From Kitchen to Garret: Hints for young householders

CHAPTER XVIII.

BOYS AND GIRLS.

There is yet a more critical time for the parents, I think, than even the schoolroom time, and that is, first of all, when the boys go off to school; and, secondly, when we have to realise that the small nursery toddlers are grown up, and really as capable of taking care of themselves as we are ourselves. Let me speak of the boys first, as, after all, that terrible wrench is the worst experience of all, and one, I hope most truly and sincerely, which will be saved for future mothers, and that before many years have passed; for I maintain, and always shall maintain most strenuously, that there never was a worse system of education than the general education that present-day lads must go through, or be entirely different to the rest of the male sex, though even that would be a good thing in my eyes, for I cannot allow that the male half of the world is so good or so perfect at present that it cannot be improved, neither can I allow that the result of education as at present given is in any way as perfect as it might be; and as an example of what I mean it would be well to consider, I think, why the return of the boys from school is as the letting loose of a horde of barbarians on a peaceful land; and why, after the first week at all events, the urchins cease to be regarded as returned angels, and one and all are spoken of as ‘those dreadful boys.’

As an example of what I mean, I may speak of one household where the girls are gently ruled and delicately brought up by their dead mother’s bridesmaid, who gave up her own one chance of wedded happiness because of her most romantic attachment to her girlhood friend, and who, when father and mother died within a few years of each other, leaving a young and turbulent household to ‘Aunt Mary and Providence,’ came to live among the children, loving them all, but instinctively looking upon the boys as just one remove from wild animals.

At least the preparations for their return from Rugby would suggest as much, for in the big country-house drawing-room the beautiful Indian carpet is rolled up and replaced by a time-worn drugget, the little brother’s best hat and coat are relegated from the hall to Aunt Mary’s own room, covers are put on everything that can be covered, and lace curtains are moved; and, in fact, when prepared for the holidays, the whole house appears as if ready to stand a heavy and protracted siege.

Even the garden and greenhouses are rigorously locked; wire shades and iron hurdles protect tender seedlings and grass edges; the head gardener wears a countenance of mingled dread and determination; and in the stables nothing is left get-at-able save the boys’ own ponies, a venerable ‘four-wheel,’ and sundry odds and ends of ancient harness, which no one could hurt because its condition is quite hopeless already.

And in a town house, when the holidays are within appreciable distance, over and over again have I not seen similar preparations, though on a smaller scale? Have I not noted how nurse puts away the children’s best toys; how the girls in the schoolroom, aided by their agitated governess, conceal all their beloved possessions, and train their pets to ‘lie low,’ as ‘Brer Fox’ would say? Does not Paterfamilias rehearse a long code of laws, all to be enforced, he says, the moment the boys come home? And is not Materfamilias, after all, the only creature in the whole establishment who has not one arrière pensèe, and who finds nothing in the least to spoil the rapture of the return of those who have never for one moment been out of her thoughts since the last time she saw them off, through her tears, on their return to Dr. Swishey’s academy for young gentlemen?

Ah, the boys little know what they cause that tender soul to suffer when an extra hour’s cricket excuses them for forgetting their weekly letter home; how the omission makes her turn pale when a sudden ring at the bell comes, lest it should be a telegram summoning her to the bedside of the dear things, who are most likely rioting in the playground at the very moment; and how she is only withheld by dread of ridicule and the largeness of the railway fare from rushing off at once to see for herself that all is well; and she has to content herself with writing a loving letter of expostulation, doubtless characterised as ‘a jaw,’ and thrown aside half read through.

And when they are at home under her own roof she naturally looks forward to peace, at all events, and safety from dreads and fears such as these; but, poor soul, she soon finds out her mistake.

Her days are spent in wondering where the boys have gone to, in painfully concealing the marks of their ravages in library and staircase and hall from the paternal eye, and in propitiating the outraged schoolroom and nursery establishments, who do not see, as she does, that the fact of its being holiday time accounts for all, and that all should be forgiven those who are only at home for so short a period in the year.

But even mother begins to tire of acting as a buffer between her sons and her husband and the other members of the family. And by the time cook has given warning—heedless that she is the only woman who can cook the dinner to suit the master—because Reggie will melt lead in her spoons or playfully drop gunpowder in the fire, or because some pounds of butter mysteriously disappeared and followers were hinted at—though the state of her saucepans and George’s trouser pockets pointed out that toffee, not the policeman, was at the bottom of the loss—Materfamilias finds herself wondering how Dr. Swishey manages to look so well at the end of the term, and begins to think that perhaps after all she will not be quite as sorry as usual when the cab comes round and the boys go off, leaving her free to go out to dinner without dreading to see flames issuing out of the drawing-room windows when the carriage turns the corner of the Square on her return home, or fearing a summons from the festive board to bid her go back at once because one or other of the boys has done something dreadful either to himself or some other member of the family.

Now, granted that this is not an isolated case—and, judging from a large personal experience of ‘other folks’ children,’ I venture boldly to state that this is the rule and not the exception—I as boldly remark that the present manner of dealing with the genus homo as expressed in the schoolboy is entirely a wrong one, and, waxing bolder yet, I say that the grown-up youth evolved from such an education as most lads obtain nowadays is so emphatically unsatisfactory that I am quite sure some radical change should be made in the way we bring up our boys.

Born into a home where their sisters are sheltered and cared for until they leave it for one of their own, from their very birth they are treated in an entirely different manner. As little mites they govern the house, because they are of the superior sex, and they are finally sent away from home into the great world of school, where, neither by age nor experience, can they be in the least fitted for the warfare, or enabled by careful and judicious training to hold their own, or to choose between the good and evil that is so freely offered them there. Small boys are herded with big ones, who alternately bully and confide in them; tender and sentimental fancies are derided; and the word ‘manly’ is made to express ferocity, cruelty, uncleanness, and a thousand and one awful things that, when we discover our children are aware of, we wonder feebly when and how they have acquired their knowledge.

What wonder the return of the boys is dreaded, when they come as strangers into a home where God placed them for the careful training, the unceasing supervision, of body and mind? How can a boy join in and make part of a circle that for half or even three parts of the year is complete without him? How can he respect and appreciate laws and routine that are entirely different to all he has been accustomed to more than two thirds of his time? And how can he help being spoiled, selfish, and tyrannical, when the very shortness of his residence under the home-roof is made an excuse for pampering him and making every one, man, woman, and child, give way to him, because, poor dear lad, he is only at home for the holidays, while the others are always there?

