The Old Year's Grief.

The Old Year's Grief.When the young year walked the woodlands or climbed the mountain sideHe wooed a gentle maiden and won her for his bride.She brought him golden sunshine & wheresoe'er he trodShe reared a starry blossom to decorate the sod.From vale to vale they wandered; from hill to hill they went,Still leaving in their footsteps a harvest of content.But woe is me! when Autumn had climbed the green hill-side,Mid wailing of the woodlands the Year's sweet consort died.No more the soft winds dallied where bracken crowned the hill,To waft the brown bee's murmur across some golden rill.The throstle's song was silent. The year's sad step was slow,And whereso'er he wandered, he wandered through the snow.His constant song of sorrow was borne by northern galesAcross the leafless forests & through the misty vales.He rambled by the river where often he had seenThe mirrored face of beauty—his dear departed queen.But round the frozen sedges deep snow had drifted wideAnd ice, with Death's indifference, had bound the pleasant tide.In vain, in vain. The glory that once his vision knewHad left, in his dominion, no trace of where it flew.His days grow short & shorter. 'Twill soon be time to goAnd the white year's badge of sorrow is the pure and frosty snow.John Lea

When the young year walked the woodlands or climbed the mountain sideHe wooed a gentle maiden and won her for his bride.She brought him golden sunshine & wheresoe'er he trodShe reared a starry blossom to decorate the sod.From vale to vale they wandered; from hill to hill they went,Still leaving in their footsteps a harvest of content.But woe is me! when Autumn had climbed the green hill-side,Mid wailing of the woodlands the Year's sweet consort died.No more the soft winds dallied where bracken crowned the hill,To waft the brown bee's murmur across some golden rill.

The throstle's song was silent. The year's sad step was slow,And whereso'er he wandered, he wandered through the snow.His constant song of sorrow was borne by northern galesAcross the leafless forests & through the misty vales.He rambled by the river where often he had seenThe mirrored face of beauty—his dear departed queen.But round the frozen sedges deep snow had drifted wideAnd ice, with Death's indifference, had bound the pleasant tide.In vain, in vain. The glory that once his vision knewHad left, in his dominion, no trace of where it flew.His days grow short & shorter. 'Twill soon be time to goAnd the white year's badge of sorrow is the pure and frosty snow.

John Lea

"SISTER WARWICK": A STORY OF INFLUENCE.ByH. MARY WILSON, Author of "In Warwick Ward," "In Monmouth Ward," "Miss Elsie," etc.CHAPTER II."I had a noble purpose and the strengthTo compass it; but I have stopped half-way,And wrongly given the first-fruits of my toilTo objects little worthy of the gift."Browning."Sister!"The urgent word pierced the thick cloak of sleep and scattered fair dreams of the home of her childhood."Sister!"She started into a sitting posture, and in another moment was out of bed, for Margaret Carden was saying—"Mr. H—— has just brought us a croup case, Sister, and a very bad one, I am afraid."As the nurse hurried away the great hospital clock boomed out the hour—two—and almost immediately the Sister had joined a sad little group in front of the fire that, even during the summer, often was lighted in the huge open grate at night.Nurse Carden had taken into her arms a poor little child of three, who was fighting and beating the air for the struggling breaths that the tortured throat was strangling.It was a pitiful sight. The poor young father and mother—scarcely more than boy and girl—stood by, the former uttering sharp clicks with his tongue against his teeth as he watched and was tortured too in the sufferings of "the little chap," the latter literally wringing her hands and moaning with the agony of her mother's heart.They were trying every remedy without avail. There was only tracheotomy left for them to do. But the father refused his consent.Cut the fair skin of his boy? No, that they shouldn't!He was obdurate in his ignorance.Mr. H—— urged the otherwise hopelessness of the case. His words were impatient, almost angry. But still the man said, "No!"Sister Warwick drew him aside, and, taking a candle, led him along the ward to the side of a little cot where a smiling, rosy child lay sleeping sweetly. She pulled away the sheet and showed him the little silver tube in her neck."She would not have been alive without it," she said. "She was at death's door, like your little one. It saved her life. She is going to be bonny and strong. Let Mr. H—— do what he wants. You must; you cannot say no now!"They hurried back.Was the poor little face changing?"There, do it, doctor, do it! Have your way!"The reluctant words were scarcely uttered before the clever strong hands were at work.There was immediate relief, and for a moment they believed that the little life, hanging trembling on such a tiny thread, was to be given back. But suddenly the baby hands dropped, and the little head fell back.Even then the skilful hands would not yield the battle. They persevered with artificial respiration. They tried every means, until the truth had to be faced. There was nothing more they could do. They must lay down the poor little buffeted body and let it sleep.This is always a terrible moment for doctors and nurses, and it was with a face quivering with emotion that Sister Warwick left Margaret Carden to the sacred work of tending the little lifeless form, and, leading the poor young mother to her room, took up the harder task of trying to help her in the first bitterness of her grief.Half-stunned with what had happened, the man sat in the shadows beyond the range of the light from the fire and lamp, and followed with his eyes the movements of the nurse as she went to and fro.Let us hope that he was not realising the fact that his tardy consent had perhaps cost the child its life.Mr. H—— laid a kind hand on his shoulder once, with a hearty—"I am awfully sorry for you;" and he murmured something by way of answer. Then he rose—still half-dazed—to meet his wife who was coming out of Sister's room.They stood side by side, holding each other's hands—like the children they almost were—and looked long at the sleeping baby.Nurse Carden had taken the buttercups and grasses from one of the vases on the ward table, and the little fingers were folded round the stalks.The inexplicable peace of the presence of death stole into the hearts of the poor young parents, and they went quietly away with bowed heads, sharing and bearing together their first real grief."Good night, Sister!"The house physician was going back to his quarters and to the rest that was so often broken."Good night," she added, and then, with a half smile, she added: "Don't bring me a case like that again for a long time, please! And yesterday was his birthday too, they tell me—poor mite!"The doctor's reply to this was a happy one. He said—"Then we must wish him many happy returns of to-day instead!"Sister Warwick could sleep no more that night—or early morning rather. She tried, with a conscientious remembrance of the day's work to come. But such episodes tore her tenderest sympathies in a way that the nurses, who thought her hard and cold, would never have credited.She lay on her couch, not thinking so much in detail of the scene of conflict she had just been through, as of the ever-recurring wonder that such things had to be. These sudden, dashing, jangling chords in life seemed so inexplicable; and for children to suffer so, and for peaceful lives to have such dark passages! And then some lines of Browning flashed into her mind, and she repeated them to herself over and over again, till the meaning sank in and soothed her."Why rush the discords in, but that harmony should be prized?Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear!Each sufferer says his say, his end of the weal and woe;But God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear;The rest may reason and welcome, 'tis we musicians know."The quiet of the night was broken by a sudden trampling of feet in the hospital square. Sister Warwick guessed what it meant—an operation in the theatre. She could hear the even tread of the porters as they carried the stretcher and the clank as it rested on the stone floor. Now a messenger was running round to the college and stopping beneath the students' windows. His voice reached her ears—"Operation! Operation!"Coming in the darkness and shrouded by night, it would all have seemed weird and uncanny if custom had not reconciled her to the strangeness of the sounds. As it was, the discordant noises only served—by some connection of ideas—to turn her thoughts to another anxiety—the special "crook in her lot" just now. She lay and tried to put the matter clearly before her mind.There was no doubt that in spite of the fact that Nurse Hudson had passed her exams and won the nurse's buckle, she was not trustworthy. Something was probably exerting a wrong influence over her. It was sadly evident that, as a nurse, she was deteriorating, and Sister Warwick acknowledged bitterly that she herself had failed to arrest that course.What could she do now? There were too many lives at stake to allow to remain unnoticed these recurring acts of carelessness, and, worse still, these signs of hardness and want of tenderness in her dealings with the patients.Yet how her kind heart shrank from the strong measure of a complaint to the matron! She had spoken a few decided, and she hoped calm and "Sisterly" words of warning to her that very evening as she was leaving the ward. Should she now wait and see if they took effect? Surely it would be only fair to give her one more trial? Meanwhile she herself could use greater diligence in overlooking the work done in the ward.After much thought she settled it so, and then tried to put the anxious matter aside. Did she err in her judgment? If so, it was on the side of mercy—the way we women would all prefer to lean.(To be continued.)

ByH. MARY WILSON, Author of "In Warwick Ward," "In Monmouth Ward," "Miss Elsie," etc.

"I had a noble purpose and the strengthTo compass it; but I have stopped half-way,And wrongly given the first-fruits of my toilTo objects little worthy of the gift."

Browning.

"Sister!"

