2 July 1881 - 'How to Make Clear Soup' by Phillis Browne

Having prepared our stock, strained it overnight, and left it in an uncovered vessel in a cool larder, the next question we have to ask ourselves is, "What shall we do with it?"

There is no room for doubt here, no matter how we may proceed afterwards. The first thing to be done is to clear away the fat, which will have settled in a cake on the top of the stock. If the stock is a jelly, we may take this off more easily if we use a metal spoon which has first been dipped into hot water, and after we have taken off as much fat as we can in this way, we must wipe the jelly and the basin with the corner of a napkin which has been wrung out in hot water.

It is said that people learned in cookery know of five hundred different kinds of soup. If this be true, it is probable that a large proportion of these soups are so much like each other that ordinary people could not discover the points of difference between them. It is also probable that a goodly number are made of clear soup. Besides, cooks who can make good clear soup can make all kinds of soup; and therefore we will begin our lesson now by describing the process of clarification.

Soup is sometimes made clear with white of egg, and sometimes with raw lean meat, beef, or veal, the medium in each case being the same – albumen.

I daresay you remember that when we were talking about boiling meat we said that we put meat which was to be eaten into boiling water for two or three minutes, in order that the albumen might harden on the outside and form a sort of shield to keep in the goodness of the meat. When we boil the raw meat in the stock the albumen hardens as before, but being mixed with the liquid it takes the impurities contained there with it, and all are collected in a mass together, and can be strained away.

We must not suppose, however, that it makes no difference whether we use white of eggs or lean meat in clarifying soup. Lean meat enriches soup, white of egg impoverishes it; and it is more profitable to clarify weak stock with lean meat than it is to clarify strong stock with white of egg.

As to the quantity of meat to be used for clarification, that must depend on the weight of meat employed in making the stock, not upon the measure of liquor which we have at our disposal. The proportion of meat needed for clarification is half a pound of lean meat for every two and a half pounds of meat used in making the stock, and the quantity of lean meat needed would be no less if in making the stock we had used half a  pint only of water to the pound of meat. Indeed, if the liquid were very strong we should find it an advantage to mix about a teaspoonful of white of egg with the raw meat, because strong liquids are more difficult to clarify than thin ones.

We will, therefore, suppose that we have stock made with two pounds and a half of meat, and that we are going to clarify it with half a pound of lean meat freed entirely from fat and skin. How should we proceed?

We must first cut the meat into very small pieces (if we have such a thing we may pass it through the sausage machine instead), and put with it a carrot, a turnip, and the white part of a good-sized leek, or, wanting this, an onion, but a leek is much the more delicate in flavour of the two. Of course we must wash the vegetables, scrape the carrot, and cut the turnip and the leek into small pieces. We may add also a stick of celery, half a bay leaf, a sprig of thyme and parsley, and half a dozen peppercorns.

We now pour the stock, already freed from fat, very steadily into a perfectly clean saucepan, being careful always not to disturb and also to leave behind any sediment there may be at the bottom of the vessel. We put the saucepan on a quick fire, stir the chopped meat and the flavouring ingredients into it, and keep stirring until a froth begins to form on the liquor. We then stop stirring at once, wait until the liquor rises high, draw the pan back instantly, and let it stand at the side of the fire for a quarter of an hour or so.

If we now take a little of the liquid in a silver spoon we shall find that part of it is bright and clear, and we can see the silver through it; the other is a sort of curd, mixed with vegetables and meat. This curd is the albumen which has hardened and gathered the impurities which were in the soup with it, and this it is which must be removed by straining.

Whilst the liquor is standing by the side of the fire we may prepare the strainer. A jelly bag is not the best thing we can take, because we want to pour the liquid in gently, and it is awkward to do this with a deep jelly bag. Better to take the thick flannel of which the jelly bag would have been made, wring it out of boiling water, and tie it to the four legs of a chair which has been turned upside-down on a table. The vessel  for the soup can be placed underneath the flannel, and the liquor can be poured on slowly and gently so as not to disturb the scum, which will serve as a filter  for the soup. Now, if my directions have been followed exactly I am quite sure that a beautifully bright clear soup will be obtained, and one that will taste pleasantly also when it has been boiled up again with salt and a small piece of sugar.

Perhaps girls feel inclined to ask, Must the flavouring ingredients be put into stock which has already been flavoured when it was made? Yes, they must. The quantities here given are for flavoured stock. If the stock were not flavoured at all, a larger proportion of vegetables would be needed. One secret of having well-tasting soup is to let it be freshly flavoured. The vegetables are put in here to revive the flavour, and the flavour needs reviving after the stock has been all night I larder. Otherwise the soup will have a stale taste, which will be anything but agreeable.

I may say in passing that it is this necessity for reviving the flavours which makes the difficulty with tinned soups. People often say that tinned soups taste of the tin, or, in other words, the flavour is stale. If they would take the trouble to boil a few fresh flavourers with a small quantity of fresh stock, and add this either strained, or in the case of purees rubbed through a sieve to the soup which is in the tin, they would find that the tinned taste was scarcely perceptible.

One point must be carefully noted in clearing soup, and that is – the cook must stop whisking instantly when the scum begins to rise; also, the pan must be drawn back as soon as the liquor bubbles. If the liquor is whisked too long, or boiled too long, the scum may sink down again, and the soup will be spoiled.

Another point to be noted is that the soup must not be clarified the day before it is wanted, or it will become cloud with standing.

It is astonishing what a number of soups may be made of this clear soup. Sago, rice, macaroni, vermicelli nouilles, pearl barley, tapioca, and semolina may all be boiled separately, then dropped into it, and the soup will then be called after the name of the distinctive ingredient. When spring vegetables, young turnips, carrots, or leeks are put into clear soup, it becomes printaniere, or spring soup. When these same vegetables are softly stewed in butter and cut into shreds it is julienne. When savoury custard (cut into diamonds or stars) is put into it, it is soup royale. If Brussels sprouts are introduced it is a Flemish soup; if crusts of bread, it is croute a pot; if homely vegetables, it is soup a la paysanne; if poached eggs, it is Colbert's soup. And so we might go on, jardinière, brunoise, chiffonnade, macedoine, nivernaise, and others are all clear soup, with very slight differences.

If there are any girls belonging to this class who try to follow my instructions and make some clear soup in the way I have described, I know quite well what the result will be. The soup will be excellent, bright, clear, and good, but they will feel that it has been a great trouble to make I should not be surprised if their state of mind were similar to that of the charity-boy mentioned in "Pickwick," who, when he got to the end of the alphabet, said, "Whether it is worth while going through it so much to learn so little is a matter of taste. I think it isn't." After all, important as cookery may be, there are other things to be done in the world, and though we might be willing to make the best clear soup for high days and holidays, it is more than probable that few would be able to give the time to it very often. Therefore, it will be an advantage to learn an easier and cheaper way of preparing it, so as to achieve very nearly, though not quite, as satisfactory a result.

The easier method is to use stock made of Liebig's Extract of Meat, instead of stock from fresh meat. A small quantity of this extract dissolved in a little boiling water will supply a clear straw-coloured liquor, which tastes quite sufficiently of meat, and which may easily be converted into excellent soup. Of course the difficulty here is the flavouring. We must so flavour this extract of eat stock that no one shall know what it was, but shall, if they think anything at all about the matter, regard it as a matter of course that the stock  for the soup was made in the usual way, "with trouble and charges," to use an expression of Izaak Walton's.

Whatever vegetables are used in flavouring this soup must be cleansed thoroughly and boiled separately. A little soaked gelatine may be boiled in the liquid, which must be skimmed thoroughly; and as soon as it tastes pleasantly, and before the vegetables are soft, the liquid must be strained off for use.

As to what flavourers we are to use in making the stock, the question must be answered by another – What flavourers can we get at the time? We need not always make our soup exactly alike. When we once get the idea we can vary the flavour according to the ingredients at our command. Supposing we want a small quantity of soup for a small family, let us flavour a pint of water pleasantly and rather strongly by boiling in it the white part of a leek, six or eight fresh pepper-corns, and a stick of celery, or a small pinch of celery seed tied in muslin; a turnip, a small carrot, and a little parsley can be added, if liked, or an onion with one or two cloves may be used instead of the leek.

We must cleanse and prepare the vegetables before using. Also we must remove the scum from the liquid as it rises, and boil in it about a teaspoonful of good gelatine which has been soaked in water for a while; then we dissolve a small quantity of extract of meat in fresh boiling water (I cannot say exactly how much, because extract of meat varies in quality – about a teaspoonful), strain the stock in which the vegetables were boiled, mix the two together, and add salt until the liquid is coloured sufficiently and tastes well. It should not be over-brown, and it should not taste specially of the dissolved extract, but rather of a combination of meat and vegetables. When wanted make it hot, and the soup is ready. When they are to be had, a handful of green peas or a little carrot and turnip finely shred and boiled separately are a great addition to this soup. A tablespoonful of crushed tapioca may be simmered in it till clear to make a change, or it may be thickened with arrowroot. Perhaps girls feel inclined to say, "What a small quantity you have made; there will not be enough!" Quite enough for a small family – that is, for four or five people. One reason why English people do not like soup is, that when they make it at all they make it in such large quantities that they get tired of it before it is finished. They have an idea that if they make soup at all they must make a gallon. A gallon of soup! Why, it would be enough for twenty people. If four persons were compelled to drink it day after day until it was finished, they would ever afterwards say they do not like soup. Let me advise girls to make a quart of soup to begin with, and if it is liked they can make a quart of another kind another day.

Fresh herbs are excellent for flavouring soup; tarragon leaves especially impart a delicious and quite unique flavour, although it is with tarragon as with celery seed – a very little goes a long way. Shallots and leeks are always to be preferred to onions when they can be obtained; they are more delicate in flavour. A ham bone is a perfect treasure for flavouring, but if we use it we must clarify the soup with a little lean meat or a teaspoonful of white of egg. Mushroom ketchup and prepared sauces, too, are valuable helps for flavouring soups when used very sparingly, but a soup ought not to taste of mushroom ketchup above everything. There is still another way of making clear soup, and that is by boiling broth to a glaze, adding water, and simmering gently. I fear, however, that space will not allow me to describe this now, besides which it is a little difficult for amateurs. I must, therefore, advise girls to try the plans we have been speaking of. In our next lesson we will try to make thick soups and purees.

28 May 1881 - 'On Summer Drinks' by Medicus

The day was very hot, and I felt both dry and drowsy,  for the office gasogene was empty. No wonder as I sat, almost nodding, in my arm-chair, that my thoughts wandered away from the busy toiling town to bloomy dales and woodland scenes; no wonder that I presently roused myself up, and, fixing the Editor with my eagle eye, addressed him as follows:-

"I'd have a cottage where the south wind came
Cool from the spicy pines, or with a breath
Of the mid-ocean salt upon its lips,
And a low lulling, dreamy sound of waves,
To breathe upon me where I lay."

But the Editor brought me up sharp, -

"Not to-day, doctor, I can assure you," he said; "you've got to finish that article on summer drinks. After that you can have as many cottages as you like." I gazed sadly on the empty gasogene for a few moments, then with a sigh resumed my pen, and presently I forgot everything else saving my subject, and a very pretty duet the editor's quill and mine made, I do assure you.