There is no doubt in my mind that boys ought to go more into the world and see more of human nature than girls need do; but with all my strength I would maintain that the ordinary boarding-school plan is a great and hideous mistake. By all means let them go to school all day; but let them at night return home, where the mother’s eye can see how they are, and how they progress with their lessons, and to insure them that best of all feeling for any one—the certain knowledge that home is home to them in the fullest sense of the word; and that, far from being outsiders or honoured guests, feared as well as honoured, they are part and parcel of the family, and bound to give and take, sharing the rough with the smooth, and helping in every way they can to aid the weaker vessels of the family, and becoming gentlemen in the widest sense of the word.

Of course, parents who keep their boys at home have little time for rest, and cannot be incessantly in the very middle of society’s whirl; but is any price too large to pay for the souls of our children—any sacrifice too great to insure that one’s boys are to the fullest degree given the benefit of our knowledge and our shielding care? And shall we not be repaid for anything it may cost us in the wear-and-tear of our brain-power if, instead of the stage-door-haunting, toothpick-gnawing ‘masher’ of the present day, we rear a race of manly, God-fearing, home-loving youths, who may restore the age of chivalry and the strong, pure, tender-hearted men that were once England’s boast?

Like most problems presented to our minds as we go through the world, there are here other sides to contemplate beyond the one we have just attempted to sketch. For there are homes where the boy’s one chance of salvation is given by a good training at school; where the vanity of the mother and the evil example of the father are worse than anything else can possibly be; and where the atmosphere is so pernicious that an honest and true-hearted schoolmaster dreads to send his pupils home, for they may once more acquire habits that he is only just beginning really to eradicate. There are also intensely weak and foolish parents who, not able to refuse themselves any gratification, cannot debar their children from having their own way, and who, not having been trained themselves, cannot train others; and there are yet others who send off their children to rid themselves of the clear-eyed tormentors who ask such tiresome questions, and will follow the example of their parents, not content to be put off with the trite remark that grown-up folks can do and say things little people would be severely punished and reprimanded for doing and saying.

Still, notwithstanding these sides to the picture, we can boldly state that if boys were invariably part of a household, if their parents accept their responsibilities and see they have no right to pay some careless person—any one, in fact, who wants to make money by teaching—to take their responsibilities off their hands, we should very soon have a different state of things as regards the male sex as a whole; and at all events we should cease to dread the holidays and speak of our sons as ‘those dreadful boys.’

But the selfishness of the ordinary parent, and the cupidity of the orthodox schoolmaster, whose real profits are made from the boarders, and who, therefore, discourages to the best of his power the idea of home-boarders, are twin giants in the way of those who only ask to be allowed to bring up their own children in their own way, and I can but look forward and hope for other mothers all that I have only been able to demand for myself in part, and that a very small part of all I would have wished for the boys, who, once given over to school, only return for good for a few moments, as it were, on their way to the real battle of life, which soon engulfs them entirely, and so we never really have our boys our own, nor are allowed to train them for ourselves at a time when we alone should be able to do it satisfactorily, because we alone should understand them best and know what they inherit mentally and bodily; in fact, the nursery and schoolroom once passed through, we have lost our children, and have only now to think how we can make home happy for them until they leave us for their own homes, which will depend on our early training whether they are happy ones or not.

And indeed one of the most abstruse of all our numerous domestic problems is shadowed forth in the words ‘quite grown-up,’ for there are few fathers and mothers who realise, it seems to me, that their children have actually passed through nursery and schoolroom, and are in deed and truth quite grown-up, and in consequence of this the domestic relations become strained, and home ceases to be the pleasant retreat it used to be from the throng and turmoils of the outside world.

There are most certainly households where the relations are more than strained, where open hostility replaces the old-time affection, and from whence sons rush to ‘the bad,’ and daughters marry the first man that asks them, simply because they wish for freedom and to be able to do as they like.

Naturally, they often enough discover they have exchanged King Log for King Stork, and wish themselves at home once more over and over again; but that such cases are not only possible, but are continually occurring around us, seems to me so sad, that I should like to say a few words on the subject of ‘The Proper Relations between Parents and Children,’ hoping in some measure to propose a solution to the problem.

In the first place, we are in some measure suffering from the rebound that has taken place when the severe bonds that bound our parents were removed. They suffered themselves so greatly from the petty tyrannies that were considered the right thing in their youth, that, in desiring to save their children from similar misery, they have gone to the other extreme, and allowed such laxity of manner that children rule the house, as in America, and barely condescend in their grown-up stage to consult their parents at all about their engagements, their occupations, or even their friendships or their marriages.

Surely there is a medium between the discipline that enforced silence on the child until all originality was crushed out of him, that thought severe strictures on the dress and personal appearance of one’s daughters the sole way of checking vanity, and that refused confidence because it was lowering oneself from the awful height occupied by a parent, and that which is conspicuous by its absence, and that results in an independent race of young people, who respect nothing, and are certainly not going to make an exception in the case of their father and mother, who are either ready to go as great lengths as their children, or else suddenly assert an authority that only exists in their own imaginations, and that causes a turmoil because opposition is as unexpected as it is arbitrary.

If we would have authority we must have it from the very beginning, and I am old-fashioned enough myself to be a great believer in the nursery and nursery frocks for very little children. I am always angry, I confess, when I see a small lady of four or five dressed up to the eyes in a fantastic frock designed to attract attention to the tiny wearer, of which she is all too conscious, and carried about from this luncheon to that tea, to the weariness of herself and all who are not connected with her; and indeed do well to be angry, for did not she, as one of those specimens, refuse to go into the country because she found it so extremely dull; and also because I know it is from such a bringing-up as this that we obtain the emancipated female or the fast girl, who thinks of nothing but ‘dress’ and ‘the service,’ and which results, all too often, in making home miserable for the elder folk, who only see in the pretty child a plaything flattering to their vanity, and do not recognise the fact that, much sooner than we expect it, she in her turn will be quite grown-up.

The nursery stage should emphatically be a time for shabby clothes and dolls and noise, and for healthy natural play. The midday meal should be the only one taken with the mother, who, however, should make a point of knowing all about the others, and should also contrive to be often in the nursery, and have the children with her for not less than an hour or two a day.

