you haint got no more jobs for him, jes' now 7" you scarcely remark the form of the query. Were it couched in simpler and irreproachable syntax, you would catch the unexpected sound, and be surprised thereby into the conclusion that the coal-heaver “had seen better days.” “Who is it?” asked I of the maid who brought me word that “some one wished to see me on business.” “She didn't give me no name, mem. She is dressed plain, but she speaks like a real lady.” The caller was a broken-down teacher with a subscription-paper, asking funds to pay her entrance fee to the Home for Indigent Gentlewomen. Her shabby mourning and homely face had not º 167 I68 HOUSE AND HOME. deceived the quick-eared Milesian, whose English was no better and no worse than that of her congeners. She recognized “the lady” by her tongue. I introduced my escort, on a trip up the North River, to a mag- nificent woman, with whom he found me in converse on the deck. The adjective is used advisedly. She was tall, portly, handsome, attired in perfect taste, and graceful in carriage. Her address was affable, her voice even and well-pitched. “A fine looking woman,” was my companion's comment as we resumed our promenade on the deck, after ten minutes' chat with her. “One of the nouveaua riches, I suppose? She carries off her new estate better than the majority of the guild. But she couldn't Help telling me that she “never see no finer scenery abroad than that on the Hudson River. ” Let these examples illustrate the fact, that with the uneducated masses, incorrect language is the rule, and the accord of the several parts of speech with one another, exceptional. The marvel to the thoughtful observer is—this truth being incontrovertible—that the- would-be-elegant-because-rich take so little pains to acquire the shibboleth, without which they must fight their way into the desired land of social equality with those they envy and emulate. It is a curious study—this persistent mangling of our vernacular. Why the maid who copies her mistress' costume, and catches her very trick of tone and carriage so successfully as to remind the beholders of the years “she has lived in the one place;” who hears the English tongue properly used by everybody in the house except her one fellow-servant, the cook, with whom she is not on friendly terms—should at the end of ten years, compound negatives and confuse tenses is more than a puzzle. It is a mystery. A stranger contrariety of cause and effect is that the self-made man who began his own creation at thirteen, worked his way up as HOW WE SPEAK. 169 errand-boy, porter, shipping-clerk, salesman and partner, to a place among merchant-princes and a seat in congress, should never, with all his getting, get understanding of the practical bearings of such rules as “The verb must agree with its nominative case in number and person.” He more frequently learns to speak a foreign language grammatically than to amend his management of his own. Quick of apprehension and adaption to circumstances in the matter of costume and household ceremonies, his untamable tongue con- firms shrewd St. James in every sentence. Time and observation make him a connoisseur in wines, but in modest appreciation of the accomplishment, he tells you confidentially,– “There ain't no manner of use in a man pretendin’ to be a connoishure without he has had experience.” He is probably fond of polysyllables, selecting them as his wife buys her diamonds—for their size. He generally employs them intelligently, too, accounting each as a “big thing,” concerning which it behooves him to be circumspect. The effect of the phrases containing the ponderous prizes is as if his wife's diamonds had been set at a blacksmith's. The strangest of all the curious circumstances attendant upon the habitual disregard of grammatical laws is the unconsciousness of the offender. Our self-made man and the wife he has tinkered into “a match-article,” court, as ornaments to their drawing-room, eminent scholars and literary lights, domestic and foreign ; admire intensely in them the facile propriety of expression in which they are themselves deficient, and never suspect the effect of the contrast they offer. Does the inability to discern the difference lie in the ear, or the intellect? I have called this insensibility the most singular of the paradoxes connected with our subject. May I retract the statement, and substitute the anomaly of people, born well and bred well, educated I'7O HOUSE AND HOME. according to the most approved methods, and moving in refined social circles, whose foibles of speech approach in number, and rival in heinousness the direct lingual faults of illiteracy? People who drop the final g from participles, and other words ending in “2ng,” with the constancy the cockney exhibits in misplacing h. | People who say “He don't like it,” without a suspicion that the - conjoined abbreviation stands for “He do not like it.” People who inquire, “You ready?'' “You going?” and, sometimes, “Where you been 2'' People who never, by any chance, say “Between you and me,” but, with the steadfastness of a holy purpose, “Between you and A / }} People who pride themselves upon the elegant accuracy of every sentence formed by their lips, and tell you in cultivated euphonious- ness of accent, “I have traveled some in England, Russia, Turkey, or Australia,” and, “I have not coughed any all night.” People who have been on intimate terms with Lindley Murray and his colleagues for forty years, and not learned that ain't is not tolerated by any of them, being an un-parseable word. People who consider the fact that they were born south of Mason and Dixon's line warrant for ignoring the dictum—“After the words like and unlike, the preposition to or unto is understood,” and cru- cify our ears by telling us on all possible occasions, “I feel like I should do” so-and-so, and “He looked like he meant it.” Who as musically and audaciously say, “I am a heap better,” or “a heap worse,” I heard a D. D., F. F. V., say in a sermon, “It does seem like the Lord has some great and gracious purpose to fulfill,” etc. And a few minutes thereafter—“I expect that this is the proper interpretation of this passage.” HOW WE SPEAK. 171 There are people, on the other hand, who, born and brought up in the shadow of Yale, roll the phrase—“I want that you should,” like a savory and insoluble morsel under their tongues, and not a few, who, as Mr. Howells' Minister Sewell regrets, will—albeit they are Harvard graduates—say, to the close of well-spent lives," I don't know as.” People—this final count is written with groanings unutterable —who, with the best intentions conceivable (benevolent and syn- taxical), never let slip an opportunity of using the pronoun “they” when the antecedent noun is in the singular number. “If a person thinks they can do that.” “If anybody has lost anything, they can apply at the desk.” “I was talking with some one the other day, and they said,” etc., etc. None of the phrases cited as foibles of speech trench upon the debatable ground of language. One and all, they are glaring defects, flaws in gems, which lessen their value irretrievably. The critical inspector instantly discounts the intelligence or conscien- tiousness of him who tenders them. That those who are guilty of lapses of this sort know better, does not exculpate them, or relieve the listener who respects his noble vernacular too truly to condone the unseemly familiarities that approximate insult. When the delinquents are those who assume to instruct others, the foible becomes guilt. A distinguished author, at a reception given in honor of her visit to a certain town, pressed the hand of a sister-writer who was introduced to her, with the cordial—“You and I had ought to have met before.” An eminent lecturer upon scientific subjects remarked at a dinner-party, “The hall was not sufficiently het to-day.” The principal of a collegiate institute announced, during the commencement exercises, that the presentation to himself of a 172 HOUSE AND HOME. memorial from the pupils was a “change in the programme made entirely unbeknownst to himself.” He was taken by surprise by the testimonial, and the luckless phrase escaped him while off his guard. It should have been impossible for him to make use of it in any circumstances. If he had never said it before, he would not have said it then. It is impossible to speak too well. Upon each of us rests the obligation to redeem his daily conversation from slovenliness. Ease and purity of diction are not, of necessity, pedantic. One may speak with unfailing correctness, yet not mount verbal stilts. We owe it to ourselves, to our associates, and to the cause of letters, to set, in honest severity, a watch before the door of our lips. *A&\º º s º THE CANDY CURSE. ROSSING the East River one day, I found myself next to the young mother of a baby. It was a large-eyed, pale- faced baby, prettily dressed, and held in a claw-like hand a stick of peppermint candy. The mother pinned her own embroidered handkerchief about the little one's neck to catch the pinkish drops from the moistened confection. “How old is she P’’ asked I, with the free-masonic faith that my interest would be appreciated, which appertains to motherhood the world over. “Six months,” returned the proud parent, who evidently belonged to the second-rate middle class of American matrons. “Is she healthy?” “Well, not very. She suffers dreadfully with colic, but that doesn't mean anything. She'll come 'round all right in time.” This particular specimen of babyhood entered upon a career of vice a trifle earlier than common even for a United States infant of the gentler sex. I hazard nothing, however, in asserting that seventy out of every hundred babies born in our favored land know the taste and consequent pangs of the accursed thing by the time they are eighteen months old. Perhaps fifty in the hundred are allowed, as yearlings, to suck the “harmless” gum-drop and try . their tender teeth upon the striped lollypop. I73 174 HOUSE AND HOME. A zealous temperance crusader ran a tilt, not long ago, against brandy-drops and rummy-hearted caramels, declaring, truthfully enough, that they wonld implant in the juvenile consumers of the syrupy bom-bons a taste for ardent spirits. The mother who keeps her bantling “good,” while she talks or works, by relays of candy, more surely creates a craving which can bring no benefit and may work infinite evil. The boy usually outgrows the inordinate appetite for confec- tionery, or indulges it in moderation and privately. It is a girl's trick, and a woman's vice. * Dr. Grace Peckham tells us in a paper on “The Family Sweet Tooth,” that each member of every household in the United States consumes annually forty pounds of sugar. She subjoins, apropos to lavish consumption of the useful saccharine—“That it blunts the appetite, impedes the digestion, and mysteriously wreaks vengeance on the liver, cannot be doubted.” I know families—and not a few of them—in which each feminine member averages a pound of candy per week. It is not an uncom- mon thing for a couple of school-girls to eat a pound of Huyler's “butter-cups,” or “Maillard's chocolates,” or “Costello's marrons glacees,” or “Arnaud's jelly-creams” at a sitting. I have seen the belle of a summer resort dispose with apparent comfort of five pound boxes in as many days. So well is this passion of the maiden's soul understood by him whose life-long business it is to make her Happy, that he feeds it with the regularity of grist to a mill, her ruby mouth being the hopper. Candy-shops spring up almost as rapidly as drinking-saloons in our cities; every cross-roads country-store has its jar of stony or crumbly “sweeties,” as our English cousins name them; the boy who supplies passengers in our out-going and in-coming trains with the daily paper, without which the patriot mind cannot enter upon THE CANDY CURSE. 175 the day's action or the night's rest, deafens us on alternate rounds with laudation of “Broken-Candy,” and, lest some weary traveler might escape temptation, the news stands in every station protrude a sly recommendation to “drop a nickel in the slot, and receive a package of delicious bon-bons /* A young man, walking up Fifth avenue, was the edified witness of a rencontre between two pairs of fashionable damsels at the junction of the avenue with Thirty-fourth street. “Do come to the meeting of our Literary Club this afternoon,” cried one brace in concert. “Mrs. S., the celebrated elocutionist, you know, reads “The Coming Man,’ while we work. Just the jolliest, pleasantest way of spending a quiet hour you can imagine !” “What kind of fancy-work do you take P’’ “Oh 1” a giggled duet, “We eat candy, and wait for ‘The Coming Man,' you know !” “Eat candy l’” When does not the girl of the period devour it 2 A sallow child of fourteen was a guest in my house for some weeks. Her mother committed her to me with many injunctions to extreme care and tenderness. She had never been strong, and was rapidly fall- ing into the confirmed delicacy so common in the growing girl, that neither mother or daughter is as much ashamed of it as she should be of such a wretched piece of work. The anxious but resigned parent in this case, “supposed,” as did my ferry boat acquaintance, that “it would all come right by-and-by.” “It” was very far wrong now. The girl, dwarfed in stature, and yellow-brown of skin, was a prey to dyspepsia and sick head- aches. For four successive nights, I was summoned to her room to administer remedies for cramp and nausea. She was a sweet, patient little thing, and unaffectedly distressed by the trouble she gave. “But she was subject to these attacks. So was mamma. Mamma supposed she inherited them.” 176 HOUSE AND HOME. As she turned on the pillow in moaning out the borrowed phrase, I heard the rustle of paper. Thrusting my hand under the bolster, I drew forth a paper of chocolate comfits and cocoanut-balls. In no wise abashed by my horrified look, the sufferer explained languidly: “I always like to have some candy where I can eat it in the night, if I awake and feel lonesome. Mamma used to leave a paper of gum-drops under my pillow, when I wasn't more than a baby, so's I wouldn’t be afraid to go to sleep in the dark. It’s a great deal of company. Mamma calls candy, my “bedside comforter.’” Inquiry showed that her father allowed her twenty-five cents a week for “candy-money.” Of course, she bought only the cheapest kinds in order to get enough to last. Confiscation of the poisonous stuff, and gentle remonstrance with the tractable child against the habit I could not condemn unsparingly, since her mother had inculcated it, wrought a rapid and blessed change. In a month's time, she was plump, rosy, and so well that my heart ached when I had to return her to her natural guardians. There is little or no nourishment in sugar, as an exclusive article of diet. But if babies, school-girls, society-belles, mothers and grandmothers would satisfy their lust for sweets with pure sugar—or even the sugar of commerce—the mischief done would be reduced to a minimum. Dr. Edson enumerates among the substances added for increas- ing the weight of candy—“Terra alba, kaolin (decomposed feldspar), whiting, starch and ground-quartz.” Among the coloring substances used to make our candy pleasant to the eye, he gives arsenic, chromium and lead. Adulterations for flavor are managed by help of a distillation of “rancid butter, wood alcohol and oil of vitrol, into essence of pine-apple; also, by THE CANDY CURSE. 177 fusel oil and prussic acid,” while “a very fragrant, fruity essence may be made of rotten cheese by treating it with oil of vitriol and bichromate of potash.” Much of the cheap chocolate sold at corner candy stores is mixed with clay, colored with burnt umber. The taste for sweets is natural, and, if indulged within bounds, innocent. The craving for puddings, ices and sweetmeats, at the conclusion of a meal, leads to the introduction of healthful acids into the busy stomach, which neutralize alkalis and oils, and help on the specific end of assimilation. The practice of munching, at all times and seasons, bon-bons, expensive or cheap, until the stomach and that mysterious potentate, the liver, are provoked to vengeance sure and dire, is what I have called it—a senseless vice, and a crying CURSE. ºg º Nº sº, º.º. Sº sº. Sº º . \\) *º ºf 2 ºr *. S º aſſº §§ ºš º Sºº A. … " º º . 2. ... ºf Z * * º * 2 ſº º2 . | | . . . . ; º & # * ſ tº * *r | º -> sº º E-? - N.S. & Y \ . V. w * = r zºº > s: º ?& N WITH OUR BOYS. ILLIAM WIRT-than whom no more graceful and genial gentleman ever lived, even in his day when the “gentleman of the old school” flourished and was the fashion—admonished his daughter to practice sedulously “the small, sweet courtesies of life.” We often repeat the phrase, forgetful of its authorship. Obe- dience to the injunction is, I fear me, more rapidly lapsing into disuse than the sage of a century ago could have foreseen in his darkest imaginings. *m. The gentleman of the old school honored me by a half-hour's talk at a party the other evening. He began or ended every sentence with “Madame,” with a slight and charming emphasis upon the latter syllable. He wore a white cravat, and gloves, and a dress-coat. Two fingers of one hand were gently insinuated between the second and third buttons of his vest; the other hand was thrown lightly across his back. He stood erect, while younger men lolled over the backs of chairs and sofas, or leaned against the wall. His silvery head was slightly inclined toward me, and when I spoke, he listened without wandering eye or uneasy motion. “In the olden time we needed not to be reminded to select part- ners for the dance, or to escort ladies to the supper-room,” he said, offering his arm to me with a bow that was a compliment in itself, 178 & === == ** sº S. - i ºffº/ º % = Fºº --- & $ WITH OUR BOYS. I8I without the neat speech that entreated the honor. “Now, the host's most arduous duty is charging into the herds of men in corners and halls, to drive them through the bare forms of civility. It is lamentable, madamel appalling to one who has noted the progress of the evil!” I looked out the verb “to herd,” that night. “To unite or associate as beasts. To feed or run in collections. . Most beasts manifest a disposition to herd.” Reams of paper are blotted, and thousands of cubic feet of air wasted, in proving that a woman is unsexed by qualifying herself to earn her bread, should need arise. The man who ceases to regard his strength as a protection for her weakness; whose asperities disdain the tempering of her graces; who marks out for himself a path so narrow that she cannot walk therein at his side—may not be unsexed, but he is dehumanized. The taint of the herd clings to him everywhere. Under such leadership the disposition spreads fast and far. Our boys learn the stare, the scamper, the rush, the crowding and hustling, by the time they leave off the skirts they detest as “girls' clothes.” “I shall never invite that person to my house again,” said a not very fastidious matron to me not long ago. “He does not know enough to touch his hat to a lady in the street.” I recalled the censure in the course of a morning walk taken in the streets of a large city which shall be nameless. I was nodded at, and to, more or less familiarly, by a butcher's errand-boy, by a candidate for a seat in the U. S. Senate, by a Judge of the Supreme Court, by a wealthy merchant rolling down town in his carriage, by an eminent lawyer born of aristocratic stock, and by the smiling superintendent of a Sabbath school. The day was bitter, and the butcher's boy had no gloves. I forgave 182 HOUSE AND HOME. him for keeping his hands in his pockets, but not for whistling a negro melody as he passed me. In another city, I have been lately waited upon (?) by a dry- goods clerk to the measure of “Rock-a-by, Baby,” hummed over and over, under his waxed moustache, and, upon putting a civil question to the proprietor of another “genteel” establishment, I was almost stunned into astonished silence by a vociferated—“What say !” flung into my face. No wonder that the old-world peasant who stands, hat in hand, before “the lady” who hires him at Castle Garden, soon recognizes in the omission to remove or touch his head-covering, the sign-patent of free-and-enlightened citizenship, and nods as royally as does his mistress's husband. In the matter of hats, our school-boys might be so many Quakers. The instinct- ive pluck at the cap at the approach of a lady-acquaintance, the bow and smile, the yielding the right of way at crossings and doorways, the spring forward to open and hold back gates, are as graceful and becoming now as in our grandmother's sight, but have a pathetic charm from their rarity. Another cheap and easy declaration of masculine sovereignty is the contempt for, and abolition of the empty titles affixed by old- fashioned custom to the names of seniors, superiors in rank or learning, young ladies, and even school-girls—to these last by virtue of their, then, honored sex. The stately graciousness of Hon. Edward Everett, statesman, scholar and philanthropist, did not deter the college lad over the way from alluding to him as “old Ned Everett, you know.” Phideas Fungus, Esq., is enormously rich, the mayor of his native town, and might be governor of the State if he willed it. But the draymen and porters chat at the doors of his warehouses, of “Phinny” and “Old Fun,” unless when they are prematurely reverential. Then he is “the Boss.” WITH OUR BOYS, 183 Familiarity of speech leads as naturally to freedom of touch as brooks to rivers, or neglect of “small, sweet courtesies’ to overt boorishness. I do not exaggerate in asserting that the feminine portion of Young America that affects picnics, singing-schools, straw-rides, church sociables and surprise parties, needs as much to be ticketed “Hands off l’’ as the valuables in an art-exhibition. When the finger of a man who is not my husband or kinsman is pressed upon my shoulder to point a story, or attract attention; when a forwärd youth fillips my arm with his folded glove at an evening party with :—“I say !” I may be, and am offended, but in a quiet, matronly sort. When I see a thoughtless school-girl sit, hand-in-hand, on steamboat or car with a man whom I know to be a mere acquaintance, or the opera-cloak pressed long and closely about the pretty young thing whom her escort wraps up officiously before leading her to her carriage; when girls are hauled and pushed and buffeted in romping games, and in dances that are nothing better, as the herd might jostle one another, my blood heats with more indignant fire. No true man will needlessly, much less wantonly, put a woman upon the defensive. The best that can be said of him who claps the lady-guest on the back as he might her husband, or the coxcomb, who, without her permission, dares to omit the “Miss” in accosting his girl-friend is, as I said in a former chapter, that he “knows no better.” If they guessed how often the plea is urged in extenuation of their bovine gambols by charitable friends with juster ideas of the decencies and amenities of society, the shock to self-conceit might be a wholesome lesson. I have read the letters of my great-grandfather, Colonel under the commission of the Continental Congress, and a sturdy Puritan patriarch, to the wife of many years' standing. His tenderest epithet is:—“My excellent Wife.” He usually addresses her as, “Honored Madam.” I would that any spoken or written word of I84 HOUSE AND HOME. 3. those who note, sorrowfully, with the courtly old censor I have quoted, the progress of the decadence in manners, if not in morals, since the age we deride as formal and severe, could ingraft upon the social free-thinking of this, something of the outward deference to womankind—as such—that lends exquisite, if quaint, flavor to the family histories of that date. غğRes= E: ES N SN & OUR BOY, AND OUR BOYS FATHER. WITTY man once told a story to a company of friends apropos to a talk upon the best way of bringing up boys without spoiling them by indulgence, or estranging them by unwise strictness. I cannot give the anecdote the raciness imparted by the witty man's manner and tone, but I reproduce the matter. The heartache that outlived the laugh which applauded the conclusion, is with me still. “A Boston clergyman,” said the witty man, “consulted one of his deacons as to the evil courses of his (the B. C.’s) son, and the possibilities of curing him of them. “‘He has rubbed into people's minds the unkind old saying about clergymen's sons,’ complained the father. ‘He is twenty-five years old, and has been nothing but a sorrow to his mother and myself, since he was expelled from college at seventeen. He drinks hard, gambles and loafs; comes home drunk every night; frequents the lowest places of amusement, and takes pleasure in vile company. Nothing good has any hold upon him. I am at my wit’s end. My wife is dying slowly of a broken heart. What would you advise?’ “The deacon was a deep thinker, and a slow talker. He took off his glasses and rubbed them with his pocket handkerchief, while he swung himself gently back and forth in his revolving desk-chair. 185 I86 HOUSE AND HOME. “‘Maybe you haven’t made a companion of your boy, doctor—— haven’t entered into his feelings and interests as you might. That works pretty well, sometimes. Go to hear Booth and Barrett with flim, instead of letting him stray into variety theaters by himself, or with even worse company. Go to a horse-race with him, and talk horse now and then. Take him out to drive with you, and let him choose the horse and hold the reins. Go to see good pictures and hear good music with him, and don't mind setting up a supper for him afterward at Parker's or Young's. See if you can’t interest him in your affairs and talk. Take him to the top of the State House and point out the changes in the country and city, since you were his age, Touch him up on politics and history. Stimulate his pride as a citizen of a great and growing country. Bring in the Boston tea-party, and John Hancock and Faneuil Hall. While you are talking, work him nearer and nearer the edge of the roof, and when you've got him where you want him, give him a smart shove and break his blamed neck! That's the only way to cure your boy l’” The element of the unexpected and the incongruous raised a general laugh, as I have remarked. The terrible touch of truth in the grotesque climax pricks like a thorn in the remembrance of the story. Girls are brought up like hop-vines, convolvuli and other climbers. If there be a little more wood in some than in others, wires are substituted for strings, and the training fingers are plied more frequently than with succulent stems, each terminal bud of which points naturally in the direction of the next needful coil and cling. Boys grow up—manipulate and dictate as we will. The young tree takes shape early, makes wood, bark, and branches after its Rind. The attempt to make wall-fruit of the sturdy thing by OUR BOY, AND OUR BOYS FATHER. 187 binding it to espalier and bricks, is a continual conflict of wills. Bound in on one side, the rebel flings audacious arms abroad on the other, twists, and writhes, and knots into ungainliness. “Turns ugly,” we say of the boy. The mother sheds ineffectual tears that Dick yawns aggressively or drops asleep over his book during the quiet home-evenings she, “father,” and the girls “do so enjoy.” Father, has his newspaper, mother her mending-basket, and the girls their fancy-work, over which they twitter like wrens in nesting-time. Dick is not interested in their chirpings, nor has he reached the dressing gown-slippers-and-evening-paper age. Even if he be a student, night-fall, which brings the longing for domestic quiet to elderly world-workers, suggests fun—stir—larks—to him. It is as natural for him to feel the inclination to leap domestic bounds as for a colt to jump the paddock-fence for a gallop upon the upland moors. The world is before the immature man. It is his to conquer, and he would try his coming strength in a preliminary wrestle, once in a while. At least, he must reconnoiter. His whole nature is uneasy for action. We may know that he is not equipped for it, but he does not. The English have a word that well describes our boy in the transition stage. They say he is “bumptious.” If, in the first dress-coat which, with the native youth, now usurps the place in ambition and affection once held by the first pair of “real men's boots,” he reminds us, in this same bumptiousness, of a pollywog who has developed one pair of legs, but not parted with his tail, we smile affectionately, and are almost sorry to think how mortified he will be, in the inevitable days to come, in the recollection of the absurd figure he cut. Mentally and morally, he is what he appears to us physically—all growing legs and arms. The inches increase I88 HOUSE AND HOME. so fast that he has not time to get used to one before another is here. Nobody—to the senior's shame be it said—is more intolerant of the lad's figurative and literal lurchings and lunges, than pater- familias. Men have shorter memories of their youthful follies than have women. When Paul put away childish things, he threw them clean out of sight. Dick, fretting on his curb, hungering for green pastures while he is fed upon the well-cured hay pater munches contentedly, finds it more difficult to believe that his parent was ever coltish, than does the sober old roadster himself. In the recollection of that by-gone period—its follies, scrapes and longings—on the father's part, lies the boy's salvation. “I fines you joost noting at all !” said the Dutch justice to the prisoner convicted of having got drunk on gin-sling. “I vonce got droonk mit gin-sling mineselluf l’” The attempt to convince Dick that his father has always jogged along the well-sprinkled highway of the respectability which is its own reward, will, if successful, fix a great gulf between the pair, just when the youngster's need of help is sorest. “Papa was such a pious duffer at school that he wouldn't under- stand, so I came to you,” was the prelude to a penitent confession of boyish misdoing. “You can't know how it is yourself, of course —” stammering, as a faint smile crept tremulously to the con- fidante's lips;–“only, you see, mothers somehow make allowances for everything.” The father who does—to steal the lad's slang—“know how it is Himself,” and is not ashamed to quote his past experience in warn- ing or encouragement, has a purchase upon the young fellow's confidence nothing else can give. Our “B. C.” did not begin the business of entering into his son's feelings by rejuvenation of him- self, early enough. The egregious injustice of trying to drag a boy 2 As i A º º * º * sº ... º.