But why, fair reader mine, should one sigh to look at an empty gasogene in summer? We seldom trouble ourselves much about this queer machine in winter. The question requires no very deep knowledge of anatomy or physiology to enable us to reply to it: exposure to a more heated atmosphere than usual increases the perspiration of our bodies, both sensible and insensible. When this is carried too far thickening of the blood is the result, and one feels in consequence enervated, languid and depressed, and longs for some cooling beverage to assuage the thirst.

But before going a line further I must warn you, that the excessive use of cooling drinks is most hurtful and injurious, not only to the skin and complexion but to the whole system. I should like every reader of THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER to feel as cool in summer as a little cucumber, and as "caller" as a little trout, but with a skin as soft as the petals of a rose, and eyes as pure and bright as an Italian sky. Therefore, I say, whatever beverage you may fancy, sip it. Never drink until thirst is quite assuaged, or you will assuredly drink too much. Let your motto be, "little at a time," but I do not mind how often you drink. Be guided by your own feelings as to that. Excessive thirst is often quenched by allowing the cooling drink to trickle slowly down the throat. But on the other hand, I would have you live during summer in such a way that there would be no occasion for frequent potations of any kind. And if I did not show you how to do this, my present paper would be, in my opinion, anything but complete.

There is a right way, then, and a wrong way of spending the hot days of golden summer time. Winter's pleasures ought never to be carried quite into spring; even indoor parties, and especially close concert-rooms, should be avoided in summer, so should the fatiguing journeys and excursions people so often take, in the oft-time vain search for pleasure. The social circle is now best enjoyed in the cool of the evening, in the moonlit verandah, or seated in the garden beneath the quiet stars. The heat of the mid-day sun should be avoided; fortunate are they who can choose the hottest hours of the day for a siesta in a shaded hammock out of doors. But this is a work-a-day world, and most of us have to toil at noon, as well as any other time. Only there is one thing we can all do and so help to keep ourselves cool and healthy: even in the hottest months of summer, we can dress lightly and wear light coloured garments, and we can alter the kind of food we eat to suit the weather. We ought to carefully avoid all kinds of heavy indigestible food, rich soups and gravies, fat meats and over-stimulating condiments, and we should eat more sparingly; and although we ought to be cautious in the use of cheese, salads ought to be eaten every day. And yet how very few of the fair sex know how to compound a delicious salad! I think if some of my readers knew the effect for good upon the blood and the complexion that salads have, they would study how to make them.

"Does your daughter play?" I asked an American with whom I was dining last year in Philadelphia.

"Well, no, and that's the truth," he replied somewhat disconsolately. After a few moments' pause he brightened up as he added:-

"She don't play, sir, but you just wait till you see the salad she'll put in front of you."

And if you would be well in summer, if you would be cool in body and in mind, and if you would feel and look strong, do not forget the morning tub and the rough bath towel. Mind I don't hold with excessive bathing; once a day immediately after getting up take the sponge bath, and once a week before going to bed a nice tepid soap bath, followed by a sponge full or two of cold water.

Early rising in summer is greatly to be recommended. A young girl ought to get up soon after the birds do.

But it is time, you will say, that I should tell you something about summer drinks. Well, I shall tell you first that neither beer nor stout nor porter is suitable for warm weather; nor is champagne, the effects of exhilaration produced by it are only momentary, but claret cup and, better still, sauterne cup may be partaken of in moderation, after or during exertion. Such out-door games as lawn tennis should always, in my opinion, be played either early in the forenoon or in the evening during summer.

I may remind you that the hottest part of the day is from one o'clock till three. A great many girls think that their complexion will not be injured by the sun, unless his rays shine directly on the face; and they wear veils or sun hats to protect themselves; but they should bear in mind that exercise or over-exertion during the hottest hours of the day, is far more detrimental to the skin than sunshine.

Both tea and cocoa are refreshing as summer beverages, and not only refreshing but soothing and cooling as well. The cocoa should be the best procurable. I recommend cocoatina, which is neither adulterated with sugar nor with starch. Its good effects will be appreciated if taken in the forenoon, just before going out walking or for exercise of any kind. It should be taken warm but not too hot, and with milk and sugar. Tea on the other hand is most valuable in the afternoon of, say, a warm or sultry summer's day. It should be pretty strong, because much should not be drunk; it ought to be the cheapest tea you can buy, and the cheapest tea, mind you, is that for which you will have to pay the longest price. Bad tea is worse than useless. Do not drink tea too hot, do not drink it at all, but sip it. When taking tea talk on subjects light as air, and do not let what you eat be very much heavier. It would, methinks, be a blessing to our country if everyone knew the value of cold tea as a beverage  for the traveller. I have travelled a great deal by train, and very long journeys, and I find there is nothing to equal it. I have it made before I start, milk and sugar added, and bottle it and place it in my bag. Thus armed I am secure against thirst, and to a great extent against fatigue as well, and I run no risk of being injured by bad beverages at railway stations.

To those who can afford it some or other of the various aerated waters – Vichy, potash, soda, or seltzer water – either plain or mixed with some kind of flavouring, form the most wholesome drink for a warm summer's day. These waters are, of course, all the better if iced, but they cannot be drunk in large quantities with impunity. This should be remembered by those who partake of them, nor is it a good plan to make too large a use of ice in hot weather; it interferes very materially with the process of digestion, and if carried to excess will induce positive disease.

I must also warn my readers against over-indulgence sin any of the numerous medicated waters, with which the market is at present flooded. Taken occasionally, some of them are undoubtedly tonic in their effect, but if persisted in for any length of time the drugs, such as iron and phosphorus, &c., which they contain, accumulate in the system and produce the most distressing symptoms. This is a fact which cannot be too widely known.

Aerated iced waters form the basis of a great many cooling drinks. Soda-water may now be bought very cheaply and economically on the syphon system. The syphon flask should be kept in the ice chest, and, if desired, the draught may be nicely flavoured with any of the various fruit syrups, which your grocer will supply you with cheaply. Where there is a large family the gasogene may be used, otherwise I cannot recommend its use, as the water left in it for any time is apt to get flat. When the summer's heat seems to be telling too much upon one, a very nice drink may be composed as follows, and used every day for a fortnight, three times a day or even four times. It is made of dilute phosphoric acid five drops, tincture of quinine thirty or forty drops, and a little syrup of oranges, mixed in a tumblerful of iced soda-water. Another excellent tonic drink is composed of extract of malt in soda-water, flavoured with a little tincture of oranges. The dose of the extract is from a dessertspoonful to a tablespoonful three times a day; if a little tincture of quinine is mixed with the drink the tonic properties are of course increased.

I cannot speak too highly of soda-water and milk as a summer drink on a warm day; it is soothing, nourishing and refreshing. You see that soda-water may be made the basis of a great variety of drinks. If ice be bought, and you have no ice-chest, either keep it in a box of sawdust, or roll it round with thick blanket-cloth. A box of sawdust is the better plan; it will keep ice almost any length of time.

A few drops of tincture of ginger in a bottle of sweetened soda-water is a very reviving drink. Ginger is aromatic, tonic, and stimulating. Tincture of ginger can be had of any chemist, only be careful to make him mark the strength or ordinary dose on the phial.

Here is a cheap and wholesome summer drink: A tablespoonful of lime juice in a glass of pure cold water, sweetened to taste, with or without a little tincture of ginger, and half a teaspoonful of carbonate of soda added to make it effervesce. Mind it is lime juice, not lime cordial. This lime juice may be added to soda-water or plain water and syrup.

Apples, pared and sliced, and steeped in water over night, form a nice summer drink.

There are various kinds of sherbet powders sold by the chemists, which effervesce when mixed with water. I can recommend them all except ginger-beer powders. They are not nice.

Ginger beer itself is one of the most wholesome summer drinks I know, and can be drunk ad libitum; only make it yourself. "Medicus" need not give you a recipe for this – you can get one in any cookery book almost. What is sold as ginger beer in glass bottles is not good. But ginger ale is an excellent beverage for summer use.

Spruce beer is another capital drink.

New milk, drunk in the morning, warm from the cow, will support you wonderfully in hot weather; and, last, but not least, as a summer drink, comes one which deserves to be put in capital letters and have a whole line to itself; I mean

BUTTERMILK.

7 May 1881 - 'Soups, and How to Make Them' by Phillis Browne - Part One

It is astonishing what a prejudice roughish people have against soup. The objection is not so universal as it was a few years ago, but still it exists. I cannot but think that one reason of this is that the housekeepers who scorn it do not understand what soup really is. A friend of mine once told me that none of her girls would touch soup; they did not care for it at all. I was not astonished at this when I discovered that her only idea of making soup was to thicken the liquor in which meat had been boiled with prepared pea meal. Another lady, who sympathised with the first one in her want of appreciation of culinary delicacies, used to make it by thickening the liquor with oatmeal. On one occasion I was privileged to taste the latter preparation. I expected it would be insipid, but it was not; it was particularly tasty, for it was burnt. I sympathised with the young ladies who did not like it at all, for I decided that I could not have eaten much of that soup if I had been paid for it.

One erroneous idea concerning soup is that it is expensive, and that in order to make it good pounds upon pounds of meat must be obtained for it. If these are dispensed with the soup will not be worth drinking. Really, however, soup is an economy. It is a mistake to make it very rich and very strong. When, as is generally the case, it is succeeded by other dishes, it should be light and pleasantly flavoured, but not strong or nourishing enough to furnish a dinner in itself. People usually sit down to dinner tired, hungry and weary, and it is rather too much of a good thing to put a slice of roast beef or boiled mutton before them straight away. It is giving their digestive organs too much to do; they need to be set gently to work. To have light employment given them at first, and to be allowed to go on gradually to the heavy business.  Sir Henry Thompson, I think it was, pointed out a little while ago, in some papers he published on food, that light liquid food was most valuable as a restorative. Those who have been accustomed to take soup, and have noticed how quickly it takes away the feeling of exhaustion, and prepares the way for the enjoyment of dinner, would be very sorry to do without it. At the same time, they would be equally sorry to make it very strong and rich, unless they intended the family to dine upon it entirely.

When I said soup was an economy, I meant that it might be made the means of preventing waste; also that when used regularly it saves the joint, and partially satisfies the appetite before the most expensive part of the dinner is touched. I daresay you have heard of the housekeeper who said to her friend, "We never have soup; we cannot afford it;" to which the other replied, "Indeed, we always have soup; we cannot afford to do without it." I certainly think the second housekeeper was the more economical of the two.

However, it is not my business now to sing the praises of soup. But I may say that I believe it would be seen on our tables more frequently than it is if the girls in a house were able and willing to make it. The secret of our not having soup is that it takes time and trouble, which servants do not always care to give. But in the good time coming, when all the girls in our homes understand and practice cookery, when our daughters would rather prepare with their own hands a good dinner for their fathers than tire their eyes in making so many useless mats and antimacassars, things will be quite different; we shall enter upon a delightful period, and we shall all live twice as well as we do now, at half the present cost.