The urgent word pierced the thick cloak of sleep and scattered fair dreams of the home of her childhood.

"Sister!"

She started into a sitting posture, and in another moment was out of bed, for Margaret Carden was saying—

"Mr. H—— has just brought us a croup case, Sister, and a very bad one, I am afraid."

As the nurse hurried away the great hospital clock boomed out the hour—two—and almost immediately the Sister had joined a sad little group in front of the fire that, even during the summer, often was lighted in the huge open grate at night.

Nurse Carden had taken into her arms a poor little child of three, who was fighting and beating the air for the struggling breaths that the tortured throat was strangling.

It was a pitiful sight. The poor young father and mother—scarcely more than boy and girl—stood by, the former uttering sharp clicks with his tongue against his teeth as he watched and was tortured too in the sufferings of "the little chap," the latter literally wringing her hands and moaning with the agony of her mother's heart.

They were trying every remedy without avail. There was only tracheotomy left for them to do. But the father refused his consent.

Cut the fair skin of his boy? No, that they shouldn't!

He was obdurate in his ignorance.

Mr. H—— urged the otherwise hopelessness of the case. His words were impatient, almost angry. But still the man said, "No!"

Sister Warwick drew him aside, and, taking a candle, led him along the ward to the side of a little cot where a smiling, rosy child lay sleeping sweetly. She pulled away the sheet and showed him the little silver tube in her neck.

"She would not have been alive without it," she said. "She was at death's door, like your little one. It saved her life. She is going to be bonny and strong. Let Mr. H—— do what he wants. You must; you cannot say no now!"

They hurried back.

Was the poor little face changing?

"There, do it, doctor, do it! Have your way!"

The reluctant words were scarcely uttered before the clever strong hands were at work.

There was immediate relief, and for a moment they believed that the little life, hanging trembling on such a tiny thread, was to be given back. But suddenly the baby hands dropped, and the little head fell back.

Even then the skilful hands would not yield the battle. They persevered with artificial respiration. They tried every means, until the truth had to be faced. There was nothing more they could do. They must lay down the poor little buffeted body and let it sleep.

This is always a terrible moment for doctors and nurses, and it was with a face quivering with emotion that Sister Warwick left Margaret Carden to the sacred work of tending the little lifeless form, and, leading the poor young mother to her room, took up the harder task of trying to help her in the first bitterness of her grief.

Half-stunned with what had happened, the man sat in the shadows beyond the range of the light from the fire and lamp, and followed with his eyes the movements of the nurse as she went to and fro.

Let us hope that he was not realising the fact that his tardy consent had perhaps cost the child its life.

Mr. H—— laid a kind hand on his shoulder once, with a hearty—

"I am awfully sorry for you;" and he murmured something by way of answer. Then he rose—still half-dazed—to meet his wife who was coming out of Sister's room.

They stood side by side, holding each other's hands—like the children they almost were—and looked long at the sleeping baby.

Nurse Carden had taken the buttercups and grasses from one of the vases on the ward table, and the little fingers were folded round the stalks.

The inexplicable peace of the presence of death stole into the hearts of the poor young parents, and they went quietly away with bowed heads, sharing and bearing together their first real grief.

"Good night, Sister!"

The house physician was going back to his quarters and to the rest that was so often broken.

"Good night," she added, and then, with a half smile, she added: "Don't bring me a case like that again for a long time, please! And yesterday was his birthday too, they tell me—poor mite!"

The doctor's reply to this was a happy one. He said—

"Then we must wish him many happy returns of to-day instead!"

Sister Warwick could sleep no more that night—or early morning rather. She tried, with a conscientious remembrance of the day's work to come. But such episodes tore her tenderest sympathies in a way that the nurses, who thought her hard and cold, would never have credited.

She lay on her couch, not thinking so much in detail of the scene of conflict she had just been through, as of the ever-recurring wonder that such things had to be. These sudden, dashing, jangling chords in life seemed so inexplicable; and for children to suffer so, and for peaceful lives to have such dark passages! And then some lines of Browning flashed into her mind, and she repeated them to herself over and over again, till the meaning sank in and soothed her.

"Why rush the discords in, but that harmony should be prized?Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear!Each sufferer says his say, his end of the weal and woe;But God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear;The rest may reason and welcome, 'tis we musicians know."

The quiet of the night was broken by a sudden trampling of feet in the hospital square. Sister Warwick guessed what it meant—an operation in the theatre. She could hear the even tread of the porters as they carried the stretcher and the clank as it rested on the stone floor. Now a messenger was running round to the college and stopping beneath the students' windows. His voice reached her ears—

"Operation! Operation!"

Coming in the darkness and shrouded by night, it would all have seemed weird and uncanny if custom had not reconciled her to the strangeness of the sounds. As it was, the discordant noises only served—by some connection of ideas—to turn her thoughts to another anxiety—the special "crook in her lot" just now. She lay and tried to put the matter clearly before her mind.

There was no doubt that in spite of the fact that Nurse Hudson had passed her exams and won the nurse's buckle, she was not trustworthy. Something was probably exerting a wrong influence over her. It was sadly evident that, as a nurse, she was deteriorating, and Sister Warwick acknowledged bitterly that she herself had failed to arrest that course.

What could she do now? There were too many lives at stake to allow to remain unnoticed these recurring acts of carelessness, and, worse still, these signs of hardness and want of tenderness in her dealings with the patients.

Yet how her kind heart shrank from the strong measure of a complaint to the matron! She had spoken a few decided, and she hoped calm and "Sisterly" words of warning to her that very evening as she was leaving the ward. Should she now wait and see if they took effect? Surely it would be only fair to give her one more trial? Meanwhile she herself could use greater diligence in overlooking the work done in the ward.

After much thought she settled it so, and then tried to put the anxious matter aside. Did she err in her judgment? If so, it was on the side of mercy—the way we women would all prefer to lean.

(To be continued.)