º. §-3 N § -º N º [] - ºvsºr sº. S \, , , , \, \ Sº Rºš R º ſe N >Sº º thºs - • *-ºs- | Pº tº sº. 4 § . U ! S. º §*: , |#S* wº-º;| º-ºf a º §ºC-2º ºs§* : E º § § N Lº Fº § ~ Vº B § t w . º - * & N W N º l,\ \º WYN.W & | * * { *> -º - : * ~ *-* = * * - º i– º – . OUR BOY, AND OUR BOYS FATHER. I9I up to the plane occupied by a man of forty, when the man of forty will not, or cannot, step down for a while into the tracks left on the lower road by his own rash, uncertain feet, is unreasonable, selfish, and monstrous. “Out, again!” said a merchant-father, lowering his newspaper to frown over it at his son, a handsome stripling of eighteen, in correct evening costume, who looked into the family sitting-room to get his mother to put a rosebud in his button-hole. “The third time this week l Where, now * * The lad, respectfully enough, named a neighbor's house. “There is to be a little dance there, this evening, and I promised to come in.” “When I was your age, young man, I spent most of my even- ings at home with my parents, and was in bed usually by nine o'clock. I don't know what the world is coming to l But there is no use talking ! If you ride to the devil, you must go !” The boy's sunny face darkened; he bit something back from flis lips before he laid them silently to his mother's cheek. The father noted the caress, and remarked upon it when the son had gone. “If you would use your influence to better purpose, the fellow might be good for something.” The wife's answer is worth repeating: “It is as natural for young people to get together for social amusements as for old people to hug the fireside, and long for quiet and rest. If we do not encourage the boy to have harmless pleas- ures at proper times, we tempt him to seek hurtful pleasures at unlawful hours. If he could not go into society without me, I would leave you to read and doze here alone and accompany him, at 193 HOUSE AND HOME. any and every cost of personal convenience. I would rather sacri- fice myself than him. My service to my generation is nearly done. His has just begun.” The father resumed his paper with a grunt that might mean dissent or contempt. It was not sympathy. To me, the firm gentleness of the mother's reply was like the echo of Other Words, in which is the healing of the world: “For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” jº § | N >NA CŞ. * º T. Nº * *Gº §§3 ºz. §§ºa Nº º —sº § º s's SS LITERARY LIFE OF THE HOUSEHOLD. OME households have none. Households wherein money abounds, and taste in the matter of furniture and dress is distinctly evinced. There is even a pleasing display of the surface aestheticism which, with many, passes for culture, Having come into fashion with galvanized (nickel) silver, and machine lace, and cotton-backed velvet. There are still other households where shams are abhorred and in which a part of religion is to have “everything of the best.” The father is a solid citizen, who reads one first-class journal through every day, and votes in church and politics on the right side, as his father did before him. The mother is a wise Lady Bountiful at home, and in neighborhood; thrifty, sensible, kindly and not uneducated, as education went, thirty years back of us. Sons and daughters— albeit known to non-fashionists as “society men and women’— are irreproachable in character, courteous, popular and alive to the fact that the world moves to different measure than the minuet music of lang syne. All these representative families have social, domestic, some of them religious lines, none what may be styled, according to the most liberal interpretation, literary life. Let me specify at this point that this broad rendering is here applied to what is, in itself, an "lastic Jº I94 HOUSE AND HOME. definition,-the second given by my oft-consulted lexicon, of the word “literary,”—“Versed in, or acquainted with literature.” The degree of acquaintanceship with which we have to do is what may be termed amateur cognition, in contradistinction to pro- fessional mastery; appreciation of literature as an art, not profound understanding of it as a science. Such knowledge as any of us may have of fashions in dress and household decoration, and political economy, without professional interest in the topic. In the consideration of our subject we will, therefore, exclude the families of editors, publishers and authors. Unless the intel- lectual cuticle and epidermis be phenomenally tough, the members of these must take in through the pores some measure of literary Rnowledge, or, at least, appreciation. Wise sociologists are beginning to admit that the system of compulsory education, while excellent so far as it goes, does not go far or deep enough. It is, in effect, harrowing, not plowing. Every teacher of youth who brings to bear upon his calling more than me- chanical fidelity knows against what odds he labors who tries to undo in six hours what has been wrought in double that time. How grateful is the task of drilling the seeds of knowledge into prepared soill Such an instructor could describe, with marvellous accuracy, what manner of parents and home influence each of his pupils has, although he may never have entered the doors of one of them. It is the family life that gives mental tone and character, no less than moral. The child who hears ungrammatical speech at home, studies grammar as a dead language. His desk-mate, who meets frequent allusion in his lessons in history, geography and natural philosophy, to matter she has heard talked of in the home circle, is at once on familiar ground. At the best, the province of the schools is only to dig a foundation and build walls. The mis- cellaneous information picked up, the learner knows not how; the LITERARY LIFE OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 195 habit of collecting and classifying material which is acquired by asso- ication with trained minds; the dwelling in an atmosphere of thought and intelligence;—these furnish the rest, are the means by which the edifice grows into compactness and beauty. The inference is patent. Where this kind of education is withheld, the child sustains irreparable loss. It is a wrong, unavoidably or carelessly inflicted, that, throughout his life, stamps the self-made man as one who “ had few advantages in youth.” The pat phrase gives the popular verdict on this head. It matters not to what fair proportions he may attain—mentally, politically or socially—there is ever that about him which betrays his tribal antecedents, be it only a conciousness of altitude, a toss and pluminess of air, as of a tall reed that has shot aloft out of a tangle of coarse grasses and mud-flags. More palpable indications of his early disadvantages are provincial tricks of speech, and lingual lapses into glaring faults of grammatical construction. Our rising man tells his friends that he “wants they should visit with ” him at his own house, he “guesses" and “presumes likely,” and, as the president of a board of education, announces publicly that “children had ought to be learned to speak correct from their cradles '' (sic). This same president had attended a public school for twelve years. He possessed much crude mental strength which, combined with sharp perceptive powers and infinite energy, made him a valuable citizen and a millionaire. His speech was the vernacular of his father's house, and he never unlearned it. He thought better than he talked, or he would never have got his head above the mud. The “society young people” we spoke of, just now, early lop off provincialisms and eschew double negatives, whether their parents follow their example or not, avoiding verbal blunders as they shun mistakes in the etiquette of the table or in the combin- I96 HOUSE AND HOME. ation of colors. But, with so large a majority of them that I am ashamed to state it, even the literature of their own language is a sealed well from the day they leave school. Beyond a few novels, usually of the lightest caliber, or lighter tales in weekly or monthly periodicals, the girls read little, the young men less, the parents least of all. It is a marked exception in a rule, terrible in its universality, when the Business Man, whose whole hpart and soul and being are in the craft that gains his wealth, reads anything except The Newspaper. The capitalized words go together as naturally as knife and fork, shovel and tongs. If he be a very successful Business Man, the strong probability is that he considers love of literature a weakness, and what he calls a “bookworm,” as scarcely worthy of the scientific classification of the creeping thing whose name he borrows—“An animal of the inferior grand division of Articulates.” Book-makers under-rank Zumbrecz in his esti- mation. Such an eminently successful citizen (who might have sat for the portrait of Silas Lapham) once told me that he would not have a library in his house for fear his boys might pass their evenings “fooling over books.” He—their sire—“could not have made money faster if his skull had been crammed chock full of college learning.” Yet some of his brethren attempt the role of Maecenas in the matter of pictures and music, conning a limited list of florid art catchwords, and rolling them like unctuous morsels, or a quid of tobacco, in their mouths. Paintings, statuary, opera-box and cham- ber-concerts represent money; the possession of them pre-supposes depth of purse. It would be singular if the girl who “does not care to read” should, after marriage, develop a taste for literature. If there exist within her any natural love for such pursuits, the com- parative leisure of maidenhood will foster it into active growth. Association with people who take it for granted that, as Miss Edge- LITERARY LIFE OF THE HOUSEHOLD. I97 worth's Mrs. Harcourt quietly reminds her foolish visitor—“Every- body reads now-a-days”—may engender a disposition and create a conscience in this direction while the mind is immature and the character plastic. But I have yet to meet the unintellectual, frivo- lous girl who, as matron and mother, learned to love books and sought, voluntarily, to repair the deficiencies in her early mental training. The man of letters who dreams of marrying the beauty who “hardly ever opens a book,” and educating her into a help- meet for his erudite self, would do well to ponder the summing up of David Copperfield's experiment in this kind of agriculture: “It began to dawn upon me,” he says, “that perhaps my child-wife's mind was already formed.” If the father's contemptuous neglect of literature deserves the epithet I have applied to it—“terrible.”—what shall we say of the mother's indifference, her contented settling down into what is, for all practical and beneficent purposes, illiteracy? “Who is she P” the stereotyped inquiry of the cynical chief of police when a crime of unusual atrocity was reported to him, may be applied more pertinently when the social, moral, or intellectual status of a family of young people is brought up for judgment. Whatever may be the father's proclivities, the children, in their nonage, either follow their mother's lead, or override, if they do not also despise her. (Yet there are married women who deafen Heaven and the public with cries for “Higher missions!”) If the mother's books are valued friends, from communion with which she draws sustenance for heart and mind, if their essence interpenetrates her speech and refines manner and visage, her offspring cannot escape the reflection of color and light from the same source. If these things be so, and nobody denies them, why is not every mother a reader, and, through reading, a learner for the sake of imparting what she knows to those she loves best ? I anticipate I98 HOUSE AND HOME. the reply as certainly as if it were already spoken in my ear. I wish I had recorded the number of times it has grated on my tympanum and grieved my soul. “Nobody would enjoy reading more than Il’” then the conven- tional sigh of resignation, “but I cannot make time for it.” A plea as false—I mean it!—as false as if the speaker were not a Christian woman, the rule of whose life is to keep the Decalogue in letter and in spirit. Women say it with tears in their eyes, coupling it with the confession that they do not read a book through in a year, who, as school-girls, carried off prizes for composition and belles lettres, women who “make ’’ three or four hours, per diem, for embroidery and housework their servants are paid to do, and, least necessary of all, for gossipry with members of their own families. Without pushing proof further, you may quietly assume, when you hear anyone, except a factory slave, make such an assertion, that the root of the matter is not in her and newer was. Your true book-lover will read, and exercise such ingenuity and steadfastness to accomplish this end as her neighbors to the right and left put forth to get hold of the latest fashions or a choice scrap of scandal. Let us be honest with ourselves—call ignorance and indifference to that ignorance, blindness to duty, carelessness as to responsibility, fatuous content with mediocrity and glaze and veneer, by their right names. It is your business and mine, my resigned sister, to make the “Literary Life of the household,”—duty, which cannot be demitted unless the priestess at the altar be deaf, dumb, blind and idiotic. The selection of good, helpful, ennobling books, the systematic study of these, the reading with and for your children, should be taken into the account of daily tasks and privileges as conscientiously as the family mending, the making of beds, the setting of tables and the polishing of candlesticks. –-sºº'ss-ºs- ºn = --~~~ S §§ \ * i sº wº .." t -3, SS A. * * \, W. W SV Q F. { O | º *s.| ă § E. O b.\sS s ~ s N N s N * ^ NN NN N N ^ Ş º N N § sº \\ \ N § |\ \m \\\\ \ § W \ | \\ \\ ſº w \\\ º \ \ N N N\\ Å ) .*T*E*Wortan , who-Wrl. READ . LITERARY LIFE OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 2OI “Viti sine literis mors est / " declaimed my twelve-year-old boy, bursting into the library one evening, where I sat in the twilight somberly pondering the problem I have discussed. And, as I looked up inquiringly,–" The motto of our school, mammal Which is, being interpreted,”—grandiloquently—“Life. without letters, is DEATH.” Call the interruption coincidence if you like. Or, is the legend an extreme statement, exaggerated into irrelevancy? WOMEN AS MOTHERS. LEADER among what is known in New England as the Remonstrants—that is, the party opposed to woman suf- frage—wrote to several hundred women all over the country, asking for an expression of their views on the subject. “So many are inanely non-committal, so many illogical, and violent,” she says, “that my assistant in the côrrespondence proposes, when the replies are all in, to compile the epistles in a volume entitled—‘Reasons why Women should Not Vote.’” Our boys are, in another score of years, to make the laws, heal the soul and bodies, formulate the science, and control the com- merce of their generation. Fathers who, recognizing this great truth, do not prepare their sons to do their part toward accomplish- ing this work, are despised, and justly, by the community in which they live. Our girls are, in another score of years, to make the homes which are to model and control men who are to make laws, neal souls and bodies, formulate science, and control the commerce of their generation. In these homes, are to be born and brought up by the mothers, our grandsons, who are to make laws, etc., in their generation. The house-that Jack-built row of bricks runs on in immutable lines into the vista of the eternities. 2O2 WOMEN AS MOTHERS. 2O3 Yet—and herein is mystery—the mother who does not, with definite purpose, in the fear of God and love of her kind, prepare her daughter to fulfill this mission, loses neither caste nor favor among her congeners. Our protestant sympathies are shed waste- fully upon the novice, who, by the rules of certain conventional orders, must mingle in the gayest society to which she has access, that she may test the strength of her resolution by temptation. The lives of our girls, as we help make them, are, for the interim that separates the school-room from the bridal altar, a novitiate, rather than an apprenticeship for the noblest work ever intrusted to human hands. The black veil typifies the marriage ring. In her farewell to the merry-go-round of parties, balls, and frolics generally, our daughter blows the foam from the cup, sparkles, and subsides into stateliness; the wine of existence and herself “settle down.” Said one affectionate, sensible mother, when reminded that practical knowledge of the duties of mistress, wife, and mother would make the prospective matron's task easier in days to come, —“But what time have girls who go into society, for regular home occupation ? What with a lunch, and high tea, and an evening party, six days out of the seven, and a german every week, to say nothing of theater, opera and dinners, they are driven to the full measure of their strength. I see the force of what you say, but where is the leisure to come from ?” I do not essay to answer this query. The life of the popular “society girl” is as wearing to the nervous forces as that of the “variety” actress, and she “goes off” under the strain quite as fast as does the painted dancer and vocalist. The youth who is her favorite partner abates not a whit of his daily labor on the morrow, most of which she spends in bed, that she may freshen up by evening. What is her business is his recreation. By the time they join hands for the minuet of working-day living, he has come to 2O4 HOUSE AND HOME, consider this style of re-creating his spirits “a bore, you know,” and is glad to try domesticity as a change. In entering upon their home-life, she begins to work, he to rest. It ought not, he thinks, to tax the strength of a tolerably healthy woman to keep a well- appointed flat or cottage in order, and direct the operations of one or two servants. When the sweet voice takes a wiry ring, and the plait between the brows becomes a crease, when her vivacious chit-chat degenerates into a monologue upon housewifely woes—her spouse is naturally perplexed, perhaps impatient, peradventure, even slightly contemp- tuous. He had thought that she had more “grit,” and some perception of the serious side of life. How in the name of precedent and the commonest kind of common sense, can the poor young wife the otherwise than disheartened and chronically fatigued P A new set of mental and physical muscles are brought suddenly into active use. The breaking into harness that seemed in anticipation a novel and enticing sport, turns out to be compulsory exercise. How she will support the experience depends upon her moral and bodily staying-power. Before the tender feet of the over-wrought creature are used to the shards and pit-falls of her road, a child is laid in her arms. As a girl, she thought and talked freely of probable wifehood, even pictured to herself the pretty pomp of controlling and adorning a home of her own. Thoughts of, and preparations for the one great untransferable Mission of woman, as hers, would have been unmaid- enly. In her mental schedule, be it long or brief, there is no note of the necessity or even expediency, of fitting herself in health, in knowledge, in discipline of spirit and temper, for the maternal office. She knows that children are sent to most married people, and that, but for the supply of new material, the human race would become extinct. She has a nebulous idea, too, that the training of : +º f.º% tº as $º º: * ". s ſº * * *-* & 2. - º \ . & A ... • a f &P - a . . * ... i ! : & • & * , * { ." ~4 . . * - * * , ſº º e - ºf e * 2 A *, º 2 S \, ..." ; : * * º a º % ºf - - - º - s * 2 * a gº " ºº ſº: 2. ... . . - , ſh; e - º w º ', - {{* * - - º - 5 a '' . ſºlº - • * * Sº, ºr ". . " Ainºs % . , ; Nº. s --- - g ' " : - - º/ V TN º; & - As º ſ: “ . . * * * * º - Natiº ºſº, ºgº Nº. " : , , Sº Nº %|| º dualſ. º , , , , , & A “. . Nº § / gº * , , . . ~~ t W. * , Tº y º ż ºf ºf . . . . . ] | | | | | | SS || ||Arſ.WºRº; , ", , , ſº | TIII.iii:EE . ſ", T º Jºaº" / " . ('' '' tº . ſlºgºs: " ' ". . . Ns ºà f> ~ - § C º & ºš §§ , ... " ºf "Oº., N. & # ſº ' '. º ſ º ſ º a y < x. º AetheR And BABY. " WOMEN AS MOTHERS. 2O7 infants is generally the mother's concern. But there will be time enough to think of such things should Providence add this burden to the rest. So the months wheel by, and the young immortal who, through her agency, may become the best or the worst man of his age, lies in her awkward embrace, his feeble life hanging upon her ignor- ance. Why the Allwise Creator should send babies to those who know as much about taking care of them as a peasant Laplander of the precession of the equinoxes, is a problem reserved for the clari- fied intellects of the hereafter. Now, it is a dissected theorem with half the pieces missing. “I am the mother of an immortal being ! God be merciful to me a sinner!” is the entry in Margaret Fuller Ossoli's diary when her boy was born. It was the cry of the human and the maternal in the soul of her who frankly confessed, “I now know all the people worth knowing in America, and I find no intellect compara- ble with my own.” Our smaller-minded (and humbler) mother may take up the lament, according to her individual interpretation of its meaning. Without trenching upon debatable ground, may one whose religion teaches her to fill her own sphere to the round outermost verge before aspiring to a higher, point the dismayed learner to the fact hinted at a while ago? We will grant, for courtesy's sake, that it is in admiration of the masculine half of the man created in our Maker's image that we seek to stand firmly upon his level, and, our rights unchallenged, to share equally in his honors and prizes. GOD be merciful to us sinners if in the contest we trample in the mire our Koh-i-noor, our pearl of great price, which man could not purchase by the sale of all he possesses, our unique of MOTHER- HOOD ! OUR BABY. NE hears every day an immense deal of wishy-washiness talked by callow pessimists, and their dyspeptic elders, of the unsatisfactoriness of life, the worse than uselessness of living. The first-named consider it knowing to be blase, the latter confound ennui and experience. The world is a dear and bonny home, thanks to the dear Lord who made it so very good that His creatures in all ages have not been able to spoil it. Of Queen-mother, Nature, it may be said that as custom can not stale her infinite variety, neither can ingratitude chill her infinite Rindness. Each spring-time is a resurrection ; each fruit-season brings the thrill of a pleasant surprise ; each Christmas-tide stirs our souls as if the Birthday of birthdays—the red heart of all a-throb with living fire set in the mid-breast of white winter—were then celebrated for the first time. Still, as when the morning-stars chanted the completion of the young earth, all things leave the Father's hand fair and new. Our Baby is, to whatsoever home he may come, the freshest, most exhaustlessly interesting creation the angels ever lowered to our level. “Come away !” said a girl pulling at her friend's sleeve. “You don't care to listen to that pair of new mothers. They are only comparing notes and asking advice about their lamblings. I heard OUR BABY. 2O9 O116. say just now—‘I had no idea, until mine came, that a child was such a solemn responsibility.’ I always stop up my ears and run when they begin that sort of cant.” The other resisted. “But I do care to hear this 1 They are discussing the reform- dress for infants—and maybe you don’t know that we have a baby —my sister's—at our house? That makes all the difference in the world, you see.” With the tenancy of the cradle in “our house,” other topics be- sides the reform-dress start suddenly into prominence. We never . pass a child on the street without seeing it. The gutter-baby, pat- a-caking mud-pies on the curb-stone; the patrician baby, making round eyes at the little Arab through the carriage-window; the sickly baby, the healthy baby, pretty babies, and homely babies (if such exist), all pull at the check-strings of our hearts, each remind- ing us in some way of the tiny bundle of warm unconsciousness at home, lapped in love and fed on kisses. We loiter before windows which display baby clothes; emulate the sweet nonsense of Trad- dles and his “dearest girl,” in selecting the toys we will buy for the boy when he begins to take notice. When caught lingering over school catalogues, we blush and laugh foolishly, and nobody except His father and mother is privy to the secrets of the savings-bank account begun in his own name when he was a day old. “All the difference in the world 2 ” Yes! and in the universe. Ours is always a wonderful baby. I confess to a sensation of chagrin when a young mother does not confess this directly, or indirectly. In some one particular, if not in all, he resembles no other child ever born, and surpasses the rest of the infant creation. Many years ago I witnessed an illustration of this vicarious vanity that shocked my girlish sense of fitness, but which I recall. 2 IO HOUSE AND HOME. now with reverence. A neighbor's child was, as the old wives insisted, “marked ” by a snake on which the mother trod in the garden three months before it was born. The recollection of thea deformed baby lent an awful fascination to “Elsie Verner” when I read it, twenty years afterward. She was an idiot girl, and had never walked, when she died at the age of six. Her skin was covered with scales, her head was flat, her eyes were narrow and black. Chancing to call at the house one day, I saw the poor little thing— usually screened from curious eyes—roll and wriggle across the floor to the mother's feet, and, grasping her dress, laugh up in her face. Such a laugh ! The cleft tongue shot out with a hiss: the forehead receded entirely under the low forelocks; the eyes gleamed —the whole effect was indescribably revolting. And the mother, a handsome woman in her prime, caught up the animate horror, covered her with kisses, and called her the “dearest, loveliest rose- bud ever made l’’ Our baby is always an “incomparable sweet angel,” the rose of the world. The divine ingenuity that lays up against his coming such store of mother-love, does not over-estimate the prospective demand upon the supply. The care of baby takes more of mamma's time, draws more heavily upon her nerve-power and physical strength than all her other duties combined. She is not her own property, by day or by night. There are as many anxious. as happy thoughts of him. She is never quite easy when he is out of her sight, never quiet when he is present, unless he is asleep, and then holds her breath to listen for his. All this, and so much more to the same effect, is true that we declare without reservation, that the active business of motherhood gives occupation to the hands, heart and head of any one woman. She can no more escape the weight, than can her husband from the burden of his craft or profession. The one is to her, what the other ſv. ----~~~~）__ ~----____.*=--~~~~æ•= ~~~~ ~~~~）. | \,| | | }| \\ | | \ N\|- \（~~);J|R\，\!\}! ssºſ+Þſ|№•|||{|·\ <） № !{ �V(À| §§----- ----| |� \} Źzzz→| || || (）|·Á º our ºf ABY z 3. * - - - - - ~ *** - - ,-- OUR BABY. 2I3 is to him. This is the kernel of our “talk.” You, discouraged mother-bewailing your pinioned hands and stagnating mind, fretting for the liberty of a toilless girlhood, for the gala-days that are no more, ready to cry out upon marriage as thraldom, and maternity as degradation—make the mistake of reversing the order of duties. Your husband, with a juster sense of values, resigns recreation, when prudence bids him bide by the stuff, or watch over investments; when he espies a chance to make money, postpones to a more convenient season the merry-making. His holidays are sandwiched between so many weeks that he almost forgets the flavor of one, before another comes. Should he complain, you would call him faint-hearted, and think him lazy. Yet yours is the nobler and far more important work. He makes money that perishes with his using (and other people's). You make men and women, who will live forever, and, through all that forever, bear the imprint you stamp upon them. He seeks fame that will be his during his life-time. You are carving tablets for the never-ending years. The sublime patience of him who “painted for posterity’” should be in you informed by a more sanguine faith, a wider and clearer outlook. None of us can, if only for our own sake, afford to slur over one of the duties that develop into more distinct and grander proportions with our children's growth. In living their lives over with them, we keep ourselves young, yet gain a serener dignity of womanhood. Instead of growing intellectually rusty, we must avail ourselves of every means within our range of studying with and for them. The true-hearted and far-sighted mother keeps a place open in society to which she may return with her young daughter, when nursery cares are over. She sees mercy in sharp experiences by which she has learned to save her boys and girls from like blunders and like sorrows: that she may teach them wisdom, makes herself wise. 214 HOUSE AND HOME. “It is not,” writes a mother of the death of her first-born,-" it is not for the day-old baby that I mourn, but the little one who was to Reep me from feeling lonely when my husband is not with me; who was to run down the street to meet papa when he comes home, the boy with whom I was to study his lessons over the winter fire, and whose summer sports I was to share; the college-lad, of whose Honors I should be so gloriously proud, the man whose arm would be his old mother's support. All these I have laid away under the snow to-day, with the wee creature that never opened its eyes upon mine !” Such are the stages in the forward life, the renewed youth of every mother who still holds to her breast a living child. Her off- spring are her reward and her monument. If this life be not worth living, none is. VAGARIES OF THE AMERICAN KITCHEN. Óº religions have I found in this country !” writes a French tourist, “and but one gravy!” Had the satirist been familiar with the machinery of the average American kitchen, he might have added—“And that is made in a frying-pan l'' Our housewife may be unversed in the matter of steamers, braising and fish-kettles. The chances are as ten to one that she never owned a gridiron, and would laugh a patent “poacher” to shrillest scorn. Were any, or all of these given to her, and their uses enlarged upon intelligently and enthusiastically, she would shake an unconvinced head and brandish her frying-pan in the face of anxious innovators and disgusted reformers. A convenient implement P Hear her testimony and behold her practice For breakfast, her family is nourished, be it winter or summer, upon fried bacon, or salt pork, fried mush and fried potatoes. The bacon is cooked first; done to a slow crisp, and set aside to “sizzle” out any remaining flavor of individuality, while she gets the mush ready. The meat comes out, and the slices of stiffened dough go in, first to absorb, then to be (still slowly) cooked by the hot fat. All the fat is soaked up before the cold. boiled potatoes, cut into clammy “chunks,” are put in. In fact, the last relay of mush is 215 216 HOUSE AND HOME. scorched to the bottom of the pan, and the bits of pork, clinging to the sides, are unsavory cinders. A great spoonful of lard sets all that to rights, and is just melted when the potatoes are immersed in it. Browning, under this process, is an impossibility, but a few outside pieces burn satisfactorily, and the rest smoke as the con- tents of the invaluable utensil are dished. Breakfast is ready. If the wheels of her domestic organization are not greased into fair running order, the fault is not hers, but that of the recalcitrant stomachs that will not assimilate “good, wholesome food.” “Our men-folks set so much store by a warm, substantial break- fast, that I make a matter of duty of getting it up for them,” says the dear woman, complacently, wiping the frying-pan, and hanging it where it will be “handy” to fry steak-and-onions for dinner, and to frizzle smoked beef or cod-fish at supper-time. In proportion to “our men-folks’” appreciation of hot, nourish- ing viands, is our house-mother's relish of a “comfortable cup of ” The black earthen, or tin teapot stands on the stove for the greater part of the day, and rarely has a chance to be scalded and dried in the sunshine, as every vessel in which tea is brewed should be at least once in twenty-four hours. So soon as the water in the kettle nears the boiling point, after the morning fire is lighted, the handful of tea-leaves, thrown hap-hazard into the bottom of the pot, is hopelessly drowned, and the decoction set where it will gradually repair the lack of heat in the water. From steeping, it passes to simmering—from hissing to bubbling. The maker thereof must have her favorite drink, “just off the boil.” Nor would she recognize it without the harsh, herby taste acquired by the cooking, which refined connoisseurs would brand as “murdering.” The process of tea-making on the breakfast or supper-table; the pretty array of urn, spirit-lamp and “cozy” she would condemn as “fashionable foolery.” The enjoyment of the delicate aroma of the beverage, newly-made tea. ，„--~~~ ~ --> --~ ~ ~ = ** ** • • •=.