There are three varieties of soup – clear soup, thick soup, and purees. For all these stock is required, and therefore the first thing we have to do is to learn how to make stock. For very nourishing, superior soup, and for clear soup, fresh meat is required; although it is quite true that clear soup may be made of weak bone stock, it is scarcely worth while to do so unless there was plenty of fresh meat left o bones, and to buy bones roughly trimmed would cost as much as to buy fresh meat. Ordinary stock, however, that will make excellent soup for daily use may be made of the trimmings of joints, the liquor in which meat and vegetables and fish have been boiled, and even of the bones, skin, and trimmings left after a joint has been served. For nothing of this kind should be thrown away until it has been stewed until every particle of goodness has been extracted from it.
I am quite prepared to hear that girls who tried to prevent waste in this way, and to make the most of things by stewing bones and trimmings for stock, would be laughed and sneered at by certain people. Let them never mind this. When we are doing right we can bear to be laughed at, and certainly we who try to be economical are in the right. It is wicked to waste good food while so many thousands are needing it. If we have more than re require let us give to those who want, not throw away. It is a great disgrace to English cooks that they act as though extravagance meant cleverness, and thrift meant incompetency. I have noticed again and again that as soon as ever a cook acquires skill she loses her respect for quantities and prices. We will not do this in our cookery class, for we all look upon waste as sin.

Therefore let us resolve that nothing containing nourishment shall be thrown away until it has been well stewed. We will put on one side all the trimmings, skin, bone, and fat that we can collect, and as soon as we have an opportunity we will render down the fat for frying and will stew the rest for stock.

Sometimes economical cooks advise that a stock-pot should be kept by the side of the fire, and that trimmings, pieces, and scraps should be thrown into it from time to time as they come to hand ; that water should be added when necessary, and thus a constant supply of stock should be provided. This plan I do not recommend. In the first place it leads to the ingredients being unequally cooked. Scraps which are thrown into the pot when the cooking is half through are not so thoroughly stewed as those which were in at the beginning. In the second place over-long simmering will spoil the flavour of our stock and make it taste unpleasantly of the pan. Whatever we have to stew should be put on freshly into a clean pan every morning; when the simmering has been continued five hours the contents of the pan should be turned into an earthen vessel and carried into a cool larder and left uncovered till wanted.

We will suppose that we have a quantity of bones and trimming, say, for instance, the bones left from a cooked joint which weighed eight or ten pounds before it was cut. Perhaps also we should have the bones of poultry or game, and two or three bacon bones; if so, we should of course make use of them, although we should do very well without them. How should we proceed in making stock?

We should look carefully over our ingredients, and trim away anything that was unsuited to our purpose. If it should happen that there was anything not quite pure and sweet we should put that aside at once. "Cleanliness is the soul of cookery," and it is particularly called for in economical cookery. We wish to avoid waste, but we are not willing to use everything. Having satisfied ourselves on this point, however, we put the bones into a perfectly clean saucepan and pour over them cold water, in the proportion of a quart of water to a pound of bones. I daresay it will be remembered that when we were speaking of boiling meat we said that when we wanted to keep the goodness in the meat we placed it in boiling water; when we wished to draw the goodness out we put it in cold water. On this occasion we wish to draw the goodness out, we therefore use cold water.

We now put the saucepan on the fire, and bring the liquid slowly to a boil. In a little while it will begin to simmer, and then we throw in a small quantity of salt, not as much as will be needed to season the soup, but a little to help the scum to rise. It is well to leave the seasoning until the stock is made, because we intend to boil the liquid down to about half its quantity, and if we add as much salt as is wanted now we shall find that our stock is too salt by the time the boiling is over, for salt will not fly away in steam, though water may. But salt will help to make the scum rise, and we particularly wish to remove the scum as soon as it appears, before it has time to boil down into the stock again. Therefore we throw a little salt in, and  for the same purpose we add a cupful of cold water two or three times after skimming, and after each addition heat again and skim once more.

When we have cleared away as much scum as possible, we draw the saucepan back, put on the lid, and let the liquor simmer very gently for five hours. If we wish to use it quickly, or if the weather is cold, we may at the end of three hours put in the flavouring ingredients, a carrot, a leek or an onion, a clove, a little celery, a bay leaf, a bunch of parsley, a sprig of thyme, six peppercorns, and half a blade of mace for each quart of liquid. We must remember, however, that if the weather is warm stock will keep better if vegetables have not been boiled in it, and that even if they are so boiled additional vegetables will have to be added when the stock is used in order to "revive the flavour;" otherwise our soup will not taste fresh.

Bone stock boiled without either vegetables or seasoning will not taste at all good when the five hours are over, and it is poured out, and carried into the larder. Nevertheless, it will contain goodness, and we can make excellent soup of it when the time arrives for us to do so.

Perhaps the bones do not appear to be sufficiently stewed after the liquor is strained from them. They ought to look quite clear and clean, and in such a condition that when dry we should have no objection to put them in our pockets If this be so, we may stew them again next day with a small quantity of fresh cold water, but we must on no account be persuaded to leave them in the saucepan all night.

When we want to make superior stock we take fresh meat. If we wanted three pints of stock we should need three pounds of meat – shin of beef for brown stock, knuckle of veal for white stock – and we must allow a point of water to a pound of meat and one pint of water over. The meat is to be cut into small pieces, the smaller the better, and covered with the cold water, then salted, boiled up, skimmed and simmered, exactly as recommended for bone soup. The vegetables, a carrot, half a turnip, a leek, a bunch of parsley, a sprig of thyme, a bay leaf, three or four sticks of celery, and twenty peppercorns, will be sufficient for three pints of stock.

In both these instances the liquor in which meat had been boiled, and especially the liquor in which "rabbit" or "chicken" or even rabbit bones or chicken bones had been stewed, would be much to be preferred to water if it could be had. If fresh meat were used any trimmings of meat or poultry that there might be should be thrown into the pan and stewed with the meat; they would make the stock stronger.

There is still another kind of stock which may be needed, and that is fish stock for fish soup. It may be made with the liquor in which fish has been boiled, and the bones and skin of the fish with an anchovy, an onion, and one or two cloves may be stewed in it afterwards. Fish soup should be very carefully skimmed, and it must be remembered that it will not keep as well as meat stock.

We now have our stock, which is the basis of soup, ready. The process of converting it into soup must be reserved for another lesson.

30 April 1881 'The Difficulties of a Young Housekeeper and How She Overcame Them' by Dora Hope - Chapter Seven

Spring-cleaning, the most unwonderful time of the year. 

The time for Margaret's bete noir, the dreaded spring cleaning, had now indeed come; had it been longer deferred, its name would hardly have been applicable,  for the spring was passing swiftly away.

Margaret had borne in mind Mrs Trent's advice not to begin to clean till fires were done with; but a very cold and late spring indicated that fires would be necessary for some time to come, so that lady advised her no longer to put off the evil day, though, when practicable, fires should be given up first.

Having kept her house as clean as possible, taking every room and passage in turn, so that no part had been neglected, she felt justified in departing from the time-honoured custom of having a thorough upset. It is always necessary, however, even in a house the daily or weekly cleaning of which is rigorously performed, to have a sort of "wash and brush up"; for, in the cleanest house, the summer sun, penetrating into every corner and cranny, will discover a kind of dingy air, the result of long days of fog, and damp, and smoke.

Margaret's first step was to turn out all the cupboards and drawers in the house. Each drawer as it was emptied was carried out into the little yard at the back of the house, and thoroughly brushed out, then relined with large sheets of paper, which Margaret had bought  for the purpose, before being brought back into its place.

As the cupboards could not be treated in quite the same way, a dust sheet was spread at the bottom and in front of them, and Betsy, armed with a dusting brush, swept down the walls and every corner, while Margaret was looking over the contents. When both those operations were finished, everything was put back that was not condemned as rubbish, of which a wonderful stock seemed to have accumulated during Margaret's short reign.

The cretonne chair-covers and bedroom hangings were next looked over, two or three dirty ones sent to be cleaned, and a note made of the fact that directly the cleaning was over two new covers must be made for two drawing-room chairs to replace the very shabby ones, which would just do to cover the old chairs in the boys' bedroom.

The window blinds next called for attention. All the upper rooms of the house were fitted with white ones, while the sitting-rooms had venetian blinds. The bright sunshine showed very plainly that the white linen was getting very dirty, and Joanna had told Margaret that washing it did not answer, as it always hangs badly after that process. But, as Margaret was cherishing a scheme for wonderful improvement in the drawing-room, she was loth to spend the money on anything so uninteresting as new blinds. She concluded, however, that it was imperative to get them for the two front rooms; but  for the back of the house she simply took the off the rollers and turned them top to bottom; the upper parts, being rolled up all day, were hardly soiled at all, and looked quite nice and fresh.

Another day was devoted to the book-cases, and the labour of that devolved almost entirely upon Margaret. She allowed Betsy to help her at first, but found her simple mind quite incapable of perceiving the advantage of putting a magazine for 1880 next to one for 1879, nor could she understand why volumes of poetry, history and science should not be all put upon the shelves indiscriminately.

"Sure, Miss Margaret," she said, "mine looks the best, if you'll excuse me saying so, for I've put all the green books together, and you've got the colours all mixed up anyhow."

She was very useful, however, in dusting the books. Clapping them together to shake off the dust was an operation which she thoroughly enjoyed, and made such a noise over that Margaret, who was getting a violent headache with the repeated bangs, was compelled to go away and leave her alone to clap in peace, though she knew the books would be in a state of hopeless chaos on her return.

In this way every department of the house was looked over and examined, but Margaret wisely determined to postpone the shaking of carpets, and all the other branches of cleaning which tend most to the discomfort of the household, till they should all be away for their summer holiday.

When all else was done, the winter curtains were taken down, shaken, brushed with a soft curtain brush, and stowed away on the top shelf of the linen press. They were replaced by cream-coloured lace ones in the drawing-room, as that colour keeps clean much longer than white, and in the dining-room by plain book-muslin edged with a frill, and looped back with a broad band of ribbon.

Margaret could not but be amused at Betsy's utter want of thought in sweeping a room. She had never before happened to witness this performance, and was amazed to see her maid begin to sweep just inside the room, and sweep away from the door, leaving the corners till the last, when she would rake out of them all, or as much as she could get, of the dust she had just swept in. As she frequently left the windows shut during the performance, the result of all her labour was simply that the dust flew up from the carpet, and settled on the sheets with which she furniture was covered, till they, in their turn, were hastily taken off, when it was shaken back on to the floor again. By this process the dust was perhaps more evenly distributed over the room than it had been before, but certainly none of it was entirely removed.

The morning's dusting was conducted in much the same way, simply being a flapping of dust from one place to another.

Betsy was astonished at her own stupidity when it was pointed out to her, and saw at once the wisdom of brushing from the corners into the middle of the room first, when a good deal of the dust and flue could be collected in the dust-pan and thrown into the fire. The advantages of the wide open windows were so evident that they hardly needed pointing out. Margaret advised her also, instead of hastily dragging off the dust sheets, to fold them over carefully so that the dust which had been allowed to settle on them should not be shaken off again, and then to carry them straight out into the yard and shake them there. In finishing the room, all possible articles were quickly wiped over with a slightly dampened cloth, that being, as Margaret had often observed, the only way of really removing dust. Those which would not bear this treatment were done in the ordinary way, only that she insisted upon its being performed carefully, so as to, as far as possible, collect the dust into the duster, which was then shaken outside, instead of being slapped about in the usual style.