THREE GIRL-CHUMS, AND THEIR LIFE IN LONDON ROOMS.ByFLORENCE SOPHIE DAVSON.CHAPTER III.TWO LETTERS.I amafraid that as this account of the doings of our three friends unfolds itself, some of my readers may be tempted to complain that it seems to be always meal-time at "The Rowans." Indeed, I must admit that from their point of view the complaint is a just one, but I would beg them to remember that my object is to give an account of the culinary doings of the household; their meals, and how they were contrived, and the cost thereof; and as, like the old woman in the nursery song,"Victuals and drink were the chief of their diet,"the food question must perforce be continually before us.As a girl of fourteen I had to take the reins of government and direct the house during my mother's long illness. It would certainly have helped me greatly to have been able to follow the chronicles of some young housekeeper and to have learnt how she arranged matters. But at that time Marion and the Orlingburys were all in short frocks and had no experiences to unfold for my benefit.The trials of the members of our household during the time of my rule were doubtless very severe. The chief thing that I remember is that my favourite sultana pudding was served about four times a week, with sauce; on the last point I was most particular.I had always a great longing to go down in the kitchen and cook myself, but my father forbade this, saying that if I worried the cook she would probably give warning; and that, if in addition to my mother's illness and other present ills (of which I fear my housekeeping was one) we were left without a cook, he should not know what to do. This was a sore disappointment, for as yet I had never been able to make any attempt at cooking, except on one occasion, when at the age of six I had been discovered surreptitiously frying chocolate creams on the shovel in the dining-room, for which I was sent to bed. At a yet earlier period, having heard somewhere that toffee was made with butter and sugar, I put a small pat of butter and a tablespoonful of sugar into an empty sweet-box, and, hiding it amongst my toys, waited with anxiety for it to turn into toffee, looking in the box with keen interest every morning and hoping for the joyful day when the sticky mess should become a neat brown slab of finest toffee; a day, alas, which came not, as was not strange, and the end of it was that the nurse found the hidden treasure and promptly threw it away.To come back to "The Rowans," where Marion, having finished her morning's cooking, is reading a letter in the sitting-room. The letter is from an old playmate, now grown up and lately married, who is living on the other side of London."Tulse Hill,"Jan. 10th."My dear Marion,—Do not look for any interesting news in this letter, and make up your mind to exercise all your good nature."I am writing to you for advice and consolation, for I am at my wits' end. How I wish I were a clever housekeeper, like you, and how I envy the Orlingburys for having secured you to live with them. I should so like to run over for a chat, but you are such a busy woman, I do not know when I should find you at home without disturbing you in your work, and it would be too bad to make you talk businesson your only holiday—Saturday. Do tell me, Marion—in the strictest confidence—are you afraid of your servant? I am of mine—horribly! Oh, dear me! When I first married I thought I was going to do wonders; to do such a lot of cooking, and to manage and contrive so cleverly. Let me explain a few of my troubles."To begin with, I have a cook who was recommended to me as 'a perfect treasure,' but I do not find her any sort of a treasure, and I am happy to say she is now leaving. She has a terribly superior manner, and resents it very much if I go into the kitchen at all. On days when I have attempted to do any cooking she is frigid beyond words. She is not a good cook herself—I could put up with a great deal if she were that—and the only things we have that are nice at all are curries and fricassees made in the stewing jar after your fashion. I heard about the jar about a month ago from a mutual friend—your Aunt Anne."Cook makes the most abominable pastry and cannot roast at all; our poor little joints of meat are shrivelled up and hard, so she has really no need to give herself such airs. With regard to the roasting I really am most perplexed, and hope you will be able to advise me. I have by me a standard cookery book, which assures me most positively that a joint should be put in a hot oven to make a casing to keep in the juices, and then it is to be cooked more slowly. This, I know, has been done, but the result is far from satisfactory, and I wonder if the oven is too hot."Only last night a beautiful little piece of loin of mutton was served nearly black and as hard as a brick. I was so distressed for poor Arthur's sake. It does so worry me to think of his coming home hungry from his office to such a dinner. He was most amiable over it and only smiled, telling me not to worry, I would soon learn. But the question is, how long will he keep on smiling if he often has bad dinners? One must look these matters in the face, must one not?"I do not want to vex him too often; in fact, I do not want to vex him at all, but what can I do? And then his mother is coming to stay in a week or two, and although she is kindness herself, and very fond of me, I feel quite sure that she will feel a profound pity for her unfortunate son if she sees a black joint on the table."Her pastry—I mean cook's, of course—is so bad, that a week ago I plucked up my courage. Venturing into the kitchen, I tried my hand at making some. I rubbed seven ounces of dripping into a pound of flour that had first been mixed with a teaspoonful of baking powder—that was right, was it not? Then I mixed it with water to a dough and rolled it out. It kept sticking to the board, and I got very nervous, for I felt the cold, unsympathetic glance of the cook was upon me. But I persevered and made it up into a pie and baked it; but every time I went to the oven to take a peep—about every three minutes—the dripping was running out as fast as it could. Surely pastry is very wasteful. What is the use of putting it in if it only runs out again? And to eat, it was hard beyond words! And to see cook's scornful smile when, on the following day, she asked politely if I wished the remains sent up to table."Now, as I tell you, she is leaving shortly. I have heard of a girl who might do. She makes good soups, cooks vegetables well, roasts and boils fairly well, and she is very clean. I know she is a nice girl, and not at all inclined to be refractory, if I could only make up my mind as to the best way of starting. As I tell you, my mother-in-law is coming to stay soon. Marion, do advise me."Your perplexed friend,"Madge Holden."Marion read all this very carefully and thought it over. Then she answered Mrs. Holden's letter."My dear Madge,—I shall be only too pleased if I can help you, but you must not overrate my powers, as I think you are inclined to do. To begin with, I have had opportunities of learning housekeeping such as few have. You see, we all have to help at home, and mother is such a good manager; it would be odd if I had not picked up some of her household knowledge. You ask if I am afraid of my servant. If you could see her, I think your own question would amuse you. She is only fourteen, and she knew absolutely nothing when she came to us; by dint of great exertions, I am gradually teaching her to dish up our dinners and to wait at table. She can also turn out a room (with assistance) and wash up, but as she has learnt this under me, it would be odd if I felt afraid of her. If I had a real cook and housemaid like you, I might perhaps tremble in my shoes, but really I think there is no need. I am glad you find the stewing jar useful. If your cook cannot even roast a small joint of meat without spoiling it, she has nothing to be very conceited about."The rule you quote from your cookery book is quite correct for large joints, but it does not do for small ones. If you put a big joint into a hot oven, it crisps the outside nicely, but a small joint put into the same temperature will soon become hard right through. Put small joints in a gentle oven and cook them slowly, basting often. Shortly before you serve it, let the oven get hot or else finish it before the fire, so that it may brown. Of course, the oven must not be too slow or the meat will not cook at all. This point you will gradually learn, and so will your new cook if she is intelligent. I am glad you allude to her as a 'girl.' A young person is, as a rule, more teachable, although an older person will probably know more. As Dr. Johnson remarked of Scotchmen, 'Much may be done with them if you catch them young.' When you engage your new cook, just say that you are in the habit of cooking occasionally—mention it as a matter of course. Do not start by being afraid of her. It is really most absurd."With regard to the pastry. You do not seem to have made it quite rightly, as it should not stick to the board. You made it too wet, and your oven cannot have been hot enough if the dripping ran out. Pastry should go into a hot oven, then the starch grains in the flour burst and enclose the particles of dripping; but if the oven is not hot enough, the reverse happens; that is to say, the dripping melts and encloses the starch grains so that they cannot burst. Try again."I am wondering if it would help you to see a list of our dinners for the week; I send one in case it may be of use and also my food bill. The quantities will seem very small to you, but you must remember we have no 'downstairs' to consider. Our girl only comes for a few hours each day. This makes a great difference in our expenses. In fact, if we did not make this arrangement, I do not think we could continue our present mode of living. Now, do not worry. If you are so anxious to have everything nice you will succeed in time, and if your mother-in-law is so kind and so fond of you, I am sure she will not pity her son too much, even if your cook does make one or two failures. Could you not get her to postpone her visit until you are a little more settled."Here is the dinner list—Sunday.Stewed Steak. Mashed Potatoes.Mince Pies.(Supper.) Poached Eggs on Toast; Cocoa.Monday.Tripe à la Normandie.Sago Pudding.Tuesday.Sheep's Head.Vegetables and Dumplings.Baked Treacle Tart.Wednesday.(High Tea.) Fish Mould.Gingerbread.Thursday.Brown Soup.Fish in Milk.Cottage Pudding.Friday.Mutton Cutlets.Boiled Potatoes. Brussels Sprouts.Macaroni Cheese.Saturday.Celery Soup.Minced Callops and Mashed Potatoes.Cup Puddings."You see, we live very simply."The stewed steak was cooked the day before and warmed up; the mince pies also."The 'tripe à la Normandie' is made with a thick brown gravy; the tripe made in rolls with pieces of ham in each and a few mushrooms to flavour. We have half a ham in the house just at present, so it was a good time to have the dish. The brown soup on Thursday was made of the broth in which the sheep's head was cooked; the fish mould is made by pounding half a pound of breadcrumbs, one ounce of butter, a beaten egg and a gill of thick white sauce; season this well and steam in a buttered mould. The callops are minced beef, which I buy at threepence each callop."Here is the food account—£s.d.One pound and a half of chuck steak013Two pounds of best end of neck of mutton018One pound and a quarter of tripe009½One sheep's head007Half a pound of suet003Four callops010Quarter of a pound of mushrooms003Flavouring vegetables004One pound of sprouts002Eight pounds of potatoes006Plaice006Fresh haddock006Half a pound of macaroni002One tin of cocoa006Best eggs, one dozen016Six cooking eggs006One pound and a half of fresh butter at 1s. 4d.020Milk017Two pounds of demerara003½One pound loaf002Half a ham (three pounds and a half)024Half a pound of tea0010Eight loaves026£102"Let me know if I can be of any further use,"Yours affectionately,"Marion Thomas."Three weeks later Marion received a hurriedly-written note."Many, many thanks, my dear Marion, for your letter. I have been waiting to profit by your instructions before writing to you, and now I am so busy I can only write a few lines. The new cook is an amiable girl, and I am getting on famously—thanks to you. Mrs. Holden is here, and I am enjoying her visit very much. She is so kind and helpful. You are quite right; it is ridiculous to be afraid of one's own cook, and I now enter the kitchen with an easy mind. Also, my cooking has improved so much, that I quite enjoy eating my own pastry, which I thought would for ever be an impossibility."Your grateful friend,"Madge Holden."(To be continued.)

ByFLORENCE SOPHIE DAVSON.

TWO LETTERS.

I amafraid that as this account of the doings of our three friends unfolds itself, some of my readers may be tempted to complain that it seems to be always meal-time at "The Rowans." Indeed, I must admit that from their point of view the complaint is a just one, but I would beg them to remember that my object is to give an account of the culinary doings of the household; their meals, and how they were contrived, and the cost thereof; and as, like the old woman in the nursery song,

"Victuals and drink were the chief of their diet,"

the food question must perforce be continually before us.

As a girl of fourteen I had to take the reins of government and direct the house during my mother's long illness. It would certainly have helped me greatly to have been able to follow the chronicles of some young housekeeper and to have learnt how she arranged matters. But at that time Marion and the Orlingburys were all in short frocks and had no experiences to unfold for my benefit.