* = <- .aerº „… -___- = = =-- ~~ S^<`S`KŇOESOEN§{ ````№=№S. ' ， - |```` :-）". . 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Zae， Œ ، [] ∞ ſ ſ ſ º > ∞ a√ № -* 222 VAGARIES OF THE AMERICAN KITCHEN. 219 by pouring boiling water upon just-moistened leaves, and never set over the fire, she would stigmatize decidedly as “downright affecta- tion; ” and associate it, by some subtle demonstration, with the hard times and increased price of living. She takes her tea as her mother did, and she likes her “rye'n Indian bread with some sub- stance into it—not as light as vanity l’” Upon stew-pan and soup-kettle, she looks with almost as much disfavor. If the meat she bakes and fries be tough, she blames the butcher. Somebody must eat the coarser portions of ox or sheep, and people in moderate circumstances cannot fare sumptuously every day. In this spirit of equitable economy, she buys rump- steak, chuck-rib or osseous chops, and commits the roasted or grilled leather-and-fat to the digestive apparatus of husband and offspring with calm fatalism, truly edifying to behold. If the eaters develop a tendency to diseases of the alimentary organs, she can discourse as piously upon “providential visitations,” as any erudite College Don over the slaughter done in dormitories and clubs by sewer gas. Soups she reckons as “slops,” “Unless,” as one of the guild said the other day, “the meat and vegetables be left in. Then, a pot of rich soup is a dinner by itself.” “Rich" being the synonym of greasy. Tell her, if you do not mind squandering time and breath, that the chops which, served by her, are a ghastly waste of bone, gristle, skin, burned tallow, and desiccated lean meat—would feed her brood almost luxuriously were she to trim them neatly, stew very slowly, add to the cooled and skimmed gravy (keeping the meat hot over boiling water) a dash of piquant catsup or tomato sauce, and, having thickened it with browned flour and boiled it for one minute, return the same with the meat to the fire for another minute before serving -brown, tender and savory. You will receive for your benevolent 22O HOUSE AND HOME. * officiousness, a stony stare of indifference, or be told flatly that life is too short to be spent in such “notional doctoring up of the wholesome victuals the Lord has made.” In illustration of which aphorism, she will go on with the interrupted conglomeration of pork-fat, cold water and second-rate flour, known to her and thousands like unto her as “family pastry.” When lard, flour and water have been kneaded into a tenacious composite, it will be spread upon plates and stratified variously with insipid custard, or half-sweetened fruit, or a plutonic mixture of molasses, chopped peel, pulp and acid, popular under the name of “1emon-tart.” Profoundly ignorant, or reckless of the truth that grease is not gravy, and is, in itself an abomination to well-ordered stomachs, she serves with roast beef, mutton, veal, poultry, a bowl of brown precipitate, overlaid by several inches of clear oil, and looks con- temptuously at the guest who prefers politely to take his meat, as Southern children say of butterless and sugarless bread—“dry, so.” When the infrequent soup makes its appearance upon her board, oleaginous islets and continents swim languidly upon the surface, coat the spoons and tongues of those who partake of the unskimmed, unstrained mess of pottage. The colander—the most efficient check upon that Lord of Misrule, the frying-pan—inasmuch, as by its use, some of the reek and drip may be got rid of before the food is served—is seldom in our house-wife's hands, except when squash or pumpkin-pies are to be made. Least of all, does she think of employing it in serving vegetables. Beans, peas, onions, succotash, beets, etc., go to table half submerged in the liquor in which they were boiled; a little salt, butter and pepper, stirred into the floating mass, constitute the “dressing.” She leaves esculents undrained, and turns washed cups, saucers, dishes, even glass and silver, upside-down upon tray or kitchen VAGARIES OF THE AMERICAN KITCHEN. 221 table, “to dreen” before wiping them. The process saves time and towels. Her mother “washed up "dishes, in this manner, and her mother's daughter sets her shrewd face, like the Jamestown Tower, or Plymouth Rock, against new-fangleism in her dominions. Even in the matter of toasting bread, she is incorruptible in her devotion to traditional usages. . Explain—when she inveighs against the “wicked waste” of paring your slices of stale bread—that they will not curl or warp, if the crust be first removed, and that nobody cares to eat toast-crusts. She always has—ergo, she always will—cut her fresh loaf into thin rounds, and char one side of each, while the other is palely smoked, when “people take a notion to a bit of toast with their tea.” To her, “it seems like sick-room feed.” For such provisions, we need hardly say, she has no respect; for their preparation, no vocation. I honestly believe that, in our land, where humanity and plenty walk hand-in-hand, and home-loves flourish as they do nowhere else on earth, thousands of young chil- dren and invalids perish yearly for the want of suitable nutriment. I could fill many chapters with the truthful details of ignorance and carelessness on the part of those who pride themselves upon their skill as nurses, who enjoy the reputation of being excellent mothers and housekeepers. Do you ask, thoughtful reader, where is the remedy for these obstinate vagaries—these fallacies to which our countrywomen, as a body, give the prominence of principles I was more hopeful, ten years ago, than I am now, of possible reformation among the reigning autocrats of the culinary depart- ment. “Mother” is joined to her sooty idol, the FRYING-PAN ; to her family pie crust; to boiled tea; to undrained beets, and drained china. She will go on expressing and dispensing oils, until she sleeps with her mothers, who “always did just so.” 222 HOUSE AND HOME. The one ray of light penetrating the smoky interior of the National Cuisine, comes from the fact that our young girls—the wives and housekeepers of the next generation—are beginning to look upon cookery as a practical science, and dietetics as a serious study; however refined and accomplished they may be, are opening their eyes to the truth that proficiency in housewifery is a thing ito be desired, to make one wise and her kind healthy and comfortable. t To their clear common sense, their affectionate zeal and busy hands, we commit the kitchen of the future. Aº K º º º ** ſ } gº TSs * SN º º º BREAKFAST AS IT SHOULD BE. REAKFAST may be considered the one fixed fact among our movable feasts, the very names of which are varied by the fluctuation of the social barometer. Jones, as a thriving mechanic or smart clerk, living in a nice three- story brick on a side street, has a good dinner of two courses at one o'clock, and “something hearty” with his seven o'clock tea. Mel- chius Jones, Esq., manufacturer or merchant prince and millionaire, gets his luncheon at a city restaurant, and subsides into the bosom of his family around a gas-lighted dinner-table, so crowded with glass, silver and flowers, that meats and vegetables must be served from the side-board. Fashion may, and does push the morning meal further on into the day, in households where leisure and luxury have succeeded to the hurry and toil of earlier years. But it is breakfast still, a family repast, and a bountiful one, that refuses to be materially modified by the pressure of imported ideas and habits which are rapidly denationalizing our homes. The free-and-easiness of the English breakfast hour—the huge cold rounds and joints and game-pies on the side-table for the strong, the toast-and-tea for the weak; the sitting-down and the rising-up at the convenience of the several members of the company—impress the Yankee housewife as unseemly and shiftless. She will not 223 224 HOUSE AND HOME. have “things ’’ standing about all hours of the day, nor would American (imported) servants endure the imposition upon time and service. But it seems strange at the first blush, that the continental breakfast, simple, inexpensive and convenient, has not been eagerly adopted by us. A hundred jaded women, sipping chocolate in Parisian and Italian hotels, and seeing that the family appetites are satisfied by crisp rolls, fresh eggs and butter, with an occasional treat of honey or marmalade for the children—brighten into anima- tion with the resolve to introduce the like order in our transatlantic Homes. Ninety-nine of the hundred make the experiment upon their return. We have never known an exception to the general failure of the pretty plan. In most instances, the rebellion begins in the lower house. Our “help" cannot work, they assert, without meat twice a day, at least. Across the sea, they labored doubly as hard, and lived upon potatoes, polenta, or black bread and sour beer. In our climate they must be fed upon the fat of a more goodly land than they had dreamed of before touching our shores, or muscles grew flaccid, bones soften, and stomachs collapse. We may temper the heat of our indignant contempt for such flagitious affectation by asking ourselves why the crusty roll, single cup of coffee or chocolate, and boiled egg, no longer upbear our strength and spirits until the next meal is served. Why, by degrees, the bit of toasted bacon, dear to the English heart, the Scot's oat- meal, the Cuban's orange, find their way to the otherwise meagerly- furnished board? Why, as the days shorten and the cold strength- ens, the children clamor for buckwheats and maple syrup, and papa endorses the draught upon caterer and cook. Paterfamilias wastes no time in dissertation upon climatic in- fluence, or the tyranny of custom. BREAKFAST AS IT SHOULD BE. 225 “I am a practical man,” he says, “who does half a day's work before the French banker or advocate goes to his office. Too busy to suspend operations at half-past eleven or twelve o'clock, for the dejeuner a la fourchette that supplements his eight o'clock coffee and roll. I don't argue nor expatiate, I only know that in order to do an American citizen's work, I must be well fed, and that, without a substantial breakfast, I am used-up by noon—an exhausted receiver—sir!” The question resolves itself in his mind into a clear case of supply and demand. The climate may have something to do with it. Habit probably has more. Be this as it may, the engine plays all the time under a full head of steam, and boiler and fire must be fed generously. We do well to imitate the practical in accepting the American breakfast as it is, because it 2s. Our suggested reforms will not clear the table of a single dish, without offering a substitute. Because it is a substantial meal, it should be tempting, nourishing and eaten deliberately. As a family gathering, the party should be cheerful and at ease. As the initial repast,-the breakfast of the new day should beget comfort and harmony, put mind and body in tune for labor which ought to be worship. Whereas, the plain truth is that the disregard of some, or all of these conditions is a notorious fact in most dwellings, even among our well-to-do and wealthy classes, and their observance in our homes remarkable by reason of the rarity of the spectacle. Goblin Care enters the chamber of the dual head of the house- hold, at the turn of the morning tide, when the waves of physical life pulse most feebly. He takes the house-mother by the hand as she starts from her latest and most delicious doze to hurry the tardy cook. He mounts and fastens upon the shoulders of the practical man, who must be at warehouse, office or factory at eight-or maybe wºk 226 HOUSE AND HOME. nine o'clock. Whatever the hour, it must be “sharp" upon him before he brushes his teeth, and plunges his face into cold water. He is in the middle of next week, by the time he kicks aside slippers for boots, and wonders audibly,–" if they are going to keep a fellow waiting for his breakfast.” The morning paper lies at his plate. Electric shocks of stock-market news contract windpipe, and agitate diaphragm as he bolts breakfast, and gulps down coffee. Political excitement congests the stomach-coats and transmutes buttered buckwheats into hot lead. Engrossed in the world's news, brought to his door with the rising of the sun, he throws liquids and solids into the palpitating interior of the machine, with little more thought of order and assimilation than the stoker exercises who “chunks” the black lumps into the fire-chamber, and then bangs the door. Bridget, marketing, shopping and dress-making, sit heavily upon the soul of wife and mother. The children hate early break- fasts, and are served with the de-appetizing sauce of acerb rebuke for indolence as they straggle in. The dispersion to the different spheres of action is a disorderly rout, and the poor woman left to nold the fort, cogitates, by turns, upon the cause of the dyspeptic qualms that add physical to mental disquiet, and the “crossness of everybody in the morning.” “It is such a comfort to get breakfast over !” is her one solace. Our busy American citizen may demand, as a vital need, his substantial daily meal. He does not enjoy it. The running of a vast majority of human animals upon the daily course is like that of spavined horses. We are stiff and sore when first led from the stall, but warm to our work and into suppleness with judicious management. Who of us has not experienced the desire to turn the day hind-part-before, setting bodily and mental depression, with the yawning, and peev- [ſū] vært.-- | |\\ |0ºſv ſºſ，��§\Ņ }=+&№š EZZFZ:：N ---- ſe ? . OUR AMERICAN CITIZEN AT BREAKFAST. BREAKFAST AS IT SHOULD BE. 229 ishness, and “gone-ness” that expresses this, at the latter end when bed and slumber would be the natural and speedy cure ? Who practices the philosophy of gentle lubrication and moderate movement, leading up to steady labor which we might learn from a doltish groom P The breakfast table should be a study—hygienic and aesthetic —with those who would profit thereby. Conspicuous among its appointments, set the fruit basket. For those whose stomachic idiosyncracies do not forbid this order of course, let oranges, grapes, bananas in winter, and summer fruits in their season, precede the weightier matters of a meal. There is amelioration of harsh business, if not refinement of tone, in the sight and manipulation of the gracious gifts direct from the Maker's hands. The juices are a grateful assuasive, and a stimulus to digestion. Oatmeal porridge, soaked over night and steamed in the morning to a smooth jelly—mollient, not drastic— then drenched with cream, may succeed the fruit, or be served as a dessert. The Briton's toasted bacon is a potent persuasive to reluc- tant appetite. Fried potatoes, thin as a shaving, hot, and so dry as not to soil the enveloping napkin, come delicately and seductively into line. Let the bread be sweet and light, the butter above sus- picion, coffee and tea fresh and fragrant. By the time the skirmish- ing is over—and the process should not be rapid—the business of the hour is fairly begun. Now should the practical man be built up with boiled eggs, or omelette, or beefsteak, or mutton-chops (always broiled /), or chickens, stewed or broiled, or savory ragouts, or sausage—the list is long and attractive to eye and imagination. The second cup of hot coffee is here in order. And—not until hun- ger has been appeased by deliberate and careful mastication of these substantial edibles—should the morning paper be unfolded. Wives and children have reason for their bitter aversion to the triple 23O HOUSE AND HOME. sheet, behind the crackling abomination of whose folds the lord of the home devours his provender. If the ill-used stomach could speak, its verdict would accord with their condemnation. She who dignifies the common uses and needs of life into humanizing, Christianzazng influence upon those whose daily min- ister she is, serves her generation well, although her apparent sphere be no broader than her BREAKFAST TABLE. t THE TEA-TABLE. ORKSHIRE people, in those days, took their tea around the table, sitting well to it, with their knees duly intro- duced under the mahogany. It was essential to have a multitude of plates of bread and butter, varied in sorts, and plentiful irº quantity. It was thought proper, too, that on the cen- ter plate should stand a glass dish of marmalade. Among the viands was expected to be found a small assortment of cheese-cakes and tarts. If there was, also, a plate of thin slices of pink ham, garnished with green parsley—so much the better.” Thus writes Charlotte Bronté, of the Yorkshire teas of eighty years ago. Word for word, we may apply the description to the third and latest meal in the majority of the houses of what may be called our “solid middle-class Americans,”—people who are doing well, and like to live well. Only, we must substitute for the “multitude of plates of bread and butter,” the array of saucerlings gathered about the central trenchers from which our citizen and his family take their food. If the board is spread for “company,” the number of these increases in proportion to the importance borrowed by the occasion from the quality of the guest and the desire of the hosts to set out a handsome “entertainment.” Apple-sauce in one, ^3|E 232 HG)USE AND HOME. a spoonful of cold pudding or custard in a second, lettuce, or other succulent salad in a third, flank the good-liver's plate at his ordinary supper. When there are invited participants, one often sees marmalade, chicken or lobster salad, a trifle of blancmange, brandied peaches, and, in conclusion, ice-cream, in as many china or glass receptacles —not one being removed to make room for the others. The amused perplexity of him who is not to this fashion born, as he beholds himself gradually environed by these outposts in the contest waged against hunger, is only exceeded by the inflexible resolve of the directors of the campaign that the last and the least of these shall be honored. In their season, oysters, stewed, fried and scalloped— chicken, broiled, roasted or fricasseed; a choice cut of salmon ; a big roe shad, is the bulwark at the lower end of the board. Pota- toes, tomatoes, cucumbers and green peas skirmish up one line of eaters, and down another, while coffee-urn and tea-pot are fixed towers of strength and observation at head-quarters. Such, and often more abundant and incongruous, is the evening banquet to which neighbors and such strangers as the master and mistress would convert into acquaintances, are bidden in the formula:—“Come around on Thursday evening, and take a social cup of tea with us. Very informally, you know. Our tea-hour is Half-past six.” South of Philadelphia, they ask you for half-past seven, and call it “supper.” “In point of fact,” as Cousin Feenix would say, it is neither one nor the other. As an amplification—a mammoth and illustrated edition of our Yorkshire and American family-tea—it is an over- grown caricature, swollen out of all likeness to simple cheer and cosy comfort. It is too early and flot sufficiently elegant to rank with the formal “party supper.” It is much too elaborate to pass for the English fourth meal of the day (sometimes the fifth, if five THE TEA-TABLE. 233 o'clock tea be reckoned in). This fifth repast consists, among the middle and lower classes, of cold meat, pickles, beer and cheese. The higher stay stomach and nerve at ten, eleven, twelve o'clock, with salads, cold game, wines, and perhaps one spicy entree, such as deviled lobster, or sweetbreads stewed in champagne. Our national “big tea”—no other title suits it so well—costs as much in money and labor as would a pretty little dinner, with five or six courses, duly arranged and served. The machinery, ill-adapted for the weight it has to carry, works awkwardly. Except to those whose primary object, always and everywhere, whenever their knees are “duly introduced under the mahogany,” is the gratification of appetite, the entertainment is a baleful weariness, the happiest moment of which is that when the back is turned upon the dis- orderly table where meats and sweets are jumbled without plan or taste. It is time that the slowest learner among those who serve and those who partake, should understand that the success of feasts, in our day, from the humblest to the highest, depends upon a judicious display of a few really excellent dishes; that the elegance of a bill-of-fare consists no more in the abundance of the things therein set forth. The family tea—as such—is actually a more choice affair to which to invite your friend, or your friend's friend, than the mongrel “spread” we have described. Whatever may have been the haste and huddle of breakfast and the early dinner, there is surely no excuse, at the decline of day, for a table-cloth awry, and a clutter of table appointments. With the afternoon dresses of “mother and the girls,” the faintest sense of what is fit and fair would, one might imagine, suggest a touch of festal order in drapery, china and glass, and something of the incense of welcome in what is made ready for the tired man of the house. 234 HOUSE AND HOME. On the contrary, who does not know by heart (or by stomach) the order complacently recognized by our model cottager as the regulation thing? Imprimis, two plates of dry bread set precisely opposite to one another; item, a dish of chipped beef at the foot, facing the tea-tray at the top; the glass bowl of canned or preserved fruit, or, more probably, the incorrigible national apple-sauce, set in a right line with the butter-dish and cake-basket. In a sun-set saunter through a street of trim, modern houses, “built with especial reference to the wants of small families,” one can guess with tolerable certainty, from the smokeless chimneys and bowed dining-room windows, as well as from the absence of all appetizing odors in the cooling outer air, within how many domiciles this prim display awaits the master's home-coming. Let every housewife be a law unto herself in the ordering of the one social and leisurely meal of the trio she has to prepare daily. Abolish routine, and study surprises. Toss up an omelette on Monday, garnished with parsley; mollify the flinty slices of Tuesday's stale bread into cream-toast, and reserve enough of Wednesday's morning baking to make a loaf of French rolls for tea. Chops or a steak will jump with the husbandly mood on Thursday, while Friday's fish-market will divide your mind by an embarrassment of riches that would furnish forth savorily the else scanty board. If love and ingenuity can vary, each evening, the expression of the common joy at the return of spouse and parent to hearth and home, affection should go to school to cunning when into Saturday night steals, as through crevices in the door the morrow will unbar, a breath of Sabbath rest and holy joys. “We always use our best china on Sunday nights. It was my mother's ; blue, with white lilies-of-the-valley on it,” said the so-called prosaic mother of a large family. “It’s foolish, I suppose; ºs-sm- \& sº § j|\}\%. º $º § SS §§ § º š : É === º ºº:::::7;r: 5:33 º C Ø º É $º ºšiūţăniuţiiliff G SSXS º & 23:2::3% ~ § §§ º © º tº QºS2 Sºº. SSS: à §§º: Hº: | * * =--- SS Ç Bºš Sºº-ºº: º § § § : C SºS & $ -º-º: Šºš C C ...to Qſ) D- § º -P l U \\ * — fif ~f Yl º:2° 1. == º * --> s # -N E- =s º-sº Fº º tº-sº # = :-ts * -- s ºE-sºº ºt == THE TEA-TABLE. 237 but I have a fancy that we are all better, as well as happier, for our Sabbath-day tea.” Such foolishness is more than shrewdness or clever guess-work. It is spiritual insight. “Our Sabbath-day tea" is, in that house- hold, the swept and garnished nook that will expand into the orderliness and beauty of the whole life. The faith that reaches after the inner refinement, of which the best china—“blue, with lilies-of- the valley,” is the visible type, may be but a little leaven, but of such potency that years nor generations shall suffice to trace out its workings. If he is accounted a benefactor in his age who makes two blades of grass grow where but one grew before, what praise shall be awarded to her whose kitchen-range is an altar of sacrifice to the love that strives continually to express tender and unceasing thought of the objects beloved, not in words only, but in deeds 2 We may smile at the linked images of supper-rolls and devotion akin to that which moved a Rachel Russel and a Margaret More; of a surprise-salad set before the jaded husband at tea-time, and such sympathy with his too arduous labors and pecuniary trials as robs the wife's cheek of bloom and her eyes of slumber. The truth remains, and is stubborn, that hungry Jeannot would rather Jeannette should meet him with an omelette, than with a rose-bud, as an evening welcome home. “A cold tea " is a convenience to housekeeper and to help. Paterfamilias agrees outwardly to the assurance that it is more wholesome for the children. For all that, he appreciates the pleasing iniquity of one covered dish and the hot biscuits that ought to-but-seldom-do give him dyspeptic night-mares, while he and the boys are secretly conscious of an increase of self- respect when, on the blessed Sunday evening, the best china is set out for them. As a people, we know too little, and care less, for family fétes. In our aversion to foreign sentimentalities, we deny utterance to 238 HOUSE AND HOME. feelings that honor our humanity; make bare and lonely the lives for which we would lay down our own. And what other of our household meals can be so easily converted into a feast that shall wear the air of a voluntary tribute of affection, a benediction and caress, that shall efface the day's worries, and give tone to the evening's pleasures, as our “FAMILY TEA ''' WHAT OUR CHILDREN EAT. N an interesting and valuable little work entitled “Food for the | Invalid,” the late Dr. J. Milner Fothergill, of London, said, “up to a recent period, oatmeal porridge and milk was the food of the nursery, par excellence, and is still so where the parents possess good sense and the children good digestion—condi- tions which do not co-exist in every household.” . This one sentence distinctly proclaims the nationality and dwelling-place of the distinguished author. “Up to a recent period” the food of the American nursery has been more “promiscuous” than that of the adult members of the household, by reason of such adjuncts to the regular daily fare as green apples, pop-corn balls, taffy, and candies illimitable and indescribable. - “It is astonishing what children can eat with impunity,” 1S al complacent proverb which could hardly have gained circulation in any other country, if we except Lapland and West Africa. Casting aside imaginative drapings, let us omit from the statement just penned the clause, “Up to a recent period,”—and confess what is the diet of children in ninety-nine hundredths of the homes of the comfortable classes of our enlightened land, abodes where poverty 239 24O HOUSE AND HOME. never lays her scrawny hand on meat or sup. We will furthermore exclude such extreme cases of eccentric dietary as recur at once to the memory of each reader. I have seen a baby just one year and two weeks old, toddling on the orchard-grass and munching, with his double quartette of small white teeth, wind-fall pears of an inferior grade at best, which his mother asserts, “agree with him as nothing else does.” Within a month, another, two months younger, was displayed by his proud papa as a prodigy who “will have a bite of anything his mother eats, yet was never sick in his life.” A year or so ago, I was accosted in my walk on a farmhouse porch by a laughing father, and made to hearken to a story of a feat performed by his whey-faced three-year-old, who had been brought out of town to recruit from a severe attack of cholera infantum. “The young dog attacked a basket of peaches, not over-ripe ones either, standing by the kitchen door, and ate ten before I left Him I ?” With a hinted doubt as to the propriety of terming these “ex- treme cases,” as American families go—let us see what is the ordinary nourishment (?) of the American boy or girl from eight- een months old and upward. Bobby's mamma orders for breakfast:-Oatmeal porridge : fish. balls; stewed kidneys; fried potatoes; hot rolls; buckwheat cakes and syrup; oranges; pears; tea and coffee. Bobby's eyes roll eagerly over the board as the several dishes are brought on, and when, well-stuffed and happy, he alights from his tall chair at the end of the meal, his bib indicates that he has sampled all, if he has not partaken to satiety of each one. And this not because he is a spoiled child who clamors for forbidden food. He is more than passably docile and obedient, but nobody thinks of refusing to give him kidneys, fried potatoes, buckwheats WHAT OUR CHILDREN EAT. 24I or coffee. His mother could not decide, if questioned, which of these is wholesome fare for infants, and which likely to prove deleterious to the young stomach. She has probably never given the matter a thought. At dinner there will be soup, fish, highly seasoned entrees, pastry and black coffee. The supper table will be inviting with lobster salad, Welsh rarebit, jelly-roll, crullers and preserves. Bobby has his share of all, and goes to bed within one hour after bolting the last doughnut, as thoughtless of evil as is the fond parent, who might as kindly treat him to india-rubber au gratºn and bullets au naturel. He lives through it? Why—yes—generally. That is, he does not always and immediately die as the unmistakable result of the poison. His system takes care of it somehow, or gets rid of it somehow else. If, by the time he is thirty, the long-suffering stomach will pay no more debts of his contracting, who reckons up the account back to infancy and reveals why the trial-balance does not come out right? He lived through scarlet fever, but it left him slightly deaf; the measles kept him a prisoner all of one winter, and his eyes have been weak ever since; or the arm he broke on the base-ball ground is not quite as supple as the other. All these drawbacks are recorded in the family memory, and freely discussed. Not even the always-vigilant, never-forgetful mother thinks of associating childish excesses in eating with the lad’s sick headache, or the man's defective digestion. While we cannot set aside the weighty bulk of evidence in sup- port of the influence of heredity upon the rising race, we may well, for a while, withhold our feet from spurning the bones of our fore- fathers, and look for a more modern solution of the ills of our corporeal frames. 