"Well, miss," said Betsy, "it do seem so simple when you just point it out to me, but then I never can think on these things unless I'm showed."

And Margaret felt thankful for a servant who did not mind being "showed." Another perplexity had lately been about the management of the linen press. This was placed in a small room, the rest of which was used for a box-room. Being against the outside wall of the house, it was somewhat damp, and now and then a few spots of mildew o linen would fill Margaret with dismay, especially as she felt powerless to prevent this evil. A letter from Joanna in answer to one telling of her difficulties contained some suggestions:-

"It is indeed a great trouble to have a damp linen press. Do you remember how capital mine is? Of course ours being a new house we have many nice arrangements that you do not meet with in old houses, and amongst them, our linen press is heated by a hot-water pipe from the kitchen. I cannot tell you what a comfort it is.

"In your case I should recommend you to have everything thoroughly dried and aired before putting away; take the linen straight from the fire to its place in the press. Then on any bright clear day you should open the doors of the cupboard, and also the window and door of the room in which is stands, so as to get a draught of air passing through. But never do this if there is any feeling of moisture in the air, that would cause further harm.

"If the things feel damp now, take them all out and spread them in the sun if possible, or before a good fire, and leave the press doors open wide for a couple of days, then replace the contents and start fresh on my plan of airing everything before putting away; if you do this, I think you will not be troubled with mildew again.

"To ensure using the linen in proper order, you should put the articles as they come from the wash, week by week, at the bottom of the pile, then of course you take from the top, and there can be no using out of turn.

"I should paste the inventory of the house linen inside the press door if I were you, so that it cannot possibly be lost again.

"If any tablecloths are really too far worn for use you might perhaps get a piece out of the middle large enough for a sideboard cloth, or at any rate for fish napkins.

"Apropos of napkins, you know that Arthur is very particular about having his potatoes quite hot, and yet it is impossible to keep the cover on the dish or they become sodden. Well now, I always have them brought to table folded in a napkin in the dish, then when you take one you just raise the napkin with the spoon; it keeps them beautifully hot, and dries them as well.

"I should think none of your white curtains will require mending if you repaired them before putting away last autumn; but if at any future time they need it, let Betsy rinse the starch out, and then mend them before they are sent to be got up. If any are too far gone for repairs they will be useful for many purposes; the large pieces will make short blinds  for the back windows, and the small pieces are useful for tying up herbs and spices when making soup – for straining and so on.

"Possibly it may not occur to you when putting away the winter blankets that they are highly attractive to moths; they are more likely to be attacked than almost anything, so do not forget to put plenty of camphor bags between them.

"You asked me in your last how to preserve eggs for winter use. I have never been able to buy them sufficiently cheaply to make it worth while doing it; but if you are more fortunate you can preserve them either by rubbing them over with butter, which closes up the pores, and so prevents evaporation; or a still better way is to put them when quite fresh laid into a tub of lime-water made in the proportion of one pint of unslacked lime, and one pint of coarse salt to a bucketful of water. If too much lime is put in it will eat away at the shells. The eggs should be covered with the solution, and kept in a cold place, and they must be new laid, or they will not keep.

"You say you find a difficulty in getting a sufficient supply of gravy for your various dishes, as the stock made from bones looks such a poor colour that you cannot serve it as gravy. That is easily overcome by simply colouring the stock. The flavour necessary can be added with herbs. You had better make a supply of 'browning' to keep always at hand. A very usual way is to put two ounces of powdered sugar into a stewpan over a slow fire; as soon as it begins to melt commence stirring it till it is of a good dark colour; then add half a pint of cold water. Another way is: on two tablespoonfuls of chicory pour a good half-pint of boiling water, and let it stand. These should be put into bottles well corked, and a few drops of either will be sufficient for a small tureen of gravy. Or, if you do not object to the flavour, the burnt onions which you buy at the grocer's do very well."

The letter then went on to other household topics upon which Margaret had been in perplexity. One weak point in Betsy's cookery was melted butter, so-called, for certainly the solid starch-like mass sent to table under that name was like anything rather than butter. Her way of making it remains a mystery, but after once adopting Joanna's plan she never turned to the former style. The recipe was as follows:-

Take two ounces of butter; cut up small, that it may melt more easily; put it, with a large teaspoonful of flour and two tablespoonfuls of milk, into a stewpan; mix these with a wooden spoon to a smooth paste. Then add about six tablespoonfuls of cold water with a small pinch of salt, and still less of pepper; put it on the fire, and stir one way till it is just about to  oil; then leave of stirring, and when it boils it is done. To make the butter thinner add more milk.

One evening soon after this, the boys sallied forth towards the country lanes which lay just outside the town. They had provided themselves with baskets, old gloves, and knives, and told their sister they were going in search of country produce.

What was her surprise when they returned with baskets full and brimming over with young nettletops!

"Oh, boys! What did you get all that rubbish for?"

"Now, Madge, don't call it rubbish till you know what it is used for. You've got to boil them or frizzle them or something, and then they will be just like cabbages," responded Tom, knowingly.

"But what ever made you think of such an absurd idea," asked Margaret, laughing.

"That's always the way with girls. You think nobody makes inventions but yourselves."

"Now, Made, he's telling stories," chimed in Dick excitedly, "we didn't think of it at all. Only to-day at school young Melrose made us guess what he had had for dinner, and I guessed hedgehog, and Tom guessed cat, and all the fellows guessed things, and then he said 'nettles,' and then we didn't believe him, and he said, 'Well, you try,' and his mate never told him what it was till they had eaten it all; and they kept on saying what nice spinach it was, and so we thought we'd have some too, and we only cut the young tops off, so they are sure to be good. Only, Madge, if ever you go gathering them, mind you go alone, for if there's another fellow with you, and he's stooping down getting them, you feel you can't resist tipping him over into them."

"Yes, that's what he did to me, only I went clean head over heels and alighted on my back, so I didn't get stung a bit, so it was a sell for Dick," remarked Tom

"Well, I'll try them to-morrow, certainly, though I don't know how to do them," said Margaret, resignedly.

Accordingly the next day this enterprising family enjoyed a dish of nettles, which were decidedly successful, tender and nicely-flavoured, in fact almost undistinguishable from young spinach. They were cut up small and boiled in exactly the same way as spinach.

Shortly after this, Dick's fourteenth birthday came round, and on this important anniversary he was to have the privilege of inviting a select party of his friends to tea and games. Margaret felt a little anxious concerning the entertainment in both branches. As to the tea, she wished to make it as far as possible agreeable to boy palates and yet substantial withal; and the arrangement of her small menu took her some time. In the end it was very simple; plates of white and brown bread and butter, with various kinds of jam, were a matter of course; then followed Dick's favourite dish, potato-cakes, which he had specially requested might be included in the banquet. They were made from a recipe given Margaret some time before by the mother of Dick's particular friend, Melrose. She was an enterprising lady who was very fond of trying experiments in cookery, as was proved by her dish of nettles, and as she was always ready to give anyone the benefit of her experience, Margaret found her a very useful friend. The recipe was as follows:- "Boil a few potatoes (or use any which have been left from dinner), mash them up with a little butter and a pinch of salt. Empty on to the paste-board, rub in a little flour, and mix to the proper consistency with milk. An egg beaten up and mixed with the milk or half a teaspoonful of baking-powder is an improvement; but is not absolutely necessary. Roll it out, shape it into small cakes, and bake. Then cut them open and butter them, and serve whilst quite hot."

Then followed a heterogeneous collection of buns, toasted scones, and so on; amongst them some gingerbread cakes, which one of the epicures on the occasion pronounced to be "nice enough to make an old man young."

The recipe for them, as Margaret copied it for Joanna's use, was this:- 1 1/2 lbs treacle, 1/2 lb butter, 1 lb raw sugar, 3 eggs, 3 teaspoonfuls of baking powder, 1/2 oz ground ginger, 1 teaspoonful of salt. Mix the butter, melted, into the treacle, beat the eggs and pour them in; add the other ingredients, and [t as much flour as you can possibly mix into it. Make it into small cakes; put them a little distance apart on a tin. Bake in a moderate oven for a quarter of an hour.

And finally, as a delicate finish to the repast, there were two dishes of apples in custard. The apples were the dried chips, bought at a grocer's for sixpence a pound, stewed, sweetened, and flavoured with lemon.

As the family sat chatting round the fire the evening before Dick's birthday, Mr Colville mentioned that he would not be home till late the next night, and hoped Margaret would not find any difficulty in superintending the amusement of her guests.

"But they will not want amusing, I hope; boys generally seem to shake down and enjoy themselves when they get over their shyness.  And Mr Trent said he should very much like to drop in after tea, and play at being a schoolboy again, but I thought perhaps Dick might not like it; so, as it is his party, I did not respond very warmly."

"But I should like it very much, he is such a jolly fellow, and I'm sure the other fellows would like him, and we'll make him do those conjuring tricks he knows. I vote we ask him," cried Dick.

"Yes, Madge, I think you had better get him to come in," said Mr Colville. "If he really offered to look after the boys it would save you all the anxiety."

"I say, how awfully often Trent comes here lately!" said Tom, meditatively, from his post on the hearthrug, where he lay sprawling at full length.

He expected to be reproved for saying "awfully," but no one noticed it. Not choosing to have his remarks thus ignored, he went on, "I like him; he's an awfully good sort of fellow – don't you think so, Madge."

"I certainly see nothing 'awful' about him," replied his sister severely.

"I say, father, I don't believe he would come so often if one of us four was away, do you?" he went on, with that knowing air peculiar to budding youths, raising himself on his elbow and staring at Madge. Whereon she fell to blushing, whilst Mr Colville replied, unconcernedly enough –

"I don't perceive that he shows any particular partiality for any one member of the family above the others; but his father was a very old friend of mine, and he naturally feels at home among us. I am glad if you boys think he has taken a fancy to you; for he is a nice, intelligent sensible young fellow. Now, lads, off to bed with you, it is getting late."

"All right, father. Give us a hand up, Dick. Good-night, Madge. Why, how red your face is to be sure, and you're not near the fire either."

And with this parting shot the irrepressible boy departed.

26 March 1881 - Answers to Correspondents - Miscellaneous

PETITE (Addiscombe) - 1. Blue blood has no reference to venous as contrasted with arterial blood. It is only by a figure of speech we say that persons of high rank have "blue blood in their veins." "Of gentle blood" is a phrase used by Shakespeare, and long familiar. Blue blood is of more recent use. It is probably taken from the Spanish "Sang azul," when the old Castilian families disclaimed any taint of Moorish or other connections. 2. Aesthetic signifies that which belongs to good taste. Like many other words of modern introduction, it is often used in a burlesque or ironical way. As tastes proverbially differ, so does the application of the term "aesthetic." There is much affectation about "culture" and "high art" in our time, and those who talk most about such things are often very deficient in good taste and common sense. 3. We wish all our correspondents wrote as clearly and as briefly.

ZULU - Corned beef in tins, if of a good brand, from some respectable firm, is made from the best meat, and is often more wholesome than fresh beef, if that is not of first quality. Sometimes, but rarely, a tin is bad from imperfect exclusion of air in closing, and it is well always to make the retail dealer open the tin when for immediate use. Poor people and servants are usually prejudiced against anything cheap.