The trials of the members of our household during the time of my rule were doubtless very severe. The chief thing that I remember is that my favourite sultana pudding was served about four times a week, with sauce; on the last point I was most particular.

I had always a great longing to go down in the kitchen and cook myself, but my father forbade this, saying that if I worried the cook she would probably give warning; and that, if in addition to my mother's illness and other present ills (of which I fear my housekeeping was one) we were left without a cook, he should not know what to do. This was a sore disappointment, for as yet I had never been able to make any attempt at cooking, except on one occasion, when at the age of six I had been discovered surreptitiously frying chocolate creams on the shovel in the dining-room, for which I was sent to bed. At a yet earlier period, having heard somewhere that toffee was made with butter and sugar, I put a small pat of butter and a tablespoonful of sugar into an empty sweet-box, and, hiding it amongst my toys, waited with anxiety for it to turn into toffee, looking in the box with keen interest every morning and hoping for the joyful day when the sticky mess should become a neat brown slab of finest toffee; a day, alas, which came not, as was not strange, and the end of it was that the nurse found the hidden treasure and promptly threw it away.

To come back to "The Rowans," where Marion, having finished her morning's cooking, is reading a letter in the sitting-room. The letter is from an old playmate, now grown up and lately married, who is living on the other side of London.

"Tulse Hill,"Jan. 10th.

"My dear Marion,—Do not look for any interesting news in this letter, and make up your mind to exercise all your good nature.

"I am writing to you for advice and consolation, for I am at my wits' end. How I wish I were a clever housekeeper, like you, and how I envy the Orlingburys for having secured you to live with them. I should so like to run over for a chat, but you are such a busy woman, I do not know when I should find you at home without disturbing you in your work, and it would be too bad to make you talk businesson your only holiday—Saturday. Do tell me, Marion—in the strictest confidence—are you afraid of your servant? I am of mine—horribly! Oh, dear me! When I first married I thought I was going to do wonders; to do such a lot of cooking, and to manage and contrive so cleverly. Let me explain a few of my troubles.

"To begin with, I have a cook who was recommended to me as 'a perfect treasure,' but I do not find her any sort of a treasure, and I am happy to say she is now leaving. She has a terribly superior manner, and resents it very much if I go into the kitchen at all. On days when I have attempted to do any cooking she is frigid beyond words. She is not a good cook herself—I could put up with a great deal if she were that—and the only things we have that are nice at all are curries and fricassees made in the stewing jar after your fashion. I heard about the jar about a month ago from a mutual friend—your Aunt Anne.

"Cook makes the most abominable pastry and cannot roast at all; our poor little joints of meat are shrivelled up and hard, so she has really no need to give herself such airs. With regard to the roasting I really am most perplexed, and hope you will be able to advise me. I have by me a standard cookery book, which assures me most positively that a joint should be put in a hot oven to make a casing to keep in the juices, and then it is to be cooked more slowly. This, I know, has been done, but the result is far from satisfactory, and I wonder if the oven is too hot.

"Only last night a beautiful little piece of loin of mutton was served nearly black and as hard as a brick. I was so distressed for poor Arthur's sake. It does so worry me to think of his coming home hungry from his office to such a dinner. He was most amiable over it and only smiled, telling me not to worry, I would soon learn. But the question is, how long will he keep on smiling if he often has bad dinners? One must look these matters in the face, must one not?

"I do not want to vex him too often; in fact, I do not want to vex him at all, but what can I do? And then his mother is coming to stay in a week or two, and although she is kindness herself, and very fond of me, I feel quite sure that she will feel a profound pity for her unfortunate son if she sees a black joint on the table.

"Her pastry—I mean cook's, of course—is so bad, that a week ago I plucked up my courage. Venturing into the kitchen, I tried my hand at making some. I rubbed seven ounces of dripping into a pound of flour that had first been mixed with a teaspoonful of baking powder—that was right, was it not? Then I mixed it with water to a dough and rolled it out. It kept sticking to the board, and I got very nervous, for I felt the cold, unsympathetic glance of the cook was upon me. But I persevered and made it up into a pie and baked it; but every time I went to the oven to take a peep—about every three minutes—the dripping was running out as fast as it could. Surely pastry is very wasteful. What is the use of putting it in if it only runs out again? And to eat, it was hard beyond words! And to see cook's scornful smile when, on the following day, she asked politely if I wished the remains sent up to table.

"Now, as I tell you, she is leaving shortly. I have heard of a girl who might do. She makes good soups, cooks vegetables well, roasts and boils fairly well, and she is very clean. I know she is a nice girl, and not at all inclined to be refractory, if I could only make up my mind as to the best way of starting. As I tell you, my mother-in-law is coming to stay soon. Marion, do advise me.

"Your perplexed friend,"Madge Holden."

Marion read all this very carefully and thought it over. Then she answered Mrs. Holden's letter.

"My dear Madge,—I shall be only too pleased if I can help you, but you must not overrate my powers, as I think you are inclined to do. To begin with, I have had opportunities of learning housekeeping such as few have. You see, we all have to help at home, and mother is such a good manager; it would be odd if I had not picked up some of her household knowledge. You ask if I am afraid of my servant. If you could see her, I think your own question would amuse you. She is only fourteen, and she knew absolutely nothing when she came to us; by dint of great exertions, I am gradually teaching her to dish up our dinners and to wait at table. She can also turn out a room (with assistance) and wash up, but as she has learnt this under me, it would be odd if I felt afraid of her. If I had a real cook and housemaid like you, I might perhaps tremble in my shoes, but really I think there is no need. I am glad you find the stewing jar useful. If your cook cannot even roast a small joint of meat without spoiling it, she has nothing to be very conceited about.

"The rule you quote from your cookery book is quite correct for large joints, but it does not do for small ones. If you put a big joint into a hot oven, it crisps the outside nicely, but a small joint put into the same temperature will soon become hard right through. Put small joints in a gentle oven and cook them slowly, basting often. Shortly before you serve it, let the oven get hot or else finish it before the fire, so that it may brown. Of course, the oven must not be too slow or the meat will not cook at all. This point you will gradually learn, and so will your new cook if she is intelligent. I am glad you allude to her as a 'girl.' A young person is, as a rule, more teachable, although an older person will probably know more. As Dr. Johnson remarked of Scotchmen, 'Much may be done with them if you catch them young.' When you engage your new cook, just say that you are in the habit of cooking occasionally—mention it as a matter of course. Do not start by being afraid of her. It is really most absurd.

"With regard to the pastry. You do not seem to have made it quite rightly, as it should not stick to the board. You made it too wet, and your oven cannot have been hot enough if the dripping ran out. Pastry should go into a hot oven, then the starch grains in the flour burst and enclose the particles of dripping; but if the oven is not hot enough, the reverse happens; that is to say, the dripping melts and encloses the starch grains so that they cannot burst. Try again.

"I am wondering if it would help you to see a list of our dinners for the week; I send one in case it may be of use and also my food bill. The quantities will seem very small to you, but you must remember we have no 'downstairs' to consider. Our girl only comes for a few hours each day. This makes a great difference in our expenses. In fact, if we did not make this arrangement, I do not think we could continue our present mode of living. Now, do not worry. If you are so anxious to have everything nice you will succeed in time, and if your mother-in-law is so kind and so fond of you, I am sure she will not pity her son too much, even if your cook does make one or two failures. Could you not get her to postpone her visit until you are a little more settled.

"Here is the dinner list—

Sunday.

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Thursday.

Friday.

Saturday.

"You see, we live very simply.

"The stewed steak was cooked the day before and warmed up; the mince pies also.

"The 'tripe à la Normandie' is made with a thick brown gravy; the tripe made in rolls with pieces of ham in each and a few mushrooms to flavour. We have half a ham in the house just at present, so it was a good time to have the dish. The brown soup on Thursday was made of the broth in which the sheep's head was cooked; the fish mould is made by pounding half a pound of breadcrumbs, one ounce of butter, a beaten egg and a gill of thick white sauce; season this well and steam in a buttered mould. The callops are minced beef, which I buy at threepence each callop.

"Here is the food account—

£s.d.One pound and a half of chuck steak013Two pounds of best end of neck of mutton018One pound and a quarter of tripe009½One sheep's head007Half a pound of suet003Four callops010Quarter of a pound of mushrooms003Flavouring vegetables004One pound of sprouts002Eight pounds of potatoes006Plaice006Fresh haddock006Half a pound of macaroni002One tin of cocoa006Best eggs, one dozen016Six cooking eggs006One pound and a half of fresh butter at 1s. 4d.020Milk017Two pounds of demerara003½One pound loaf002Half a ham (three pounds and a half)024Half a pound of tea0010Eight loaves026£102

"Let me know if I can be of any further use,

"Yours affectionately,"Marion Thomas."