242 HOUSE AND HOME. We may not love our British cousins, but we cannot deny to them the possession of brawn, phosphates and complexions. Their climate is execrable for eight months of the year, yet we take it for granted that they owe their superiority in the matter of constitution and nerve to atmospheric influences. Johnny Bull, Jr., breakfasts on porridge, and sups on bread and milk; dines on plain roast or boiled meat, potatoes and rice pudding; tastes plum cake at Christmas; hardly knows the flavor of tea or coffee, and eats less candy in twenty years than our free-born Bobby disposes of in a twelvemonth. I once put a magazine article on “The Royal Children’’ in the hands of a shrewd, sallow lad of twelve. He looked up presently, with a sniff of infinite contempt. “I don't think it pays to be a prince if a fellow has got to dine every day on boiled mutton and babies' pudding !” We set better tables, so far as variety and abundance go, than any other people in the world, eat more, and digest it less comfort- ably than any sister civilized nation. This generation is beyond repair in these particulars. For abatement of American dyspepsia we must 1ook to the mothers who are making the constitutions and History of the coming century. The article from which our text is drawn goes on to give the preference to hominy over oatmeal, and recommends American maize as “being the richest in fat of all the cerealia, while it con- tains albuminoid matter in as high a proportion as does wheat. Preparations of maize,” it says, “are peculiarly adapted to the nursery.” Our Bobby, accustomed to the varied menus I have sketched, would rebel hotly against a breakfast of hominy and milk. I once Heard him condemn mush as “chicken feed.” He and his elder brother and sisters are products of an artificial civilization, modeled WHAT OUR CHILDREN EAT. 243 on the American pattern. But it is possible to bring up Bobby's baby-brother in ignorance of the savoriness of fried oysters and the piquancy of curries; to train his healthy desire for food in the direction of cereals, milk, boiled eggs, roast beef and boiled mutton, fresh ripe fruits, and what our scornful young democrat stigmatized as “babies' pudding.” Sustained by such fare, his digestion will grow stronger with years, his bones firm, his brain clear, and his nerves steady. He may not be mannish so soon as the boy next door, who complains that his coffee is not strong enough to brace him up, and is critical of ragouts and zo/-au-zents, but he will be more manly in a sturdy, wholesome way, with the sort of superiority the elm has over the ailantus. As a preliminary step, let the mother settle dietetic problems on the basis of what Baby may eat, not what he can devour, and apparently digest. INTRODUCTORY TO MENUS. have sought to accomplish three things: First and chiefly—To be practical. Secondly—To express my meaning clearly and fully. Thirdly—To adapt menu and recipes to the service of people of | the preparation of this series of bill-of-fare for family use I moderate means. “How do you make your delicious chicken salad?” asked one housekeeper of another, in the day when the dish was comparatively Ile W. “Oh, I put in all the good things I can think of, and when it tastes just right, I stop,” was the satisfactory reply. Too many recipes, furnished by practical cooks, and printed for the use of the inexperienced, are constructed on this principle, and presuppose skill and judgment in the tyro. Almost as serious is the blunder of yielding to the temptation to write out showy lists of dishes as model meals, for the reader whose income is not above the average of that of the young merchant, or professional man. The true cook has, in her modest sphere, such pleasure in recipe- making as the musician or poet has in composition. All three fail of popularity when they discourage, instead of animating those they would instruct. The teacher's province is not to display his own proficiency, but to develop the pupil's powers. 245 246 HOUSE AND HOME. Tuition that falls short of this end is failure. The housewife who has a fixed and small allowance for market- ing, reads in the Home Corner of her family newspaper a breakfast menu that calls for a dish of meat, one of fish, and another of eggs; for two kinds of hot bread; for oatmeal porridge; potatoes, fruit, coffee, and milled chocolate—and, with a sinking heart, she turns elsewhere for help in her attempt to vary the monotony of the first, and most trying meal of the day. Recipes and cook-books are not prepared for millionaires' wives. Our prudent manager knows as well as does her would-be mentor, that few families, even among her wealthy neighbors, sit down daily to breakfast-tables spread as lavishly as the imaginary board above sketched. To discourage- ment is added contempt for the printed guide that would assert the contrary to be the rule. A clever little woman who has a positive genius for cookery, threw up her hands tragically when I recommended as easily-made and cheap the oyster-bisque, directions for which will be found hereafter. “I have a recipe for oyster-bisque, thank you ! It calls for sixteen ingredients. I counted them. One of them is a quart of cream. I could not put that soup into my tureen for less than $1.50, not computing time and labor. I do not believe in fifty-cent dinners for six people, but we can't afford five-dollar feasts for every day.” A novice brought to me once, an article clipped from a favorite weekly, in which minute instructions were given, dialogically, for the manufacture of meat dumplings. The tale—as a tale—hung well together. But the meat never went into the pastry. Why and how they were kept apart was a worse quandary than the King's enigma as to how the apple got into his dumpling. With this prefatory, and I trust, not tedious laying of the cloth, we will proceed to business. N -, -, --~ * \ T- Ptarmigan. artridge. --- ºr cºſ º– Boiled fowl. Roast Duck. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. No. 1. BREAKFAST. Coarse Hominy. Potato Rolls. - Fried Pigs' Feet, Breaded. Buttered Toast. Cold Bread. Fruit. º Tea. Coffee. COARSE HOMINY. This is otherwise known as cracked corn. Wash it well and set it to soak over night. In the morning, drain and cook soft in boiling water, salted. Eat with sugar and cream, or cream only. POTATO ROLLs. One cup of potato, mashed or whipped, until smooth and light, with two tablespoonfuls of butter and two cups of lukewarm milk; one tablespoonful of sugar; one scant cup of flour; one-half yeast cake—dissolved in warm water; one teaspoonful of salt—an even one; mix these together, using but half the flour over night, and - 7 248 HOUSE AND HOME. leave them to rise. Early in the morning, work in the rest of the flour, knead thoroughly and let it rise for an hour and a half; mold into small rolls after a second brisk, hard kneading, set in a pan and leave in a warm place for half an hour before baking. Send hot to the table. FRIED PIGs' FEET, BREADED. Buy the pigs’ feet ready pickled from your butcher. If they have only been kept in brine, soak three hours and boil until tender. While hot, cover with boiling vinegar, in which you have put a tablespoonful of sugar and half a dozen whole black pepper- corns for each cupful of vinegar. Do this the day before you cook them for breakfast. Before frying, wipe each piece well, roll in beaten egg, then in cracker crumbs, and cook in plenty of cleared dripping or lard. Drain off the fat, and send to the table hot. BUTTERED TOAST. Slice the bread nearly an inch thick, pare off the crust, and toast quickly over a clear fire, buttering each piece lightly as you take it from the toaster. Lay in a hot dish until all are done. As soon as the last slice comes from the fire, send all to the table. Should a corner scorch, scrape before you butter it. The whole surface should be of a light yellow brown. LUNCHEON. Roe Omelette. Steamed Brown Bread. Stewed Potatoes. Crackers and Cheese. Cake and Marmalade. Chocolate. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 249 ROE OMELETTE. Boil the roe of the shad you are to bake for dinner in hot water, with a little salt, for twenty minutes. Take it out and plunge into ice-cold water until cold and firm. Wipe, and break into a granulated mass, removing all the skin and strings. Mix this with a tablespoonful of butter, a tablespoonful of minced parsley, and season cautiously with salt and cayenne pepper. Have ready in a saucepan half a cupful of drawn butter. Beat the roe into it, and set in boiling water while you make an omelette of six eggs whipped light, whites and yolks together. Add a little salt, pour the eggs into a frying-pan where a tablespoonful of butter is simmering; shake steadily until the omelette thickens, spread the roe mixture on half of it, double the other part over it, and turn out dexterously on a hot dish. Garnish with parsley. STEAMED BROWN BREAD. One cup of rye meal (not flour); one cup of Indian meal; half a cup of Graham flour; one cup of milk; half a cup of molasses, (syrup will not do); one even teaspoonful of salt, and the same of soda. Sift flour, meal, salt and soda twice together to mix all well. Add the molasses to the milk, and work into the flour; knead for five minutes, turn into a greased mold and steam for three hours. Eat hot; but it is also good when cold. STEWED POTATOES. Peel and cut in small square bits, dropping these in cold water as you go on. Cook tender in boiling, salted water. Turn off half of this when they are nearly done, and replace with a like quantity of hot 25O HOUSE AND HOME. milk in which has been dissolved a tablespoonful of butter cut up in flour. Simmer three or four minutes, pepper, salt, and stir in a teaspoonful of finely cut parsley. Boil up and dish. CHOCOLATE. Six tablespoonfuls of chocolate wet to a paste with cold water. One quart of milk. Heat the milk in a farina kettle, stir in the chocolate paste and boil five minutes. Draw the kettle to the front of the range, and with a clean Dover egg-beater, whip the hot chocolate one minute before pouring into the pot in which it is to go to the table. Sweeten in the cups. DINNER, Purée Maigre. Baked Shad and Mashed Potatoes. Beefsteak with Sherry Sauce. Spinach au naturel. Suet and Sago Pudding, Neapolitan Sauce. Fruit. Coffee. PUREE MAIGRE. One turnip ; one carrot; half an onion; one tablespoonful of chopped cabbage; half a can of tomatoes; half a cup of raw rice; stalk of celery, chopped; three tablespoonfuls of butter cut up in two of prepared flour; two tablespoonfuls of chopped parsley; one quart of cold water; pepper and salt to taste; one teaspoonful of sugar; one cup of milk. Pare and grate turnip and carrot. Peel, and slice the onion, and parboil it with the cabbage for twenty minutes, throwing the SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 25I water away. Soak the rice for two hours. Put all the vegetables except the tomatoes, with the rice and cold water, into the soup 1zettle; cover and stew gently for an hour after the boil is reached, Add the tomatoes, simmer for half an hour, and run through a colander. Return to the fire, stir to a boil, add the floured butter, boil up a little faster and stir in the milk, scalding hot. Season and pour out. Be careful not to let the purée “catch" in cooking. (Put a tiny bit of soda in the milk.) smm mºme BAKED SHAD. Wash and wipe a fine roe-shad, inside and out. Have ready a forcemeat of crumbs, a very little minced fat salt pork, a teaspoonful of butter, and one of minced parsley, seasoned with salt and pepper. Sew this up in the fish, lay the latter in a dripping pan, pour over it a cup of boiling water, and bake for one hour, at least, covered. Baste five times with butter-and-water, while baking. Transfer the shad to a hot-water dish ; make the gravy by stirring into the liquor left in the pan the juice of a lemon, a tablespoonful of browned flour wet up with cold water, a little salt and pepper. Boil up sharply, and send to the table in a gravy-boat. Garnish the shad with slices of lemon, on each of which is laid a little finely- bruised parsley. Send mashed potato around with it. BEEFSTEAK WITH SHERRY SAUCE. Broil the steak in the usual way, lay it within the chafing dish, and cover it with the sauce, after which put on the top of the dish and let the steak stand five minutes before it is served. 252 HOUSE AND HOME. SAUCE. One glass of sherry; juice of half a lemon; one tablespoonful of catsup; two tablespoonfuls of butter cut up in one teaspoonful of browned flour; half a teaspoonful of salt; a quarter-teaspoonful of pepper. Heat butter, catsup and lemon juice in a saucepan, add seasoning and wine, boil up quickly, and pour upon the steak. SPINACH au naturel. Wash, pick off the leaves, rejecting the stems, and put over the fire in just enough boiling, salted water to cover it well. Cook fast for twenty minutes, turn into a hot colander, and let it drain into a vessel set on the range until all the water has run off. Stir into it quickly a tablespoonful of butter, a little salt and pepper, press firmly to get the shape of the colander on the under side of the mass, and invert upon a hot platter. Lay hard boiled eggs sliced about the base. Serve very hot. SUET AND SAGO PUDDING. Four tablespoonfuls of sago, soaked for four hours in cold water enough to cover it; a generous half cup of powdered suet; one cup of fine dried crumbs; one cup of milk and a tiny bit of soda; one cup of sugar; four eggs; one teaspoonful of corn-starch wet with milk; one even cup of Sultana raisins; one even teaspoonful of salt. When the sago has soaked for the required time, stir it into the heated milk, and bring almost to a boil before adding the required crumbs. Pour this on the beaten eggs and sugar, beat one minute, and add suet, sago, corn-starch and salt. Butter a SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 253 straight-sided mold, and strew with raisins carefully washed, dried and rolled in flour. Put in the batter carefully, a little at a time, not to wash the raisins to the top. Steam two hours. Dip in cold water and turn out on a hot platter. NEAPOLITAN SAUCE. Two cups of powdered sugar; two tablespoonfuls of butter; two tablespoonfuls of red currant jelly; juice of half a lemon. Warm the butter slightly, and stir with the sugar to a cream. Divide into two parts, whip the lemon juice into one, the jelly into the other. Wet a bowl and fill with alternate strata of white and pink sauce. Let it cool on the ice, and when hard pass a knife close to the sides of the bowl to loosen it. Send to table on a cold salver. No. 2. BREAKFAST. Wheat Germ. Meal Porridge. Ragout of Liver. Egg Biscuit. Watercresses. Strawberries. Tea. Coffee. WHEAT GERM MEAL PORRIDGE. This excellent breakfast cereal is particularly good when boiled in milk-and-water in equal quantities. Wet up a cupful of the “germ meal” in cold water to a thick mush, thin to gruel-like consistency with hot milk, and cook fifteen minutes in a farina lcettle, after the water in the outer vessel reaches a boil. Salt to taste and eat with cream. 254 HOUSE AND HOME. RAGOUT OF LIVER, Heat three or four spoonfuls of nice dripping in a frying-pan, add an onion, sliced, a tablespoonful of chopped parsley, and thrice as much minced breakfast-bacon; when all are hissing hot, lay in the liver cut in pieces as long and wide as your middle finger and fry brown, turning often ; take out the liver and keep warm in a covered hot water dish; strain the gravy, rinse out the frying-pan, and return to the fire with the gravy, and an even tablespoonful of butter worked up well in two of browned flour. Stir until you have a smooth, brown rouar, thin gradually with half a cupful of boiling water and the juice of half a lemon; add a teaspoonful of minced pickle and a scant half teaspoonful of curry powder wet with cold water. Boil sharply, pour over the liver, put fresh boiling water in the pan under the dish, and let all stand closely covered for ten minutes before serving. EGG BISCUIT. Two cups of warm milk; two eggs; two heaping tablespoonfuls of butter; half a cake of compressed yeast, dissolved in warm water; one quart of sifted flour; one teaspoonful of salt. Mix with the butter (melted, but not hot) the yeast, salt and three cups of flour together over night, and set in a covered bowl to rise. Early in the morning, add the beaten eggs and the rest of the flour, and set for a second rising of an hour, or longer. When light, roll into a sheet almost an inch thick, cut into round cakes, and lay in a floured baking pan. At the end of half an hour, bake in a good oven. They are delicious, cold or hot. WATERCRESSES. Wash well, pick off decayed leaves, and leave in ice-water until you are ready to eat them. They should then be shaken free of INTRODUCTORY TO MENUS. 255 wet, and piled lightly in a glass dish. Eat with salt. They are a piquant appetizer on sultry mornings, and very wholesome. STRAWBERRIES. Do not ruin the flavor by washing them, nor wither them and sap their sweetness by laying them in sugar. “Cap" with cool, light fingers, heap in a bowl, and sprinkle sugar on them after they are served in the saucers to waiting eaters expectant. The larger varieties of strawberries are best served with caps and stems on. The eater uses the latter as handles, and dips the berries into dry sugar, one by one. This is the prettiest way of eating breakfast strawberries. Af gº tºº-º-º-º: LUNCHEON. Clam Scallops. Deviled Tongue. Stewed Potatoes. Radishes. Crackers and Cheese. Tea and Cake. CLAM SCALLOPS. Chop 50 clams fine, and drain off through a colander all the liquor that will come away. Mix this in a bowl with a cupful of crushed crackers, half a cupful of milk, two beaten eggs, a table- spoonful of melted butter, half a teaspoonful of salt, a pinch of mace and the same of cayenne pepper. Beat into this the chopped clams, and fill with the mixture, clam shells, or the silver or stone-china shell-shaped dishes sold for this purpose. Bake to a light brown in a quick oven, and serve in the shells. Send around sliced lemon with them. 256 IHOUSE AND HOME. DEVILED TONGUE. Slice a cold boiled tongue (fresh or smoked) and fry the slices quickly in nice dripping. If you have none, use butter. Chop a little onion fine and stir in before the tongue is fried. Take up the slices, arrange neatly, overlapping one another, in a hot-water dish. Strain the fat, return to the fire, stir in a teaspoonful of browned flour, half a teaspoonful of Worcestershire sauce, a tablespoonful of vinegar, a quarter of a teaspoonful of mustard, a pinch of cayenne, and half a cupful of boiling water. Stir, and boil for one minute, and pour over the tongue. RADISHES. Cut down the tops to within an inch of the roots. Wash, scrape off the fibers, and arrange tastefully on a dish with bits of ice between them. === DINNER, Browned Potato Soup. Shad Baked with Wine Sauce. Larded Leg of Mutton. Green Peas. Stewed Macaroni. Strawberry Shortcake. Coffee. BROWN POTATO SOUP. A dozen potatoes of fair size; half an onion, sliced; two quarts of boiling water; two tablespoonfuls of chopped parsley; two eggs, beaten light; half a cup of milk; pepper, salt and cleared dripping for frying; a tablespoonful of butter; heat the dripping in a round- SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 257 bottomed saucepan and fry the potatoes (peeled carefully so as to leave all the starch in them, then left in cold water for half an hour) and onion to a fine brown; drain, drop them in the boiling water, and cook soft. Rub through the colander back into the kettle with the water in which they were boiled; add the parsley, stir to a bub- bling boil, and season with pepper and salt. Heat the milk in another saucepan, melt the butter in it, add the eggs, stir one minute; take the soup-kettle from the fire, pour in the milk and eggs, and serve at once. If the potatoes do not thicken the water to a purée, roll the butter in a tablespoonful of flour and stir directly into the soup kettle instead of into the milk. SHAD BAKED WITH WINE SAUCE. Clean, without splitting the fish, leaving on the head and tail. Lay in a dripping pan, pour a small cupful of boiling water over it, invert another dripping pan upon the lower, and bake one hour, basting six times with butter and water from the dripping pan. Transfer the fish to a hot platter; strain the gravy into a saucepan; thicken with a heaping teaspoonful of browned flour; season with salt and pepper, and add at the last a glass of brown sherry. Pour over the fish, and send to table covered. LARDED LEG OF MUTTON. Cut half-inch wide strips of fat salt pork into lengths of four inches. With a narrow-bladed knife, make horizontal incisions in the meat to the bone, and, where this does not oppose the blade, clear through the joint. Roll these “lardoons” in a mixture of pepper, mace and vinegar, and insert in the holes made by the knife. If you have a larding needle, the task is easier. Set the meat in a 258 HOUSE AND HOME. dripping pan, dash a cupful of boiling water over it, and roast ten minutes for each pound, basting often. Ten minutes before taking it up, rub over with a mixture of a teaspoonful of butter and two tablespoonfuls of tart jelly. Strain the gravy, pour off the fat, and thicken what is left with browned flour, season with salt and pepper, boil up, and serve in a boat. * mºmeºmºmº GREEN PEAs. Boil the pods fifteen minutes in slightly salted water; strain them out, drop in the peas, and cook tender, but not until they break. Drain dry; stir in salt, pepper, and a good lump of butter. Serve hot. STEWED MACARONI. Half a pound of “pipe” or “straw” macaroni; one cup of milk; one teaspoonful of minced onion; one tablespoonful of but- ter; half a cupful of cheese; pepper and salt to taste, and a bit of soda in the milk; break the macaroni into 'short pieces, and cook about twenty minutes in boiling water, salted. Meanwhile, heat the milk (dropping in a tiny pinch of soda), with the onion to the scalding point. Strain out the onion, drain the water from the macaroni, and put the milk into a sauce-pan. Stir in the butter, cheese, pepper and salt, finally, the macaroni. Cook three minutes, and turn into a deep dish. STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE. One cup of powdered sugar; one tablespoonful of butter; three eggs; one rounded cup of prepared flour; two tablespoonfuls of cream; one generous quart of berries. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 259 Rub the butter and sugar to a cream; whip in the beaten yolks, the cream, the whites, at last, the flour. Bake in three jelly cake tins and let the cakes get cold. Cut the berries into halves, and lay between them, sprinkling the strata with sugar. Sift sugar on the topmost layer. Slice and eat with cream. No. 3. BREAKFAST. Brewis. Cornmeal Dodgers. Deviled Beef in Batter. Cold Bread. Browned Potatoes. Fruit. Tea. . Coffee. BREWIS. One even cup of dried bread crumbs; a pint of milk; a quarter- teaspoonful of salt; two tablespoonfuls of butter. Save crusts and broken slices from day to day. When you go to bed, the night before you wish to make brewis, spread these bits in a dripping-pan and set in the cooling oven to dry. Take them out in the morning, and crush with the rolling pin into rather coarse crumbs. Heat the milk, salt it, and when it boils, stir in the crumbs gradually until you have granulated mush. It should not get stiff. Now, put in the butter, stir and beat until hot, and serve in an open dish. Eat with sugar and cream. CORNMEAL DODGERS. One quart of Indian meal; one quart of boiling milk; two tablespoonfuls of sugar; half a yeast cake, dissolved in warm water; 26o HOUSE AND HOME. one tablespoonful of lard and the same of butter; one even teaspoonful of salt. Scald the meal with the milk, stir in the sugar and shortening, and, when it is almost cold, beat in the yeast. Let it rise all night. Beat up again one hour before breakfast, and set it for a second rising. Heat a dripping pan, grease well, and drop the stiff batter on it by the spoonful. Let these be an inch or two apart, that they may not run into one another, and shut up in a quick oven to bake. They should be rough on top, and higher in the middle than at the sides. If the batter runs, add a very little flour. It must be stiff enough to stand in a heap. Eat very hot. DEVILED BEEF IN BATTER. Cut slices of underdone roast beef, and lay them for an hour in a mixture of half a cup of vinegar, half a teaspoonful, each, of salt and made mustard. Turn them over and over, several times, to absorb the dressing. Lay on a clean cloth, press with another to take up the liquid, and dip in a batter made in the proportion of one egg, half a cup of milk and two tablespoonfuls of prepared flour, with a little salt. Fry in dripping or lard, drain off the grease, and serve. BROWNED POTATOES. Boil in their skins, dry off and peel, set in a baking pan in the oven, and as they heat, butter three times at intervals of five minutes to glaze them. LUNCHEON. Scalloped Cod, Halibutor Salmon. Hashed Potatoes, Browned. Cold Bread. Butter. Pickles. Crackers and Cheese. Lady Cake. Tea. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 26I ScALLOPED Cod, HALIBUT OR SALMON. Two pounds of cold boiled fish; two cups of milk; one even cup of bread crumbs; two tablespoonfuls of prepared flour; pepper and salt to taste; one tablespoonful of finely minced parsley; two eggs. Pick the fish fine with a fork, heat the salted milk in a saucepan, rub the flour and butter together, stir into the milk, with pepper and parsley, and pour this on the beaten eggs. Strew the bottom of a baking dish with crumbs, put in a layer of sauce, then one of fish, another of sauce, and so on until the ingredients are used up. Cover with the rest of the crumbs and bake, covered, until it bubbles all over, then brown. HASHED PotATOEs, BROWNED. Pare and cut potatoes into small dice; lay these in cold water for half an hour; stew tender, but not soft, in hot, salted water; turn this off, and cover the potatoes with a cup of hot milk, in which you have melted a tablespoonful of butter cut up in a teaspoonful of prepared flour. Turn all into a greased pudding, or pie dish, and brown lightly in a quick oven. Q. LADY CAKE. One and a half cups of powered sugar; half cup of butter; two tablespoonfuls of milk; whites of five eggs; two even cups of sifted prepared flour; One teaspoonful of bitter almond flavoring. Rub butter and sugar to a cream, add the milk and flavoring, then whites and flour alternately. Bake in jelly cake tins, and when they are cold, divide by layers of whipped cream, sifting sugar on top. 262 HOUSE AND HOME. DINNER, Catfish Soup. Larded Liver. Canned Corn Pudding. Stewed Tomatoes. Russian Cream. Light Cake. Fruit. Coffee, CATFISH Soup. Three pounds of fish when they have been cleaned, skinned and beheaded; two cups of milk, heated, with a tiny bit of soda; two tablespoonfuls of prepared flour rubbed up with three of but- ter; two beaten eggs; two tablespoonfuls of minced parsley; three cups of cold water; pepper and salt. Cover the fish with cold water and stew gently until the flesh slips easily from the bones; take from the fire, pick out and throw away the bones; chop the fish, strain the liquor in which it was boiled, and return all to the fire; as it boils, stir in floured butter, seasoning and parsley; boil two minutes; pour the scalding milk from another vessel over the eggs, turn into the tureen, add the fish-soup and serve. Line the tureen with Boston crackers, split, soaked in boiling milk and well-buttered before pouring the soup upon them. Pass sliced lemon with it. LARDED LIVER, Wash a fresh calf's liver, and soak it for an hour in cold water slightly salt. Wipe dry, and with a sharp knife, make perpendicu- lar incisions clear through the liver about an inch apart. Into these, thrust strips of fat salt pork long enough to project on both sides. Into the bottom of a pot or saucepan put a tablespoonful of minced onion, some chopped parsley or other sweet herbs, pepper, SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 263 and a half-cupful of strained tomato juice. On this lay the liver, sprinkle as much onion on top as there is below, cover very tightly and set at one side of the range, where it will not reach the boiling point under an hour. Gradually increase the heat, but never let it be strong, for two hours more, when uncover the pot for the first time, to test with a fork if it be tender. It should be so tender that the fork enters as easily as into the crumby heart of a well-baked loaf. Take out the liver and keep hot, while you strain the gravy, thicken with a great spoonful of browned flour wet in cold water, and when it boils, add a glass of sherry. Pour over the liver. Carve the latter horizontally. It is as good cold as hot. CANNED CORN PUDDING. Mince the corn fine. Beat up three eggs, add two tablespoonfuls of sugar, the same of melted butter, an even teaspoonful of salt and a cupful of milk, lastly the corn. Beat hard and bake covered in a greased pudding dish half an hour, then uncover to brown delicately. STEWED TOMATOES. Cook twenty minutes, before seasoning with a tablespoonful of butter, an even teaspoonful of sugar, less than half as much salt, a dash of pepper, and the merest suspicion of minced onion. Stew five minutes longer, add a teaspoonful of fine crumbs, boil up and Serve. RUSSIAN CREAM. Half a package of Cooper's gelatine, soaked four hours in water enough to cover it; one quart of milk; four eggs; two cups of sugar; a generous glass of sherry; two teaspoonfuls of vanilla. 