To insure happiness with a grown-up family these tiny beginnings should be well studied. The mother’s influence should be so much felt, and so indispensable to the house, that when withdrawn for a while it should indeed be something more than missed. But familiarity in early childhood breeds contempt in youth; and it is well known that a child who is always with grown-up people never knows what childishness is, and never becomes as healthy-minded as one who has had a little wholesome neglect from society and from perpetual supervision of its elders.

When we as parents begin to see the children growing up, we should, I maintain, then carefully see that our own immediate friends are those whose society and conversation can do our girls no harm. When I have occasionally heard talk that has brought blushes to my checks at my mature age, and seen the young girls not only listening but joining in it, I have almost been tempted to declare my girls shall never go into society at all; but as I know this is impossible, I have made up my mind whose houses they shall go to, reserving to myself the right to tell them boldly why such and such a one is not a desirable acquaintance.

Then, too, their own friends, made at school or at the homes of mutual acquaintances, should be welcomed emphatically whenever they like to come. I remember too well feeling much aggrieved at not being able to ask an occasional friend to tea to refuse this privilege. But if the friends become too numerous, it is easy to point out that either you cannot afford such indiscriminate visiting, or to restrict the number of visitors to a certain number; only let it be understood that their friends are always welcome in moderation, and that, though you are delighted to see them, you do not expect them thrown on your hands for entertainment, and that you assume the right to point out to your children the desirability or the reverse of any of their acquaintances, and that you expect them to give due weight to your opinion.

It is more than necessary, in my mind, to keep perpetually before one’s children that the home into which they were born is their inheritance that nothing can take from them. And by this I do not mean that I consider a parent bound to provide fortunes for either sons or daughters. I have too often seen the great harm of this to advocate it for one moment; but that they should always not only be welcome there, but claim as a right the shelter and counsel and affection that are their due, no matter what they have done or how grievously they have sinned. For no cause should a father or mother refuse to see their own child, and they should a thousand times more never allow the unmarried daughter to feel herself a burden, whose food and shelter are grudged her, any more than they should continually hint that marriage is a woman’s only destiny, refusing to the girls the ample education lavished on the sons, and so depriving them of every means of making their own living.

But grown-up daughters, in my eyes, are a most precious possession, if properly brought up. They at last take some of the heavy burdens a mother has always to bear alone off her shoulders; and if she be moderately intelligent, and has intelligently brought up the girls, there is no reason why they should not be a thousand times more valuable in her eyes than they were as pretty babies and engaging little girls.

But then we must remember that they are grown-up, that they have an opinion more or less valuable, and that they have idiosyncrasies to be respected, the while they respect ours, remembering our position towards them, our fuller experience, and our affectionate care for them. As long as the parents live, they should be master and mistress in the house; but the children should be as viceroys, helping their parents in every way that they can in their social duties and in the routine of the house. It is trying, we know, to have the piano going and billiard-balls rolling when we want to read Jones’s speech on Home Rule, or Gladstone’s latest statements; but it is far more trying not to know where one’s children are, and to feel they are happier anywhere else than in their own homes.

It is their home as much as it is ours, and it will be home indeed if by judicious training in their youth we have made friends of our children, if we have given them our confidence, our affection, and our best days, and have not become strangers to them by being perpetually in society when they were as perpetually sent to school; the while we have not become too familiar, and make them old before their time, by taking them with us to gatherings in smart frocks when they ought to have been disreputably shabby in pinafores in the nursery. Then we shall discover that our grown-up sons and daughters are not so many cuckoos pushing us out of the old nest, but intelligent friends and companions—all the more delightful to us because they are quite grown-up.

CHAPTER XIX.

ENTERTAINING ONE’S FRIENDS.

In a small house entertaining one’s friends is too often a most arduous and tiresome business, because we will one and all of us attempt to do a great deal too much, and appear to be able to afford all kinds of luxuries that we cannot possibly manage, and I strongly advise any young bride with small means and a smaller ménage to confine herself entirely to afternoon teas, which require no waiting and cost extremely little, and to refuse on her part to go out to large dinners, which she cannot return, and for which she can neither afford the necessary dress, gloves, flowers, nor cabs, asking her friends to invite her to simpler entertainments boldly, and giving her reasons, which, of course, will be received kindly and in good faith by her friends. I am convinced that this absurd striving after society is at the bottom of the falseness of most of our English entertainments, and I trust some day to see ‘parties’ on a much broader and more satisfactory basis than they are at present, and I therefore beg all young householders to pause before they begin the same old round of costly gaiety, and to consider if they at least cannot bring about a better state of things. I have often in different houses seen with amazement how invitations are issued, and wondered if I am the only person who is thus taken behind the scenes and shown how hollow such invitations often are. Surely I must be, or else the great crushes I read of would never come off, and the dinners I hear about would lack guests, for I have rarely heard invitations talked over without listening to some such conversation as this: ‘Ask the Joneses, Gertrude.’ ‘Oh no, mother! she is such a dowdy, and their last garden party was maddening.’ ‘I can’t help it, my dear. I went to their party, and we must pay them back. And then there are the Brownes; don’t forget the e—ridiculous creatures! It’s astonishing how some people creep up and others go down.’ ‘And he is dreadful, mother;’ and, in fact, I could go on for pages, while other pages could be occupied with descriptions of how the invitation is received at the Joneses’ and the Brownes’, who all go expecting to be bored or starved, and who return home to comment spitefully on an entertainment which, if successful, carries in their minds the donors half-way to the Bankruptcy Court, and, if a failure, is the cause of a good deal of violent abuse and unkind sneers levelled at their hosts. And then the conversation at these entertainments: ‘Have you seen the So-and-so’s lately?’ ‘Oh no; they never go anywhere now. Didn’t you hear about her and So-and-so?’ But really, when it comes to the talk I overhear at balls, dinners, at-homes, or in the Park, I lose my temper, and so will turn at once to other matters altogether.

Afternoon teas, tennis-parties, and little dinners are all possible to the young housekeeper, but the little dinners to be inexpensive must be in the winter, and for them I have written out half a dozen menus which may be of use in the ordinary household, with the ordinary plain cook of the period, whose wages are about 20l. These will be found at the end of the chapter, but to insure even such a modest dinner as one of these makes being a success the mistress must see herself that her glass and silver are spotless, the table well laid, and the flowers charmingly arranged by herself.