Three weeks later Marion received a hurriedly-written note.

"Many, many thanks, my dear Marion, for your letter. I have been waiting to profit by your instructions before writing to you, and now I am so busy I can only write a few lines. The new cook is an amiable girl, and I am getting on famously—thanks to you. Mrs. Holden is here, and I am enjoying her visit very much. She is so kind and helpful. You are quite right; it is ridiculous to be afraid of one's own cook, and I now enter the kitchen with an easy mind. Also, my cooking has improved so much, that I quite enjoy eating my own pastry, which I thought would for ever be an impossibility.

"Your grateful friend,"Madge Holden."

(To be continued.)

ART IN THE HOUSE.PART II.How to Decorate Furniture with Stencilling.The idea of decorating your own furniture seems to be an extraordinary thing to many readers, and yet I hope to show you that this much to be desired consummation is quite within your reach. In the former article I gave as an illustration a portion of a chiffonier I decorated with stencilling, as can be seen by referring to it, which, by the way, is reproduced from a full-size design which was actually stencilled with the same stencils as I used on the chiffonier. Stencilling is a very simple business indeed if you will take ordinary care. Indeed the mere getting of an impression is a mechanical matter, as can be seen by the way packers mark boxes with stencils of letters. The art is seen in the way you colour the patterns and the use you make of your stencils, for with some four or five stencil plates, as I shall hope to show later, many combinations are possible; you can evolve new patterns as it were by taking a portion of one and combining it with a portion of another.Fig. 1. Stencilled border of butterflies and sprigs with background, suggested by a spider's web. For details see Figs.1Band1C.Fig.1A. The right-hand half is white on black ground, the reverse of the left-hand half. For details see Figs.1Band1C.Fig.1B.Fig.1C.Some years ago, I forget how many, I described in these pages how to cut a stencil, but I had better for the sake of the newer readers very briefly explain the method. Good drawing paper I generally use from which to cut my stencils. Draw out your design upon the paper, and with a sharp penknife cut on a sheet of glass, so that the knife travels over the smooth surface and enables you to cut a quite intricate design with ease. Have a small oil-stone at hand to keep the knife in condition, for you ought to be able to cut clean without pressure.If you refer to the designs accompanying these articles you will notice that each form where it comes against another seems outlined in white. This effect is caused by the "ties" as they are termed. If we consider a moment we can realise that as our design is formed by the pieces we cut away an intricate design must be tied together, or the whole thing would fall to pieces. Take a simple case, the letter B. We must not cut out the letter without adopting some plan to keep the two pieces forming the loops in their place, so we tie them in soBWe put a second tie in the lower loop to strengthen it as I have done in several cases among those designs given. Take another case, the flower in Fig.1C. By cutting each petal separate and the centre as a circle we get a very effective stencil, for the "ties" give form to the design. Take them away, and instead of a daisy we should only have a circular open space of no interest. One of the arts of successful stencil cutting is to make the "ties" form part of the design, and by a little management this can be done. I don't wish to point to my own work more than to sayyou can learn the method of stencil cutting by referring to the designs I have given to illustrate the subject.Peacock-feather border. The complete impression is given at 2, and requires the plates2Aand2Bto produce it."Ties" which are left to merely strengthen a design, and which therefore do not help the effect, can be put in with a brush while the colour is wet if it be thought desirable.If by chance you cut through a "tie" while cutting your stencil or break one when using it mend it with gummed paper or stamp edging. By keeping your stencils in repair they will last you years and do any amount of work. When the stencils are cut give them a good coat of varnish back and front, and allow it to dry hard. This makes the paper waterproof and greatly toughens it. "Knotting," which you can procure at a good oil shop, does very well for this purpose, as it dries quickly.Repeating stencil of fish and arrow-head, with insects and water lines. For cutting this stencil, see Figs.4Aand4B.Detail of Fig. 4.Those readers who prefer it can enlarge some of my designs and cut them, but others may like to try and originate them for themselves, so a word or two to them. Make your designs simple, and you mustn't attempt foreshortening (that is, drawing in perspective), as you cannot render such an effect in a stencil. A flat treatment is necessary, as though the plant you take to found your design upon were pressed between blotting-paper, like a dried specimen. You must not attempt to be too natural. An ornamental treatment is more effective, and you want to develop the decorative features in the plant you take, for you must not think of drawing a flower or plant so much as making a design based upon the particular plant.Detail of Fig. 4.Birds, insects, fish, can all be cut as stencils if you attend to this ornamentalising which is necessary. The two flying birds, Figs. 5 and 6, are modelled on Japanese designs, and by a little management very excellent effects can be produced. Butterflies too can be made into very effective stencils, and in one case I have introduced a background suggested by a spider's web, Fig. 1. By only using the butterfly out of one plate and the web background out of the other we obtain a third combination as in Fig.1A.In the case of the large butterfly, Fig.1A, it will be noticed that a pattern is stencilled on the wings, and to do this it is necessary to have a second stencil, Fig.1B. I give impressions of these two stencils, Figs.1Aand1B, so that you may see what is cut out in each plate and how the two fit together. You cut some one or two details out of both plates as a guide in placing them when in use, see Figs. 2, which requires the two Plates A and B to produce it.Flying bird in stencil, after the Japanese.Flying bird in stencil, after the Japanese.In cases of stencils which repeat so that spaces of any length may be covered, it is necessary to cut a small portion of the next impression out of the stencil and put thisin, so that when you shift the stencil on to take the next impression, the left side of your stencil is placed over the right-hand side of the impression first taken. In the butterfly referred to in Fig. 1, the tip of the left wing is cut on the right-hand side of stencil, which is a guide for placing the stencil when we shift it for our next impression. In Fig. 4 it will be noticed that the nose of the fish is stencilled on the right-hand side to show you, when you shift the stencil along, exactly where to place it. In stencils requiring two plates to produce them, you draw out the design and then arrange in your mind the portions you will cut out of the first plate. When you have cut them stencil them on to the piece of paper to form the second plate, and having drawn or transferred the rest of the design to this second piece of paper you cut out the rest of the pattern. By stencilling the first plate on to the second plate you see how far to cut, for it is obvious that the two plates should fit together like a puzzle and form one design. The object of having two plates is that you can obtain an impression in two or more colours. Thus in the butterfly design having stencilled the insects in the first colour you can put on the markings and web-background in much lighter colours. If the sprig is to be put in and you want it against the web-background, you stencil this latter in first, and when dry the sprigs upon it.By cutting a design out of two plates you can get a much more elaborate design and scheme of colour. The water in the arrow-head and fish frieze, Fig. 4, is a case in point, for the water lines and flowers can be in light tones of colour, while the fish and foliage are in darker ones, and by this means relief is obtained.Were the water lines cut out of the same plate as the foliage, it would be impossible to keep them in a distinct colour and the design would look confused. The stencil too would be very weak, as the "ties" would have to be so numerous. This is a practical disadvantage, for if a stencil is very weak it is apt to break all up while you are using it. By the use of the two plates, Figs.4Aand4B, we get two fairly strong stencils.(To be continued.)

How to Decorate Furniture with Stencilling.

The idea of decorating your own furniture seems to be an extraordinary thing to many readers, and yet I hope to show you that this much to be desired consummation is quite within your reach. In the former article I gave as an illustration a portion of a chiffonier I decorated with stencilling, as can be seen by referring to it, which, by the way, is reproduced from a full-size design which was actually stencilled with the same stencils as I used on the chiffonier. Stencilling is a very simple business indeed if you will take ordinary care. Indeed the mere getting of an impression is a mechanical matter, as can be seen by the way packers mark boxes with stencils of letters. The art is seen in the way you colour the patterns and the use you make of your stencils, for with some four or five stencil plates, as I shall hope to show later, many combinations are possible; you can evolve new patterns as it were by taking a portion of one and combining it with a portion of another.

Fig. 1. Stencilled border of butterflies and sprigs with background, suggested by a spider's web. For details see Figs.1Band1C.

Fig.1A. The right-hand half is white on black ground, the reverse of the left-hand half. For details see Figs.1Band1C.

Fig.1B.

Fig.1C.

Some years ago, I forget how many, I described in these pages how to cut a stencil, but I had better for the sake of the newer readers very briefly explain the method. Good drawing paper I generally use from which to cut my stencils. Draw out your design upon the paper, and with a sharp penknife cut on a sheet of glass, so that the knife travels over the smooth surface and enables you to cut a quite intricate design with ease. Have a small oil-stone at hand to keep the knife in condition, for you ought to be able to cut clean without pressure.