GOODY TWO SHOES - The tinted paper makes your letter almost illegible. Sensible people prefer white paper. The medical questions can only be answered by a doctor, after examination. If the lungs are diseased the treatment would be different from what an attack of pleurisy would require. Removal from the sea would not necessarily be beneficial. It may be colder and bleaker inland than on the coast, as of the Isle of Wight or Devonshire, for instance. 

BRENDA RONALDSON - The Editor thanks you heartily for your kind gift of a box of beautiful snowdrops.

THREE BLIND MICE - We advise you not to use the remedy advertised, but to trust to diet and exercise.  For the etiquette of visiting, see our first volume. A hedgehog is not a suitable pet, especially if on duty as a policeman against the black beetles.

ILL-USED GIRL - We hardly believe that any lady would shut up a child in a dark room all day without food as a punishment. You ought to be glad to be sent to post letters and to do other little services, instead of showing temper on such occasions.

MARY - You wish us not to repeat your questions, which makes it difficult to give an explanation. Your whole sentence is incorrect, and does not keep up throughout "correspondence in time;" "You were naughty when you broke," &c., would be correct. "Do not disappoint me after having promised," &c., is also correct. Study the various tenses of the regular and irregular verbs; and be careful not to write half the sentence in one tense and the remainder in another.

THREE FRIENDS - We prefer Amy's writing. Alice promises well, but her hand is not quite formed. That of Gertrude is cramped. She should practise making graceful flourishes so as to arrive at a more free and flowing style.

19 March 1881 - 'Pies and Tarts' by Phillis Browne - 'Short Paste, Suet Paste, and Raised Pies'

I said in our last lesson that the idea in puff paste is to have the butter and paste separate, so that the paste shall be made up of a number of layers, divided from each other by layers of butter. In short-paste, on the other hand, the idea is  for the butter to be mixed with the  flour by kneading, not rolling. Indeed, one great secret in making good short-crust is to roll it as little as possible. After the butter and flour have been moistened with water, the paste would be rolled once only to make it smooth and of a good shape.

Short paste is much more wholesome than puff paste. It is used chiefly for fruit pies and tartlets. It is made more easily, and is much more commonly met with than puff paste, which is usually regarded as a luxury.

In short paste, as in puff paste, the addition of an egg and of a few drops of lemon-juice enriches the paste, and helps to make it workable. These ingredients are not, however, absolutely necessary, and very good pastry may be made without them.

Short paste is "superior," or "good," or "plain," according to the quality and quantity of the materials used in making it. In very rich pastry equal quantities of butter and flour would be used. Superior crust might, however, be made with less than half the weight of butter than of flour, and good economical pastry may be made with a smaller proportion of butter and a little baking-powder. Good plain pastry may be made with sweet soft beef dripping, such as is obtained from joints, or produced by rendering down ox flare or other kinds of soft beef fat.

A great many people have a strong objection to pastry made with dripping. I cannot quite understand the delicacy of appetite which refuses good beef dripping and accepts cheap common butter. If butter is wanted, let good butter be used; but if it is a question between dripping that is fresh, soft and sweet, and questionable or cooking butter, I should say by all means choose the dripping. A large proportion of the composition sold under the name is not butter at all - it is coloured animal fat. Why should we not use the animal fat, i.e., dripping, and omit the colouring? The difference in price between the adulterated article and the real one is worth consideration. And I hope the girls who attend our class will be too sensible to scorn economy in cookery. A really good cook is never a wasteful one, and it is wasteful to purchase cheap butter for every-day pastry when there is in the larder sweet dripping that could be employed instead. IN making pastry a light cool hand is worth more than a pennyworth of colouring matter.

It must not be supposed, however, that I recommend the use of all kinds of dripping in making pastry. Fresh soft beef dripping is excellent  for the purpose, but mutton dripping is to so. It has a way of making pastry taste like tallow-candles, and as Europeans have not the same tastes as the Esquimaux, this flavour is not popular. Though mutton dripping is not to be made into pies, however, good hard mutton fat, finely-shred, is almost as good as beef suet for making paste for boiled puddings. Lard is much liked by some cooks for making pastry. It is, however, better when mixed with butter or dripping than when used alone. Bacon fat also, if not too much smoked, may be employed to make pastry for meat pies.

The water used in mixing pastry should be added gradually and mixed thoroughly. If a large quantity is poured in at once the pastry may be made over moist, and then an undue proportion of flour will have to be added before the pastry can be rolled. It should be remembered that it is scarcely possible to give the exact measure of water that will be needed in making pastry because some flours absorb more moisture than others. An experienced cook could tell in a moment by touching the pastry whether or not it was of the right consistency. All one can say to the inexperienced is that pastry should be smooth and stiff, but not too stiff.  If over moist it will stick to the rolling-pin or the pastry-board, if too stiff it will not be light when baked.

We will suppose, therefore, that we wish to make superior short crust; how shall we proceed? We must put six ounces of flour on a board, and mix with it a very small pinch of salt. We then rub into it with the fingers four ounces of sweet butter, and keep rubbing until the butter is quite lost to sight and the flour looks like fine oatmeal. If the pastry is intended for a fruit-pie or tartlet, an ounce of finely powdered white sugar may now be added. We then make a well in the centre of the flour, and break into it the yolk of an egg. We put on this two drops of lemon-juice and a very little (about a tablespoonful) of cold water; mix all flour, egg, and water together with two fingers (or if the cook has not a cool hand she may mix the paste with the blade of a clean knife), and add more water gradually till there is a smooth stiff paste; knead this lightly, roll out once, and the pastry is ready. Of course, if the egg is not considered necessary it must be omitted.

If plain short crust is wanted, we put one pound of flour into a bowl with a pinch of salt and a heaped teaspoonful of baking powder. Rub into this six ounces of clarified dripping; add cold water to make a smooth stiff paste, knead lightly, roll out once and use.

The excellence of pastry depends very much upon its being properly baked. The best pastry that ever was mixed would be spoilt if the oven was not exactly right. If an oven is not hot enough the pastry will sink away from the edges of the dish and will be heavy. If the oven is too hot the pastry will be burnt or will stiffen without rising. The surest way of testing the heat of the oven is to bake a small piece of pastry before putting the pie or tart into it. Another way is to sprinkle a little flour upon the oven shelf. If it turn a bright brown in a few seconds the oven is hot enough. If it turn black the oven is too hot; if it remains pale in colour the oven is too slow.

Pastry should be put in the hot part of the oven  for the first five minutes, after which is should be removed to a cooler part that it may be cooked through. Large pies containing fruit or meat, which must be thoroughly cooked, should have a sheet of paper placed over them as soon as the pastry has risen, to prevent their acquiring a dark brown colour before the contents of the pie are done.

Pastry which is to be boiled is lighter when made with suet than it is when butter, lard, or dripping is used. Beef suet is generally used for this purpose, but mutton suet is more wholesome and can be chopped the more easily of the two. With one pound of flour, four, six, eight or ten ounces of suet may be taken, according to the degree of richness required. Very good suet crust may be made with six ounces of suet, one teaspoonful of baking powder, a pinch of salt, and a pound of flour. The suet should be skimmed, and the fibres and sinews should be removed, and it should then be chopped till it is far as fine as oatmeal, and rubbed into the flour; water should be added gradually. To make a very stiff paste, the pastry should be rolled out once and it is ready for use.

Making raised pies, that is pies baked without either dishes or pattypans, is very interesting work, and like a good man other things it is very mysterious until we know how to do it, and very easy when we do. I will try to describe the method of making these pies very clearly. If there are any girls who feel inclined to follow the instructions given, and make the attempt, I would advise them to begin by making small pies, and when they have become quite proficient in the art, they may try their hand on large ones.

Raises pies may be made with every kind of meat, game, or poultry, provided only that whatever is used is free from bone. It must be remembered, therefore, that all meat must be boned before it is used for this purpose. The meat also must be pleasantly seasoned, and the gravy must be reduced until it will form a stiff jelly when cold. This strong gravy is put in after the pie has been taken from the oven, and it should, if possible, be made the day before it is wanted.

We will suppose, therefore, that we wish to make either one moderate sized pork pie, or two small ones. Take one pound of lean pork, one pound of flour, a quarter of a pound of lard, half a pint of cold water, six dried sage leaves, one egg, and a little pepper and salt. Weigh the flour and put it into a bowl with a little salt; put the lard and cold water into a saucepan, and set it on the fire until it is boiling hot. Pour the boiling liquor into the flour, and mix it with a wooden spoon till it is a firm smooth paste. It cannot, of course, be mixed with the fingers in the first instance, because it will be too hot.

Mix the sage leaves with a little pepper and salt on a plate. While the water and lard are heating, cut the meat into small neat pieces and set them aside till wanted.

As soon as the paste is made we must be as expeditious as possible, because the pie is to be moulded while the paste is warm and soft. As it gets cold it will become hard, and then we cannot shape it as we wish. First we cut off one-fourth of the quantity of paste (that is if we are going to make one moderate sized pie), put it on a plate, and set it over a saucepan of hot water to keep it soft; it is intended  for the lid of the pie. We then take the remainder of the paste, form it with both hands to an oval lump, and lay it on the table. We keep pressing the centre of the lump with the knuckles of the right hand to make a hollow; we put the thumb of the right hand inside the hole thus formed, whilst keeping the four fingers outside it, and with the help of the left hand we work the shape round and round till we have a firm thin wall to the pie with a solid foundation. We shall find that the walls will show a tendency to grow wider than the bottom, and incline outwards. This cannot be allowed, they must inline inwards, and so if they get wide they must be doubled over and then pressed smooth, just as children double over part of a seam when they are in danger of "puckering" it. When we acquire skill in our work there will be no fear of our thus "puckering" our pork pie, and so we shall not need to fold it over, but while we are learners we must do our best, and leave the rest.

Another mistake into which we shall be likely to fall will be that of making our walls or sides thinner in some places than in others. This also must not be allowed. When the pie is filled and is in the oven, these thin places will, if left, burst through, and the pie will be spoilt. Care must be taken, therefore, to make the walls of an even thickness all round, and if any portion should inadvertently become thin and weak we must either double it over and make it thick again, as in the former case, or lay a little patch of pastry inside it to strengthen it.

Girls will see now how necessary it is to be quick in this business. The paste is soft when we begin to work upon it, but every minute it is getting harder. If it were to get quite hard we should have to put it on a plate over hot water to soften it again, and then it would not be so good as when freshly made.

When the pie is shaped we fill it to within half an inch of the top with the pieces of meat, first dipping each one into cold water and afterwards rolling it in the seasoning which was mixed ready for us a little while ago on the plate. We then roll out the piece of paste which was set apart  for the cover to the proper shape and size, and lay it over the meat; egg the edges, and press them securely together, and make a hole in the centre of the pie through which the gravy can be poured when the pie is baked. All that now remains to be done is to ornament our work, brush it all over with beaten egg, and bake it in a moderate oven, then pour the gravy into it. The ornamentation must be left to taste. The pie will look very pretty if leaves of pastry are laid all round the outside, and if the rim at the top is notched finely and evenly with scissors. I once saw a pie made to look very pretty by placing what the artist called "wheatsheaves" (that is, strips of pastry rolled up, then cut finely at one end to make them look something like wheatsheaves) at regular intervals, with leaves of pastry between. Of course these ornaments had to be fastened firmly to the pie with white of egg.