The very last fashion (which, however, may change next week, but is worth mentioning because of its simpleness and sense) for table arrangements is to have no dessert whatever on the table, which has a piece of embroidery in the centre of the cloth, and then in the middle of this place a large flat wide-open wicker basket, which you should cover entirely with moss; border it with ivy or berberis leaves, and stand any flowers you may be able to procure in such a way that they appear growing; low groups of flowers are arranged in vases all over the table with growing ferns in pots, and, in fact, the table is made to look as much like a bank of flowers as possible. Candles with shades to match the prevailing hue of the flowers should stand on the table, and the dessert should be handed round after dinner, and should consist of one dish of good fruit and one of French sweetmeats, thus simplifying matters very much indeed.

Flowers should never be mixed; daffodils and brown leaves look lovely together, so do scarlet geraniums and white azaleas, pink azaleas, and brown leaves; wisteria and laburnum, Maréchal Niel roses and lilacs, are all good contrasts, but clumps of yellow tulips, or narcissi or roses, all one colour, are undoubtedly more fashionable than even the small contrasts just spoken of, while Salviati glass is beautiful on a table, and the specimen glasses of that make hold flowers far better than anything else: and should flowers be scarce the centrepiece could be all brown ivy and mosses and evergreens, with just a few flowers in the Salviati glasses only.

But neither food nor flowers, nor, indeed, anything else, will make a party successful if the mistress does not make a good hostess, and exert herself to see her quests are happy. She should take care the right people meet, and nothing should induce her to refrain from introducing her guests; this is a most ridiculous practice, and is simply laziness. A hostess is bound to see all her guests are amused, and this can only be done by personally noticing who is talking to whom, and whether all the people present have some one with whom to converse.

This absence of introductions makes conversation almost a lost art, and has made the ordinary ‘society’ nothing more or less than a bore and a trouble; while, as the ambition of most people is to know more folks than their neighbours and to go to more balls in one night than our foremothers used to see in their lifetimes, entertaining has become a farce and bids fair to die of its own immensity.

Therefore, as these are undoubtedly hard times, and many people are not ‘entertaining’ at all because they cannot now afford to outdo their neighbours, let me beg any young beginner to start well and simply, confining herself to those friends she really wishes to see, and to giving parties that are not above her modest means, and that do not entail hiring extra help, who smash her crockery and cost a month’s wages for a few hours’ work, and agitate her so by their vagaries that she cannot talk sensibly to her neighbour; and let her furthermore ask people sometimes who cannot ask her again, but who can talk amusingly, and she will, I am sure, have much more out of her little dinners than most people do out of a whole London season’s fatigue and expense, both of which often ruin the health and the future of many a girl, who traces back to the severe ‘pleasures’ of town the lassitude and suffering that render the latter half of a woman’s life all too often hours of suffering and sorrow; for she has used up in the year or two of her girlhood all the strength and health that should have sustained her all through her days, and repents at leisure the stupidity and culpable weakness of the mother who allowed her to sacrifice the possessions for a lifetime in a few months.

To enable our young housekeeper to manage so that her housekeeping bills will not overwhelm her after one of her little dinners, I have appended to each of the menus the exact cost of each, and I strongly advise any one to whom economy is an object to use New Zealand lamb or mutton. If properly warmed through and gently thawed close to the fire before putting it down to roast, the meat is simply delicious and as good as the best English; but it must be treated carefully, or else it will not be nice, but when properly thawed no one can tell it from English meat, and I think housekeepers would be a little astonished if they knew how often the ‘best English’ meat of the butcher’s book was really and truly the New Zealand meat they speak of with such horror.

Menu No. I.

White Soup.
Soles, Sauce Maître d’hôtel.
Stuffed Pigeons.
Roast Beef, Yorkshire Pudding.
Wild Duck.
Mince Pies.
French Pancakes.
Cauliflower au gratin.
Dessert.

White Soup.—A quart and a pint of milk, a dozen fine potatoes, piece of butter size of a walnut, two onions, salt and pepper to taste. Simmer all together for two hours, then rub through fine hair sieve, add two tablespoonfuls of sago, and bring all gradually to a boil. Serve very hot, with dice of bread fried. Cost of soup for six persons, 1s.

Fried Soles.—A fine pair at 3s. Garnish with lemon and parsley, fry in lard; serve with melted butter, with fine chopped parsley in, flavoured with lemon. Cost, 3s. 6d.

Stuffed Pigeons.—Three pigeons at 10d. each. Bone them; make a stuffing of thyme, parsley, crumbs of bread, small piece of ham, a couple of mushrooms, one egg, salt and pepper to taste; chop altogether and mix with egg; stuff pigeons and sew them up; put them into a saucepan, with a small piece of bacon and any stock that may be in the digester. Stew for half an hour, take them out, divide them into neat portions, and put them in a hot dish ready for serving. Add a teaspoonful of flour mixed with water to thicken the gravy they are stewed in, and strain it through a sieve on the pigeons; then serve. Outside cost, 3s. 6d.

Rolled Ribs of Beef.—Six pounds, the bones from which can be used for stock for the gravy for the pigeons. The beef is rolled by the butcher ready for roasting. Serve with horse-radish neatly arranged about it, mashed potatoes, stewed celery; and Yorkshire pudding—half a pint of milk, six large tablespoonfuls of flour, three eggs, and a tablespoonful of salt. Put the flour into a basin with the salt, and stir gradually to this enough milk to make it into a stiff batter; when quite smooth add the rest of the milk, and the eggs well beaten; beat well together, and then pour into a shallow tin which has been rubbed with beef dripping; bake an hour in the oven, and then put under the meat for half an hour. Meat, 6 lbs. of New Zealand at 10d., 5s.; pudding, 6d.; vegetables, 1s.—6s. 6d.

Wild Duck, 4s. 6d.—Plainly roasted; served with cayenne pepper, lemons cut in halves, and fried potatoes. 5s.

Mince Pies.—Make some good puff paste by allowing one pound of butter to each pound of flour; line small patty pans and bake; fill with mincemeat (which can be bought ready-made and excellent for 10d. a jar, which is sufficient for a dozen pies), cover with thin paste, and put into a brisk oven for twenty-five minutes; serve with sifted sugar over them.

French Pancakes.—Take two eggs, and their weight in sugar, flour, and butter; mix well together; add quarter of a teacupful of milk; mix well together; bake in saucer for twenty minutes, filling each saucer only half full; take out; spread small quantity of jam, then fold over; dust sifted sugar over the top, and serve very hot. Cost, 8d.

Cauliflower au gratin.—Fine cauliflower nicely boiled; then grate a quarter of a pound of cheese over it, and place small atoms of butter about the top of it; add a little cayenne and salt to taste; put in the oven to brown, and serve very hot. Cost altogether, about 8d.