If you refer to the designs accompanying these articles you will notice that each form where it comes against another seems outlined in white. This effect is caused by the "ties" as they are termed. If we consider a moment we can realise that as our design is formed by the pieces we cut away an intricate design must be tied together, or the whole thing would fall to pieces. Take a simple case, the letter B. We must not cut out the letter without adopting some plan to keep the two pieces forming the loops in their place, so we tie them in so

We put a second tie in the lower loop to strengthen it as I have done in several cases among those designs given. Take another case, the flower in Fig.1C. By cutting each petal separate and the centre as a circle we get a very effective stencil, for the "ties" give form to the design. Take them away, and instead of a daisy we should only have a circular open space of no interest. One of the arts of successful stencil cutting is to make the "ties" form part of the design, and by a little management this can be done. I don't wish to point to my own work more than to sayyou can learn the method of stencil cutting by referring to the designs I have given to illustrate the subject.

Peacock-feather border. The complete impression is given at 2, and requires the plates2Aand2Bto produce it.

"Ties" which are left to merely strengthen a design, and which therefore do not help the effect, can be put in with a brush while the colour is wet if it be thought desirable.

If by chance you cut through a "tie" while cutting your stencil or break one when using it mend it with gummed paper or stamp edging. By keeping your stencils in repair they will last you years and do any amount of work. When the stencils are cut give them a good coat of varnish back and front, and allow it to dry hard. This makes the paper waterproof and greatly toughens it. "Knotting," which you can procure at a good oil shop, does very well for this purpose, as it dries quickly.

Repeating stencil of fish and arrow-head, with insects and water lines. For cutting this stencil, see Figs.4Aand4B.

Detail of Fig. 4.

Those readers who prefer it can enlarge some of my designs and cut them, but others may like to try and originate them for themselves, so a word or two to them. Make your designs simple, and you mustn't attempt foreshortening (that is, drawing in perspective), as you cannot render such an effect in a stencil. A flat treatment is necessary, as though the plant you take to found your design upon were pressed between blotting-paper, like a dried specimen. You must not attempt to be too natural. An ornamental treatment is more effective, and you want to develop the decorative features in the plant you take, for you must not think of drawing a flower or plant so much as making a design based upon the particular plant.

Detail of Fig. 4.

Birds, insects, fish, can all be cut as stencils if you attend to this ornamentalising which is necessary. The two flying birds, Figs. 5 and 6, are modelled on Japanese designs, and by a little management very excellent effects can be produced. Butterflies too can be made into very effective stencils, and in one case I have introduced a background suggested by a spider's web, Fig. 1. By only using the butterfly out of one plate and the web background out of the other we obtain a third combination as in Fig.1A.

In the case of the large butterfly, Fig.1A, it will be noticed that a pattern is stencilled on the wings, and to do this it is necessary to have a second stencil, Fig.1B. I give impressions of these two stencils, Figs.1Aand1B, so that you may see what is cut out in each plate and how the two fit together. You cut some one or two details out of both plates as a guide in placing them when in use, see Figs. 2, which requires the two Plates A and B to produce it.

Flying bird in stencil, after the Japanese.

In cases of stencils which repeat so that spaces of any length may be covered, it is necessary to cut a small portion of the next impression out of the stencil and put thisin, so that when you shift the stencil on to take the next impression, the left side of your stencil is placed over the right-hand side of the impression first taken. In the butterfly referred to in Fig. 1, the tip of the left wing is cut on the right-hand side of stencil, which is a guide for placing the stencil when we shift it for our next impression. In Fig. 4 it will be noticed that the nose of the fish is stencilled on the right-hand side to show you, when you shift the stencil along, exactly where to place it. In stencils requiring two plates to produce them, you draw out the design and then arrange in your mind the portions you will cut out of the first plate. When you have cut them stencil them on to the piece of paper to form the second plate, and having drawn or transferred the rest of the design to this second piece of paper you cut out the rest of the pattern. By stencilling the first plate on to the second plate you see how far to cut, for it is obvious that the two plates should fit together like a puzzle and form one design. The object of having two plates is that you can obtain an impression in two or more colours. Thus in the butterfly design having stencilled the insects in the first colour you can put on the markings and web-background in much lighter colours. If the sprig is to be put in and you want it against the web-background, you stencil this latter in first, and when dry the sprigs upon it.

By cutting a design out of two plates you can get a much more elaborate design and scheme of colour. The water in the arrow-head and fish frieze, Fig. 4, is a case in point, for the water lines and flowers can be in light tones of colour, while the fish and foliage are in darker ones, and by this means relief is obtained.

Were the water lines cut out of the same plate as the foliage, it would be impossible to keep them in a distinct colour and the design would look confused. The stencil too would be very weak, as the "ties" would have to be so numerous. This is a practical disadvantage, for if a stencil is very weak it is apt to break all up while you are using it. By the use of the two plates, Figs.4Aand4B, we get two fairly strong stencils.

(To be continued.)

THINGS IN SEASON, IN MARKET AND KITCHEN.JANUARY.ByLE MÉNAGÈRE.Thisis one of the coldest, if not the coldest, months of the year; the time when we most need to put on our thinking-cap in order to provide such things as will best supply that extra consumption of fuel that goes on in the human engine. Some starchy foods we must have and a goodly proportion of fats and oils—more than at any other time of the year. Now we find both these elements in grains and "pulse," peas, beans, lentils, etc., and we can supply the necessary amount of fats by good wholesome puddings that contain a little suet, and home-made cakes, also in eating a fair amount of nuts.For breakfast every morning we might begin with a plateful of Quaker oats, "H. O.," or any other kind; these are splendid food, and however small the portion, everybody would be the better for having some. Some people like sugar with their porridge, but it is a fact that sugar does not help the digestion of oaten food—rather retards it in fact.Coffee is better for breakfast on winter mornings than tea, for all who can take it: not because it is more nourishing, but because it possesses staying qualities, and so is more satisfying.Eggs, bacon, fish, or a well-cooked sausage should be ready to tempt the appetite of the older members of the family, but a little stewed fruit and brown bread and butter would be better than these for children. Say stewed Peras, figs, or prunes, and a cupful of milk or coffee.Cheese is a good and nourishing food for cold weather, perhaps because it contains so much of that essential oil that we need. Toasted cheese should never be given to anyone of weak digestion, however, for it is one of the most difficult of all things to deal with. As an experiment in the line of "savouries," I would recommend the trial of grated cheese with a plate of oats; it is by no means to be despised.A typical menu for January would be the following—Chestnut Soup.Fried Lemon Soles.Ragout of Mutton.Creamed Potatoes and Jerusalem Artichokes.Roast Snipe on Toast.Chelsea Pudding.Cheese. Butter. Biscuits. Coffee.Chestnut Soup.—Boil a pound of chestnuts until they seem tender, peel off the shell and brown skin; return the white part to the stewpan and cover with water, add a finely-minced onion, an ounce of butter, pepper and salt. Let this simmer for an hour or more, then rub all carefully through a sieve, add a pint or rather more of boiling milk and a dessertspoonful of cornflour previously mixed smooth with cold water, and stir this again over the fire until it boils. Serve fried croutons with this soup.Lemon Solesshould be filleted before frying them, and they should be dipped in beaten egg and fresh crumbs of bread and sprinkled with seasoning. Fry them to a golden brown in boiling lard or beef dripping, squeeze a little lemon juice over them and serve garnished with fried parsley.Ragout of Mutton.—A piece of the middle neck, or the shank half of the shoulder, the meat taken from the bones and trimmed into neat pieces, is the best for this. Flour each piece lightly, lay in a stewpan with thinly-sliced onions, sliced turnip, a few sprigs of savoury herbs and seasoning. Pour over all a teacupful of water and cover tightly. Let this simmer in a corner of the oven for about two hours, and then arrange the meat on a dish, add a spoonful of mushroom ketchup to the gravy, with more water if it seems too thick, and pour over the meat.Mash the potatoes and beat them up with milk till like thick cream; pile this up in a buttered pie-dish, and put the dish into a quick oven to brown the surface.Mash the artichokes also and press them into a shallow dish, sprinkling breadcrumbs over the top and a bit of butter, and brown these also.Sniperequire a very quick hot oven for their roasting, and about fifteen minutes is long enough to allow. Place them on a strip of crisp toast, and some tiny frizzles of bacon with them, and sprinkle fried crumbs over. No sauce will be needed.Chelsea Pudding.—Shred and chop very finely two ounces of suet, add to four ounces of flour into which a teaspoonful of baking powder has been rubbed, also a pinch of salt and two ounces of castor sugar, the grated rind of a fresh lemon or a pinch of spice, mix well, and make into a soft dough with a beaten egg and a teacupful of milk. Grease a shaped pudding-basin and sprinkle the inside with brown sugar, pour in the pudding-mixture and bake until it has risen well and is of a rich brown colour.The sauce for this pudding is made by placing half-a-pound pot of plum or currant jam in a saucepan, with a few lumps of sugar and an equal amount of water. Let this boil for a little while, then strain it through a tamis and pour over and around the pudding when that has been turned out.Suitable dishes for the dinner-table in cold weather are the following: Beefsteak pudding, Irish stew, stewed steak, sea pie, camp pie, haricot mutton, liver and bacon, etc.—very homely dishes, it is true, but good and nourishing for all that.Avoid having large joints that would leave much cold meat on hand in cold weather. Not many families care much about cold meat when the thermometer is near freezing point, and twice-cooked meat is not nearly so nourishing as fresh, however savoury it may be made.