264 HOUSE AND HOME. Scald the milk, take from the fire, and stir into it the yolks of the eggs beaten light with the sugar; also the gelatine. Stir all the time while mixing and return to the fire; boil five minutes, still stirring, remove to the table, add the whites beaten to a froth, the flavoring and wine, strain through a sieve, and pour into molds wet with cold water. Set in a cold place to form. It is well to make it the day before it is to be eaten, if you have an early din- ner; in the early morning, if you dine in the evening. It is deli- cious. Eat with cake. No. 4. BREAKFAST. Graham Porridge. Fried Tripe. Fice Muffins. Fried Potatoes. Tea. Coffee. * GRAHAM PORRIDGE. One cup of Graham flour; one cup of boiling water—a large one; one cup of hot milk; salt to your liking. Wet the flour with cold water, and stir into the boiling, which should be in a farina kettle. Salt to taste, and cook half an hour, stirring up from the bottom now and then. Pour in the warm milk a little at a time, mixing well, and cook ten minutes after it is all in. Serve in an open dish, and eat with cream and sugar. FRIED TRIPE. Cut pickled tripe into squares as large as the palm of the Hand; wash in two waters, and cover with boiling water. Simmer gently for twenty minutes, turn off the water and put in, instead, SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 265 an equal quantity of milk-and-water, cold. Bring to a boil, drain and wipe the tripe, rub each piece with butter and pepper, with salt, if needed; roll in flour or egg and crumbs, and fry in hot dripping. Drain off the fat and serve on a heated dish. Send lemon and Chili sauce around with the tripe. RICE MUFFINS. One cup of cold boiled rice; two cups of milk; half a yeast cake, dissolved in half a cupful of warm water; one full tablespoonful of lard, melted; one tablespoonful of sugar; one teaspoonful of salt; three cups of flour; bit of soda, twice the size of a pea, dissolved in boiling water. Rub the lard and sugar into the rice, and into this, the milk, working out the lumps. Add the yeast, and flour enough for a good batter. Leave it to rise five or six hours, stir in soda and salt, beating hard, half fill muffin tins, let them stand, covered, twenty minutes, and bake. They are richer if you add two eggs in the morning after the “long rising.” Eat hot. FRIED POTATOES. \! Pare potatoes, and slice thin, or cut into strips. Lay in cold water for an hour, spread on a dry towel, and, covering with another, gently pat them to dry off the moisture. Have ready hot dripping, and fry quickly to a light brown, not too many at once. Take up with a split spoon, and shake in a hot colander to free them from grease. Serve in a dish lined with a hot napkin. Mem. : Do not let them get warm after you take them out of the ice-water, before cooking them. 266 HOUSE AND HOME. LUNCHEON. Meringued Eggs. Welsh Rarebit. Bread and Butter. Prudence's Gingerbread. Cocoa-theta. MERINGUED EGGs. Whip the whites of the eggs very stiff. Lay great spoonfuls of the standing froth on a platter that will stand the oven heat. With the back of a tablespoon make a hollow in the middle of each heap, and put a raw yolk in it. Set in the oven until the meringue begins to color faintly, sprinkle with pepper and salt, lay a bit of butter on each egg, and serve in the platter in which they were baked. WELSH RAREBIT. Six rounds of toasted bread; two beaten eggs; three large spoonfuls of dry grated cheese; one tablespoonful of butter; two tablespoonfuls of fine crumbs; one tablespoonful of cream ; one saltspoonful of mustard; a pinch of cayenne; a saltspoonful of salt. Work the butter, cheese, salt, pepper and cream gradually into a smooth paste, add the beaten eggs, the crumbs, and spread half an inch thick on rounds of buttered toast. If the paste is not laid on heavily, it will be absorbed in cooking. Set in a quick oven until they begin to brown. Eat at once. PRUDENCE's GINGERBREAD (without eggs). One cup of molasses; one cup of sugar; one cup of buttermilk, or loppered milk; half a cup of butter; one tablespoonful of SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 267 ginger; one teaspoonful of cinnamon, or nutmeg, or mace; about four cups of flour; one rounded teaspoonful of soda, sifted twice with the flour. Stir butter, sugar, molasses and spice together; when you have warmed them slightly, put in the milk, and then the flour. Beat until the batter is several shades lighter than when you began, and bake at once in small tins. Cocoa-THETA. Heat four cups of milk in a farina kettle; stir in, when it is scalding hot, four tablespoonfuls of Wilbur's cocoa-theta, and leave in the boiling water, covered, for five or six minutes before pouring it out. This is a most delicious preparation of the chocolate family. Many who cannot drink cocoa as usually put up, may take this without harm to head or stomach. It is a pleasing accompaniment to gingerbread. DINNER. Corn Soup (maigre). Boiled Cod with Egg Sauce. Baked Mutton Chops. Baked Spaghetti. Fried Bananas. Orange Pudding. Fruit. Coffee. CORN SOUP (Maigre). One can of corn; two cups of milk; one quart of water; three eggs; three tablespoonfuls of butter, rolled in as much flour; one tablespoonful of chopped parsley; pepper and salt to taste. Chop the corn fine, and put into a quart of boiling water in a farina kettle. Cook for an hour, rub through a colander, season 268 HOUSE AND HOME. with pepper and salt, put back in the kettle, heat to a boil, and stir in the floured butter. Scald the milk in a separate vessel (dropping in a tiny bit of soda) pour it slowly on the beaten eggs, keeping the egg-beater going all the time, add to the soup; stir for one minute; put in the chopped parsley, and pour into the tureen. BOILED COD. Select a firm, thick piece of fish; sew up in mosquito net and put over the fire in plenty of boiling, salted water. Cook one hour for a piece that weighs between four and five pounds. Undo the netting, lay the fish on a hot dish, rub all over with butter and lemon juice, and put three tablespoonfuls of the egg-sauce on it, the rest in a boat. EGG SAUCE. Heat a cup of milk and water—equal quantities of both ; when it boils, stir in a heaping tablespoonful of butter, rubbed together with as much flour. Cook three minutes, and turn it out upon two eggs beaten light. Return to the fire; add a tablespoonful of chopped parsley and a hard boiled egg minced very fine. Boil one minute —no more—and pour out. BAKED MUTTON CHOPS. Trim them neatly, and let them lie in a mixture of melted butter, pepper, salt and lemon juice for half an hour, turning over and rubbing the chops faithfully with it. Arrange the meat in a dripping pan, and, as it heats, baste with hot water in which has been dissolved a little butter. Keep covered except when basting them. When the chops are nicely browned, remove to a SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 269 hot-water dish to keep warm. Strain the gravy left in the pan, put over the fire with half a cup of strained tomato juice, season, and, as it boils, stir in enough browned flour to thicken it. Cook two minutes, and pour upon the chops when you have sprinkled them with tiny specks of currant jelly. Let them stand covered for three minutes before serving. BAKED SPAGHETTI. “Spaghetti” is otherwise known as “small” or “straw " macaroni, and is considered more delicate, as it is certainly prettier than the “large" or “pipe macaroni.” Break half a pound into even lengths, perhaps into two-inch pieces. It is easier to serve and eat it thus than when long coils of it drip over dish and plate. Cook it gently in boiling, salted water until clear and tender, but not broken. Twenty minutes should suffice. Drain it, and fill a buttered bake-dish with layers of spaghetti divided by layers of grated cheese and butter-bits, seasoned with salt, add a cupful of milk, raising the layers to let it sink to the bottom ; strain grated cheese thickly on the top, and bake, covered, for half an hour. Afterward brown on the upper grating of the oven. FRIED BANANAs. Pare, then slice sound, ripe bananas lengthwise, roll in flour, until thickly coated, and fry to a delicate brown in butter. Line a dish with white, soft paper, lay each slice on it as you take it up, to absorb the grease and send to table very hot. ORANGE PUDDING. Three eggs; One cup of sugar; two tablespoonfuls of butter; juice of two oranges, and half the grated peel of one; juice of a 27o HOUSE AND HOME. lemon; grated peel of half a lemon; two teaspoonfuls of corn- starch or arrowroot—the latter is the better of the two. Whip butter and sugar to a cream; whip in, by degrees, orange and lemon-juice and grated peel; lastly, the yolks of the eggs, and the arrowroot wet with water; have ready a pie-plate lined with a nice paste; fill with the mixture and bake; make a meringue of the beaten whites, and a heaping tablespoonful of powdered sugar, whipping in a teaspoonful of lemon-juice at the last; when the pudding is firm and begins to brown, spread this on the top and leave in the oven until the meringue is “set ’’ and incrusted on the surface. No. 5. BREAKFAST. Wheaten Grits. Fresh Mackerel. Farina Cakes. Stewed Potatoes. Cold Bread. Berries. Tea. Coffee. FRESH MACKEREL. Clean, wash, wipe inside and cut, pepper, salt and roll in Indian meal and fry in hot lard or good dripping; drain, and serve hot. If you wish a sauce for them, add to half a cup of boiling water the juice of a lemon, a quarter-teaspoonful of mustard and a table- spoonful of butter rolled in one of browned flour; salt to liking; boil up once and serve in a gravy boat. FARINA CAKES. One quart of milk; two cups of boiling water; half a cup of farina; three eggs; one scant cup of prepared flour; one table- SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 271 spoonful of melted lard; one teaspoonful of salt; one tablespoonful of molasses. Mix the farina with the boiling water, stir in salt and lard, beat hard, and let it stand in a cool place all night; then beat in the eggs, the molasses, the milk—gradually—and, lastly, the flour, stirring all hard; bake on a hot, greased griddle. They are very nice, if the batter is not too stiff. LUNCHEON. Galantine. Minced Potatoes. Cress Salad. Crackers and Cheese. Cake and Cocoa-theta. GALANTINE. Cut from a piece of fat, fresh pork an oblong piece of skin, five or six inches wide, and eight or ten long. Leave a lining of fat on the inside. Lay in vinegar enough to cover it for four hours; then, spread on a platter, and cover the fat-lining with minced meat of any kind and all kinds (ham holding an important place) veal, mutton, beef, liver, poultry, etc., seasoned piquantly with pepper, salt, herbs, onion, a touch of spice, and a pinch of grated lemon- peel. Moisten with gravy, and put in a bit of fat, now and then. Fold up the pork-rind on all, bringing the edges together, and putting in a stitch or two to hold them in place. Wrap in a single thickness of stout cloth, sewing it closely about it, and put on to boil in plenty of cold water, in which is mixed half a cup of vinegar to each quart of water. Boil slowly five hours; let the galantine get nearly cold in the water, take it out and lay under heavy weights all night; undo and remove the cloth, clip the threads and draw them out, trim off the edges, and it is ready for 272 HOUSE AND HOME. the table. Cut clear through skin and stuffing in carving it in neat slices. This “relish "is very fine. MINCED POTATOES. Mince cold boiled potatoes with a sharp knife; put a spoonful of beef dripping, or butter in a frying pan, with a tablespoonful of finely minced parsley, a quarter teaspoonful of grated lemon peel, pepper and salt. As it simmers stir in the potatoes, and continue to stir and toss until very hot all through and quite dry. Serve in a deep dish, hot. CRESS SALAD. Wash and pick over the cresses, shake off the wet, and serve in a salad bowl. At table, pick the twigs to pieces and season with sugar, pepper, salt, vinegar and oil. Mix well, and pass crackers with it. DINNER, Asparagus Soup. Boiled Bass. Roast Sweet Breads and Green Peas. Mashed Potatoes. Young Onions. w Belle's Bright Thought. Coffee. ASPARAGUS SOUP. Three pints of soup stock; one large bunch of asparagus, cut into short lengths, the woody parts by themselves; one cup of milk; SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 273 one tablespoonful of butter, rolled in one of prepared flour; pepper and salt. Put the stock over the fire with all the stalks and one-third of the green heads; cook until the asparagus can be rubbed through a colander, leaving the wood behind; rub all through that will pass easily; return the soup to the fire, season, and bring to a boil; drop in the reserved heads cut into inches; cook until these are tender. In another vessel heat the milk, stir in the floured butter, and add to the soup. Line a tureen with dice of fried bread, and pour the soup upon them. BOILED BASS. Clean and wash the fish, but do not split it or remove the head and tail; sew up in a piece of mosquito netting fitted to the shape of the fish. Have in the fish-kettle plenty of boiling water, in which have been mixed a few tablespoonfuls of vinegar, a dozen pepper- corns, two or three blades of mace, and a tablespoonful of salt. Cook ten minutes for each pound, and ten minutes over. Undo the cloth, lay the fish on a hot dish and pour over it a cup of drawn butter, seasoned with a tablespoonful of capers and the yolks of two hard boiled eggs, chopped fine. Pass mashed potatoes with it. RoAST SWEETBREADS AND PEAs. Wash the sweetbreads, drop into boiling water, cook for fifteen minutes; then plunge into ice-cold water, and leave them there half an hour. Wipe dry, roll in beaten egg, then in cracker crumbs. Lay in a dripping pan; pour around them half a cupful of boiling water in which you have melted a teaspoonful of butter; cover, and 274 HOUSE AND HOME. bake them half an hour, basting several times. Remove the cover, and brown. Boil the peas as directed in a former recipe, drain, butter pepper and salt them, heap on a hot dish and lay the sweetbreads around them. YOUNG ONIONS. Cut off the tops, wash, remove the outer layer of skin, and boil fifteen minutes in fresh hot water. Drain this off, cover the onions with milk and hot water in equal proportions, salt slightly, and cook ten minutes after the boil recommences, or until the onions are tender. Drain, barely cover with hot cream or rich milk in which a lump of butter has been melted, salt and pepper, and send to table. No one who has once eaten onions cooked in this way will ever like those prepared (or ruined) after the ordinary mode. BELLE's BRIGHT THOUGHT. One package of Coxe's gelatine, soaked for four hours in a large cup of cold water; two cups of boiling water; juice of a lemon; one cup of pale sherry; two cups of sugar; whites of six eggs; three pints of fine strawberries. Put soaked gelatine, sugar, lemon juice, into a bowl, pour in the boiling water, stir until dissolved, and let it cool, but not congeal, before adding the wine. Whip the whites to a stiff froth, and beat in a great spoonful of the jelly at a time, setting the bowl of meringue in ice-water as you work. When all the jelly is in, whip steadily for fifteen minutes, until you have a white sponge which will just drop from a spoon. Have ready a melon-shaped mold, or a round bottomed bowl wet with cold water, and lined evenly with strawberries, capped and rolled in sugar. As you cover the bottom, SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 275 pour in enough of the snowy sponge to keep them in place, building up the lining and filling thus until the mold is full. Set on ice for five or six hours. Loosen around the edges with persuasive finger- tips, turn out on a cold dish, sprinkle with powdered sugar as you serve, cut in careful perpendicular slices, and send around cream with it. For cream you may substitute custard if you like. A beautiful and delicious dessert, and easily made. No.6. BREAKFAST. Wheat Germ. Meal. Broiled Shad. Melissa's Shortcake. Baked Potatoes. . Bread and Butter. Berries. Tea and Coffeee. § WHEAT GERM MEAL. This breakfast cereal is less heating than oatmeal, less laxative than wheaten grits, and more palatable than either. To one quart of boiling water, add one small cupful of wheat germ meal, with a half-teaspoonful of salt. Stir, and cook in the farina-kettle for fifteen minutes. Eat with sugar and cream, or with cream alone. * BROILED SHAD. Clean, wash and split the fish down the back. Lay on a well- buttered gridiron, skin upward, and broil over a clear fire, lifting a moment should it drip on the coals or brown into burn. Turn the fish when the inside is browned. When it is done—from twenty to twenty-five minutes should suffice for a fair-sized shad—lay on a 276 HOUSE AND HOME. hot platter, and rub with a sauce made by beating a tablespoonful of butter light with pepper, salt and finely minced parsley, adding. if you like, a little lemon juice. Garnish with parsley. MELISSA's SHORTCAKE. One quart of Hecker's prepared flour; half a cupful of butter; one even teaspoonful of salt; two cups of milk. If you can get a cup of cream, put half the quantity of milk and less butter. Sift the salt with the flour, chop in the butter until you have a yellow dust, wet with the milk and roll out with as little handling as possible, half-an-inch thick. Bake in broad, shallow pans well greased. When done, cut into squares, split and butter while hot, and send at once to table. LUNCHEON. Scalloped Fish. Baked Potatoes. Deviled Biscuits. Pop Overs. Chocolate. ScALLOPED FISH. One heaping cupful of cold, boiled fish, picked into fine flakes with a fork; one cupful of drawn butter; one tablespoonful of minced parsley; pepper and salt; half-cupful of fine crumbs; one tablespoonful of grated cheese. Mix all well together except the crumbs, turn into a greased bake-dish, strew crumbs on top, and brown quickly in the OVC11. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 277 DEv11.ED BISCUITs. Split stale rolls or biscuits, and toast to a light brown on the upper grating of the oven. Prepare a mixture of one cupful of dry cheese, grated fine (Parmesan, if you can get it), one table- spoonful of best salad oil, half a teaspoonful of mustard, half a teaspoonful of salt, a mere pinch of cayenne, and the yolks of three eggs beaten smooth. Incorporate faithfully; spread on the inside of the biscuits; set them in a quick oven to get heated through, and serve, covered with a napkin. Pop Overs. One quart of prepared flour (Hecker's is best); one quart of milk; four eggs; one tablespoonful of melted butter; one tea- spoonful of salt. Beat the yolks light, and mix with the salted milk; add the butter, then flour, and whipped whites alternately. Do all this briskly; fill one dozen stoneware cups with the batter, and bake in a quick oven. Serve in the cups, and eat with liquid sauce. They should not stand one minute when you have taken them from the oven, but be served at once. DINNER, Mulligatawney Soup. Imitation Terrapin. Mashed Potatoes. Succotash. Marmalade Pudding. Fruit. Coffee. MULLIGATAWNEY SOUP. Two quarts of the liquor in which a calf's head has been boiled, simmered down to three pints; half an onion; a blade of mace; 278 HOUSE AND HOME. juice of a lemon; half a cupful of raw rice, soaked in a cupful of cold water for two hours; one tablespoonful of butter, cut up in one of flour; one teaspoonful of curry powder. Strain the liquor through a cloth, put in the mace, chopped onion and rice, and cook until the latter is very tender. Wet the curry powder with the lemon-juice, and when you have stirred it in, add the floured butter. Boil sharply for one minute, and serve. IMITATION TERRAPIN. Boil a calf's head the day before you wish to make soup and this dish, and let it get cold in the liquor. Slice the meat from the head, and cut into dice. Mince the tongue fine, and make into forcemeat-balls with fine crumbs, pepper, salt, and a raw egg. Roll in beaten egg, then in flour, and leave in a cold place until you are ready for them. Season a large cupful of liquor sharply with Worcestershire sauce and salt, stir in two tablespoonfuls of butter rolled in as much browned flour, and bring to a boil. Put in the meat, and stew gently ten minutes before adding the juice of a lemon and a glass of brown sherry. Lastly, drop in the forcemeat balls, cover the saucepan closely, and set in boiling water for ten minutes before dishing. The yolks of half a dozen hard-boiled eggs improve this dish. / SUccoTASH. Empty a can of corn, and one of string beans, several hours lbefore you wish to use them, draining off the liquor from both. Put together into a saucepan half an hour before dinner, and barely cover with milk and water in equal parts, boiling hot and slightly salted. Cook gently twenty minutes, and stir in a tablespoonful of SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 279 butter rolled in one of flour. Season with pepper and salt, stew ten minutes more and dish. You may substitute Lima for string beans if you like. MARMALADE PUDDING. One quart of milk; four eggs; one cup of sugar; slices of stale bread, buttered. Fruit marmalade,-peach is best if you have it, but apple, quince or raspberry will do if you have not. Scald the milk, and pour it on the eggs, which should have been beaten light with the sugar. Return to the farina kettle, and cook five minutes, but not until the custard thickens. Cut the bread an inch thick, pare off the crust, butter on both sides, and cover the bottom of a pudding- dish with slices fitted in neatly. Spread the marmalade thickly on this layer, and wet with the boiling custard, waiting to see it absorbed before putting another layer above it. Proceed in this order until all the materials are used up. Fit a plate, or other lid, on the bake-dish and let the whole stand for half an hour, to absorb the custard before it goes into the oven. Bake, covered, until the pudding is heated through, then, brown nicely. Eat cold with cream. This excellent pudding may be made more elegant by whipping the whites of three eggs to a meringue with a tablespoonful of powdered sugar, and spreading it over the top after it begins to brown. Shut the oven door until the meringue is faintly colored. FRUIT. With the approach of the warmer weather, the prudent housewife will pay more attention to this part of her menu. Make the dish of cooling, anti-bilious fruits attractive by selection and arrangement. 28o HOUSE AND HOME. Nuts belong to winter-time when fats are needed to produce carbon. Raisins, always unwholesome, clog digestion weakened by “spring fever,” and irritate morbid livers. “Eating apples” are nearly out of season, but oranges and bananas valiantly relieve guard between them and the grapes and late pears that lasted after the holidays, and the coming berries. The juice of a lemon, mixed with four times as much water, unsugared, and drunk just before bedtime, will do more to counteract malarial influences and correct a surplus- age of bile than a dozen blue pills. No. Z. BREAKFAST. Graham Flakes. Apples and Bacon. Corn Bread. Baked Potatoes. Fruit. Coffee, Tea. GRAHAM FLAKES. These are otherwise known as “Granulated Graham,” and fur- nish a pleasant variety in the list of breakfast cereals. They can be prepared at five minutes' notice. Put a scant cupful in a deep dish; cover with a quart of boiling milk and water; put on the dish-top, set in hot water, and let the flakes swell until you are ready to dish them. Add salt if you like. Eat with cream and sugar. APPLES AND BACON. Core and slice tart apples, but do not peel them. Fry thin slices of breakfast bacon until clear and “ruffled.” Take them up and keep warm while you fry the sliced apples in the bacon fat to a SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 281 light brown. Lay the apples in the middle of a heated platter, and dispose the bacon about them as a garnish. Drain both meat and apples in a hot colander before dishing them. CORN BREAD. One-and-a-half cups of white Indian meal, and half as much flour; four eggs whipped light; two tablespoonfuls of melted but- ter; one tablespoonful of sugar; two teaspoonfuls of baking powder, sifted twice with the flour and meal; two cups of milk; one even teaspoonful of salt. * Stir sugar and butter together to a cream ; add the beaten eggs; beat two minutes, and put in the milk and salt; last of all, the meal and flour mixed together, and sifted with the baking powder; beat up one minute to aerate it thoroughly, and pour into a shallow pan. Bake steadily, rather than fast, and eat hot, cutting it into Squares. * LUNCHEON, Salmon Fingers. Dressed Potatoes. Crackers. Cheese. Olives Corn Starch Hasty-Pudding. Hasty-Pudding Sauce. SALMON FINGERs. Soak a pound of smoked salmon four or five hours in tepid water, when you have scrubbed off the incrusting salt. Lay then in cold water, and bring it to a gentle boil. Take out the salmon and 282 HOUSE AND HOME. cover with ice-cold water, leaving it thus for fifteen minutes, chang- ing the water once for colder. Wipe the fish dry, and cut with a keen blade into strips about the length of your middle finger, and an inch wide. Have ready in a dish some melted butter in which have been mixed the juice of a lemon, a teaspoonful of Harvey's, or Worcestershire sauce, and a pinch of cayenne. Turn the strips of fish over in this, until well coated, then, roll in flour and fry in hot dripping. Arrange symmetrically on a hot dish. This is a piquant relish and easily prepared. * DRESSED POTATOES. Bake large Irish potatoes, turning them several times to keep the skin whole. When they yield to a hard pinch, cut a piece from the top of each, scrape out the insides carefully, and whip to a smooth paste with a little milk, butter, grated cheese, salt and pep- per. Work the potato until it looks like cream, fill the skins with it put back the caps on the cut ends, and set the potatoes upright in a hot oven for three or four minutes. Line a deep dish with a napkin, and send the potatoes in it to table. CORN STARCH HASTY-PUDDING. One quart of boiling milk; four tablespoonfuls of corn starch; one teaspoonful of salt; one tablespoonful of butter. Wet the corn starch with cold milk and stir into the boiling. Cook in a farina kettle ten minutes, beat in the butter and, this dissolved and incorporated, turn into an open deep dish. HASTY-PUDDING SAUCE. One cup of hot milk; one cup of sugar; two eggs; one table- spoonful of butter. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 283 Stir the butter into the boiling milk, add the sugar, and pour this on the beaten eggs. Return to the custard-kettle and stir until it begins to thicken. Flavor with vanilla, adding, if you like, nutmeg, and set in hot, not boiling, water until needed. DINNER, Fish Bisque. Roast Sweetbreads. Imitation Spaghetti. Rice and Tomato. Graziella Pudding. Fruit. Coffee. FISH BISQUE. Strain the water in which fresh cod or halibut has been boiled, through a cloth, season with pepper and salt, and set away in a cold place for next day's dinner. Of this make a bisque as directed below. To a quart of the liquor, heated to boiling, add a cupful of the cold fish left over, minced very fine; when it has simmered five minutes, stir in three tablespoonfuls of butter rolled in one of flour and a tablespoonful of minced parsley. Have ready in another vessel a cup of hot milk in which a scant cup of dry crumbs has been stirred, with a bit of soda no larger than a pea. Mix these with the soup, stirring all together well, simmer one minute, and serve. If made exactly according to the directions given and well seasoned, this bisque will be very good. Send sliced lemon and crackers around with it. ROAST SWEETBREADs. Parboil the sweetbreads by cooking them for ten minutes in boiling salted water. Drop them into a bowl of ice-water and leave 284 HOUSE AND HOME. them stand there fifteen minutes, changing the water as it warms. Wipe dry, roll in salted and peppered flour, and arrange in dripping pan. Put a teaspoonful of butter on each, and roast forty-five minutes, basting often with butter-and-water. Take up, and keep hot in a chafing-dish while you strain the gravy into a saucepan ; add a little hot water, and a tablespoonful of butter cut up in one of browned flour. Season and boil up, add half a can of mush- rooms, cut in halves, cook three minutes, and pour over the sweetbreads. IMITATION SPAGHETTI. Boil and mash potatoes, adding salt and butter, but only a table- spoonful of milk, as you want a stiff paste. Rub this through a colander into a buttered pie or pudding dish. It will fall in small, pipe-like shapes. Leave them as they lie, and, when all the potato has passed through, set the dish on the upper grating of the oven to brown delicately. RICE AND TOMATO. Boil a cupful of rice in salted water (plenty of it), shaking now and then until each grain is tender, but whole. Have ready a cupful of stewed and strained tomatoes, well seasoned with butter, pepper, salt and some minute atoms of onion. Dish the rice, stir a generous tablespoonful of butter through it, with two of grated cheese. Mix well, and pour the tomato sauce over all. Set in hot water for five minutes, covered, and serve. A little gravy is an improvement to the sauce. GRAZIELLA PUDDING. Half a pound of figs; two cups of fine bread crumbs; one half. cup of powdered suet; two cups of milk; one half-cup of sugar; SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 285 four eggs; two tablespoonfuls of flour; a good pinch of cinnamon; bit of soda, the size of a pea, in the milk; one half-teaspoonful of salt. Cover the crumbs with the milk, and let them soak while you prepare the rest of the materials. Mince the figs, when you have washed and dried them. Beat the eggs light and add to the soaked crumbs, next, the sugar and spice and salt, and, finally, the figs dredged with the two tablespoonfuls of flour. (All the flour must go in.) . Beat very hard from the bottom to the top, pour into a louttered mold, fit on a close lid, and steam for three hours. Dip the mold into cold water for a second, turn out, and eat with hard SallC6. No. 8. BREAKFAST. Hominy. Pop-overs. Eggs in Toast Cups. Stewed Potatoes. Strawberries. *º Tea. Coffee. * = POP-OVERS. - One pint of Hecker's prepared flour, sifted with half a teaspoonful of salt; two cups of rich milk; two eggs. Sift flour into a bowl; beat the yolks light, stir the milk and flour into this. Lastly, add the whites whipped stiff. Bake immediately in heated and greased “gem ’’ or muffin tins. Send at once to the table. EGGS IN TOAST-CUPs. Slice stale bread three-quarters of an inch thick, and cut with a large cake-cutter, or tumbler, into rounds. Press a small cutter on & 286 HOUSE AND HOME. these about half the way through, and scrape out the crumb from the inner circles, leaving sides and bottoms unbroken. Set in the oven to dry for ten minutes; take them out and let them cool. Have ready some salted lard or dripping in a frying-pan; put in the bread-cups when it is hissing hot, and fry to a light brown. Take out, drain off the fat, arrange on a hot dish, and lay a poached egg in the cavity of each. I regret that I do not now recall the name of the maker of a convenient utensil called, “an egg poacher.” It is to be bought at house-furnishing stores, and greatly simplifies the business of poaching eggs nicely, and with smooth edges. STRAWBERRIES, Serve the larger varieties, whole, with the caps on. Send around powdered sugar with them, and let each person help him- self, dipping the berries, one by one, in a little heap of sugar on his plate and eating them from the caps. LUNCHEON. Savory Rice and Brains. Tomato and Lettuce Salad. Crackers and Cheese. Cold Bread and Butter. Ambrosia. Light Cakes. SAVORY RICE AND BRAINS. One cup of rice; one cup of skimmed gravy or broth, well seasoned; one pint of boiling water; two tablespoonfuls of grated cheese; salt and pepper; one egg; brains of a calf. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 287 Soak the rice three hours in cold water; drain, and put over the fire in a farina kettle, with the broth and hot water. Cook until tender, shaking up now and then, but do not put a spoon into it. When done, it should be quite dry. Drain in a fine-holed colander; mound on a platter; sift powdered cheese over it, and let it brown slightly on the upper grating of the oven. To prepare the brains, boil them fifteen minutes in salted hot water, throw them into cold, and leave them there as long; dry, mash them to a paste with a beaten egg; pepper and salt them; stir in a teaspoonful of flour, and drop, a spoonful at a time, into hot fat. Drain, when nicely browned, and lay around the hillock of rice. ToMATO AND LETTUCE SALAD. Pick out the crispest leaves of lettuce; lay a raw tomato, peeled and cut in half (horizontally) on each; arrange on a cold dish; scatter cracked ice among the leaves, and send to table. In serving, pour mayonnaise dressing over the tomato. AMBROSIA. Pare and cut (or pull) a ripe pineapple into small pieces. Put a layer in a dish; sugar well; cover with grated cocoanut; lay in more sugared pineapple, and so on, until the materials are used up, covering the top thickly with cocoanut, Pass sponge, or other light cake with it. DINNER. Clam Soup. Leg of Mutton, with Caper Sauce. Lobster Salad, with Cream Mayonnaise, Mashed Potatoes. Green Peas, Crushed-Strawberry Ice-Cream, White Cake. Coffee. 288 HOUSE AND HOME. CLAM Soup. One quart of clam liquor; fifty clams; one cupful of boiling water; one pint of milk; two generous tablespoonfuls of butter rolled in flour; a teaspoonful, each, of minced parsley and onion; a pinch of mace; pepper and salt to taste. Put the liquor, water, onion, and the hard part of the clams over the fire; stir gently for twenty minutes after the boil begins; strain and season ; return to to the fire with the soft parts of the clams, chopped fine, and boil slowly twenty minutes longer. Have ready the milk, scalding hot, in another vessel; stir in the floured butter, cook two minutes, add the clam soup and turn into the tureen, which should be lined with split Boston crackers, dipped in hot milk, then buttered. LEG OF MUTTON, WITH CAPER SAUCE. Wash with vinegar, peeling off as much of the tough outer skin as will come away easily; boil, twelve minutes to the pound, in a pot of hot salted water; take out, wipe all over with a clean cloth and rub with butter. For the sauce, take out a large cupful of the liquor half an hour before the meat is done; set the vessel contain- ing this in cold water to throw up the fat; skim carefully, strain into a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir in a great spoonful of butter rubbed in as much flour. When it has cooked three minutes, add two tablespoonfuls of capers. LOBSTER SALAD–WITH CREAM MAYONNAISE. Meat of two lobsters picked out and cut, not-chopped, up; one large cup of mayonnaise dressing; one cup of whipped cream; lettuce. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 289 Make the mayonnaise dressing by whipping the yolks of five eggs thick, then adding half a cup of best salad oil, drop by drop, until you have a smooth, batter-like mixture; beat in, then, two tablespoonfuls of vinegar, gradually,–a pinch of cayenne, and half a saltspoonful of salt; keep the mixing-bowl on ice while pre- paring the dressing, and leave it there while you sprinkle the lobster with salt, pepper and vinegar. Heap it in a bowl lined with crisp lettuce leaves. Do this just before serving it; beat the whipped cream into the dressing, cover the lobster thickly with it, and send it to table. CRUSHED-STRAWBERRY ICE-CREAM. Mash a quart of strawberries, sweeten very liberally, and stir them into two quarts of half-frozen custard, made in the proportion of six eggs and a heaping half pint of sugar to each quart of milk. Beat the berries in thoroughly, and freeze quickly. AXelicious / WHITE CAKE. Three cups of sugar; one cup of butter; one half-cup of milk; whites of nine eggs; one quart of Hecker's prepared flour; essence of vanilla, or bitter almond. FOR ICING AND FILLING. Whites of three eggs; three cups of powdered sugar; juice and grated peel of a lemon. Rub butter and sugar to a cream, whip in the milk, essence, the flour and stiffened whites by turns; bake in jelly cake tins, and when cool, spread the icing between and on top. 29O HOUSE AND HOME. No. 9. BREAKFAST. Milk and Rice Porridge. ^. Shad au gratin. Aunt Chloe's Muffins. Fried Potatoes. Berries. Tea. Coffee. MILK AND RICE PORRIDGE. One scant cup of rice, soaked over night in cold water; one quart of milk : one-half teaspoonful of salt. Put salted milk and rice together in a farina kettle, fit on a close top, and keep the water in the outer vessel at a steady boil for one hour, shaking up vigorously, now and then, but not stirring. Turn out and eat with cream, and if you like, sugar. SHAD au gratin. Clean, split and cut a shad into eight pieces, four for each side, sprinkle with salt and pepper, roll in beaten egg, then in fine cracker crumbs, and fry in hot lard or dripping; drain off the grease. Serve on a hot dish garnished with sliced lemon and sprigs of parsley. AUNT CHLOE's MUFFINs. One even quart of sifted flour; one quart of buttermilk; two tablespoonfuls of Indian meal; one teaspoonful of soda, and one of salt, sifted three times with the meal and flour; two well-beaten eggs; one even tablespoonful of sugar. e Beat the eggs, mix with the sugar, then with the milk; add the flour sifted with soda and salt, beat hard one minute, and bake at once in muffin rings on a hot griddle, SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 29I LUNCHEON. Chicken Croquettes. Home-made Crackers. Lettuce Salad. Bread. Cheese. Olives. Cornmeal Cup Cake. CHICKEN CROQUETTES. Two pounds of cold chicken without bones, or one can of boned chicken; one cup of cold mashed potato—made soft with milk; two eggs; half a cup of gravy, or drawn butter; salt and pepper; cracker crumbs; dripping for frying. Chop the chicken very fine, mix with the gravy, and season. Beat in the eggs, then the potato, and stir until Smoking hot, in a buttered frying pan. Let the mixture cool quickly. Make into croquettes, roll in fine cracker dust and fry in plenty of nice fat. HoME-MADE CRACKERS. One quart of prepared flour; three good tablespoonfuls of butter; two tablespoonfuls of sugar; one pint of milk; one half teaspoonful of salt. Rub the butter into the flour, put the sugar with the milk, mix into stiff dough, lay on the floured pastry board, and beat from end to end with the rolling pin, stopping every five minutes, or so, to shift the mass, and double it over upon itself. Keep this up for twenty minutes; roll into a sheet, less than a quarter of an inch thick, cut into round cakes, prick these deeply with a fork, and bake in a moderate oven. They are better the second day than the first, 292 HOUSE AND HOME. LETTUCE SALAD. Pick over the lettuce, selecting the crisp, young leaves, wash them and lay in ice-water for fifteen minutes before sending to the table in a glass bowl. Send with it a salad dish lined with a napkin. Pick the larger leaves to pieces, and fill the salad bowl with them. Gather up the corners of the napkin, shake it lightly, and turn outs the lettuce into the bowl. Season with pepper, salt, sugar, vinegar and oil; toss up well with a salad fork and spoon, and send around at once. Salad left three minutes in the dressing begins to wilt and toughen. CORNMEAL CUP CAKE. Two even cups of white Indian meal; half a cup of wheat flour; four tablespoonfuls of powdered sugar; four beaten eggs; one tablespoonful of butter; half a teaspoonful of soda; one teaspoonful of cream tartar; one teaspoonful of salt, sifted with meal and flour; one-half teaspoonful of mixed mace and cinnamon; one quart of boiling milk. Stir flour, meal, salt, soda, cream tartar into the hot milk; heat for fifteen minutes in a farina kettle surrounded with boiling water, stirring all the time; add the butter, turn out and beat hard; let the mixture get cold before beating in the eggs, whipped light with sugar and spice; stir hard and bake in buttered patty pans; turn out and eat warm with butter. DINNER, White Soup. Veal and Ham Cutlets. Asparagus. Young Beets. Strawberry Trifle. Coffee, *** SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 293 WHITE SOUP. Three pounds of a “knuckle” of veal, bones broken, and meat minced; one half-cup of raw rice; three quarts of water; two table- spoonfuls of butter, rubbed in flour; half an onion chopped; three eggs; one cup of milk; two tablespoonfuls of minced parsley; Salt and pepper to taste. Put water, meat, bones, rice and onions over the fire, and boil very slowly for four hours. Strain, pick out meat and bones and rub the rice through a fine colander. Season, return to the fire, boil up, skim well, and put in parsley and, butter. Heat the milk in a saucepan, pour upon the beaten eggs, and stir into the soup, removing the latter from the fire as soon as they are fairly mixed together. VEAL AND HAM CUTLETS. Cut generous slices of cold boiled ham, and fry them in their own fat, remove to a hot chafing dish, and in the same fat, adding a little lard, cook the cutlets when you have beaten them flat with the broad side of a hatchet, salted and peppered, then dipped them in egg and cracker crumbs. Lay them in overlapping alternation with the ham on a hot dish. ASPARAGUS. Cut off about two inches of the woody end of each stalk, tie the tender “bud” ends into bundles of six stalks each, and boil tender— about thirty minutes, if large, in hot, salted water. Have ready slices of crustless toast on a hot dish, wet with the water in which the asparagus was cooked; lay the stalks on them, and pour drawn butter over all. 294 * HOUSE AND HOME. YoUNG BEETS. Cut off the tops, not too near the root, wash, without scraping or peeling, and cook from forty minutes to an hour in hot, salted water. Scrape off the skins, slice and dish, then cover them with a dressing made by heating four tablespoonfuls of vinegar with a heaping tablespoonful of butter, salt and pepper to liking. STRAWBERRY TRIFLE. One stale sponge cake, sliced; four eggs, whites and yolks beaten separately; four cups of milk; one cup of sugar; three pints of fresh strawberries. Scald the milk, beat in the sugar and yolks, and cook, until it begins to thicken—about ten minutes. Let it get cold. Cover the bottom of a glass dish with sliced cake, wet with cold custard and strew with berries, sprinkle with sugar, cover with cake, wet this with custard, more berries, sugared, and so on until the cake is used up. Pour in all the custard, beat the whites to a meringue with a tablespoonful of powdered sugar, and heap on the top of the dish, sticking a few choice berries in the white mound. Set on ice until needed. It should be eaten soon after the berries go in. No. 1C). BREAKF ast. Oatmeal Gruel. Curried Eggs. Flapjacks. Baked Potatoes. Cold Bread. Fruit. Coffee. Tea. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 295 OATMEAL GRUEL. One even cup of fresh oatmeal; one pint of cold water; one pint of milk; one even teaspoonful of salt. Wet the oatmeal with the water, and set over the fire in a farina Rettle, stirring often, and, as it stiffens, beating in a cupful of milk; stir steadily five minutes after it reaches the boil, adding gradually the rest of the milk. Cook, in all, half an hour, dating from the scalding point. Turn out, and eat with sugar and cream. A CURRIED EGGs. Put a teaspoonful of minced onion into a cupful of weak broth; let it boil, strain out the onion, put the broth into a deep frying-pan, season well, and poach six or eight eggs in it until the whites are firm; remove them with a skimmer, and lay on rounds of buttered toast in a heated platter. Pour half a cupful of hot milk in the bottom of the dish, and let the toast soak it up while you make the sauce. Do this by stirring into the broth in the frying-pan a table- spoonful of butter and, as it dissolves, a good teaspoonful of curry powder wet up with water. Simmer until thick and pour over the eggs in the dish. FLAPJACKS. One cup of fine white meal; one cup of flour; two cups of boiling water; one tablespoonful of sugar; one teaspoonful of salt and the same of baking powder; two eggs; three cups of milk. Put meal and salt into a bowl, and scald with the water; when it is cold, stir in the milk; sift flour and baking powder together, and beat in next, then, eggs and sugar whipped light together; beat for one minute hard up from the bottom, and bake on a hot griddle. 296 HOUSE AND HOME. LUNCHEON. Mock Snipe. Thin Bread and Butter. Rice Pilau. Cold Meat. Crackers. Cheese. Olives. Oranges cut up with Sugar. Cake. Mock SNIPE. Cut very thin slices of fat salt pork about the length of your middle finger and twice as wide; drain every drop of the liquor from large oysters; bind each about the middle with a slice of pork, skewer together with a wooden toothpick, or stout straw, thrust through both, and fry in butter or dripping to a nice brown ; drain off the fat, and serve, without withdrawing the toothpicks. Lay within an edging of watercresses. The sharp points of the skewers give the dish some resemblance to broiled snipe. Eat hot. RICE PILAU. One cup of weak broth, and the same of stewed tomatoes, strained through a fine sieve; one half-cup of raw rice; one table- spoonful of butter; minced onion, pepper and salt. Simmer broth, tomatoes and onion together for fifteen minutes; strain out the onion, season well, and put over the fire with the rice, which should have soaked one hour in cold water; cook gently, until the rice is tender, shaking up the saucepan now and then, but never stirring it; add the butter, working it in lightly with a fork, and set it at the back of the range to dry off, as you would boiled potatoes. Serve in a heated, deep dish. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 297 ORANGEs cut UP witH SUGAR. Peel, without tearing the fruit, divide deftly into eighths, and cut these crosswise, removing the seed when it can be done without mangling the flesh. The beauty of the dish depends upon care in dividing, and seeding, and the keenness of the blade used for cutting. Pile in a glass dish, and sugar each portion as you serve it out. If the oranges are left long in sugar, they wither, and lose their fresh flavor. Pass cake with them. DINNER, Tomato Bisque. Chicken Fricassee, cache. Bermuda Onions, stuffed. Potato Croquettes. Chocolaté Trifle. Light Cake. Fruit. Coffee. ToMATO BISQUE. One quart can of tomatoes; one quart of milk, with a tiny bit of soda stirred in ; one even tablespoonful of corn-starch and a heaping tablespoonful of butter, rubbed together; salt and pepper to taste; one half teaspoonful of sugar. Stew the tomatoes for half an hour with salt, pepper and sugar, rub through a fine colander back into the saucepan, and heat to boiling. Scald the milk in another vessel, add corn-starch and butter, and stir until well thickened. Mix with the tomato, bring to a quick, sharp boil, and a delicious soup is ready for eating. CHICKEN FRICASSEE, Cache. Cut up the fowl and stew tender in enough cold water to cover it. Pour off the liquor to cool, that you may skim off the fat. Cut 298 IHOUSE AND HOME. the meat from the bones in neat pieces with a sharp knife. With these, neatly fill a bake-dish, cover and set aside. Put two table- spoonfuls of butter in a frying pan and cook in it, when hot, half an onion, sliced, until it is of a light brown. Strain the hot butter into a bowl, add two tablespoonfuls of flour, and, when you have a thick batter, the liquor (strained and skimmed) in which the chicken was stewed. Season well and pour upon the chicken. There should be enough liquid to fill the dish. Set in the oven, covered, while you mix quickly a pint of prepared flour into a soft biscuit-paste, with cold water or milk and shortening. Roll out into a sheet half an inch thick, cut into round cakes, and lay these, just touching one another, on the surface of the chicken-gravy. Shut up in the oven, and bake until the cakes are delicately browned and “puffy.” Serve in the bake-dish. f BERMUDA ONIONS, STUFFED. Make a round hole in the upper end of each, dig out at least half the contents; set in a dish covered with warm, slightly salted water, and bring to a simmer. Throw away the water; carefully fill the onions with minced poultry or veal, put a bit of butter in the dish to prevent burning, scatter fine crumbs thickly over the onions, and bake, covered, half an hour. POTATO CROQUETTES. Mash mealy potatoes to a soft paste with milk, and a little butter; work in a raw egg, well beaten, and a teaspoonful of prepared flour. Mold into rolls, rounded at the ends, dip in beaten egg, then in fine cracker crumbs, and fry in good dripping or salted lard. Croquettes are best when left to get cold and firm before they are cooked. Drain all the fat from them before dishing. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 299 CHocol.ATE TRIFLE. One quart of milk; four tablespoonfuls of Baker's chocolate, that flavored with vanilla, if you can get it; three-quarters of a cup of sugar; six eggs; one pint of whipped cream ; a saltspoonful of salt; one teaspoonful of extract of vanilla; bit of soda. Heat the milk in a farina-kettle with the soda and salt, wet up the chocolate with a little cold milk, and stir it in, keeping the spoon going until the chocolate is dissolved. Beat eggs and sugar together in a bowl, pour the hot milk and chocolate on them, mix thoroughly, and return to the fire, stirring industriously. When it has thickened nicely, pour it out, flavor, and set away to get cold. Just before dinner, turn into a glass bowl, and heap on top the whipped cream, slightly sweetened. Or, if you have custard cups, nearly fill them with the chocolate, and top them with the snowy cream. This is a pretty dessert. Send around fancy cakes, or arrange an attractive basket of alternate slices of sponge and angel cake. No. 11 BREAKFAST. Milk Porridge. Brown Stew of Liver. Egg Gems. Baked Potatoes. Bread Toast. Coffee. *~ Tea. Fruit. MILK PORRIDGE. One pint of oatmeal; one pint, each, of boiling water and milk; one teaspoonful of salt. 3OO HOUSE AND HOME, Sift the meal into the salted hot water, stir well, and leave it all night on the cooking stove. In the morning, surround with boiling water and cook one hour without stirring; add the hot milk, simmer ten minutes, and pour out. BROWN STEW OF LIVER, Lay the sliced liver for half an hour in cold salt-and-water; wipe, and cut it into inch-square bits; fry half a sliced onion to a nice brown in dripping; strain out the onion, add a tablespoonful of browned flour to the fat, and stir to a smooth roux, adding a cupful of boiling water as you go on; turn all into a saucepan, put in the liver with another cup of hot water, cover, and stew very slowly one Hour, or until tender; season with pepper, salt, parsley, a teaspoon- ful of tomato catsup, and serve in a deep dish. EGG GEMS. Three cups of prepared flour; three cups of milk; three eggs; one saltspoonful of salt. Beat the eggs light, add milk, flour and salt; beat fast upward for one minute and a half; fill hot, greased gem pans; bake in a quick oven. Graham gems made by this recipe, substituting Graham flour for white, are delicious. LUNCHEON. Broiled Smoked Salmon. Sweetbread Salad. Oatmeal Scones. Bread. Butter. Pickles. Crackers and Cheese. Soft Gingerbread. Chocolate. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 3OI BROILED SMOKED SALMON. One pound of smoked salmon ; two tablespoonfuls of butter; juice of a lemon; cayenne pepper. Wash and soak the salmon for one hour; wipe, and with a sharp knife cut into strips three inches long and an inch wide; parboil in hot water to which has been added a tablespoonful of vinegar and four or five whole cloves. When it has simmered for fifteen minutes, drain, wipe dry, and broil on a gridiron to a nice brown; lay on a hot dish, butter well, squeeze the lemon over the strips, pepper, and serve. SWEETBREAD SALAD. Parboil three sweetbreads for ten minutes in fresh hot water; drain, and throw them into ice-water to blanch them; when quite cold, cook fifteen minutes in salted boiling water, take out, wipe, and set where they will cool suddenly. This will make them firm and crisp. Cut into round slices. Line a salad bowl with lettuce, lay the sliced sweetbreads on the leaves, and pour a mayonnaise dressing over them. OATMEAL SCONES. Three cups of oatmeal; one pint of white flour, prepared; one pint of boiling milk; two tablespoonfuls of butter; half a tea- spoonful of salt. Sift oatmeal, flour and salt twice together into a bowl, melt the butter in the milk, make a hole in the middle of the meal, &c., and pour this in. Stir into a soft dough as quickly as possible, roll into a sheet less than an eighth of an inch thick, cut into round cakes, and bake on a hot griddle. Butter while hot and serve. They are good cold, also. 3O2 te HOUSE AND HOME. SOFT GINGERBREAD. Two heaping cups of flour; a scant half-cup of butter; half-a- cup of milk; one cup of molasses, and two tablespoonfuls of sugar; two eggs; one dessertspoonful of ground ginger; a half-teaspoonful of cinnamon; a quarter-teaspoonful of soda, sifted with the flour. Rub sugar, molasses and butter to a yellow cream, add the spices, the beaten yolks, the milk, whites and flour. Bake in two loaves in a moderate oven. DINNER. Cream Soup. . Glazed Cod. Larded Chicken. Cauliflower with Cream Sauce. Browned Potatoes. Stewed Carrots. Fatima's Puddings. Fruit. Coffee. CREAM Soup. One quart of veal, or chicken, or mutton stock; half cup of raw rice; yolks of three eggs; one cupful of hot milk; one tablespoon- ful of corn-starch wet up with cold milk; salt, pepper and minced parsley. Simmer rice and stock together until the grains are soft; rub through a colander or sieve, and put back into the soup pot; sea- son, stir in the corn-starch, and simmer gently while you beat the yolks and pour over them the hot milk; add to the soup, cook one minute, but do not let it boil; serve in a hot tureen. GLAZED COD. Cut a steak from the most solid part of the fish, lay in salt and water for two hours, wipe dry, wash with vinegar and put into a SPRING BILLS OF FARE. g 3O3 dripping-pan, with half a cup of boiling water; turu another pan over it, and steam for half an hour; remove the upper pan, rub with butter, and season with salt and pepper; baste twice in the next ten minutes with the butter and water in the pan; drain this off into a sauce-pan; wash the fish over with two beaten eggs, and shut up in the oven for a minute to glaze; thicken the gravy with brown flour; add the juice of a lemon and half a glass of wine; boil up, pour a few spoonfuls about the cod when dished, the rest into a boat. LARDED CHICKENS. Draw, wash thoroughly and wipe the chickens; truss as for roasting; lard the breasts with strips of fat salt pork in regular lines an inch apart, each lardoon being a half inch from the next in its row; lay the chickens, breast uppermost, in a dripping-pan, with a half cup of boiling water, and roast, basting often ; allow about twelve minutes to the pound; keep the chickens warm while you mince the boiled giblets, and stir them into the gravy with a thickening of browned flour. CAULIFLOWER WITH CHEESE SAUCE. Boil in the usual way when done, put into a deep dish, and pour over it a sauce made by heating a cup of milk, stirring into it a table- spoonful of butter, cut up in one of prepared flour, and, when this thickens, adding three great spoonfuls of dry, grated cheese. Sea- son with salt, and a dash of cayenne. FATIMA’s PUDDING. One half pound of “lady fingers,” stale enough to crumble easily; one quart of hot milk; six eggs; one cupful of sugar; grated peel 3O4 HOUSE AND HOME. of an orange, and half the grated peel of a lemon; juice of two oranges; soak the crumbs in the hot milk; beat the eggs light, add the sugar and grated peel; when light, the milk and crumbs. Before the juice goes in, have a row of stone custard cups (buttered) ready in a pan of boiling water at the oven-door; add the orange juice with a few strokes of the “beater;” pour into the cups, and shut up at once in the oven; bake half an hour, and turn out on a hot dish ; eat with the following sauce : two tablespoonfuls of butter, stirred into one of arrowroot or corn-starch ; a cup of powdered sugar; two eggs; a cupful of boiling water; juice and a teaspoonful of grated orange peel. Heat the water in a sauce-pan, add sugar, butter and corn-starch, and when thick, the orange juice and peel; finally, the beaten eggs; cook two minutes. No. 12. BREAKFAST. Oatmeal Porridge. Baked Fish Cake. Scrambled Eggs. Corn Cakes. Fruit. Tea. Coffee. BAKED FISH CAKE. Two pounds of cold, boiled fresh cod or halibut; a cup of mashed potatoes; half a cup of bread-crumbs; a cupful of drawn butter, in which has been stirred a teaspoonful of anchovy paste; a tablespoonful of finely cut parsley, and half as much minced onion; a raw egg, butter, salt and pepper. Mix the fish, “picked” evenly, with herbs, potato and drawn butter; season; put into a buttered bake-dish and set in the oven, covered, fifteen minutes; sift the SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 3O5 crumbs on top; stick bits of butter in them, and brown quickly. Wash over with beaten egg, shut the oven for a minute, and serve the cake in the bake-dish. SCRAMBLED EGGs. Put a tablespoonful of butter, a gill of milk, a saltspoonful of salt, half as much pepper, and a tablespoonful of minced parsley in a frying-pan. When the mixture boils, break and stir into it eight or ten eggs. Beat and stir until they are well mixed, and cease to run over the pan. Line a dish with crustless toast dipped in hot milk, salted, peppered and buttered, and pour the eggs on this bed. CORN CAKES. Three even cupfuls of white Indian meal; two cups of sour or buttermilk; one heaping tablespoonful of lard; one tablespoonful of sugar; two tablespoonfuls of flour; one teaspoonful of soda; three eggs well beaten; a cup of boiling water. Sift meal, flour, salt and soda together three times into a bowl; mix sugar and lard in the boiling water, add the milk; make a hole in the meal and flour, and put this in, stirring down quickly. Now, add the beaten eggs, and whip upward hard, until you have a smooth, light batter. Bake in greased paté pans at once. Eat hot. LUNCHEON. Steamed Clams. String Bean Salad. Cold Meat garnished with Parsley. Bread, Butter, Crackers. Fried Bananas. Cocatina and Macaroons. 306 HOUSE AND HOME. STEAMED CLAMS. Put the clams, without removing the shells, in your steamer, laying them flat, that the juice may not escape; set the steamer over a pot of boiling water shut up tightly, and keep this at a hard boil, but not touching the clams, half an hour. Peep in then to see if the shells have opened. If not, close down the top for ten min- utes more; take out the clams, pry off the upper shells, and arrange the lower (holding the clams) on a flat dish. Lay on each, a sauce made by whipping a tablespoonful or more of butter to a cream with the juice of a lemon, a little chopped parsley, salt, and a touch of cayenne. Eat hot, with warmed crackers. STRING BEAN SALAD. Take a cup of cold, boiled string beans, and if they have not been cut into inch-lengths before they were cooked, do it now; heap on a flat dish ; encircle with a row of cold boiled beet slices; on each one of these lay a slice of hard-boiled egg; garnish with crisp lettuce leaves as a frill and send around mayonnaise dressing with it. This will make a pretty and palatable dish. FRIED BANANAS. Pare a dozen bananas and cut each lengthwise into three slices; have ready a batter made by beating two eggs light with half a cupful of milk and four tablespoonfuls of prepared flour, slightly salted; dip the banana slices into this and fry in boiling lard to a golden brown. Drain off the grease and serve on a hot dish lined with white paper. SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 3O7 DINNER. Chicken Bisque. Brisket of Beef a la mode. Stewed Corn. Lima Beans. Browned Sweet Potatoes. Batter Pudding. Cream Sauce. CHICKEN BISQUE. An old fowl; a cupful of cracker crumbs; a quarter pound of almonds, blanched and dried to crispness; a large tablespoonful of minced onion, and the same of parsley; a cup of hot milk; four quarts of cold water; pepper and salt; two raw eggs, beaten light. Clean and boil the fowl slowly in the water, until the flesh slips from the bones; salt and pepper it, and set away in the liquor until next day. Skim it, then, and taking out the fowl, bone and mince the flesh fine. Shred the almonds into minute shavings, mix with the chopped meat, onions and parsley, and put all into the broth when you have strained it into a pot. Simmer gently half an hour, taking care it does not scorch; add the cracker crumbs, then, the beaten eggs when you have stirred them into the hot milk. Take from the fire, and set in boiling water five minutes, covered, before turning into the tureen. BRISKET OF BEEF a la mode. Take out the bones with a sharp knife, and bind the beef into shape with broad tapes. Make incisions quite through the meat perpendicularly, and thrust into them lardoons of fat salt pork. The holes should be less than an inch apart. Lay in a broad pot, put in two cupfuls of warm—not hot—water, fit on a tight lid, and cook slowly twenty minutes to the pound. Take up the meat, and 308 HOUSE AND HOME. lay in the dripping pan. Cover the top an inch thick with a force- meat of crumbs, fat salt pork, a dozen finely-minced oysters, a tea- spoonful of chopped onion, and pepper to taste; set in the oven long enough to brown nicely. Meanwhile, cool and skim and strain the gravy; return to the fire in a saucepan, thicken with browned flour; add a glass of wine, and a teaspoonful of French mustard, boil up once and serve in a boat. STEWED CORN. Open and turn out a can of corn three hours before using, drain off the liquor and set the corn in a cold place, Half an hour before dinner, put a cup of boiling water in one of milk in a saucepan; drop in a bit of soda; add the corn and cook gently half an hour. Salt and pepper to taste, stir in a tablespoonful of butter, rolled in one of flour, boil up once and serve. LIMA BEANS. Canned Lima Beans are heated in the same way as corn, only leaving out the milk and flour. They should be drained also before the butter is stirred in. BROWNED SWEET POTATOES. They are getting soft and watery at this season. Boil them fifteen minutes, peel, and lay in the oven to bake, basting them with but- ter until they are of a fine brown. BATTER PUDDING. Two cups of Hecker's prepared flour; three cups of milk; four eggs; a quarterspoonful of salt; one tablespoonful each of lard and ** SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 309 butter. Chop the shortening into the flour with the salt until thoroughly mixed. Beat the eggs very light, add the milk to them, beat in the flour by the handful; pour into a cake-mold with a funnel in the middle and bake in a quick oven. CREAM SAUCE. One cup of sugar; one cup of milk; whites of two eggs, beaten to a meringue; one tablespoonful of butter cut up in two teaspoon- fuls of corn-starch; vanilla seasoning. Heat the milk to boiling. stir in sugar and floured butter. Boil up sharply, withdraw from the fire and beat in meringue and flavoring. No. 13. BREAKFAST. Mush and Milk. Oyster Omelette. Waffles. Stewed Potatoes. Fruit. Coffee. Tea. MUSH AND MILK. One cup of Indian meal, scalded with two cups of boiling water; one quart and a pint of boiling water; two teaspoonfuls of salt; stir the scalded meal into the boiling salted water, and cook in a farina kettle for at least an hour. You cannot cook much too long; now and then beat up from the bottom and work out the clots. Serve in an open dish. Eat with milk and cream. OystER OMELETTE. Six eggs, whites and yolks beaten separately; one tablespoonful of cream; a half teaspoonful of corn-starch wet with the cream; a salt 3IO HOUSE AND HOME. spoonful of salt and a “dust” of pepper; a dozen fine oysters, broiled. Beat yolks well, adding the cream and corn-starch, stir in the stiffened whites lightly, have ready a tablespoonful of butter in a frying pan hissing hot, but not browned. Pour in the omelette, and as soon as it sets at the edges, loosen with a knife, and shake gently with a uniform motion from side to side, until the center is almost “set.” The oysters should have been broiled before you began the omelette. To do this, roll them in fine cracker dust, salted and peppered, broil quickly over a clear fire, transfer to a hot dish, put a bit of butter on each, cover and keep hot while the omelette is cook- ing. When this is done, line one half of it, as it lies in the pan, with the oysters, fold the other over it dexterously and reverse the frying-pan quickly upon the heated dish in which it is to be served. WAFFLES. Three scant cups of milk; two eggs; three cups of prepared flour; one heaping tablespoonful of butter, just melted; half a tea- spoonful of salt; one tablespoonful of sugar. Beat the eggs very light, cream butter and sugar, and put them in. Add the milk, then salted flour. Mix thoroughly, and bake in well greased waffle-irons. Try a spoonful of batter first to test it and them. STEWED POTATOES. Peel, and cut in square bits, dropping these in cold water as you go on. Cook tender in boiling, salted water. Turn off half of this when they are nearly done, and replace with a like quantity of hot SPRING BILLS OF FARE. 3II milk in which has been dissolved a tablespoonful of butter cut up in flour. Simmer three or four minutes, pepper, salt, and stir in a teaspoonful of finely cut parsley. Boil up and dish. LUNCHEON. Rechauffé of Fish. Tomato Toast. Bread and Butter. Crackers and Cheese. Rusk. Jam or Marmalade. RECHAUFFE OF FISH. Pick cold boiled cod or halibut into even small flakes; put into a frying-pan a cup of boiling water (for a heaping cupful of fish), season well with pepper and salt, stir in a tablespoonful of butter cut up in a great spoonful of flour. As it simmers, add the fish, toss and turn with a fork, and when smoking hot, put in three table- spoonfuls of cream. It should be just stiff enough to be mounded in the middle of a platter. Have ready the beaten whites of two eggs; spread quickly on the mound and set the dish in a hot oven long enough to cook the meringue. Garnish with lemons, cut lengthwise into eighths. TOMATO TOAST. Stew a quart of ripe tomatoes ten minutes, and run through a colander. Season with pepper, salt, a little sugar, and two teaspoon- fuls of butter, and simmer to a smooth soft pulp. Another ten minutes is enough. In another vessel scald half a cup of hot milk with a bit of soda half the size of a pea dissolved in it, stir in a tea- spoonful of butter, add to the tomatoes, and pour at once over slices of crustless toast buttered well, and laid on a heated platter. Let 3I2 HOUSE AND HOME. it stand three minutes before serving. It