Complete cost of dinner.—Soup, 1s.; fish, 3s. 6d.; entrée, 3s. 6d.; beef, 6s. 6d.; game, 5s.; mince pies, 1s. 6d.; pancakes, 8d.; cheese, 8d.—1l. 2s. 4d.

Menu No. II.

Clear Soup.
Turbot, Lobster Sauce.
Cutlets à la Réforme.
Turkey, Stuffed Chestnuts.
Teal.
Éclairs.
Pears in Jelly.
Prince Albert’s Pudding.
Cheese Fondu.
Dessert.

Clear Soup.—Sixpennyworth of bones, three carrots, three onions, sprig of thyme, two sprigs of parsley, one blade of mace, a dozen peppercorns, head of celery. Simmer whole day in three quarts of water, let it stand all night, remove fat in the morning, boil it again next day, let it come to boiling point, throw in the whites and shells of two eggs, whip it altogether when it boils, remove from fire, then skim it, and pass it through a jelly-bag; put a little macedoine in the bottom of a hot tureen and pour soup over, add a glass of sherry and serve. Outside cost, 1s.

Half a Turbot.—Tinned lobster, cut in dice, put into melted butter, and flavoured with anchovy. Turbot, about 3s.; sauce, 9d.

Cutlets à la Réforme.—Three pounds of the loin of pork cut into cutlets and fried; make about a gill of melted butter, add to it two tablespoonfuls of the liquor from a bottle of piccalilly and six or eight pieces of the pickle cut small. When very hot put on your dish, arrange cutlets in round, and put the pickle-sauce in the middle. Outside cost, 3s.

Small Turkey.—Stuffed with ordinary stuffing, with about two dozen chestnuts boiled soft and added to the stuffing, sausages, bread-sauce, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes. Turkey, 6s.; stuffing &c., 2s. more; outside cost, 8s.

Three teal at 1s. each, plainly roasted, and sent in on slices of toast; lemons and cayenne pepper. 3s. 6d.

Eclairs.—Bought at any confectioner’s at 2d. each. 1s.

Pears in Jelly.—Six stewing pears, 2 oz. sugar, 2 oz. butter, one pint water, half an ounce gelatine soaked in water; stew the pears until they are soft, turn out into a basin, and add the gelatine when hot; place pears when comparatively cold round buttered mould, pour in syrup, turn out when set, serve cold. 8d.

Prince Albert’s Pudding.—Quarter of a pound of bread-crumbs, quarter of a pound of butter, 2 oz. sugar, two tablespoonfuls of raspberry jam, two eggs, mixed thoroughly, placed in mould, and boiled for two hours and a half; serve hot with sifted sugar over. Outside cost, 1s.

Cheese Fondu.—Two eggs, the weight of one in Cheddar cheese, the weight of one in butter; pepper and salt to taste, separate the yolks from the whites of the eggs, beat the former in a basin, and grate the cheese, break the butter into small pieces, add it to the other ingredients with pepper and salt, beat all together thoroughly, well whisk the whites of the eggs, stir them lightly in, and bake the fondu in a small cake tin, which should be only half filled, as the cheese will rise very much; pin a napkin round the tin and serve very hot and quickly, as if allowed to stand long it would be quite spoiled. Average cost, 5d.

Soup, 1s.; fish, 3s. 9d.; cutlets, 3s.; turkey, 6s.; teal, 3s. 6d.; éclairs, 1s.; pears, 8d.; pudding, 1s.—cheese, 5d.—1l. 0s. 4d.

Menu No. III.

Hare Soup.
Filleted Soles à la Maître d’hôtel.
Mutton Cutlets.
Sirloin of Beef.
Ptarmigan.
Peaches, whipped cream.
Cabinet Pudding.
Toasted Cheese.
Dessert.

Hare Soup.—Sprig of thyme, sprig of parsley, three onions, three carrots, two turnips, one head celery, twelve peppercorns, half a dozen cloves, three quarts of water, sixpennyworth of bones, a small hare cut up into joints; simmer all together for about three hours. Take out the meat of the hare and put bones back. Keep the soup simmering the whole day, set aside at night; skim off fat next morning. When wanted thicken with one tablespoonful of flour mixed with a little of the stock; put in meat, rub all through sieve into a hot tureen; serve with dice of fried bread. Cost, 5s.

Soles.—Three small soles, filleted, plain boiled, each piece rolled and placed on a small skewer, which is removed when the fish is sent to table, served covered with sauce made as follows:—Half a pint of milk, tablespoonful of flour, mixed to smooth paste with a little milk, piece of butter size of walnut, salt and pepper to taste, two teaspoonfuls of parsley, teaspoonful of lemon juice. Average cost, 2s. 9d.

Mutton Cutlets.—Two pounds best end of the neck of mutton (New Zealand, 6½d. per lb.) cut thin, egged and bread-crumbed, fried in boiling lard to a light brown, arranged in a crown with fried parsley in centre, fried in same lard. 1s. 6d.

Six pounds of the sirloin, at 10d., nicely roasted, and sent to table garnished with horse-radish, Brussels sprouts, and fried potatoes; Yorkshire pudding, as per receipt in menu. 6s. 6d., outside cost.

Ptarmigan.—Plainly roasted, sent in on to toast, basted well with dripping, or else they are very dry, bread-sauce, with a very little cayenne pepper added, mashed potatoes. About 4s.

Tin of American peaches, sweetened to taste, arranged round cream, sixpennyworth whipped well, any whites of eggs can be added; flavour with four drops essence of vanille; the cream must be heaped up in the centre of the peaches. Tin of peaches, 10½d.; cream, 6d.; extras, 3d. Average cost, 1s. 7½d.

Cabinet Pudding.—Four sponge-cakes, 2 oz. raisins, currants, and sultanas mixed, small piece of lemon-peel, nutmeg to taste, two eggs, sufficient milk to soak cakes, 1 oz. sugar, teacupful of milk, in which the two eggs should be beaten and poured over the sponge-cakes; set all to soak for an hour; place the currants &c. first in a buttered mould, then slices of sponge-cake, then more currants, and then sponge-cakes, until the mould is three parts full; then mix eggs, milk, sugar, and nutmeg all together, beat well, pour it over the pudding, set it for an hour to swell, then tie tightly down, boil for two hours and a half; serve very hot with melted butter poured over, flavoured with two tablespoonfuls of brandy and a little sugar. 9d.