JANUARY.

ByLE MÉNAGÈRE.

Thisis one of the coldest, if not the coldest, months of the year; the time when we most need to put on our thinking-cap in order to provide such things as will best supply that extra consumption of fuel that goes on in the human engine. Some starchy foods we must have and a goodly proportion of fats and oils—more than at any other time of the year. Now we find both these elements in grains and "pulse," peas, beans, lentils, etc., and we can supply the necessary amount of fats by good wholesome puddings that contain a little suet, and home-made cakes, also in eating a fair amount of nuts.

For breakfast every morning we might begin with a plateful of Quaker oats, "H. O.," or any other kind; these are splendid food, and however small the portion, everybody would be the better for having some. Some people like sugar with their porridge, but it is a fact that sugar does not help the digestion of oaten food—rather retards it in fact.

Coffee is better for breakfast on winter mornings than tea, for all who can take it: not because it is more nourishing, but because it possesses staying qualities, and so is more satisfying.

Eggs, bacon, fish, or a well-cooked sausage should be ready to tempt the appetite of the older members of the family, but a little stewed fruit and brown bread and butter would be better than these for children. Say stewed Peras, figs, or prunes, and a cupful of milk or coffee.

Cheese is a good and nourishing food for cold weather, perhaps because it contains so much of that essential oil that we need. Toasted cheese should never be given to anyone of weak digestion, however, for it is one of the most difficult of all things to deal with. As an experiment in the line of "savouries," I would recommend the trial of grated cheese with a plate of oats; it is by no means to be despised.

A typical menu for January would be the following—

Chestnut Soup.—Boil a pound of chestnuts until they seem tender, peel off the shell and brown skin; return the white part to the stewpan and cover with water, add a finely-minced onion, an ounce of butter, pepper and salt. Let this simmer for an hour or more, then rub all carefully through a sieve, add a pint or rather more of boiling milk and a dessertspoonful of cornflour previously mixed smooth with cold water, and stir this again over the fire until it boils. Serve fried croutons with this soup.

Lemon Solesshould be filleted before frying them, and they should be dipped in beaten egg and fresh crumbs of bread and sprinkled with seasoning. Fry them to a golden brown in boiling lard or beef dripping, squeeze a little lemon juice over them and serve garnished with fried parsley.

Ragout of Mutton.—A piece of the middle neck, or the shank half of the shoulder, the meat taken from the bones and trimmed into neat pieces, is the best for this. Flour each piece lightly, lay in a stewpan with thinly-sliced onions, sliced turnip, a few sprigs of savoury herbs and seasoning. Pour over all a teacupful of water and cover tightly. Let this simmer in a corner of the oven for about two hours, and then arrange the meat on a dish, add a spoonful of mushroom ketchup to the gravy, with more water if it seems too thick, and pour over the meat.

Mash the potatoes and beat them up with milk till like thick cream; pile this up in a buttered pie-dish, and put the dish into a quick oven to brown the surface.

Mash the artichokes also and press them into a shallow dish, sprinkling breadcrumbs over the top and a bit of butter, and brown these also.

Sniperequire a very quick hot oven for their roasting, and about fifteen minutes is long enough to allow. Place them on a strip of crisp toast, and some tiny frizzles of bacon with them, and sprinkle fried crumbs over. No sauce will be needed.

Chelsea Pudding.—Shred and chop very finely two ounces of suet, add to four ounces of flour into which a teaspoonful of baking powder has been rubbed, also a pinch of salt and two ounces of castor sugar, the grated rind of a fresh lemon or a pinch of spice, mix well, and make into a soft dough with a beaten egg and a teacupful of milk. Grease a shaped pudding-basin and sprinkle the inside with brown sugar, pour in the pudding-mixture and bake until it has risen well and is of a rich brown colour.

The sauce for this pudding is made by placing half-a-pound pot of plum or currant jam in a saucepan, with a few lumps of sugar and an equal amount of water. Let this boil for a little while, then strain it through a tamis and pour over and around the pudding when that has been turned out.

Suitable dishes for the dinner-table in cold weather are the following: Beefsteak pudding, Irish stew, stewed steak, sea pie, camp pie, haricot mutton, liver and bacon, etc.—very homely dishes, it is true, but good and nourishing for all that.

Avoid having large joints that would leave much cold meat on hand in cold weather. Not many families care much about cold meat when the thermometer is near freezing point, and twice-cooked meat is not nearly so nourishing as fresh, however savoury it may be made.

OUR PUZZLE POEM REPORT: A PUZZLE-SOLVER.SOLUTION.A Puzzle-Solver.1. There once was a maiden who triedTo find a new fall for her pride,By attempting to solve,Without earnest resolve,The puzzle we monthly provide.2. Ignoring the fanciful guileWith which we these efforts compile,Her attempt was slap-dash,And was fated to clashWith all proper notions of style.3. So, finding her failure complete,She fell at the Editor's feet—Metaphorically—And acknowledged that sheWas cured of her latest conceit.Prize Winners.Seven Shillings and Sixpence Each.Josephine Burne, 5, Howbeck Road, Oxton, Birkenhead.Constance Daphne, Alresford, Hants.Dorothy Fulford, 49, Bateman Street, Cambridge.Sophie C. Funnell, 25, Clarendon Place, Leeds.Winifred A. Lockyear, Willow Grove, Beverley.Miss A. A. L. Shave, 6, Craufurd Rise, Maidenhead.Violet Shoberl, Hookwood, Edge Hill, Wimbledon.Helen Simpson, 32, Brighton Place, Aberdeen.Five Shillings Each.Miss A. Kilburn, Penkridge, Staffs.Agnes McConnell, Ballycarry, Belfast.Lucy Richardson, 2, Bootham Terrace, York.S. Southall, South Bank, Worcester.Mrs. C. E. Warren, Ashantee Villa, Norwich Road, Ipswich.W. Fitzjames White, 9, Kinfauns Terrace, Low Fell, Gateshead.Miss Wilkins, Westcroft, Trowbridge, Wilts.Rev. H. Addams Williams, Llangibby Rectory, Newport, Mon.Equal with First-Prize Winners.Mrs. J. Cumming, Edith E. Grundy, E. St. G. Hodson, E. Lord, M. Theodora Moxon, A. C. Sharp, Ellen C. Tarrant.Equal with Second-Prize Winners.Eliza Acworth, Lily Belling, F. M. Morgan, E. R. Oliver, Isabel Snell, G. S. Wilkins.Most Highly Commended.Ethel B. Angear, Florence M. Angear, Elsie I. Bale, Elsie Bayley, Mabel Brownlow, M. J. Champneys, Helen M. Coulthard, Rose D. Davis, E. H. Duncan, E. Ross Duffield, Dorothy V. Foley, A. Goakes, Mrs. W. H. Gotch, Alice L. Hewlett, M. Hodgkinson, G. D. Honeyburne, F. W. Hunt, Alice E. Johnson, Elizabeth A. Lord, Rev. C. T. McCready, Ethel O. McMaster, Benjamin Marcroft, Isabella M. Maxwell, Mrs. Nichols, Margaret G. Oliver, Gertrude Pegler, A. Pentelow, A. T. Porter, Constance M. Reade, Annie Roberson, Winifred H. Roberts, Kate Robinson, J. C. Scott, Lucy Shattock, James J. Slade, Gertrude Smith, Ethel Tomlinson, Etheldreda, M. Viner, Emily Wilkinson, Henry Wilkinson.Very Highly Commended.Edith K. Baxter, Elsie Benians, Rev. F. Townshend Chamberlain, Maud Chinn, Leonard Clark, Leila Claxton, Nina E. Coote, H. Cope, Vera F. Cremer, Mrs. Crossman, E. G. Dalton, Eva M. Edwards, William H. Edwards, Beatrice Fitzhugh, Marjorie A. Forbes, Edith A. Freeman, Will L. Freeman, Mabel Frewen, Ada J. Graves, Florence Graves, F. S. A. Graves, C. B. C. Hancock, Eleanor Hearsey, Julia A. Hennen, Percy E. Herrick, A. Hughes, W. R. Hughes, Minnie Ives, Annette E. Jackson, Gertrude J. Jones, D. Langley, Clara E. Law, B. M. Linington, Fred Lindley, M. Dorothy Long, Florence Lush, Winifred M. Macallister, C. Y. MacGibbon, Nellie Meikle, Nellie Minchener, Blanche A. Moody, Mrs. C. F. Morton, Charles Martin Morris, May Morris, Charles Nunneley, jun., G. de Courcy Peach, L. Pentelow, Ada Mavee Pleasance, Jessie C. Poole, Alexandrina A. Robertson, Dora O. Robinson, Elizabeth Russell, Mary Sheriff, A. J. Selwood, Kate C. Sinclair, Clara Souter, William Stradling, Margaret B. Strathorn, Mollie B. Taylor, Muriel Thompson, Lilian S. Toller, Aileen M. Tyler, Katie Whitmore, Helena M. Wilson, Alice Woodhead, Emily C. Woodward.EXAMINERS' REPORT.Once again we have been unable to satisfy every claimant for a prize, and in order to reduce the list to manageable limits we have been obliged to exclude all solvers who have been enriched during the last year.As for mentions, space forbids us to indulge in anything less honourable than "very highly commended," and even that has been much more deserved than usual.Concerning the special difficulties we need only refer to the mysterious M in line 1 and to the adjective in line 6. It was rare indeed for any solver who surmounted both those to fail elsewhere. The first stands for "maiden" in cricket parlance, being the manner in which a "maiden" over is recorded on the score sheet. It is not the first time in which the device has been employed in these puzzles, and yet it was interpreted in no less than twenty-six different ways.The second difficulty is not so easily disposed of, as several adjectives equally well describe the fanciful G. But few of them are really appropriate as qualifying "guile," and to select the right one severely tested the solver's ability.For instance, "flowery" describes the G exactly but is not at all a happy qualification of guile. We think that "fanciful" is, on the whole, the best word for the double duty, but we have also accepted "beautiful," "wonderful" and "exquisite." "Picturesque" would have been good but for the necessary transference of the accent from the last to the first syllable.We observe with great pleasure the much larger number of solutions giving the form of the verse correctly. Failure in this respect in this puzzle marks the difference between the solutions most highly and very highly commended.As to punctuation, actual mistakes had to be counted, and we found two of a glaring character in several papers, namely a comma after tried and after clash! Let no one say in regard to such errors that they are matters of opinion.Many solvers still persist in ignoring the title, and others will write their names at the foot instead of at the head of their solutions. But on the whole the difference in carefulness between the solutions we now receive and those of three years ago is amazing. So much for the educational value of Our Puzzle Poems.