will be a pleasing com. panion dish to the fish. CRACKERS AND CHEESE. Make an intermediate course of these, heating the crackers slightly, and serving in a basket lined with a napkin. With olives, they make an agreeable entr'acie, and add elegance to a plain luncheon. RUSK. Four cups of milk; four tablespoonfuls of yeast; about three cups of flour; one cup of butter; two cups of sugar; three eggs; a very little cinnamon. Make flour, milk and yeast into a sponge, and let it rise over night. In the morning, work in more flour (if needed to make a soft dough), add the eggs, spice and butter and sugar; (creamed) 1 Two cups of white cornmeal; one cup of Graham flour; two tablespoonfuls of sugar; two and a half cups of milk; two tea- WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 463 spoonfuls of Boyal Baking Powder; one great spoonful of shorten- ing (half butter and half lard) and a spoonful of salt. Sift baking-powder with the flour, add the meal, and sift again ; rub butter and sugar together; salt, and stir in the milk; the latter should be slightly warmed. Pour this liquid in a hole made in the mingled meal and flour, gradually stirring down the dry flour toward the center; beat all hard, two minutes at least; two hours will be better. Dip for a second in cold water, and turn the bread out upon a warm plate. Eat at once. It is very good. SCALLOPED TOMATOEs. Strain most of the liquor from a can of tomatoes, butter a bake- dish, spread a layer of tomatoes in the bottom, season with bits of butter, salt, pepper, sugar, and a few shreds of onion. Cover this layer with fine bread crumbs, put over it another of tomatoes, seasoning, and so on until the dish is full. The top should be a stratum of seasoned crumbs. Set in the oven, covered, and bake, removing the lid ten minutes before taking it out, that it may brown delicately. Mock EAST INDIA PRESERVEs. Six pounds of pared and minced pippins, or other winter apples; six pounds of sugar; three lemons; three roots of white ginger sliced thin. Put the sugar over the fire with a cup of boiling water to prevent burning; as it dissolves, increase the heat and bring to a brisk boil. Cook thus, twenty minutes without stirring, but watching to see that it does not scorch; skim and add the apples, the lemons minced (all except the seed) and the sliced ginger; boil to a clear yellow, as briskly as is safe; pack in small jars. 464 HOUSE AND HOME. COOKIES. One large cup of sugar; one scant cup of butter; two beaten eggs; four tablespoonfuls of milk; one half teaspoonful of salt; nutmeg and cinnamon, each, a half teaspoonful; nearly three cups of prepared flour, enough to enable you to roll it into a soft dough. Rub butter and sugar, beat in the whipped eggs, the spices, salt, milk, and stir in the flour. Roll into a thin sheet and cut into shapes with a cake-cutter. Bake in a quick oven. DINNER. Calf's Head Soup. Halibut Steak. Beef’s Tongue au gratin. Potato Puff. Stewed Oyster Plant. Baked Apple Dumpling, Brandy Sauce. Fruit. Coffee. * CALF's HEAD SOUP. A calf's head cleaned with the skin on ; six tablespoonfuls of butter, and a like quantity of browned flour; six quarts of cold water; one onion sliced and fried, and one grated carrot; bunch of sweet herbs; pepper and salt; teaspoonful of allspice; one table- spoonful of Worcestershire sauce, and one of sugar; one glass of brown sherry. Boil the head tender, and set it aside in the liquor. Next day, take it out of the stock, scrape off the jelly, and cut the meat neatly from the bones. Reserve that from the top of the head and cheeks to cut into dice, and set, for this purpose, with the tongue, in a cool place. Set the stock over fire and add to it the bones, the refuse meat, WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 465 the herbs, fried onion and carrot, and cook one hour; strain, when you have picked out the bones, and rub the vegetables through the colander. Put the butter into a frying-pan, and when warm, stir in the flour to a brown roux, as it is called; add the spice, the pepper and the salt, and turn into the soup; boil two minutes, drop in the dice of meat cut with a sharp knife, heat to a quick boil, and put in the sauce. The wine is added in the tureen. Lay thin slices of peeled lemon on the surface of the soup. You may, if you like, make forcemeat-balls of the brains, stirred up with raw egg and flour, also add a cup of tomato juice. There is no better soup than this when it is properly made, nor is it so difficult as one might imagine from the length of the recipe. HALIBUT STEAKs. Wash and wipe the steaks, dip in beaten egg, then roll in cracker-crumbs, seasoned with pepper and salt, and fry in hot drip- ping; or, you may broil the steaks on a gridiron as you would beefsteak. Serve on a hot dish, rub on both sides with a mixture of butter, pepper and salt, and the juice of a lemon. BEEF's Tongu E au gratin. Wash, trim and scrape a fine, fresh beef’s tongue, and cook in boiling water, slightly salted, one hour. Take up, wipe off the liquor, cover with beaten egg, roll it in cracker-crumbs, put into a dripping-pan and brown, brushing it twice with melted butter while it is in the oven. Keep hot in a chafing-dish, while you add to the gravy in the dripping-pan, a cup- ful of the liquor in which the tongue was boiled, a tablespoonful of butter cut up in browned flour, half a teaspoonful of made mustard, salt and pepper, and the juice of a lemon. Boil up, and strain into a gravy-boat. 466 HOUSE AND HOME. POTATO PUFF. Boil, and mash the potatoes in the usual way, with butter and milk; beat in two eggs, and pour into a buttered bake dish. Brown on the upper grating of the oven, and serve in the dish in which it was baked. & STEWED OystER PLANT. Scrape, and cut into inch-lengths a bunch of oyster plant, drop- ping it into cold water, as you cut it, to keep the color. Stew tender and white, in boiling water, a little salt. Turn off the water, and supply its place with a cup of hot (not boiled) milk, stir in a tablespoonful of butter cut up in one of flour, pepper and salt to taste, stew three minutes, stirring once or twice to prevent lumping, and serve. BAKED APPLE DUMPLINGs. Four sifted cups of prepared flour; one tablespoonful of lard, and the same of butter; two cups of milk; eight fine tart apples; half a teaspoonful of salt. Chop the butter and lard into the flour (salted) and mix with milk to a soft dough, roll into a sheet nearly half an inch thick; cut into squares about five inches across; pare and core the apples, and put one in the middle of each square; fold over the four corners of the paste, pinching the edges together, and arrange in a floured baking- pan, the folded part downward; bake to a light brown ; rub with butter when done, and sift sugar on the top. BRANDY SAUCE. Two tablespoonfuls of butter; two cups of powdered sugar; three tablespoonfuls of brandy; quarter of a grated nutmeg. WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 467 The butter should be rather soft, but not melted. Cream it light with the sugar, spice, and beat in the brandy, whip hard, heap on a glass dish, and set in a cold place until it is wanted on the table. No. 39. BREAKFAST. Oatmeal Porridge. Codfish Omelette. Southern Batter Bread. Potato Loaves. Cold Bread. Fruit. & Tea. Coffee. CODFISH OMELETTE. One cup of “picked ” salt cod which has been soaked, boiled and allowed to get cold; one cup of milk; one tablespoonful of but- ter rubbed in one of flour; seven eggs beaten light; pepper, and minced parsley; seven rounds of crustless toast, dipped in boiling water, then buttered. Heat the milk, stir in the floured butter, pepper, parsley and minced fish. Take from the fire after two minutes cooking, add the eggs quickly and pour into a frying-pan in which is hissing a spoonful of butter, shake and stir until the mixture begins to form at the edges, when heap on the buttered toast spread on a hot dish. Serve hot. SouTHERN BATTER BREAD. Three cups of Indian-meal; half cup of boiled rice (cold); one pint of boiling water; one teaspoonful of salt; three eggs; one cup- ful of buttermilk, or sour milk; one tablespoonful of lard; one even teaspoonful of soda. 468 HOUSE AND HOME. Sift salt, soda and meal together twice; wet up with the hot water, and beat in the lard and rice. Now, whip in the beaten eggs, lastly, the sour milk and lard. Bake in a shallow tin, or pie-plate. This is best when made with Southern corn-meal. POTATO LOAVES. Work cold mashed potatoes soft with a little butter and the yolks of one or two eggs, say, one yolk to each cupful, season with pepper and salt and make into neat loaves, flouring your hands to enable you to handle the paste. Do not get it too stiff. Flour well, lay a little distance apart in a hot dripping-pan, and brown quickly. As a crust forms upon them, wash with beaten white of egg to glaze the tops. Slip a spatula under them and transfer to a hot dish. LUNCHEON. Fried Tripe. Baked Eggs. Bread and Butter. Crackers and Cheese. Tea Cakes. Chocolate. FRIED TRIPE. Cut cold boiled tripe into pieces three inches square, and lay them for half an hour in a mixture of salad oil (a tablespoonful), twice as much vinegar, a little salt and pepper; roll in salted flour or in cracker crumbs, and fry in hot dripping or lard. Drain off the grease, and dish. BAKED EGGs. Soak a cupful of bread-crumbs in half a cupful of hot milk for twenty minutes, stir in a teaspoonful of butter, the yolk of an egg, a tablespoonful of grated cheese, two tablespoonfuls of savory broth, WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 469 a little minced onion, and a teaspoonful of minced parsley. Pour the mixture into a neat pie-plate and set, covered, in a quick oven. In six minutes lift the cover, break as many eggs on the bubbling surface as the dish will hold, sift fine crumbs on top and leave in the oven for three minutes longer. Serve in the dish. TEA CAKES. A quart of prepared flour; an even cupful of butter; four eggs ; half teaspoonful of nutmeg or mace, half cupful of raisins; one heaping cupful of sugar. Beat eggs light, stir butter and sugar to a cream, and put with the nutmeg. Mix well together, work in the sifted flour lightly until you have a good paste. Roll into a sheet less than a quarter of an inch thick, cut into round cakes, bury a raisin in the center of each, and bake in a brisk oven. Eat fresh. Do not let them get too brown in the oven. DINNER, Potato Purée. Larded Pike. Veal and Ham Cutlets. Creamed Turnips. Potato Soufflé. Stewed Tomatoes. Baked Roley-Poley. Hard Sauce. Fruit. Nuts. Coffee. POTATO PUREE. Three cups of mashed potatoes; one small onion; two large tablespoonfuls of butter rolled in one of flour; two quarts of boil- ing water; two eggs; two stalks of celery chopped; one cup of hot milk; one tablespoonful of finely cut parsley; salt and pepper. 47O HOUSE AND HOME. Put potato, onion (chopped) and celery with the hot water over the fire, season, and cook gently half an hour, stirring often to prevent scorching, strain and rub through a colander; return to the lcettle with the parsley and floured butter, and stir to a simmering boil, heat in an another vessel the milk, turn upon the beaten eggs, mix well, add to the contents of the soup-kettle; stir over the fire for one minute, and pour into the tureen. LARDED PIKE. Clean and wash the fish; make incisions, crosswise, in the sides and put into each, well imbedded, a strip of solid fat salt pork; lay in a dripping-pan, pour over it a cupful of boiling water, and bake, covered, half an hour, basting often with the liquor in the pan; repeat this at intervals of five minutes until the fish is tender and nicely browned; lift carefully to a hot-water dish ; strain the gravy, thicken with browned flour, boil up, add half a glass of claret, and serve in a boat. Pass the potato soufflé with the fish. Red snapper may be cooked in the same way. VEAL AND HAM CUTLETS. Cut enough veal cutlets to make a good dish, and a like number of slices of cold boiled ham. Corned ham is best. Dip both in beaten egg, then, in fine crumbs mixed with salt, pepper, finely cut parsley and a dust of nutmeg. Fry in boiling dripping, or lard; drain, and arrange in alternate slices of veal and ham on a hot dish. Garnish with cresses. CREAMED TURNIPs. Peel, lay in cold water for half an hour and cook tender and fast in hot salted water, drain, pressing well, put into a clean tin or WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 47I porcelain saucepan and beat smooth over the fire with a wooden spoon (never an iron one), mixing, as you go on, a good spoonful of butter and three spoonfuls of milk or cream ; season with pep- per and salt. The lumps should be rubbed out and the turnips a smooth purée. POTATO SOUFFLE. Beat two cupfuls of hot mashed potato light and soft with warm milk and a little butter, add the yolks of three eggs, pepper and salt, and turn into a greased pudding-dish ; set in the oven until it begins to brown, spread with a meringue of the whites whipped stiff with a little salt and pepper; drop tiny bits of butter on the top, and when this has colored slightly, take from the oven. Serve at once before it falls. -º-º-º-º: STEWED TOMATOES. To a can of tomatoes add a teaspoonful of minced onion, as much white sugar, salt and pepper to taste, a tablespoonful of butter and two tablespoonfuls of fine crumbs; stew fast for twenty minutes, and rub through a hot colander into a deep covered dish. This is a decided improvement on the usual style of stewing tomatoes. BAKED ROLEY-POLEY. One quart of Hecker's prepared flour; two full tablespoonfuls of lard; two cups of milk; yolk of an egg; one teaspoonful of salt; a large cup of jam, marmalade, or canned (and strained) berries, well sweetened. Sift flour and salt together, beat the yolk light, and stir into the milk; chop up the shortening into the flour until well incorporated; 472 HOUSE AND HOME. wet the flour with the milk into a good dough; roll out half an inch thick, spread with the fruit, and roll up closely; pinch the outer edges together and lay the roll, the joined sides downward, in a floured baking-pan; bake until browned, wash over with whipped white of egg, and send to table; eat with hard sauce. No. 24.O. BREAKFAST. Oranges. Corn Beef Hash. English Muffins. * Potatoes Stewed Whole. Tea. Coffee. CORNED BEEF HASH. To two cupfuls of cold corned beef, minced, allow one and one- half of mashed potatoes. Mix them well together, and season with pepper. Put a cupful of broth or gravy into a frying-pan, heat to a boil and stir in the meat and potato, tossing and scraping it toward the center from the sides and bottom, until you have a smok- ing heap, just soft enough not to run over the pan. Stiff hash is a culinary abomination. Serve on a hot platter with triangles of fried bread laid about the base of the heap, points upward. If you have no gravy, put boiling water into the pan, mix in two table- spoonfuls of butter with a teaspoonful of tomato catsup or Worcestershire sauce, and when it simmers, proceed as above. ENGLISH MUFFINs. On baking-day, take a pint of dough from the batch which has risen all night; work in a cupful of warm water, and when you WINTER BILLS OF FARE: 473 have a smooth, stiffish batter, beat in a couple of eggs. Set to rise in a pitcher near the fire for an hour, or until quite light; have greased muffin-rings ready on a hot griddle, half-fill them with the batter, and bake on both sides, as you would griddle-cakes. Send to table hot, and split them by tearing them open. You can make them without eggs, but they are not quite so nice. POTATOES STEWED WHOLE. Boil, with the skins on, the small potatoes the cook thinks not worth the trouble of peeling, until done through. Turn off the water, and dry in the hot pot for a minute; peel quickly, and drop in a saucepan where you have ready the sauce. This is made by scalding a cup of milk, adding one of boiling water, stirring into it a tablespoonful of butter cut up in flour, and a tablespoonful of chopped parsley. Pepper and salt, and simmer with the potatoes in it ten minutes before pouring out. It is well to mellow each potato, before putting it in the sauce, by pressing it hard enough with the back of a spoon to crack, but not to split it. LUNCHEON. Shrimp Salad, with Mayonnaise Dressing. Cheesecups. Crackers, Bread, Butter and Olives. Oatmeal Gingerbread. Cocoa-theta. SHRIMP SALAD. Open a can of shrimps some hours before you want to use them, and keep in a cold place. An hour before lunch-time, cover them 474 HOUSE AND HOME. with vinegar in which has been mixed a tablespoonful of salad oil; leave them in this fifty minutes, then arrange in a broad, cold, glass dish, saucers or cups made of crisp lettuce; put a tablespoon- ful of shrimps, drained, in each, scatter pounded ice among the leaves, and, as you serve, pour on a great spoonful of mayonnaise dressing for each person. MAYONNAISE DRESSING. Yolk of six eggs; one cup of salad-oil; two tablespoonfuls of vinegar; one saltspoonful of salt, and half as much cayenne pepper. Keep eggs, vinegar and oil on ice until you begin to mix the dressing. Set a bowl in a pan of cracked ice; break the yolks care- fully into it, that not a drop of the whites may mingle with them. Have another pan of ice at hand in which the bottles of vinegar and oil are set. Begin to beat the yolks slowly and evenly, and, as soon as they are broken, let fall one drop of oil upon them, each minute, keeping the egg-beater going for ten minutes. Then put in three drops each minute, until the mixture is a smooth yellow batter, when begin to mix in the vinegar, a half-teaspoonful every two minutes, alternating it with a teaspoonful of oil, beating steadily until both are used up. Now go in Salt and pepper. Whip vigorously five minutes, and pour into a glass or silver pitcher. Keep this on ice until the salad is served. OATMEAL GINGERBREAD. Two and a half cups of fine oatmeal; one tablespoonful of butter; half a cup of molasses, and the same of brown sugar; one cup of sour milk; one teaspoonful (an even one) of soda, and one of salt, sifted twice through the meal; one teaspoonful of ginger, and twice as much cinnamon. WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 475 Stir molasses, spice, sugar, and melted butter until they are a yellow-brown cream, add the milk and flour, beat hard, and bake in small buttered tins. Eat warm. CocoA-THETA. This delicious and delicate preparation of chocolate can be made in five minutes, and will be found a peculiarly agreeable accompaniment to the wholesome gingerbread for which directions are given above. sº DINNER, Cod Chowder. Baked Calf’s Head. Canned Corn Stew. Mold of Potato. Indian-Meal Pudding. Fruit. Coffee. COD CHOWDER. Three pounds of fish; one onion, sliced and fried; twelve Bos- ton crackers; half a pound of salt pork; butter; corn-starch ; one pint of oysters, chopped; one cup of milk; chopped parsley; pepper. Cut the cod into dice, lay a double handful in the bottom of the soup-pot, on this strew pork, sliced onion and pepper, and cover with crackers. Proceed in this order until the materials are all in, cover with cold water, put on the pot-lid, and stew gently until the fish is tender—perhaps for an hour after the boil begins. Take out the fish and crackers with a split spoon, and put into the tureen, setting the platter in hot water. Strain the liquor through a col- ander to get out the bones, return to the kettle, and this to the fire. 476 HOUSE AND HOME. Cut up two tablespoonfuls of butter in a tablespoonful of corn-starch, stir this into the liquor, boil up and put in the oysters (chopped) and a tablespoonful of parsley. Simmer five minutes, add a cupful of hot milk, and pour into the tureen. Pass hot crackers and sliced lemon with it. BAKED CALF's HEAD. This should have been cleaned with the skin on. Take out the brains, boil them ten minutes in hot water, then throw them into cold, and set aside. Bind the halves of the head in place with wide tape, put over the fire in plenty of boiling, salted water, and cook gently for an hour. Take up, wipe, score the cheeks slightly with a keen blade, and lay the head in a dripping-pan. Dash over it a cupful of the scalding liquor in which it was boiled, and bake, bast- ing it three times with butter, afterwards with its own gravy. When it is a fine brown, remove to a hot dish, strain the gravy into a saucepan, add the brains beaten to a paste, thicken with browned flour, season to taste, boil up and send to table in a boat. Send around Chili sauce, or tomato catsup, with the head. CANNED CORN STEW, Empty a can of corn some hours before you want to use it, to get rid of the “close" taste of the air-tight vessel. Chop a bit of fat salt pork an inch square into tiny atoms, put it over the fire with a cup of cold water, and stew, covered, for an hour. Pepper, and add the corn. Cook twenty minutes, pour in half a cup of hot milk in which a teaspoonful of butter rolled in one of flour has been dissolved, also, half a teaspoonful of white sugar. Simmer five minutes, and serve in a deep dish. WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 477 MOLD OF POTATO. To two cupfuls of mashed potato, allow two tablespoonfuls of butter, half a cupful of hot milk, two beaten eggs, a teaspoonful of salt, and a quarter as much pepper. Mix up well; butter a mold or bowl with plain sides, strew these thickly with fine crumbs, put in the potato, and set in a dripping-pan of hot water in a good oven. Bake half an hour and turn out carefully on a heated platter. INDIAN MEAL PUDDING. Three cups of Indian meal; one quart of milk; three eggs; four tablespoonfuls of molasses; one teaspoonful of salt; three table- spoonfuls of Suet; one teaspoonful of cinnamon ; a quarter-teaspoon- ful of soda, stirred into the milk. Scald the meal with the milk heated to boiling, stir in suet and salt, and let it get cold; then add the eggs, molasses and spice and beat faithfully; pour into a well-buttered mold, and steam, or boil, four or five hours, keeping the water in the pot or steamer at a steady boil all the time, Turn out, and eat at once with hard sauce. No. 41. BREAKFAST. Baked Sweet Apples. Brain Fritters. Oatmeal Griddle Cakes with Maple Syrup. Fruit. Coffee. Tea. BAKED SWEET APPLEs. Wash, wipe and cut out the blossom-end of pound sweets, or other large sweet apples; and bake them until soft, turning them several times as they brown. Sift sugar over them while hot. Let them get perfectly cold, and eat with sugar and cream. 478 f{OUSE AND HOME. BRAIN FRITTERs. After washing, and ridding the brains of fibres and skin, drop them into boiling water, and cook gently for fifteen minutes, then throw into ice-cold water. When they are stiff and white, wipe and mash them to a batter with a wooden spoon, seasoning with salt and pepper. Beat into this an egg, half a cup of milk, and two or three tablespoonfuls of prepared flour. Fry a little in the boiling fat before venturing more, drop in by the tablespoonful, fry quickly, shake in a heated colander to free them of fat, and serve very hot. They are mice. OATMEAL GRIDDLE CAKES. One cupful of cold oatmeal porridge; two eggs; two cupfuls of louttermilk, or sour cream, or loppered milk; one tablespoonful of molasses, or brown sugar; one teaspoonful of soda, sifted with half a cupful of Graham flour; one teaspoonful of salt; one teaspoon- ful of butter, melted. If you use cream, you do not need this last ingredient. Whip the eggs, and beat them into the porridge, then salt, sugar, butter, milk, lastly, the Graham flour. Beat and stir for two minutes and bake on the griddle. LUNCHEON. Chicken or Veal Fondu. Baked Beans. Brown Bread. Walnut Cake. Chocolate. CHICKEN or VEAL FONDU. Two cupfuls of finely minced meat; one cupful of milk, and the same of dry crumbs; one heaping tablespoonful of butter; three eggs; bit of soda the size of a pea, in the milk; pepper and salt; WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 479 stir the crumbs into the hot milk, and cook in a farina-kettle to a lumpless, smoking batter. Add the butter, turn into a bowl, and beat with a wooden spoon for two minutes. Set where it will cool fast. When nearly cold, add the seasoning, whipped eggs and minced meat. Mix thoroughly, beating high and fast, and pour into a but- tered pudding-dish. Bake in a good oven, keeping it covered for Half an hour. Brown on the upper grating, and serve before it falls. If you have gravy left from the roast, heat, and send it around with the fondu. BAKED BEANS. Soak a quart of beans all night. In the morning, cover them with boiling water, and set at the side of the range until swollen and soft, but not broken. If you have no bean-pot, put them into a deep bake-dish; thrust a half pound “chunk” of salt pork, par- boiled, and scored on top, down into the beans; add a teaspoonful of salt, half as much made-mustard and a tablespoonful of molasses, to them, with enough hot water to cover them nearly—fit a top on dish, or pot, and set in a slow oven. Bake six hours, peeping at them three or four times to see if they need more boiling water. If so, supply it. For the last half-hour, cook them faster and uncovered. This is the genuine New England dish, and cannot be improved upon. i BROWN BREAD. One-half cup of Graham flour; one cup, each, of rye flour and Indian meal; one cup of milk; one-half cup of molasses; one even teaspoonful of salt; one even teaspoonful of soda, sifted three times with meal and flour; one tablespoonful of lard. Put the flour and meal, sifted with salt and soda, into a bowl. Mix milk, lard and molasses together, warm slightly, and add to 48o |HOUSE AND HOME. the contents of the bowl gradually, stirring it well. Work for three minutes, put into a greased mold, and steam for three hours. Eat while hot. WALNUT CAKE. Three cups of prepared flour; one cup of butter, and two of sugar; four eggs; one cup of cold water; two even cupfuls of English walnut kernels, cut into small bits. Cream the butter and sugar, add the beaten yolks, the water, then the flour, and whipped whites alternately, last of all, the nuts. Mix thoroughly and bake in small tins, or, if in a large mold, in one that has a funnel in the center. DINNER. Potato Soup. Steamed Chicken, Stuffed. Oyster-Plant Fritters. Scalloped Squash. Sponge Cake. Custard. Fruit. Coffee. POTATO SOUP. Boil enough Irish potatoes to make two cupfuls when mashed. Whip them light, and keep hot. Into two quarts of boiling water shred a small onion, two stalks of refuse celery and three sprigs of parsley. Cook until the vegetables are soft. Put them through a colander with the water in which they were boiled, then pass the potato through the holes into the same pot. Return to the fire, season with pepper and salt, and bring to a gentle boil. Take care it does not burn. Now stir in four generous tablespoonfuls of WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 481 putter, cut up, and rubbed into two tablespoonfuls of prepared flour. Boil two minutes more, and pour out. It will be found delightful, although “a soup maigre.” The excellence of such depends much upon seasoning and smoothness. They are too often watery, insipid and lumpy. STEAMED CHICKEN, STUFFED. Clean and dress as for roasting. Make a stuffing of crumbs seasoned with pepper, salt and butter, then, mix with a dozen oysters, each cut into three pieces. Bind legs and wings to the body with tape, and put into a steamer with a closely-fitting lid. If you have no steamer (which is a pity) put the fowl into a tin pail with a good top, and set in a pot of cold water. Heat gradually to a boil, and if the fowl be full-grown, cook steadily for two hours after the boil begins. Open the steamer at the end of the second hour for the first time, and try the breast with a fork. If tender, remove the chicken to a hot-water dish, and keep covered while you make the gravy. Strain the gravy from the steamer or pail into a saucepan; stir in two tablespoonfuls of butter, four of oyster-liquor (also strained), a tablespoonful of flour wet up in three tablespoon- fuls of cream, and a tablespoonful of chopped parsley. Bring to a boil, stir in quickly a beaten egg, season to taste, and pour some of it over the fowl, the rest into a boat. This is so savory a dish that it should be better known. OYSTER PLANT FRITTERS. Scrape the skin carefully from the roots, and grate them into a batter made of one cup of milk, half a cup of prepared flour, and one beaten egg. Unless the roots are grated directly into the mix- ture, they darken immediately. Season with salt and pepper; try 482 HOUSE AND HOME. a little of the batter in the hissing-hot dripping before risking more. If too thin, add flour cautiously. If too solid, put in more milk. Drain off the fat by shaking each fritter vigorously in the split spoon as you take it out of the frying-pan. Eat while very hot. ScALLOPED SQUASH. The Hubbard, or green winter squashes, are best for this dish, Scrape out the seeds, pare off the shell, and leave in cold salt and water for one hour; cook in hot water, a little salt, until tender. Mash well, and let it cool. When quite cold, whip into it a table spoonful of butter, one of corn-starch wet up in half a cup of milk (for a large cupful of squash), three whipped eggs, pepper and salt. Turn the mixture into a buttered pudding dish ; strew thickly with fine crumbs, and bake in a quick oven. SPONGE CAKE CUSTARD. I know of no other use to which baker's sponge cake can be put that brings such satisfaction to the consumer as to make it into this pud- ding. Buy a stale card of sponge cake; lay on a stone china platter; pour around—not over—it a hot custard made of a pint of milk, the yolks of three eggs and three tablespoonfuls of sugar boiled together until the mixture begins to thicken. Season with vanilla, coat the top of the cake thickly with jelly or jam, and on this spread a meringue of the whites, beaten stiff with a tablespoonful of powdered sugar. Set in the oven over a dripping-pan of hot water until the meringue is slightly colored. Eat cold. WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 483 No. 42. BREAKFAST. Rice Porridge. Stewed Eels. Gems. Potato Balls. Fruit. Tea. Coffee. RICE PORRIDGE. One cup of raw rice; one quart of boiling water, salted; one cup of milk; beaten whites of two eggs. Soak the rice in cold water one hour, drain, and put over the fire in the boiling water, cook soft, shake up from the bottom now and then, pour in the milk heated to scalding, simmer ten minutes, add the beaten whites, cook just one minute, and serve in a deep dish. Eat with sugar and cream. It is delicate and nourishing. STEWED EELs. Two pounds of eels; three tablespoonfuls of butter; one tea- spoonful of chopped onion, and a tablespoonful of chopped parsley; pepper and salt; one tablespoonful of flour. Skin and clean the eels, carefully removing all the fat, cut neatly through the backbone into pieces two inches long. Melt the butter in a saucepan, but do not color it before laying the pieces of eel in it. Sprinkle with onions and parsley, cover closely and set in a vessel of cold water. Cook gently over a steady fire for an hour and a half after the boil begins. The eels should be tender, but not boiled to rags. Remove them with a split spoon to a hot-water dish, stir into the liquor left in the saucepan, pepper, salt and flour, the latter wet up with cold water. Bring to a quick boil, and pour over the eels, 484 HOUSE AND HOME. GEMS. Two eggs; two cups of milk; half-teaspoonful of baking-pow- der; two cups of sifted flour; half a teaspoonful of salt. Beat the eggs light, add the milk and the flour with which have been sifted salt and baking-powder. Whip hard, and pour into but- tered gem-pans already warm. Bake in a quick oven. POTATO BALLS. Work into a cupful of cold mashed potato a teaspoonful of melted butter. When the mixture is white and light, add the beaten yolk of one egg, and season to taste. Make into balls between