Toasted Cheese.—Grate a quarter of a pound of cheese on lightly toasted bread, pepper and salt to taste, tiny piece of butter on each square; put in the oven for a few moments to melt cheese, add cayenne, serve very hot. Cost about 9d.

Soup, 5s.; fish, 2s. 9d.; cutlets, 1s. 6d.; beef, 6s. 6d.; ptarmigan, 4s.; peaches, 1s. 7½d.; pudding, 9d.; cheese, 9d.—1l. 2s. 10½d.

Menu No. IV.

Carrot Soup.
Cutlets of Cod. Anchovy Sauce.
Curried Kidneys.
Rolled Loin of Mutton, stuffed.
Boiled Pheasant, Celery Sauce.
Plum Pudding, Brandy Sauce.
Chocolate Cream.
Cheese Soufflés.
Dessert.

Carrot Soup.—Three pints of stock, made of threepennyworth of bones cracked, and put in about two quarts of water; add three carrots, three onions, and a head of celery, a little thyme and parsley. Simmer the whole day; allow the fat to rise during the night, removing every scrap of it the next morning, when proceed as follows:—Put two onions and one turnip into the stock and simmer for three hours; then scrape and cut thin six large carrots; strain the soup on them, and stew altogether until soft enough to pass through a hair sieve; then boil all together once more, and add seasoning to taste; add cayenne. The soup should be red, and about the consistency of pease soup. Serve hot with fried dice of bread. Outside cost, 1s.

Cutlets of Cod.—About 4 lbs. of cod, at 4d., cut into large cutlets; fry them, having previously covered them with egg and bread-crumbs. Serve with plain melted butter, flavoured nicely with anchovy. Cost, 1s. 8d.

Curried Kidneys.—Three nice-sized kidneys, cut and skinned and put into any stock; one apple, one onion. Thicken all with a teaspoonful of flour and a teaspoonful of curry powder; small piece of butter, pepper, and salt. Stew for half an hour; add plain boiled rice, carefully done, and serve very hot. Average cost, 10d.

Six pounds of loin of mutton at 9d. a pound—New Zealand, bone, and then prepare a stuffing with thyme, parsley, bread-crumbs, and about 2 oz. of suet, all chopped very fine; add salt and pepper to taste, mix with one egg. Put this thickly inside the mutton; roll it, and secure with skewers. Serve with currant jelly (3½d. a pot), mashed potatoes, and nice cauliflower. Outside cost, 6s.

Boiled Pheasant.—One quite sufficient for six people, plain boiled, and covered with celery sauce, made as follows:—Half a pint of milk, two teaspoonfuls of flour mixed to a smooth paste with a little milk. Stew one head of celery in the milk until tender, then add a piece of butter size of a walnut, and pepper and salt to taste. Pass all through fine sieve into a hot tureen, and then serve. Pheasant, 2s. 6d.; sauce, 6d.

Plum Pudding.—Three-quarters of a pound of raisins, ¾ lb. of currants, ¼ lb. of mixed peel, ¼ lb. and half a ¼ lb. of bread-crumbs, same quantity of suet, four eggs, half a wineglassful of brandy. Stone and cut the raisins in halves, do not chop them; wash and dry the currants, and mince the suet finely; cut the candied peel into thin slices and grate the bread very fine. Mix these dry ingredients well, then moisten with the eggs (which should be well beaten) and the brandy; stir well, and press the pudding into a buttered mould, tie it down tightly with a floured cloth, and boil for five or six hours. Cost, 2s. Special sauce.—Two ounces of butter beaten to a cream, 2 oz. of sugar, three parts of a glass of sherry and brandy mixed, beaten all together to a stiff paste. Cost, 10d.

Chocolate Cream.—One and a half ounce of grated chocolate, 2 oz. of sugar, ¾ of a pint of cream, ¾ oz. of Nelson’s gelatine, and the yolks of three eggs. (N.B.—If the whites of the eggs are added to the cream, and all well mixed, less cream can be used.) Beat the yolks of the eggs well, put them in a basin with the grated chocolate, the sugar, and rather more than half the cream, stir all together, pour into a jug, set jug in a saucepan of boiling water, and stir all one way until the mixture thickens, but do not allow it to boil, or it will curdle; strain all into a basin, stir in the gelatine and the other portion of cream, which should be well whipped; then pour into a mould which has been previously oiled with the very purest salad oil; turn out when cold. Outside cost, 2s.

Cheese Soufflés.—Quarter of a pound of cheese grated, two tablespoonfuls of flour, piece of butter size of walnut, two eggs, half a teacupful of milk, cayenne and salt to taste; mix well together, and put in a saucepan over fire for about five minutes, stirring all the time to prevent burning; drop a tablespoonful of the mixture into buttered patty-pans; put in a steamer until set; then take them out and put on a sieve to cool; cover with egg and bread-crumb, and fry in boiling lard; serve hot. Cost, about 8d. Half this quantity sufficient for six people.

Cost of Dinner.—Soup, 1s.; fish, 1s. 8d.; curried kidneys, 10d.; meat, 6s.; game, 3s.; pudding and sauce, 2s. 10d.; cream, 2s.; cheese, 4d.—17s. 9d.

MENU No. V.

Mulligatawny Soup.
Cod and Oyster Sauce.
Croquettes of Chicken.
Leg of Mutton à la Bretonne.
Pheasants.
Méringues à la crême.
Turrets.
Cheese Straws.
Dessert.

Mulligatawny Soup.—Three pints of stock, made by taking threepennyworth of bones, breaking them small, and putting them to simmer on one side of the fire for the whole of the day before it is required, with three carrots, three onions, one head of celery, and one clove, and a small piece of bacon; stand all night in larder; remove fat next morning. Boil a rabbit, cut it in dice, and fry; then add it, with a small amount of lemon juice and two tablespoonfuls of curry powder mixed smooth with stock separately, to the stock. Serve very hot, with plain boiled rice on separate dish. Cost of soup, 2s. 4d.—rabbit, 1s. 6d.; bones, 3d.; vegetables, 3d.; rice, 1d.; bacon, 1d.; curry powder, 2d.

Three pounds of cod at 6d. a pound, plain boiled; eight oysters cut in half for sauce, which is made of the liquor of the oysters; teacupful of milk, piece of butter size of walnut, salt, and two teaspoonfuls of flour. Cod, 1s. 6d.; oysters, 8d.; milk, butter, &c., 3d.—2s. 5d.