Raised pies must be baked in a moderate oven, because they are solid, and have to be cooked throughout. A pie such as I have described would need to bake from two to three hours; a large pie would require from four to five hours. Sometimes these raised pies are made in a mould, then the bottom is rolled and laid in the tin; the sides are put on separately, the edges being fastened together with white of egg, and the lid is laid on and fastened in the same way. These moulds are not, however, to be found in every kitchen, and it is a very good thing when we are able to dispense with them.

Girls who wish to become adepts in the art of making pastry must always remember that the most perfect theories are of little use without practice. Practice alone will enable us to make good pastry. We may measure quantities and observe rules with the utmost precision, but until we have had practice we shall creep painfully along instead of marching bravely forward with our pies in our hands.

19 February 1881 - Useful Hints

COFFEE utensils or brass articles may be as thoroughly cleaned and look as bright by washing them with a solution of salt and vinegar as by using oxalic acid, with the advantage of running no risk of poisoning either children or careless persons. Use as much salt as the vinegar will dissolve, and apply with a woollen rag, rubbing vigorously, then polish with pulverised chalk, and the article will look like new, with little labour, as the acid of the vinegar is very efficient in removing all stains from either copper or brass.

VEAL BALLS - One half pound of cold veal, eight tablespoonfuls of bread crumbs, two tablespoonfuls of chopped parsley, one teaspoonful of mixed dried herbs, and one half-teaspoonful of pepper, one teaspoonful of salt, one salt-spoonful of grated nutmeg, tow eggs. Put six tablespoonfuls of the bread crumb into a bowl, and chopping the vela finely mix it therewith. Season this with the pepper and salt, adding the nutmeg, also the parsley and herbs, after which the whole must be thoroughly mixed together. To give this consistency drop in the yolks of the two eggs, saving the whites separate upon a plate. Roll the mixture now into small balls, using an ounce of flour upon the hands to prevent sticking. Beat the whites of the eggs slightly, roll the balls therein, and placing the remaining bread-crumbs in a paper, roll them also in it. Throw them into smoking, clarified fat for four minutes, when they should be taken out and put to drain on kitchen paper, after which serve upon a hot napkin.

SAVOURY HASH - Three quarters of a pound of cold meat, one Spanish onion, one ounce of butter, one ounce of flour, one teaspoonful of salt, one half teaspoonful of pepper, one dessert-spoonful of catsup, one dessert-spoonful of Harvey's sauce, one half-pint of second stock, one carrot, one turnip. Clean and chop fine both the carrot and the turnip, when they must be put to boil in a small saucepan with boiling water until tender, which will take about twenty minutes. While these are cooking melt the butter in a separate saucepan, brown it in the onion sliced, then cutting into slices cold roast beef, or beefsteak, roll them in the flour, and, placing these slices in the butter with the onion, brown slightly also. Pour over this the stock, the Harvey's sauce, and catsup, stir gently until the stock boils, and season with pepper and salt. When the meat is thoroughly heated through arrange them in a flat dish and pour the grave over. Strain the water from the carrot and turnip, and pile them high on the top of the pieces of meat when ready for serving.

CUSTARD PIE - Three eggs, three gills of milk, one ounce of sugar, one half-teaspoonful of grated nutmeg. Line a pie-tin with pie-crust, and putting the eggs and sugar into a bowl, beat them together until the eggs become very light. Add to this the milk, and pour all into the crust-lined pie tin; place the whole in a moderate oven, and bake the pie for half an hour. When done, grate over the surface the nutmeg, and serve cold or hot, as the taste may suggest, although custard pie should be cooled at once if desired cold, as the crust soaks and becomes unpalatable with standing.

A SIMPLE SPONGE CAKE - Take five eggs, three quarters of a pound of sifted sugar, break the eggs upon the latter, beat all together for half an hour. Take the weight of two and a half eggs in their shells of flour, and after the time of beating is expired stir in the flour the grated rind of a lemon and as much of the juice as desired, and pour immediately into a tin lined with buttered paper; place at once into a rather cool oven.

CLEANING WHITE FURS - Wash in a cold lather of soap and water, with a little soda and blue; if not sufficiently clean, draw it through several clean lathers; rinse in fresh water, and hang up to dry.

PREPARATION OF FRUIT ICES - Take one pint of strawberries, one pint of cream, rather less than half a pound of white sugar, and the juice of one lemon. Wash the fruit through a sieve, remove the seeds, mix all together, and freeze; adding a little new milk to quicken the process. Strawberry and raspberry jam may be used in lieu of fresh fruit, or equal quantities of the two together; but in this case less sugar will be required.

WATER ICE may be made thus. Take a large bottle of the fruit, the juice of a lemon, one pound of sugar, and half a pint of water. Rub the fruit through a sieve, mix and freeze.

LEMON AND ORANGE WATER ICE - Make thus. Of the juice and the water each half a pint, rasping off the rind before squeezing with lump sugar, and adding it to the juice; then mix, strain, leave to stand for an hour, and freeze. Beat up the whites of three eggs with a little sugar, and as the ice begins to set work it in with a spatula.

STRAINED INDIA-RUBBER - Professor Tait has found that india-rubber , after having been stretched for years and become permanently strained, or if it be stretched while warm nearly to rupture, will recover its former dimensions when it is dipped into hot water.

STOOPING AT WORK - The Lancet says: "The dangers which the seamstress, especially the young undeveloped girl, incurs by prolonged stooping over her work have been exposed by us on more than one occasion. Every practitioner will have been able to trace cases of deviation of the spine, uterine complaints, etc., to the bending of the back, and the crossing of the legs for so many hours day after day Our object now is to record the successful attempt made by Dr. Malherbe to avoid these melancholy consequences of an industrious occupation. The new system employed is that of fixing to the edge of an ordinary table a sort of cushion on which the work can be easily fastened or spread out, and represents the seamstress's knees. A framework of the simplest description admits of the raising or lowering of this cushion, so that the work may be done either sitting or standing; but in either case the vertebral column is maintained perfectly straight, while the facility thus given to a change of position will tend to mitigate the fatigue a young person would otherwise experience. Recognising that example is more forcible than theory when waging war against common routine, Dr. Malherbe at once sought an opportunity for making some practical experiment. He therefore introduced his contrivance at the Communal School of Nantes, and no objection was raised on the part of the pupils. Two among them had a slight tendency to malformation, which has been to some extent rectified since the introduction of this reform in the attitude of sewing. Evidently the remedy to a great evil is simple and practical, and should be made the subject of more extensive experiments.

THE following is the Scotch method of washing woollen shawls - Scrape one pound of soap and boil it down in water When cooling beat it with the hand; it will become a sort of jelly. Add three tablespoonfuls of spirits of turpentine and one of spirits of hartshorn. Wash the article thoroughly in it, then rinse in cold water until all the soap is taken off, then in salt and water. Fold between two sheets, taking care not to allow two folds of the article washed to lie together. Mangle and iron with a very cool iron. Shawls done in this way look like new. Use the salt only where there are delicate colours that may strike.

12 February 1881 - 'Dinners in Society' by S.F.A. Caulfield

Perpetual solicitations on the part of the correspondents of this magazine to be further instructed in the  usages of "polite society" must plead my excuse  for the revival of a subject so trite and uninteresting to those no longer "girls."

Without further introduction, I will suppose that you are engaged to dine out, to meet a considerable assemblage of friends. Commence your preparations in good time, and let your dressing be completed a few minutes before the carriage is announced. To keep your elders waiting is most disrespectful; they have to choose between leaving you behind, or keeping your hosts and others waiting - spoiling their dinner, and perhaps of giving the horses cold also.

On being announced by one of the men-servants at the door of the vestibule or anti-room, you will find that your hostess awaits you, close at hand, within. Look at no one else, supposing that she had moved further into the drawing-room to lead some guest to a seat. Make a very slight curtsey as you give her your hand, a little act of politeness always observed in the upper ranks of society on formal occasions, and which needs to be practised, as it should be naturally and gracefully done. If not directed to a place, select one as little conspicuous as possible; not on a sofa, nor a large arm chair, unless desired to do so.

In ordinary society the ten minutes preceding the announcement of dinner are found to hang somewhat heavily on hand. Hungry, chilly, and possibly shy, or else naturally dull and uninteresting, people often appear to have nothing to say. I am, however, only writing for girls, who are not the proper leaders of general conversation. But they may speak to a next young neighbour without an introduction. After dinner you may assist your hostess in entertaining fellow-guests, though careful not to put yourself forward ostentatiously, so as to attract notice. Nothing could be in worse taste than to appear as if "doing the honours" (as people call it) of another person's house; instead of merely acting as a helper to her. Offer your small services, and follow her directions. I have seen young girls running about all over the room in a most forward and unseemly manner, taking the entire direction of the entertainment without the excuse of being daughters of the house.

But much may be gracefully and effectually done in a gentle, quiet way. Collect your thoughts before any kind of reunion, and be prepared with any little subjects of interest to form topics of pleasant conversation. Neither receive visitors at home, nor accept the hospitality of others, without making it a point of duty to return their kindness by making yourself agreeable. Do not sit silently scanning the dress of your neighbours, and saying nothing; nor answer in mere monosyllables, nor start when some one addresses you, as if you had just wakened up out of a nap. This is apt to occur in the case of young people who have few opportunities of mixing in society. Keep your hands still; do not move uneasily in your chair when first addressed, nor fiddle with the buttons of your gloves. Buttoned once they do not require to be touched again. Apart from any other objections to tricks like these, your awkward shyness presents a painful spectacle.

The dinner is now announced, and as the lady of the house has already signified to each of the gentlemen to whom he should offer his escort, and introduced to each other the pairs hitherto unacquainted, they all proceed to the dining-room according to the order of their respective precedence. With this matter - if ever a hostel yourself - you will have to make yourself thoroughly acquainted. Where there is no rank of birth nor professional position, age will always be your guide, which should never be overlooked.

I may here observe that "the girls" seem strangely solicitous about "which arm" a gentleman should present to the lady whom he conducts to the dining-room. Why they should feel so distracted about it I am at a loss to divine. One rule is enough for you - whichever arm your cavalier presents, accept it. Circumstances must guide him. Englishmen generally give the right, and foreigners the left. Where large entertainments are given the stairs are broad, as in our old country seats and stately town mansions. But in the humble dwellings of poor gentlemen and professionals, the narrow stairs have often an awkward turning at a sharp angle, leaving scarcely a ledge whereon to place the foot. Let the young man having a lady under his charge take due note of the stairs, and act accordingly.

You are now seated at table. Immediately after "grace" has been said, unfold your dinner-napkin, lay it across your lap, and remove both your gloves. Put the latter in your pocket, because if they fell from your lap under the table, your companion would have to dive under it to recover them on your rising to leave the room.

If you take soup do not crumble nor break your bread into it, except in the privacy of home, where a small dinner might be thus supplemented. Fried toast will be served with it if suitable. Take the soup from the side of the spoon - do not turn round the point to your mouth; make no noise in drawing in the liquid, nor in the act of swallowing it. If this offer you any difficulty practise the art at home. Lastly, do not hold up the plate on one side, nor make a scraping with the spoon; you can finish the soup easily without raising the plate.