A Puzzle-Solver.

1. There once was a maiden who triedTo find a new fall for her pride,By attempting to solve,Without earnest resolve,The puzzle we monthly provide.2. Ignoring the fanciful guileWith which we these efforts compile,Her attempt was slap-dash,And was fated to clashWith all proper notions of style.3. So, finding her failure complete,She fell at the Editor's feet—Metaphorically—And acknowledged that sheWas cured of her latest conceit.

1. There once was a maiden who triedTo find a new fall for her pride,By attempting to solve,Without earnest resolve,The puzzle we monthly provide.

2. Ignoring the fanciful guileWith which we these efforts compile,Her attempt was slap-dash,And was fated to clashWith all proper notions of style.

3. So, finding her failure complete,She fell at the Editor's feet—Metaphorically—And acknowledged that sheWas cured of her latest conceit.

Seven Shillings and Sixpence Each.

Five Shillings Each.

Equal with First-Prize Winners.

Mrs. J. Cumming, Edith E. Grundy, E. St. G. Hodson, E. Lord, M. Theodora Moxon, A. C. Sharp, Ellen C. Tarrant.

Equal with Second-Prize Winners.

Eliza Acworth, Lily Belling, F. M. Morgan, E. R. Oliver, Isabel Snell, G. S. Wilkins.

Most Highly Commended.

Ethel B. Angear, Florence M. Angear, Elsie I. Bale, Elsie Bayley, Mabel Brownlow, M. J. Champneys, Helen M. Coulthard, Rose D. Davis, E. H. Duncan, E. Ross Duffield, Dorothy V. Foley, A. Goakes, Mrs. W. H. Gotch, Alice L. Hewlett, M. Hodgkinson, G. D. Honeyburne, F. W. Hunt, Alice E. Johnson, Elizabeth A. Lord, Rev. C. T. McCready, Ethel O. McMaster, Benjamin Marcroft, Isabella M. Maxwell, Mrs. Nichols, Margaret G. Oliver, Gertrude Pegler, A. Pentelow, A. T. Porter, Constance M. Reade, Annie Roberson, Winifred H. Roberts, Kate Robinson, J. C. Scott, Lucy Shattock, James J. Slade, Gertrude Smith, Ethel Tomlinson, Etheldreda, M. Viner, Emily Wilkinson, Henry Wilkinson.

Very Highly Commended.

Edith K. Baxter, Elsie Benians, Rev. F. Townshend Chamberlain, Maud Chinn, Leonard Clark, Leila Claxton, Nina E. Coote, H. Cope, Vera F. Cremer, Mrs. Crossman, E. G. Dalton, Eva M. Edwards, William H. Edwards, Beatrice Fitzhugh, Marjorie A. Forbes, Edith A. Freeman, Will L. Freeman, Mabel Frewen, Ada J. Graves, Florence Graves, F. S. A. Graves, C. B. C. Hancock, Eleanor Hearsey, Julia A. Hennen, Percy E. Herrick, A. Hughes, W. R. Hughes, Minnie Ives, Annette E. Jackson, Gertrude J. Jones, D. Langley, Clara E. Law, B. M. Linington, Fred Lindley, M. Dorothy Long, Florence Lush, Winifred M. Macallister, C. Y. MacGibbon, Nellie Meikle, Nellie Minchener, Blanche A. Moody, Mrs. C. F. Morton, Charles Martin Morris, May Morris, Charles Nunneley, jun., G. de Courcy Peach, L. Pentelow, Ada Mavee Pleasance, Jessie C. Poole, Alexandrina A. Robertson, Dora O. Robinson, Elizabeth Russell, Mary Sheriff, A. J. Selwood, Kate C. Sinclair, Clara Souter, William Stradling, Margaret B. Strathorn, Mollie B. Taylor, Muriel Thompson, Lilian S. Toller, Aileen M. Tyler, Katie Whitmore, Helena M. Wilson, Alice Woodhead, Emily C. Woodward.

Once again we have been unable to satisfy every claimant for a prize, and in order to reduce the list to manageable limits we have been obliged to exclude all solvers who have been enriched during the last year.

As for mentions, space forbids us to indulge in anything less honourable than "very highly commended," and even that has been much more deserved than usual.

Concerning the special difficulties we need only refer to the mysterious M in line 1 and to the adjective in line 6. It was rare indeed for any solver who surmounted both those to fail elsewhere. The first stands for "maiden" in cricket parlance, being the manner in which a "maiden" over is recorded on the score sheet. It is not the first time in which the device has been employed in these puzzles, and yet it was interpreted in no less than twenty-six different ways.

The second difficulty is not so easily disposed of, as several adjectives equally well describe the fanciful G. But few of them are really appropriate as qualifying "guile," and to select the right one severely tested the solver's ability.

For instance, "flowery" describes the G exactly but is not at all a happy qualification of guile. We think that "fanciful" is, on the whole, the best word for the double duty, but we have also accepted "beautiful," "wonderful" and "exquisite." "Picturesque" would have been good but for the necessary transference of the accent from the last to the first syllable.

We observe with great pleasure the much larger number of solutions giving the form of the verse correctly. Failure in this respect in this puzzle marks the difference between the solutions most highly and very highly commended.

As to punctuation, actual mistakes had to be counted, and we found two of a glaring character in several papers, namely a comma after tried and after clash! Let no one say in regard to such errors that they are matters of opinion.

Many solvers still persist in ignoring the title, and others will write their names at the foot instead of at the head of their solutions. But on the whole the difference in carefulness between the solutions we now receive and those of three years ago is amazing. So much for the educational value of Our Puzzle Poems.

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