Croquettes of Chicken.—Take the two legs of a nicely cooked chicken (the bones of which can be added to those for soup); mince the meat small, then pound smooth in a mortar. Make a sauce with a piece of butter size of a walnut, one onion chopped fine and browned, and half a teacupful of milk; when at boiling point add one teaspoonful of flour, mixed smooth with milk, salt, and pepper to taste, add the yolks of two eggs, then put in the chicken and stir all together until thoroughly mixed, remove from fire; when cold make up the mixture into croquettes, cover with egg and bread-crumbs, and fry in dripping from leg of mutton; serve very hot garnished with parsley. Any remains of cold chicken will do for this dish. Portion of chicken, 9d.; eggs (3), 2½d., sometimes 3d.; total cost, 1s. 2½d.

Leg of Mutton à la Bretonne.—Choose a leg of Welsh mutton about 6 lbs. in weight, get four cloves of garlic, make an incision with the point of a knife in four different parts round the knuckle and place the garlic in it, hang it up for a day or two, and then roast it for an hour and a half. Take a quart of French haricots and place them in a saucepan with half a gallon of water. Add salt, half an ounce of butter, and set them to simmer until tender, when the liquor must be poured into a basin. Keep the haricots hot, peel and cut two large onions into thin slices, put some of the fat from the dripping-pan into the fryingpan, put in the onions, and fry a light brown. Add them to the haricots, with the fat &c. that the mutton has produced in roasting, season with salt and pepper, toss them about a little, and serve very hot on a large dish on which the mutton is put, garnished with a frill. Serve with mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, currant jelly. Cost, with best Welsh mutton, 8s.; with New Zealand, just as good, 5s.

Roasted Pheasant, 2s. 6d.—Plainly and nicely roasted, sent in on a bed of bread-crumbs made from crusts and pieces of bread dried in the oven and rolled small with the rolling-pin. Potatoes plainly boiled and rubbed through a sieve, with a very small piece of butter. 2s. 9d.

Méringues.—Use the three whites of the eggs the yolks of which you have used for the croquettes; whisk them to a stiff froth, and with a wooden spoon stir in quickly a quarter and half a quarter of a pound of white sifted sugar. Put some boards in the oven thick enough to prevent the bottom of the méringues from acquiring too much colour. Cut some strips of paper about two inches wide, put this on the board, and drop a tablespoonful at a time of the mixture on paper, giving them as nearly as possible the shape of an egg, keeping each méringue about two inches apart. Strew over some sifted sugar, and bake in a moderate oven for half an hour. As soon as they begin to colour remove them; take each slip of paper by the two ends and turn it gently on the table, and with a small spoon take out the soft part. Spread some clean paper, turn the méringues upside down, and put them into the oven to harden; then fill with whipped cream just flavoured with vanilla and sweetened with sugar; put two halves together and serve. Threepennyworth of cream is quite enough for six people, so this dish would cost about 4d., as the eggs were charged for in the croquettes. 4d.

Turret Puddings.—Take two eggs, add their weight in flour, sugar, and butter; beat the eggs thoroughly first, then add sugar and flour and the butter melted; beat all together to a cream; fill small tins, bake for twenty minutes; add sauce, made from milk, two teaspoonfuls of flour, and a tablespoonful of brandy; serve hot. Outside cost, 1s.

Cheese Straws.—Two ounces of butter, 2 oz. of flour, 2 oz. of bread-crumbs, 2 oz. of cheese grated, half a small saltspoon of mixed salt and cayenne; mix all together to a paste, and roll it out a quarter of an inch in thickness; cut it into narrow strips, lay them on a sheet of paper, and bake for a few minutes; arrange them in a pyramid on a napkin, and serve hot. Cost, 6d.

General cost of dinner.—Soup, 2s. 4d.; fish, 2s. 5d.; entrée, 1s. 2½d.; mutton, 8s.; game, 2s. 9d.; sweets (2), 1s. 4d.; cheese, 6d.—18s. 6½d. Very excellent thick cream can be had from the Gloucester Dairy Company, Gloucester, who send 16 oz. for 1s. postage paid. This is invaluable for méringues. The Gloucester Dairy Company’s little Gloucester cheeses for 2s. 6d. are also very useful for dinner-parties.

Menu No. VI.

Almond Soup.
Salmon, Caper Sauce.
Beef Olives.
Grilled Mushrooms.
Saddle of Mutton.
Widgeon.
Tipsy Cake.
College Pudding.
Apple Jelly.
Macaroni Cheese.
Dessert.

White Soup.—Two pounds of veal, two quarts of water, one onion, quarter of a pint of cream, an ounce of butter, two dozen sweet almonds pounded to paste, salt and cayenne pepper to taste. Boil the veal, water, and onion slowly all the previous day, take off all the fat, strain, add other ingredients, thicken with one pennyworth of arrowroot, and serve very hot. 2s. 10d.

Salmon.—Three pounds, nicely boiled, plain melted butter; add a small amount of liquor from a bottle of capers, a teaspoonful of the capers chopped fine, and half a teaspoonful of lemon juice. Fish, 7s. 6d.; sauce, 6d.

Beef Olives.—One pound of beefsteak, cut in squares about three inches and half an inch thick, chopped thyme and parsley, pepper and salt sprinkled over the beef, roll each piece, place on small skewer, stew in stock for an hour, thicken stock with a little flour and butter, pour over the olives, and serve very hot. 1s. 2d.

Grilled Mushrooms.—Wipe a dozen mushrooms carefully, place on tin in front of fire with a small piece of butter, salt and pepper to taste on each, have ready twelve little pieces of toasted bread, and when done put a mushroom on each piece; serve very hot. Outside cost, 2s. 6d.

Small Saddle of Mutton (about 8 lbs.).—Currant jelly, potatoes put through sieve after well boiling, stewed celery covered with melted butter, currant jelly. Outside cost of all, 10s.

Widgeon.—Plainly roasted, sent in very hot with their own gravy, lemon juice, and cayenne; potato shavings—potatoes to be cut in thin strips, fried a light brown in boiling lard, then placed on blotting paper to remove grease, placed in hot vegetable dish and served. 3s.

Tipsy Cake.—Take a sixpenny Madeira cake, cut it in three rounds, spread the rounds with raspberry jam, scoop out the middle of the top slices, soak it in a quarter of a pint of sherry until tender; fill up centre with preserved fruit, and cover with whipped cream. Outside cost, 2s.