Fish will next be handed round. Be careful in removing the bones with your fish-knife and fork, because a choking fit at dinner would not be an agreeable diversion to your neighbours; and to remove anything objectionable from your mouth at any time, whether of bone or gristle, is by no means a pretty exhibition. So put nothing in that is to come out, however cleverly and privately contrived. At small dinners given by persons of limited means, who may have no silver fish knives, you must only take your fork in your right hand and a small wedge-like crust of bread in the left, with which to assist the fork. Again, I must impress on you the impropriety of making a noise when eating, showing what is in your mouth by keeping your lips apart; and drinking before you have swallowed what you have been eating, or without wiping your mouth both before and afterwards.

Various courses follow that of the fish. Should curry chance to be one of the dishes, use both fork and spoon, but not your knife; and if helped to a tart containing stone fruit, remove the stones neatly from the plums with your fork. It is quite unnecessary to perform that operation in your mouth.

Possibly, at a private dinner, a hostess may press a guest to try some viand which she does not like. Of course the obligations on a hostess are even more strict than those on a guest, simply because the latter is dependent on her wishes; and so long as she remains under her roof, her comfort and feelings, in every way, should be consulted. Thus, to press her to eat or drink after she has declined, is an act of ill-breeding. At the same time it would be gross rudeness to show a distaste for any dish laid before you, or to persist in refusing it, were it pressed upon you. Self-denial is a Christian grace. Amongst half-civilised nations it is a mark of distinction conferred on any guest for a chief to roll up some morsel of food in his hands, and insert the greasy pellet with his own unassisted fingers into the mouth of the visitor. To decline it - because by no means an appetising morsel - would be a reflection on the good taste of the host, and an evidence of ingratitude for the distinction intended. Moreover, your rejection of the bonne bouche might cost you your head, or purchase the novelty of a javelin through your heart!

Apropos of controlling your fancies at table or elsewhere, rather than cast a reflection on one who wishes to please you, I will mention a little incident told me long ago by one to whom I owe much of my own early training in the usages of society. Now a very aged and venerable man, his parents had lived much about the Court of the old King George III, having been honoured with his personal intimacy He himself had lived and visited amongst the grandees of the Court of the Prince, as Regent and King, and was regarded as a man of most accomplished manners. Thus, I have no hesitation in giving my young readers advice derived from such competent authority.

The Prince Regent was styled "the first gentleman in England," for, like our own Prince of Wales, few had so keen an intuitive perception of the principles that govern all rules of good breeding. On one occasion he had indulged in taking snuff, and turning to a lady beside him, he presented his open box and invited her to take a pinch likewise. Alas! The good woman was not equal to the occasion; she was not in the habit of taking snuff - perhaps she disliked it; in fact, she had not learnt her less in good manners. So she thanked him and declined. Of course he felt as if charged with an indiscretion; but, always self-possessed and dignified, he simply turned to another lady and made her the same offer. This time he had met with a woman who was not out of her place in a palace. She thanked him graciously for so distinguishing her, and took the snuff, just sufficient of course to smell, but not to produce a sneeze. Her act justified that of the Prince, who was only testing her good manners, and he showed his recognition of her conduct by presenting her with the beautiful jewelled box, as a memento of the occasion.

Again I must conduct you back to the dining-room. Observe how highly-bred people eat asparagus. They feel with the knife where the soft part ends, and dividing the stems, they eat with the fork. It is a disgusting spectacle to see people draw out a mangled end from their mouths reduced to a ragged fringe. Never eat peas with a spoon. You may change the fork into your right hand and use it as one, or you may press the peas with it - still in the right hand - making them adhere conveniently together. Excepting at a private dinner, where little variety if any is provided, never ask for a second help from the same dish.

Take care to keep your hands off the table. Never fiddle with the salt, nor the spoon, knife and fork, and make no crumbs with your bread. Avoid coughing, and the use of your handkerchief; having a cold you should remain at home. If disposed to sneeze, from pepper or mustard, contrive to hold your nose with your handkerchief for a moment, to stop it in time, but do so unobserved if possible. After the game, cheese is carried round, and its usual accompaniments of butter and biscuits, &c. If you take butter, do not scrape off a piece against the rim of your plate, turning the face of the knife downwards, as if you were cleaning a putty-knife on the edge of a piece of glass. Contrive to loosen the butter, so as to place it fairly in the plate at one side. Should you also take cheese, butter a small piece of bread or biscuit, place a piece of cheese upon it, and convey it to your mouth in this way. To do so with the blade of a knife is highly objectionable, and contrary to all rules that obtain in the upper ranks of society, though many, otherwise well-bred people, may be seen careless in this respect in private, and elderly people also allow themselves much license in trifling matters, which they do not mean to form an example to younger people. Such little infringements of the orthodox rules should not be criticised by young people. Advancing life sometimes brings lassitude and indifference about them; and, moreover, what would evidence much selfishness and greediness in youth, is only to be regarded as the consent of an infirm person with a poor appetite, to be suitably nursed and provided for.

Dessert is now served, and the finger-glasses and d'oyleys are removed from all the plates by their respective owners. Fruit often presents difficulties to the consumers; what with the stones, skins, shells, or rind; it is not always easy to eat in a delicate and refined manner. Half-bred people may be seen inserting pieces of orange into their mouths and drawing out the peel again, showing the remains of the pulp on their plates. Pomegranates present some difficulty amongst other fruits. They are full of juice, and equally so of stones, too large to be swallowed wholesale. Cut one in two, and with the spoon press the stones within, as in a cup, extracting and taking up the juice with it.

Having taken what fruit they require, each lad dips her fingers in the finger-glass, and touches her lips also with the water, dries them, and puts on her gloves. She then lays the napkin on the seat of her chair. The lady of the house watches to attract the notice of the chief guest, seated at her husband's right hand, and smiles and bows to her, and they rise simultaneously, followed by all. The host opens the door, the chief lady walks out first, the rest according to their respective precedence, and the gentlemen stand until all have retired to the drawing-room.

In conclusion, I have a word of advice to offer on the subject of dinners at home, or after a homely fashion. Observe what dishes are being used, and those on which there appears to be a kind of "run," and never ask for that of which there is little, to the deprivation of any one yet unhelped. When there is a tart or pie uncut, there being sufficient of some other dish, show some little consideration for your hostess. The expenses and difficulties of housekeeping in families of small means are great. Keep your eyes about you. Remember the invalids, or those advanced in years Some small delicacy at the table may perhaps have been prepared for them. Try also to supplement the efforts of your hostess. However hospitable, and ready to give you anything you would like, she would appreciate a thoughtfulness on your part, that would leave something nice for one who is always last helped, or would spare an unbroken dish  for the following day, without making the reason too apparent. Would you wish her to replace a sort of wreckage of all in her small larder in return for her kindness to you?

22 January 1881 - 'The Difficulties of a Young Housekeeper and How She Overcame Them' by Dora Hope - Chapter Four

Fun with oranges and lentils, and exchanging a coarse elephantine maidservant for a charming pretty one. 

"Gone is my gladsomeness, and fled the merry party
Which but as yesterday were gathering round the Yule,"

Sang Margaret one morning, early in January, as she tripped about the house, duster in hand, giving a touch here and a vigorous rub there. The pathetic words and air were but ill matched by the brightness of her face, rosy with exercise, whilst the sprightly and somewhat jerky rendering of the song, interrupted as it was with attention to housewifely cares, did not add to its appropriateness. It was true that at any rate a portion of the "merry party" had fled, in the persons of Mr. And Mrs. Hellier, who had returned to their own home, and Margaret had not been without a little feeling of desolateness for a few days after her sister's departure; but being a very resolute young person, with a strong notion of the futility of mourning over the inevitable, she set herself to forget her trouble, saying that there is nothing like hard work for bringing people to their senses.

The visit had been a very pleasant one in many ways, for Joanna's kind advice and encouragement were very grateful to Margaret's unaccustomed ears - unaccustomed, not from want of affection on the part of father and brothers, but what man, still less what boy, can guess half the little worries and anxieties that beset a young housekeeper in her daily round?

So far from condemning Margaret's economies - or, as she called them, her little mean tricks, such as sifting the cinders - Joanna approved of them highly; indeed, recommended her to add to the category. Considering the small sum out of which Margaret had to provide all the food and drink  for the family - who, according to Betsy, were all "very 'earty," besides paying for washing, stationery, small travelling expenses, such as omnibus fares, and any incidental expenses, like breakages - Joanna said she thought strict economy in trifles was not only admissible but absolutely necessary.

"How do you portion out the week's money, Madge?" she asked one day. "I am curious to know if you have arrived at about the same result that I did in my time."

Margaret looked blank. "I do not quite see what you mean; I do not portion it out at all; it goes just as I happen to want it."

"Oh, but you ought to have an idea of the proportion you spend in each branch of the outlay. If you will bring the account-book we will compare the bills  for the last few weeks, and find the average."

This done, it was found that in Joanna's opinion the butcher' sand grocer's bills swallowed up too large a proportion, which latter she said she had expected, as she had noticed Margaret's taste for all kinds of fancy dishes and sweet puddings. She advised her, therefore, to curtail her expenses in that direction.

"I will put down on paper, as nearly as I can remember, how I divide my money," she went on. "You know Arthur gives me thirty shillings a week, out of which I pay for the same things that you do. I always keep the real food expenditure under a pound, that is to say, when we are alone, though if we have friends, or anything extra like that, I cannot quite manage it. Now here is the list, which shows a fair average, though, of course it varies a little. For instance, I often have fish instead of, or as well as meat:

Grocer - 3s 3d
Bread and Flour - 2s
Greengrocer - 1s 3d
Meat and bacon - 8s
Milk and eggs - 1s 6d
Laundress - 2s
Butter and cheese - 2s
Total - 20s

This leaves me about ten shillings for sundries, under which head come stationery, breakages in the house, cab or omnibus fares, and small charities. To make a fund for kitchen requisites, such as scrubbing-brushes and pails, I put by one shilling at the beginning of each week. If I left it to the end I should be inclined to think I could not spare it, unless anything were really pressingly wanted."

"That is really wonderful, Joanna. I should not like to have to provide for this household on thirty shillings a week."

"You will have to allow more for meat in proportion to the other expenses than I do. Two growing boys, with splendid health and appetites to match, will not be contented with those little dainty-made dishes which satisfy us, and can be made out of a morsel of meat or a few bones; but I still think your meat bills are much too high."

"But, Joanna, though my butcher's portion is to be so low, you find no fault with the large greengrocery average I have been having."

"No, I do not think the greengrocer is high; indeed, I think you should try to have even a little more green food than you generally provide. Two vegetables at dinner, for instance, make much more of a meal than having only one, with very little difference in the expense. But to counterbalance it, if there is any, you might have boiled rice occasionally, instead of potatoes, not too often, you know, but just now and then as a change. Lentils too, and haricot beans are very inexpensive, and make a variety.

"Then you certainly ought to buy a little fruit occasionally. At this time of the year I know fresh fruit is dear but you can get plenty of oranges, and they may be prepared in so many different ways that you need never be at a loss."