your floured palms, roll thickly in flour, and fry in plenty of nice hot dripping. Take up with a split spoon, shake off the fat and pile on a hot dish. LUNCHEON. Anchovied Toast with Egg Sauce. Potato Salad. Bread and Butter. Crackers. Crullers. Cafe au latt. ANCHOVIED TOAST WITH EGG SAUCE. Spread rounds of buttered (crustless) toast with anchovy paste, and lay in a heated platter. Have ready a cupful of drawn butter, boiling hot, in a farina kettle; beat four eggs light and stir them into the drawn butter. Season with pepper (the anchovy should supply most of the salt) and cook and stir until you have a smooth thick sauce. It should not clot or harden. Four minutes should cook it sufficiently. Pour upon the toast. WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 485 PoTATo SALAD. Rub a cupful of mashed potato through a colander; mix with it half a cupful of shred white cabbage, prepared as for cold slaw; two tablespoonfuls of chopped cucumber, or gherkin pickle (or one tablespoonful of minced pickled onion) and the pounded yolks of two hard-boiled eggs. Stir and incorporate the ingredients faith- fully. Make a dressing as follows: Into half a cupful of boiling vinegar stir one tablespoonful of melted butter, one teaspoonful of sugar, one beaten raw egg, one teaspoonful of flour wet with cold vinegar, one teaspoonful of celery essence; salt and pepper to taste; one half-teaspoonful of mustard. Cook and stir until you have a smooth cream, and mix hot with the salad. Toss and mix thoroughly. Set in a cold place, or on the ice until wanted. It will be liked by all who eat it. Pass crackers—slightly warmed—with it. CRULLERS. Six eggs; one half pound of butter; three quarters of a pound of sugar; flour to roll out in a good dough that will not adhere to board and fingers; mace and cinnamon, half teaspoonful of each ; brown sugar and butter. Mix, and work in flour, roll thin, cut into shapes and drop one into a deep frying-pan of boiling lard. If it rises quickly and does not brown too fast, put in as many as can be cooked without crowd- ing, taking them out with a split spoon when they are plump and of a golden-brown color. Sift powdered sugar over them while warm. They are delicious. CAFE au latt. Strain strong hot coffee into a hot urn or coffee-pot, add an equal quantity of scalding milk, throw a thick cloth or a “cozy” over the urn and let it stand five minutes before filling the cups. 486 HOUSE AND HOME. DINNER, Farina Soup. Baked Halibut. Ragout of Mutton. Cauliflower au gratin. Hominy Croquettes. Cocoanut Custard. Light Cakes. Fruit. Coffee. gºº FARINA Soup. Heat and strain four cups of soup-stock of any kind, and bring it to a boil. Scald two cups of milk, beat three eggs light, and add to them gradually the hot milk. Heat and stir until the sugarless custard begins to thicken, when turn into atureen. Add the scalding stock, and stir in, finally, four tablespoonfuls of Parmesan cheese, grated. Pass grated cheese with it for those who would like to have more. You can buy real Parmesan cheese ready grated in bottles from the best grocers. BAKED HALIBUT. Buy the fish in a thick, solid cut, and lay in strong salt-and- water for an hour at least. Wipe all over, cut the skin on top criss- cross, just reaching the flesh below, and lay in a dripping-pan. Dash a cupful of boiling water over it, and cook twelve minutes for each pound. Have ready two tablespoonfuls of butter dissolved in hot water, mingled with the juice of a lemon, and baste often. When a fork penetrates easily the thickest part of the fish, take it up and keep hot while you add to the gravy a teaspoonful of Har- vey's or Worcestershire sauce, and a tablespoonful of butter rubbed in two great spoonfuls of browned flour. Should this make the gravy too thick, add a little boiling water. Boil, and strain into a sauce-boat. WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 487 RAGOUT OF MUTTON. *-. Coarser chóps than those sold as “French,” will do for this dish. Heat half a cupful of clarified dripping, or as much butter, in a frying-- pan; put in half of an onion sliced, cook three minutes, and lay in the chops dredged with flour. Fry quickly until they begin to brown nicely; take up with a split spoon, and put into a saucepan, add a tablespoonful of chopped parsley, and a pinch of powdered thyme; cover with cold water; put a close lid on the saucepan, and cook very slowly for two hours, or until the meat is ready to fall from the bones. Lift it, piece by piece, to a hot-water dish ; skim the gravy, pepper and salt it, and add half a can of green peas which have been drained and laid in cold water for an hour. Stew until soft, rub through a colander; stir in a tablespoonful of butter rolled in browned flour; boil up once, and pour over the meat. CAULIFLOWER au gratin. Wash carefully; tie up in mosquito-netting, and boil thirty min- utes in hot salted water. Undo the netting, and lay the cauliflower, blossom upward, in a pudding-dish. Pour a cupful of drawn butter over it, strew with dry crumbs, and brown lightly on the upper grating of the oven. Send round with it drawn butter in which has been squeezed the juice of a lemon. HOMINY CROQUETTES. Rub a cup of cold boiled “small” hominy smooth with a table- spoonful of soft butter. When you have worked them well together, add a beaten egg, a tablespoonful of sugar and a little salt. Beat up well, flour your hands and make into croquettes, rolling each over and over on a thickly floured dish. Set aside for some hours in a cold place, and fry in hot lard. Drain off every drop of grease in a colander, and serve the croquettes on a hot flat dish, 488 HOUSE AND HOME. COCOANUT CUSTARD. Grate a cocoanut, and set aside, while you heat a quart of milk in a farina-kettle (dropping in a tiny bit of soda). Add a cupful of sugar, pour the sweetened milk upon six beaten eggs, and leave over the fire until just lukewarm. Then season with vanilla, or bitter almond, stir in the cocoanut, turn into a buttered pudding-dish, and set at once in the oven to bake to a yellow-brown. Eat cold with light cakes. No. 43. BREAKFAST. Golden Mush. A Winter Hen’s Nest. Graham Biscuit. Potatoes au Mazłre d’Aotel. Fruit. Tea. Coffee. GOLDEN MUSH. Scald a cup of granulated yellow meal with a pint of boiling water over night. In the morning put a pint of milk and a cup of boiling water, salted, into a farina-kettle, and when it boils, stir in the soaked meal. Cook, stirring often, for one hour. Eat with sugar and cream. A WINTER HEN’s NEST. Boil eight eggs hard, and throw them into cold water. When cool, take off the shells carefully, divide the whites, and extract the yolks. Mash them to powder, and mix with twice as much minced chicken, turkey, duck, veal, lamb, or ham. Make into egg-shaped balls when you have worked a spoonful of butter into the paste, WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 489 season it, and heap on a hot-water dish. Cut the whites into fine shreds, arrange them about the balls to simulate straw, and pour a cupful of good gravy, scalding hot, over all. The dish needs no other cooking, if there is boiling water under the platter. If not, set in the oven for ten minutes. GRAHAM BISCUIT. One pint of Graham flour, and half as much rye; one heaping tablespoonful of butter, and an even one of lard; two-and-a-half cups of lukewarm milk, as fresh as possible; one tablespoonful of Sugar. One teaspoonful of salt, and two teaspoonfuls of Royal baking- powder, sifted twice through the flour. Rub butter and lard into the salted and sifted flour, stir the sugar into the milk, and wet the flour into a soft dough. Handle lightly, roll out with a few strokes into a sheet half an inch thick, cut into cakes, prick them, and bake in a steady oven. They are good, warm or cold. POTATOEs au Maztre d’Aotel. Cut cold boiled potatoes into small dice, pepper and salt them, heat a cup of milk to a boil, add a great spoonful of butter rolled in flour, and a tablespoonful of chopped parsley. When it thickens, put in the potatoes, and simmer until they are hot all through ; remove from the range, stir in quickly the juice of half a lemon, and as much grated lemon-peel as will lie on a silver half-dime. Serve hot. * LUNCHEON. How to use the last of “That Mutton.” Cheese Bars. Bread and Butter. Pickles. Scalloped Tomatoes. Soft Raisin Gingerbread. 490 HOUSE AND HOME. HOW TO USE THE LAST OF “THAT MUTTON.” Cut every bit from the bone, and mince it rather finely. Have ready a cupful of good gravy. You can cut the meat from the bones early in the day, crack, and make the broth from them if you have no other. If you have half a can of mush- rooms in the pantry, mince, and add them to the mutton ; also a very little onion pickle chopped. Season the gravy highly, and wet the mince with it. Put a layer of fine crumbs in a greased pudding- dish, pour in the chopped meat, sift more crumbs over it, cover closely, and set in the oven until the gravy bubbles up through it. Draw to the oven-door, and pour on the surface four or five eggs, beaten light, then mixed with three tablespoonfuls of cream. Drop minute bits of butter on the egg, with pepper and salt, and shut up until the omelette crust is set. Serve at once in the pudding dish. CHEESE BARs. Make these on “pastry day” from the pieces left over from pies. Cut strips, three inches long, and two inches wide. Cover the upper side thickly with grated cheese, and the merest dust of cayenne, fold the pastry lengthwise over this, sift cheese on the top, and bake quickly. Eat hot. SCALLOPED TOMATOEs. Cover the bottom of a buttered pie-plate with fine crumbs, salted and peppered; drain the juice from a can of tomatoes, season them with butter, salt, pepper, a little sugar, and half a teaspoonful of onion, minced very finely. Pour this into the pie-dish, and cover with a thick coat of crumbs. Stick dots of butter on this, sprinkle with salt and pepper, cover, and bake for half an hour, then brown. WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 491 SoFT RAISIN GINGERBREAD. One cup, each, of sugar, butter, molasses, and sour cream, or milk—cream is best; one scant cup of seeded raisins; one teaspoon- iful of mixed mace and cinnamon; one teaspoonful of ginger; one rounded teaspoonful of soda, sifted twice with four full cups of flour; two eggs. Rub butter and sugar to a cream, then beat in the molasses and spice, working it until it is several shades lighter than when you began. Add the eggs whipped light, the milk, at last the flour. Stir well, put in the raisins dredged thickly, and beat two minutes upward. Bake in shallow with cheese. ‘cards” or in patty-pans. Eat warm DINNER. Vegetable Family Soup. Scalloped Oysters. Stewed Duck. Glazed Potatoes. Canned Peas. Suet Pudding. Jelly Sauce. Fruit. Coffee. VEGETABLE FAMILY SOUP. Two pounds of lean beef cut into dice; one onion; one large carrot; one turnip; quarter of a cabbage heart; two fair-sized potatoes; one tablespoonful of minced parsley; two stalks of celery; pepper and salt; three quarts of cold water; browned flour. Put the beef over the fire in the cold water, and cook slowly three hours. An hour before taking it from the fire, prepare the vegetables. Shred the cabbage, cut turnips, celery, carrots and potatoes into dice; slice the onion, and fry it brown. Cook half an hour in boiling salted water, all except the onion. Drain the 492 HOUSE AND HOME. water off, and throw away. By this time the meat should be tender, but not in shreds. Add the parboiled vegetables and onion to it and the broth, put in the parsley; pepper and salt to taste. Cook all for twenty minutes, slowly stir in a great spoonful of browned flour wet with cold water, boil up, and pour out. SCALLOPED OYSTERs. Put a layer of cracker-crumbs in the bottom of a buttered pud- ding-dish, pepper and salt, and cover with raw oysters, season these with bits of butter, and a little pepper, and pour on a few spoonfuls of milk and oyster liquor; more crumbs, and more oysters, until your dish is full, the top-layer being crumbs, dotted with butter, and wet with milk. Do not make the cracker strata too thick; give the oyster honor above the “scallop; ” bake, covered, until the moisture bubbles to the surface, then brown lightly. Serve with sliced lemon, bread and butter. STEWED DUCK. Joint neatly, cover the bottom of a saucepan with thin slices of salt pork; pepper, and lay in pieces of duck, another layer of salt pork on the top, and cover with sliced onion; fit on a close lid, set at the back of the range, and cook slowly until tender. An old duck will require four hours, but will be good when conquered. Take up the meat, and keep hot. Strain the gravy; add a little powdered sage, parsley, a teaspoonful of currant-jelly and a tablespoonful of browned flour. Boil up sharply, and pour over the duck. GLAZED POTATOES. Peel, then boil whole; dry off at the back of the range, lay in a dripping-pan, salt, butter liberally, and brown in a quick oven, basting with butter, from time to time. g WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 493 CANNED PEAS. Get the best French peas. Empty the can two hours before cook- ing them, drain off, and throw away the liquid, and lay the peas in ice-cold water, slightly salted. When you are ready to cook them, put them over the fire in boiling salted water, and boil for fifteen minutes. Drain well, butter and season. SUET PUDDING. Three cups of flour; half a cup of powdered suet; two cups of sour milk; one rounded teaspoonful of soda, sifted twice with the flour; one teaspoonful of salt; half a cup of raisins, seeded and chopped. Put the flour, sifted with salt and soda, into a bowl; make a hole in the middle, and pour in the milk gradually. Lastly, add suet and raisins, mixed together and dredged with flour. Boil or steam in a buttered mold for three hours. Eat with jelly sauce. JELLY SAUCE. Dilute half a cup of currant jelly with a cup of boiling water; stir in two tablespoonfuls of butter, and double the quantity of pow- dered sugar. Set over the fire, and when it boils, add the juice of a lemon, a little nutmeg, and an even teaspoonful of corn-starch wet with cold water. Boil up again, and set in hot water until needed. No. 424. BREAKFAST. Iºarina. Salt Mackerel with White Sauce. Stewed Potatoes. Quick Biscuit. Cold Bread. Butter. Coffee. Tea. Fruit. 494 HOUSE AND HOME. FARINA. Two cups of milk, and the same of boiling water; four heaping tablespoonfuls of farina; half a teaspoonful of salt; a tiny bit of soda in the milk. * Heat the water in a farina kettle, and when it boils, stir in the farina wet up with the milk. Cook for twenty minutes, stirring and beating faithfully. At the last, put into a clean Dover egg- beater and give a dozen whirls before pouring into a deep dish. Eat with milk and sugar. SALT MACKEREL witH WHITE SAUCE. Soak the fish all night in cold water; wash it well with a whisk broom to get off salt and loose scales, and lay in boiling water; cook gently for twenty-five minutes; drain, and lift carefully to a hot dish. Have ready a cup of boiling milk in which has been stirred a tablespoonful of butter rolled in one of flour. Beat into this the white of an egg, whipped stiff, boil and stir for one minute, season with salt and pepper, and pour over the fish. QUICK BISCUIT. Sift a quart of Steven's Imperoyal Flour into a bowl, rub in a heaping tablespoonful of butter—mix up quickly with milk—or water, if more convenient—into a soft dough. Roll out, with few and rapid strokes, into a sheet nearly half an inch thick, cut with a biscuit cutter into round cakes, and bake in a brisk oven. They are exceedingly nice. WINTER BILLS OF FARE. 495 STEWED POTATOES. Heat a cup of milk to scalding; stir in a tablespoonful of but- ter cut up in a rounded teaspoonful of corn-starch ; season with salt and pepper, and a teaspoonful of minced parsley; boil one minute, and drop in cold boiled potatoes, cut into dice. Simmer gently until the potatoes are hot all through and serve. A good way of using “left over "boiled or baked potatoes. LUNCHEON. Veal and Macaroni Scallop. Cheese Fondu. Bread and Butter. Baked Sweet Apples and Cake. VEAL AND MACARONI SCALLOP. If you have no cold boiled or baked macaroni left from yesterday's dinner, boil a quarter-pound until tender; drain, and cool it quickly to make it the more crisp; cut with a sharp knife into half-inch lengths. In another vessel chop about a pound of cold boiled, or roast veal; season with pepper, salt, a scant teaspoonful of curry, a pinch of lemon peel. Into a buttered bake-dish put a layer of mac- aroni, sprinkle with pepper and salt, and wet with the milk; cover this with a stratum of the chopped meat, dot with bits of butter, and proceed thus until your materials are all used up. When all are in, smooth the top layer, which should be of meat; butter well, cover with two beaten eggs in which has been mixed a teaspoonful of curry wet with cream; strew profusely with fine crumbs, cover, and set in a good oven for fifteen minutes, or until heated through, when brown quickly on the upper grating. 496 HOUSE AND HOME. CHEESE FONDU. Two cups of sweet milk; three beaten eggs; a cupful of dry, grated cheese; one rounded cup of bread crumbs, very fine and dry; one tablespoonful of melted butter; half a teaspoonful of salt, and half as much pepper; bit of soda, the size of a pea, stirred into the milk. Set the crumbs to soak in the milk; mix with this, when it is a soft paste, the eggs, butter, seasoning, finally, the cheese; beat hard and fast, pour into a buttered pudding-dish, sift fine crumbs on top, and bake in a quick oven until high and delicately browned. Send at once to table, as it soon falls and becomes heavy. , You may use cayenne, instead of black pepper if you like, putting but a third as much as you would of black. BAKED SWEET APPLEs. Peel carefully, and dig out blossom and stem-ends with a sharp 1 391 Apples, Steamed tº o 457 Apples, Sweet, Baked . . 477, 496 Bacon, Breakfast º o 373 Bananas . & º o 3I9 Bananas, Fried e 269, 306 Bannocks . 358 Bass, Boiled º e 273 Beans, Baked º º º 479 Beans, au Maitre d'Aotel . 356 Beans, Kidney . e º 32O Beans, Lima 308 Beans, String . 325, 362 Beef Balls º & 364 Beef, Braised, e º 408 Beef, Brisket of, a la mode . 3O7 Beef, Corned, Boiled 392 Beef, Corned, Hash . 472 Beef, Deviled, in batter . 26o Beef Hash, au gratin . o 394 Beef Heart, cold . © tº 418 Beef Loaf º tº © 375 Beef, Pot-roast of . e e 43O Beef, Roast a 1'Orleans º 33O Beef Roast, with Yorkshire Pudding 453 Beef Sausages . e 369 Beef Scallop © © © 4O6 Beefsteak and Onions e 3I4 Beefsteak, Stewed e © 4I4 Beefsteak with Sherry sauce . 25I Beef’s Tongue, fresh au gratin , 325 Beets, Young . © Biscuit, Egg º e Biscuit, Buttermilk Biscuit, Deviled . Biscuit, Graham Biscuit, Quick e © Bisque, Chicken Bisque, Fish e e Bisque, Fish maigre Bisque, Salmon . e Bisque, Tomato º Blanc Mange o © Brains, Calf's . º Bread and Butter (thin) Bread Batter, Southern Bread, Brown Bread, Brown, Steamed Bread, Corn © Bread, Corn, Boiled . Bread, Risen y Bread, Corn, Terhune Bread, Fried Brewi Cabbage, Stewed Cafe au Lait Cake, An Excellent Cup Cake, Cafe au Lait Cake, Cocoanut © Cakes, Corn e Cake, Cornmeal Cup . Cake, Creamed Sponge . Cake, Huckleberry Cake, Jelly Roll . Cake, Jelly (warm) , Cake, Lady o o PAGI. 294, 3I4 253, 353 338 277 489 494 3O7 283 366 35O 297 3I7 462 . 328, 451 467 479 249 28I, 4Io 462 438 334 429 259, 437 403 485, 422 452 396 339 3O5 292 454 329 4O2 370 261 527 sas HOUSE AND HOME & PAGE. PAGLI, Cake, Layer Cocoanut * 375 Corn, Stew of, canned . e 476 Cake, Lemon * tº tº 362 Crabs, Deviled º tº 322 Cake, Light . Q * 416 Crackers and Cheese e io 3I2 Cake, Marmalade . gº & 457 Crackers, Home-made wº 29I Cake, Pink and White e 354 Crackers, Oatmeal e e 334 Cake, Sponge © © • 349, 4I2 Crackers, Toasted . ſº 391 Cakes, Tea tº * º 469 Cream, Rice O & • 315, 42O Cake, Walnut g sº 48o Cream, Russian & Q 263 Cake, White . & tº 289 Cresses, Water * e º 254 Calf's Head, Baked e © 476 Croquettes, Chicken . o 29I Cauliflower au gratin tº 487 Croquettes, Hominy ſº {º 487 Cauliflower, Baked o e 367 Croquettes, Lobster . G 347 Cauliflower, Cheese Sauce . 3O3, 4I5 Croquettes, Potato - 298, 367, 372 Celery au gratin . tº © 399 Croquettes, Veal and Ham . 4II Celery, Fried . tº tº 4O3 Crullers . * & tº 485 Celery, Stewed . o ſe 459 Crumpets gº © * 450 Celery, Stewed Brown D 372 Cucumbers, Fried * tº 348 Charlotte a la Royale º de 336 Custard, Burnt . dº * 4I5 Charlotte, Apple tº te 429 Custard, Cocoanut o . 320, 448 Charlotte, Apple, Baked . ſº 44O Custard, Corn Starch . º 326 Charlotte, Myrtle's . o 427 Custard, Sponge Cake . & 482 Cheese Bars o © * 490 Dinner-Pail, The g º 383,388 Cheese Fingers tº g 4O6 Dinner, The Christmas . . 5OO, 509 Chestnuts, Boiled . s ſe 44O Dinner, The Thanksgiving . 443,448 Chicken, Boiled, on Rice . 459 Dodgers, Cornmeal o tº 259 Chicken, Broiled, Deviled © 353 Doughnuts . * tº 4O6 Chicken, Broiling, Fricasseed 366 Ducks, Potted . º * 335 Chicken, Brown Fricassee of . 35I Ducks, Stewed t iº 492 Chicken, Curried e g 3I9 Dumplings, Apple, Baked • , 466 Chicken Fricassee Caché . 297 Eels, Stewed, a la Francaise 327 Chicken, Fried, Whole º 346 Eels, Stewed * > & wº 483 Chicken, Larded . º e 3O3 Eggs, Baked Jº º 468 Chicken Legs, Mince of ſº 328 Eggs, Boiled * te • 374 Chicken Steamed, Stuffed º 481 Eggs, Creamed & tº 455 Chocolate o ſº © 250 Eggs, Curried iº te iº 295 Chocolate, Frothed © º 328 Eggs, Deviled © & 386 Chowder, Clam º tº 458 Eggs, Fricasseed * * > 449 Chowder, Cod * > e © 475 Eggs in Toast Cups Q 285 Chowder, Lakewood . e 345 Eggs, Meringued gº © 266 Chowder, Lobster . gº e 376 Egg Sauce . º o 268 Clams, Steamed # (º G 306 Eggs, Scalloped © & 369 Cocoa-theta e ſº . 267, 475 Eggs, Scrambled º {e 305 Cod and Macaroni . º 37I Eggs, Stewed te º e 4OO Cod, Boiled e tº O 268 Egg-Plant, Stuffed . º 336 Cod, Glazed. . tº o 3O2 Fish Balls . ; tº o 461 Coffee, Meringued O tº 348 |Eish, Blue, Broiled . C 435 Cookies º O O 464 Fish Cake, Baked {e º 3O4 Corn, Stewed o O © 308 Fish, Rechauffe of . C. 3II INDEX. 529 Liver, à la Jardiniere e Liver and Bacon & wº Liver, Brown Stew of . Liver, Fried . & e Liver, Larded wº & Liver, Ragout of G º Lobster, Buttered . º Lobster, Creamed o Ç Lobster, Curried . º Lobster, Stewed e tº Macaroni, Spaghetti, Baked Macaroni, Stewed & Mackerel, Fresh . ſº PAGE. Mackerel, Salt with White Sauce Mayonnaise Dressing Melons . gº sº * Milk, Thickened . e Muffins, Aunt Chloe's. Muffins, Bread and Milk . Muffins, Brown. {-, Muffins, Corn Meal Muffins, English * * Muffins, Mamma’s ſe Muffins, Raised, without eggs Muffins, Rice tº Muffins, Risen . Muffins, Rye Mush, Fried Mush, Golden * Mutton and Macaroni e Mutton Chops tº e Mutton Chops, Baked Mutton Chops, Stewed Mutton, How to Use the Last of Mutton, Leg of, Larded 4OO, That Mutton, Leg of, with Caper Sauce Mutton, Ragout of te Omelette, Baked with Herbs Omelette, Codfish . Omelette, Oyster Omelette, Roe tº g Omelette, Sweet A . <> Omelettes, Tom Thumb . Onions, Bermudas, Stuffed . Onions, Creamed . s Onions, Young tº tº Oranges 4. Q Oranges and Sugar . © Fish, White, Fried tº Flounders, Cutlets, Baked Flapjacks . © tº Fondu, Cheese ſº Fondu, Chicken or Veal . Fowl Roast & la Guyot Fritters, Brain tº gº Fritters, Clam . tº Fritters, Corn g º Fritters, Oyster-Plant. Fritters, Sponge Cake Fruit . © & Galantine . * Gems, Egg G Gems tº Gingerbread, Oatmeal PAGE. 325 397 255 496 478 34I 478 438 354 48I 418 279, 394 271 3OO, 390 484 474 Gingerbread, Prudence's, without Eggs 266 Gingerbread, Soft Gingerbread, Soft Raisin . Gingerbread, Warm . Griddle Cakes, Barbara’s . Griddle Cakes, Corn . Griddle Cakes, Crumb Griddle Cakes, Farina 3O2, 434 49I 360 395 364 422 27o Griddle Cakes, Flannel, without Eggs 405 Griddle Cakes, Oatmeal . Gruel, Farina . tº Gruel, Oatmeal . ſº Haggis, Dundee Halibut, Baked . tº Halibut, Steaks Halibut, Stuffed . Ham and Eggs, Mince of Ham, Barbecued . Ham, Deviled . we Ham, Fried in Batter Hen’s Nest, Winter A . Herrings, Scotch . tº Hominy, Boiled with Milk Hominy, Coarse . wº Ice Cream, Banana . Ice Cream, Crushed Strawber Ice Cream, Peach te Jelly, Coffee. Ö Junket . ſº e Kidneys and Ham. tº Kidneys, Deviled º Lemonade . e © 478 358 255 42O 486 465 3.18 32I 456 439 363 488 4I7 455 247 33L 289 362 460 334 4O5 342 35o 37I 316 3OO 435 262 254 43O 414 333 390 269 258 27o" 494 474 343 424 290 348 456 316 472 342 369 265 462 332 455 488 4I9 389 268 36 I 490 257 268 487 3I7 467 309 249 323 332 298 392 274 42I 297 53O HOUSE AND HOME. PAGE. Oysters au gratin º © 356 Oysters, Deviled . tº º 4O7 Oysters in Bed © © 396 Oysters on Toast . © © 45I Oyster-plant, Fried . © 398 Oyster-plant, Stewed º © 466 Oysters, Scalloped . e 492 Oysters, Scalloped, with Mushrooms 401 Pan-cakes, (sugared) . . . 428 Parsnips, Fried. . e © 408 Patés de veau . . . . 339 Patés, Lobster. º tº e 329 Peaches and Whipped Cream . 347 Peas, Canned . º Q º 493 Peas, Green . * > e tº º 258 Pea Pancakes . e e º 43I Pickerel, Baked . º © ſº 361 Pie, Curried Chicken . & 4O3 Pie, Sweet Potato e e Q 4O4. Pie, Veal and Ham tº e 435 Pigeons Stewed . e e º 356 Pigs' Feet, Breaded e * 248 Pigs’ Feet, Fried e º º 396 Pike, Larded e º e 47O Pine-Apple, Sliced, with Wine . 326 Plague of Flies 378, 382 Pop-overs . & º * 277, 285 Pork chops, (with tomato sauce) 42I Porridge, Arrowroot te & 352 Porridge, Browned Rice . e 449 Porridge, English Oatmeal . 368 Porridge, Farina e º © 494 Porridge, Graham e e 264 Porridge, Graham Flakes . º 28o Porridge, Green Corn . º 342 Porridge, Hominy . * 461 Porridge, Imperial Granum 253, 275, 4oo Porridge, Milk. º e 299 Porridge, Milk and Rice . © 29O Porridge, Molded º º 337 Porridge, Mush and Milk • 309, 427 Porridge, Mush-milk . © 33 I Porridge, Oatmeal. º o 409 Porridge, Oatmeal (cold) © 3I5 Porridge, Rice o º © 483 Porridge, Rye . º o 4O4 Porridge, Wheat Germ. Meal 253, 275 Potatoes à la Napolitaine . 335 PAGE!, Potatoes à la Parisienne . º 353 Potatoes and Corn, Minced . 4OI Potatoes au Geneve e º 326 Potatoes au Maitre d’hotel . . 489 Potatoes au Milan • tº 498 Potatoes, Baked ſº 3OO, 395, 457 Potato Balls º e º 484 Potatoes, Browned . e 260,363 Potatoes, Buttered º º 332 Potato Cakes au gratin © 423 Potatoes, Chopped 338, 359, 433 Potatoes, Dressed º © 282 Potato, drop cakes of e 4I7 Potatoes, Fried . º º 265 Potato Fritters e gº 346 Potatoes, Glazed e e 492 Potatoes, Hashed g tº 418 Potatoes, Hashed, Browned º 261 Potato Hillocks tº & 376 Potatoes in Cases . • e 4IS) Potato loaves . º º 468 Potatoes, Lyonnaise e © 4II Potatoes, Minced o o 272 Potatoes, Mold of . e e 477 Potatoes, Mont Blanc te 454 Potatoes, New e e º 33O Potato-Puff Qe 439, 466 Potato Rolls e e e 247 Potatoes, Saratoga . º 39 I Potatoes, Savory . •. e 327 Potato Soufflé 43I, 47I Potatoes, Stewed . 249, 3IO, 495 Potatoes, Stewed Whole e 473 Potatoes, Sweet, au gratin e 436 Potatoes, Sweet, Baked º 4I2 Potatoes, Sweet, Browned g 308 Potatoes, Sweet, Fried º 370 Potatoes, Sweet, Stewed e 438 Preserves, Mock East India . 463 Pudding, Amber . e & 43I Pudding, Batter © 308, 393 Pudding, Belle's Bright Thought 274 Pudding, Boiled Indian º 422, 477 Pudding, Canned Corn . g 263 Pudding, Corn Starch, Hasty 282 Pudding, Cup, Plum e tº 4O9 Pudding, Fatima's . º 3O3 Pudding, Graham Fruit . © 498 INDEX. 53 I Salmon, Smoked, Broiled . Sandwiches, Bacon and Mutton . Sandwiches, Cheese and Egg Sandwiches, Chicken º * Sandwiches, Cracker and Anchovy Sandwiches, Ham g º Sandwiches, Sardine . . Sardines on Toast . º tº Sauce, Apple . gº Sauce, Brandy . * * > Sauce, Cranberry gº tº Sauce, Hard & § © Sauce, Hasty Pudding sº Sauce, Jelly ſº ſº Sauce, Liquid . © * > Sauce, Neapolitaine sº © Sauce, Peach . Sauce, Tomato . e * Sausages º s Sausages, Home-made . * Scalloped Cabbage . ſº Scalloped Codfish, with Chees Scalloped Codfish, with Mushrooms Scalloped Cod, Salmon or Halibut Scalloped Corn and Tomato . Scalloped Fish . tº Scalloped Potato tº Scallops, Breaded . Scallops, Clam. Scallops, Fried . º & Scones, Oatmeal º © Scones, White ſº Sea-Kale te Shad au gratin . Ç Shad, Baked . e sº Shad, Baked, with Wine Sauce. Shad, Broiled . se g Shad, Fried, with sauce Piquante Short Cake, Melissa’s . Short Cake, Peach * Short Cake, Strawberry Snipe, Mock Soup, Asparagus Soup, Baked Soup, Barley . e º Soup, Beef and Sago * e Soup, Black Bean * e Soup, Brown Potato º e \, PAGE. Pudding, Graziella . O 284 Pudding, Hedgehog º º 372 Pudding, Huckleberry wº 352 Pudding, Indian Meal . tº 377 Pudding, Italian, Rice º 428 Pudding, Marie's . & # , 399 Pudding, Marmalade . tº 279 Pudding, Orange . tº © 269 Pudding, Peach tº o 367 Puddings, Queen of Qe * 34I Pudding, Rice and Peach 436 Pudding, Suet g o tº 493 Pudding, Suet and Sago 252 Rabbits, Deviled . tº g 4IO Rabbits, Roasted * © 497 Radishes . ſº º Q 256 Rarebit, Ham . e ſº 354 Rarebit, Welsh . Q * 266 Rarebit, Welsh (cold). e 323 Rice and Brains e 286 Rice and Tomato * º 284 Rice, Boiled 3I9 Rice, Pilau of . * 296 Rissoles . ge ſº 359 Roley-poley, Baked 47I Rolls, French 322 Rusk . & e 3I2, 360 Rusk, Dried, and Milk 344 Salad, Cabbage with Boiled Dressing 317 Salad, Celery and Sardine 433 Salad, Chicken. 386 Salad, Cress tº tº tº 272 Salad, Cucumber tº * 359 Salad, Egg and Sardine Mayonnaise 351 Salad, Lettuce. 292, 460 Salad, Lobster, Cream Mayonnaise 288 Salad, Oyster 425 Salad, Potato & . 365, 485 Salad, Raw Tomato 344 Salad, Shrimp © * > • 328, 473 Salad, Shrimp and Cheese 336 Salad, String Bean e e 306 Salad, Sweetbread . ę 3OI Salad, Tomato º ſº * 339 Salad, Tomato and Lettuce . 287 Salmon au Janoë . o tº 423 Salmon Fingers * & 28I Salmon Pudding, with Lemon Sauce 497 .** IPAGE. 3OI 386 385 339 385 385 375 4I2 426 499 282 493 399 253 368 429 427 433 426 337 343 26I 357 276 349 416 255 3OI 432 453 290 25I 257 275 3I3 276 4I7 258 295 272 355 43O 37I 3I3 256 532 HOUSE AND HOME. PAGE, FAGºº, Soup, Calf's Head . © 464 Sweetbreads, Roast º º 283 Soup, Calf's Feet with Poached Eggs 335 Sweetbreads, Roast, with Peas 273 Soup, Canned Pea . & 318 Tea, Iced tº gº * 323 Soup, Catfish s & & 262 Terrapin, Imitation Q 278 Soup, Chicken and Sago te 4IS) Toast, anchovy with Egg Sauce 484 Soup, Clam. & © º 288 Toast, and Rice, Curry of º 44I Soup, Clear . © º 4I3 Toast, Bread . o ſº 3Oo Soup, Corn . Ç ſº * 267 Toast, Buttered . ge {} 248 Soup, Cream . iº tº 3O2 Toast, Cream . © º 457 Soup, Curry Rice . † 361 Toast, Lemon Cream © § 365 Soup, Farina . © © 486 Toast, Scalloped e tº 490 Soup, Giblet i.e. tº te 452 Toast, Tomato . O º 3II Soup, Green Pea * * e 34O Tomatoes and Corn . g 393 Soup, Lima Bean . & º 402 Tomatoes, Deviled tº 396 Soup, Mock Turtle . s 324 Tomatoes, Scalloped . * * 463 Soup, Mulligatawny tº gº 277 Tomatoes, Stewed © 263, 377, 47I Soup, Potato . tº º 48o Tomatoes, Stuffed © O 35I Soup, Potato, purée tº & 469 Tongue, Beef’s, au gratin º 465 Soup, purée maigre 250 Tongue, Beef’s, Browned . 44I Soup, Rabbit . & tº 424, 440 Tongue, Larded . º o 398 Soup, Russian sº g e 497 Tongue, Deviled & & 256 Soup, Tomato . tº ce 329 Tongue, Jellied . © o 45I Soup, Turnip, maigre º tº 4O7 Tongues, Lambs', Pickled . 333 Soup, Turnip purée * 392 Tongues, Sheeps’, Stewed © 358 Soup, Turnip purée (without Meat) 397 Trifle, Chocolate e © 299 Soup, Vegetable g * 434 Trifle, Strawberry © tº 294 Soup, Vegetable, Family . 49I Tripe, Fried * tº 264, 468 Soup, White . e 293 Turkey, Steamed . tº © 425 Spinach, au naturel tº & 252 Turnips, Creamed . º 47O Spinach, on Toast . - 3I4, 408, 419 Turnips, with White Sauce G 342 Squash, Scalloped tº . 435, 482 Veal and Ham Cutlets iº 47O Squash, Stewed 426 Veal and Macaroni, Scalloped . 495 Squash, Summer . * tº 347 Veal Braised . tº tº 376 Strawberries . º © 255, 286 Waffles tº wº & • 31Q, 374 Succotash, . & © te 278 Waffles, Farina © tº 327 Sweetbreads, Ragout of © 349 Waffles, Rice º º © 364 Pickles, Chow Chow, etc. C 5II Fruit Jellies ſº tº º tº tº 517 Preserves, Jams and Marmalades tº © & 52O A Few Dishes for the Invalid & º wº 525 7 HE END. 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