College Pudding.—Butter a shape, stick it all round with split raisins, line with brown cut from a sally lunn, cut the rest in slices, and put it with a few ratifias and macaroons into the mould; beat two eggs in enough milk to cover the pudding; add a tablespoonful of sugar, cover it with a buttered paper and a cloth; boil it for an hour. Cost, 1s.

Apple Shape.—Two pounds of apples, boiled to a pulp in half a teacupful of water, juice of one lemon, two ounces of sugar, half an ounce of gelatine, soaked in quarter of a pint of water; mix well together, and rub together through a hair sieve whilst hot; butter a mould, pour in, leave until cold. Serve with custard made as follows:—Quarter of a pint of milk, one egg, teaspoonful of corn-flour, sugar to taste; bring the milk to boiling point, and add other ingredients; stir until thick, remove from fire, set to cool; when cold pour it over the shape. 10d.

Macaroni Cheese.—Quarter of a pound of macaroni, two ounces of butter, three ounces of Cheddar cheese, pepper and salt to taste, half a pint of milk, one pint of water, bread-crumbs. Boil the macaroni until tender in the milk and water, sprinkle cheese and some of the butter among it, then season with the pepper, and cover all with finely grated bread-crumbs. Warm the rest of the butter and pour it over the bread-crumbs; brown it before a fire, and serve very hot. Cost, 9d.

Soup, 2s. 10d.; fish, 8s.; beef olives, 1s. 2d.; mushrooms, 2s. 6d.; mutton, 10s.; widgeon, 3s.; sweets, 3s. 10d.; cheese, 10d. Total cost, 1l. 12s. 2d.

I think the receipts given above would form the nucleus for any amount of moderate entertainment, but I may speak of two capital books which would assist any young housekeeper, and which have done me so much good I should be ungrateful not to mention them. One is Mrs. de Salis’s ‘Entrées à la Mode,’ published by Longmans at 1s. 6d., and the other is Mrs. Beeton’s ‘Household Management,’ a 7s. 6d. book, but one no mistress of a household should ever think of being without.

Though naturally invalids’ cooking does not come in properly when one should be thinking of nothing but pleasant matters, cooking reminds me of a valuable piece of information given to me by a friend, and at the risk of being called to order I must just give one hint in regard to beef-tea, the making of which is often very wasteful and tiring to an invalid’s patience, and which can be made most successfully by taking a nice juicy beefsteak and cutting off all the superfluous fat; then this should be salted and peppered to taste, and floured on both sides; then the bottom of a stew-pan should be covered with just enough water to keep the meat from sticking, and the meat should be allowed to stew by the side of the fire from one hour and a quarter, according to size. The gravy is excellent rich beef-tea, while the steak itself is beautifully tender and fit to be sent to table. One or two allspice berries put in with the meat give a flavour of wine, and thus we have good pleasant beef-tea for an invalid and luncheon for ourselves, with none of the waste that often accompanies the making of what is all too often a tasteless, greasy, and disagreeable compound.

Another dish for a convalescent is made by treating a chop in the same way as a steak as regards the pepper, salt, and flour. It is then put on a plate with a tablespoonful of water, covered with another plate exactly the same size, and put into a slow oven for more than an hour. When cooked, the top plate should be turned down to the bottom, so the chop is hot to the last, and has not been disturbed, and is so tender and thoroughly cooked it does not need masticating, and it is also so nice that many clergymen are glad to find this ready for them after leaving church, instead of the orthodox cold supper. It literally cooks itself, and is therefore no trouble on Sundays; while for a country doctor, whose hours are uncertain, and who all too often subsists on either sodden or scorched-up food, it is a perfect dish, and should be recollected by all those good housewives who are often enough at their wits’ end to find something nice for the bread-winner when he returns home after a long and fatiguing drive over country roads and open moors.

So, that I may not be utterly condemned for dragging in my invalids, I will just mention that a very nice dish for a small evening party is made by simply grating raw chestnuts up very finely into a dish, and covering them thickly with whipped cream, sweetened and flavoured to taste; while tins of American peaches, placed in a deep dish and sweetened to taste and covered with good whipped cream, are also things most useful to the country housewife, who is often called upon to provide a good extra dish in a hurry, despite her distance from shops and the impossibility of getting anything decent in her village; while Edwards’ desiccated soup is an excellent ‘standby’ in any country house, for with its aid soup is always forthcoming; and with soup and a pretty-looking sweet the simplest dinner may be made to pass off with sufficient éclat to satisfy a guest who may have been cajoled into sharing pot-luck, despite the fact that the nearest butcher is four miles off and that it is not the game season—a species of entertaining most trying to any one, especially in the country, but which even there can be faced with equanimity if we have sense, a few tinned provisions in our store-cupboards, and a cook who does not become flurried and who has her stockpot always going. A very good dinner can be extemporised by adding some of Edwards’ desiccated soup to the ordinary soup; a side-dish can be made from poached eggs on spinach, from tinned lobsters made into cutlets, from any remains of cold meat made into croquettes; while pancakes and tinned peaches and cream add sufficient variety to whatever had been prepared for the late dinner, which can be furthermore supplemented and helped out by some of the cooked cheese prepared in one of the ways given in the menu receipts; but a welcome must be forthcoming too, else no amount of dinner will make the unexpected guest feel as if he were being entertained.

One last hint: always, unless you live in London, keep two or three new toothbrushes and a clean brush and comb in the house; then, should your guest be willing to remain until the next morning unexpectedly, you will even be ready for that emergency, and will not have one tiny flaw left to be found in your simple but most complete system of entertaining.

CHAPTER XX.

THE SUMMING-UP.

There were two deep cupboards in this special room, which rendered the purchase of a sideboard unnecessary; if one be imperative, I recommend the purchase of Maple’s ‘Vicarage’ suite of furniture at 20l. It is both pretty and good, I hear; I have not actual personal experience of it.

Drawing-room.

I strongly advise in addition to this one of Messrs. Trübner’s excellent revolving bookcases, of which a drawing was made in my dining-room sketch. I consider no lover of books should be without one of these invaluable bookcases.

Best Bedroom.

Ware was in the possession of the young people, but a nice set can be bought for 7s. 6d., and even a little less; glass jug and glass for 1s. 6d., at Douglas’s, the artistic glass-shop in Piccadilly.

Dressing-Room.

Spare Room.

Servant’s Room (one Maid).