"I wish I knew how to preserve them, like those we had at Mrs. Barclay's on Tuesday."

"I think I can gratify you, for she very kindly gave me the receipt. Here it is: 'Cut off a little of the rind, either a diamond-shaped piece here and there or a ring all round; then put the oranges in cold water for three days, changing the water twice. Tie each one separately in thin muslin, and boil in fresh water till quite tender. Weigh the oranges before boiling, and make a syrup in the proportion of two pounds of loaf sugar to a pound of the fruit, and as much water as will be required to completely cover the oranges; boil it till the scum ceases to rise, then put in the fruit, still in the muslin, and boil gently for an hour and a half, which will ensure their keeping well. Put into jars and cover with syrup.' Mrs. Barclay says if you follow this exactly you can make enough to last all the year, it is sure to keep."

"But that would be too troublesome and expensive for everyday use."

"Yes, but there are many less troublesome ways of preparing this fruit. Nothing could be simpler than orange salad, for instance. You have only to peel the oranges, being careful to remove every particle of skin, then either cut them in slices or scoop out all the pulp with a spoon, or leave them whole, and lay them in a glass dish, and sprinkle powdered sugar thickly over them a few hours before they ware wanted; and if you want it to look particularly nice, cover the whole with whipped-up white of egg and sugar. For another variety there is compote of oranges. That requires a syrup, but it is very easy to make. Cut off the yellow outer rind in thin strips till you have about three ounces, which put on one side. Then peel them properly, and divide into quarters (as you persist in miscalling the little divisions), being careful not to break the thin skin which covers them. Then make a syrup by boiling the rind with a pound of sugar in a pint and a half of water, and carefully remove the scum as it rises. When it has boiled about a quarter of an hour, put in the pieces of orange, and let them simmer gently for five minutes; then take them out with a spoon very carefully or they will break, and arrange them on a dish. If the syrup seems too thin, let it boil fast for five minutes longer to thicken it, then pour it over the oranges, and put the dish in a cool place till wanted."

"That sounds very easy I think I shall make a large quantity now oranges are so cheap, and keep it for occasional use."

"If you do, you must make the syrup with two pounds of sugar to a pint and a half of water; one pound is only sufficient for immediate use. But to return to the subject of the butcher: you really spend too much on meat, and I think might easily economise a little in that way. Because though boys require a good quantity, you need not get them the more expensive joints. Keep strictly to the rule of having soup for dinner nearly, if not quite, every day. Have the stock-pot always going, and put all sorts of scraps into it; not only meat cooked or raw, but also scraps of vegetables, paste, and bread; all will add to the strength or flavour of the soup, and should the pot be getting low, you may buy a few pennyworth of bones. Be sure to ask the man to chop them up very small for you; some people even pound them, but chopping is much less trouble, and does well enough for ordinary purposes. When you have a good stock, you can make it sometimes clear and sometimes thickened, and flavour it in endless different ways, according to the directions in the cookery books. One of the nicest soups we have is certainly not an expensive one. WE soak some lentils for nearly twelve hours, and simmer them for twelve more; then we pour the stock on to them, with scraps of anything and everything the larder contains; and if the larder happens to be particularly empty, we make up the flavour with a pinch of celery seed burnt onions, or a small quantity of Liebig's extract, which improves it very much. If you begin the dinner with good substantial soup, the onslaught on subsequent courses will be considerably lessened."

"Oh, poor boys! Fancy measuring their appetites and counting their mouthfuls in this way! How mean and stingy one does become under a course of housekeeping!"

"Then there are one or two other economies in trifles you might practise, dear, with advantage. You will excuse my saying it, I know, but when one asks for a piece of bread at tea, Betsy or one of the boys, rushes at the loaf, and with great zeal cuts about three times as much as is wanted, and I have heard you say you do not know what to do with the pieces that are left, except occasional bread-puddings. You might take care that only as much as is required is cut, you will find a difference in the baker's bills even from such a trifle as that. Then should there be any pieces left, a nice way of using them is to pull them apart, place them on a tin, and bake in a quick oven until crisp and brown, when they are a good substitute for cheese biscuits, which father is sure to like for a change. Crusts can be treated in the same way, only they must be cooked longer than the crumb, then grated, and kept in a bottle for raspings. There is also the vexed question of dripping; this often-despised article is most valuable, and may save you a great deal in butter and lard, if you clarify it carefully. Directly you take the dripping-pan from under the meat, pour the fat through a sieve into a pan of boiling water, and let it stand until cold, when you will find a cake of pure dripping on the surface of the water. Nothing can be better than this for pastry and frying. But besides this dripping, properly so-called, there are other kinds of fat that can be used in the same way. Then what do you do with pieces of fat left from joints of beef? Perhaps you never have any?"

"Oh, yes, we do, very often indeed; neither of the boys like fat, and sometimes a large quantity is wasted. But surely you are not going to tell me to make pies of scraps of cold fat!"

"Certainly I am, I constantly do it myself. I cut off as much fat as I think is likely to be wasted, and put it in a jar into the oven for about an hour, by which time it has subsided into a yellow liquor, which, when strained and left to cool, looks not unlike butter, and answers the same purpose for making all kinds of cakes and pastry."

Besides these economies, at Joanna's suggestion Margaret set up a tool-box, containing nails, screws, hammer, chisel, pincers, and screw-driver, all good and strong of their kind; also an old-fashioned iron glue-pot, and becoming expert in joinery, she saved many a shilling in this way.

At this time also a little change was made in the allowances for dress. Margaret's own allowance of £20 a year she had entirely in her own hands to use as she pleased. Hitherto the boys had had no fixed sum to be spent on their clothes; Mr. Colville bought their suits whenever he thought fit, while Margaret superintended their other garments, and applied to Mr. Colville for funds whenever they required anything new, or to pay for repairs. These frequent small sums spent on tailoring, other repairs, and minor articles of dress rendered it difficult to keep an account of the whole amount spent, besides which Margaret did not at all like so constantly applying to her father about such trifles as a patch on a boot, or a new collar; so after talking it over with her sister, she asked Mr. Colville's permission to make a change; and  for the future Margaret had in her care £5 per annum for each boy, out of which she was to pay for everything with the exception of their suits and boots, which Mr. Colville still continued to buy himself. This had a very salutary effect on the boys, for when they were too careless with their clothes Margaret would fetch the account-book and show them how little balance there was, with the warning that if they went on at that rate they would have to go ragged.

From this long digression let us return to our young housekeeper, as she whisks about the house, as bright as the fresh January morning itself. Having finished the round of the bedrooms, still humming her doleful ditty, she trips downstairs to the kitchen, where a damper is awaiting her in the shape of poor Betsy in floods of tears.

"Oh, Betsy!" she cried, "what is the matter?"

Betsy managed to explain amidst her sobs that a letter from home that morning had told her of her mother's dangerous illness, and she must go home without delay. "Though of course, Miss Margaret dear, I won't go till you are suited."

A looker-on at this juncture might have witnessed a melancholy tableau. The maid, in attitude of dejection, sobbing and sighing by the window; the mistress collapsed into a wooden chair, doing likewise, but less noisily. Much ashamed of her weak-mindedness, the latter soon recovered, however, and hoping her maid had not noticed it, she wiped her eyes covertly, and said briskly -

"Poor Betsy I am indeed sorry for you, and very sorry that we hall lose you. But you must not think of waiting till we have a new servant. I will go at once and find a charwoman to come every day, and while I am out you must get forward with the dinner and then pack up so as to go by the two o'clock train; and you must take that soup that is in a jelly in the larder for your poor mother, and I will bring you in a few groceries to take too."

To get an honest and clean charwoman, who would come at seven o'clock in the morning and do the work of a general servant  for the sum of two shillings a day, which was all Margaret felt she could afford to give, was no very easy task but by inquiring from the tradesmen, one was found at last.

The next day Margaret went to see her good friend Mrs. Trent, hoping and expecting to have the difficulty about a new servant solved at once, as so many former ones had been, by her kind advice and experience. On entering that lady's sitting-room our housekeeper was a little taken aback to find not only Mrs. Trent, as she had expected, but also her nephew, whose difficulty in rising from the sofa was a better proof of an invalid state than his appearance, which betokened his usual health.

"My nephew is suffering the penalty of neglecting his old aunt's good advice," said Mrs. Trent, smiling at her nephew, for whom she felt almost the affection of a mother, having had charge of him ever since the death of his own parents, when he was little more than a baby. "He sprained his ankle slightly on Monday, but he would persist in keeping his engagement to bring those books to show your father that evening, and, of course, he made it much worse, and now is compelled to give up moving altogether."

"And so tries to play the wounded hero, with as much dignity as possible," laughed Wilfred.

After expressing the deepest sympathy, Margaret explained the object of her visit, but said she would not trouble Mrs. Trent about it now, but would call again when her nephew was better.

"Pray, do not let me stop you, Miss Margaret," said Wilfred. "I take a great interest in that servant of yours who opens the door for me when I have the pleasure of calling upon you. She always smiles all over her face, and looks so thoroughly pleased to see one; it is quite refreshing."

After stating the case, Margaret asked if Mrs. Trent could tell her how to get a new maid.

"Had you not better wait a little on the chance of Betsy's being able to come back?"

"Oh, I think there is no chance of the mother recovering; besides, I do not think I am very sorry to lose her. I was at first; it seemed such a dreadful undertaking to have to get a new servant; but you know, Mrs. Trent, Betsy is really very rough and uncouth. I should so like to have a nice quiet, gentle girl about the house, instead of such an elephantine sort of whirlwind, though she does smile when she opens the door."

Mrs. Trent laughed at the comparison, and said she feared Margaret did not appreciate the rare qualities of honesty and good nature and truthfulness of the said whirlwind. However, as a change was inevitable, and not knowing of any suitable person, she advised her to reply to an advertisement in that day's paper, which sounded very promising. This she did, and, at Mrs. Trent's dictation, dispatched a letter asking for particulars as to the girl's capabilities, character, and the wages she required, the wounded hero meanwhile evincing an interest in domestic affairs which astonished even himself.

A satisfactory answer was soon received, giving the address of a former mistress to whom Margaret could apply as to character. In the course of a few days this too arrived. It was rather vague, and Margaret's inquiries as to honesty, sobriety, and cleanliness were cleverly evaded.

"Oh, dear! I don't know whether this is meant for a bad character or a good one," Margaret sighed. "It might mean either, but I am sure any servant would be better than this voracious charwoman. I should not have thought it possible for any human being to devour as much as that creature does."

Mrs. Trent next advised Margaret to see the young woman before engaging her, and as Margaret looked very much alarmed at the prospect, promised herself to be present at the interview. The result of it was the engagement of Rose Spooner, who informed her future mistress that she preferred being called Spooner. ("What jokes the boys will make!" thought Margaret.)

When Mr. Colville came home that night Margaret met him more cheerfully than she had done since Betsy's departure.

"Oh, father, I have engaged that servant I told you about Mrs. Trent quite approved of her, or else I should have been afraid to take her; and I think she will be a most charming servant, she is so quiet and pretty-looking, and speaks so softly; so different from the bluff Betsy. I am delighted with her."

"I am glad to hear it, my child; I only hope she will not prove too refined; but as Mrs. Trent is satisfied, no doubt it will be all right!"