Chapter V: Part 5

_Tomato Soup Maigre._—Fry a sliced onion brown in butter or good dripping in the bottom of the soup-pot; pour in the chopped contents of a can of tomatoes and two cups of boiling water; stew until tender, rub through a colander, return to the fire; add a half-cupful of boiled rice; thicken with a tablespoonful of butter rubbed smooth with one of flour; boil up, and serve.

_Baked White-Fish._—Select a good-sized fish, and stuff it with a dressing of bread-crumbs well seasoned and moistened with a little melted butter. Sew the fish up carefully; pour a cupful of boiling water over it after it is laid in the dripping-pan, and bake (covered) for an hour, basting several times with butter. Remove the threads before sending to table.

_Rice-and-Pear Pudding._—Three cups boiled rice, two eggs, one cup sugar, one cup milk, stewed or canned pears. Stir the beaten eggs, the sugar, and the milk into the rice; put a layer of this in the bottom of a pudding mould, and cover this with a stratum of pears; follow this with more rice, then more pears, and continue thus until all the materials are used; set the mould in boiling water, and boil for an hour. Eat the pudding with a hot custard sauce.

4.

Potato Purée.
Beef's Heart, Stuffed. Stewed Sweet-Potatoes.
Scalloped Squash.
Méringued Apples.

_Potato Purée._—Two cups mashed potato, one onion, four cups boiling water, one stalk celery, one cup milk, one teaspoonful butter, one tablespoonful flour, pepper and salt to taste. Cook the potato, onion, and celery in the water for half an hour; rub through a colander, return to the fire; add the milk, thicken, and season.

_Méringued Apples._—Eight fine large apples, peeled, cored, and quartered; two tablespoonfuls butter, juice of a large lemon, one cup white sugar, nutmeg to taste, whites of three eggs, half-cup powdered sugar. Heat the butter, sugar, lemon juice, and nutmeg in a double boiler; drop the quartered apples into this, and let them cook until tender; take them out and lay in a glass dish, cover with a méringue made of the whites of the eggs and the powdered sugar, and pass the syrup from the apples in a little pitcher, with the méringued fruit.

5.

Julienne Soup.
Irish Stew.
Creamed Carrots. Stewed Corn.
Peach-and-Tapioca Pudding.

_Peach-and-Tapioca Pudding._—One small cupful tapioca, one can peaches, half-cup sugar. Soak the tapioca overnight in three cupfuls of water; the next day arrange the canned peaches in a dish, pouring over them about a cupful of the liquor from the can; sprinkle them well with sugar, pour the tapioca on them, and bake until this is clear. Eat hot with hard sauce.

6.

Salmon Soup.
Mutton Chops.
Baked Onions. Stuffed Egg-Plant.
Cream Rice Pudding.

_Salmon Soup._—One can salmon, one cup bread-crumbs, one quart water, two cups milk, one teaspoonful butter, pepper and salt to taste. Pick to pieces the contents of a can of salmon, removing the bones, bits of skin, etc.; put over the fire with the water and seasoning, and cook half an hour; stir in the butter, the milk, and the crumbs, and serve. Pass sliced lemon with this.

_Stuffed Egg-Plant._—Boil an egg-plant thirty minutes, cut it in half, and scrape out the inside; mash this up with two tablespoonfuls of butter, and pepper and salt to taste; fill the two halves of the shell, sprinkle with crumbs, and brown in the oven.

_Cream Rice Pudding._—Three cups milk, three tablespoonfuls rice, one cupful sugar, one teaspoonful vanilla. Wash the rice, put it with the milk, sugar, and flavoring into a pan, and bake in a slow oven for three or four hours. Every time a crust forms on top, stir it in, until just before taking it from the oven. Eat cold.

FAMILY DINNERS FOR WINTER

1.

Turnip Purée.
Roast Turkey.
Fried Parsnips. Browned Onions.
Mashed Potatoes.
Orange Roly-Poly.

_Turnip Purée._—Eight turnips, one onion, one stalk celery, four cups water, two cups milk, one tablespoonful butter, one tablespoonful flour, pepper and salt to taste. Peel and cut up the turnips, and put them over the fire with the onion in the four cups of water; let them cook until tender, and then rub them through the colander, and put them back on the fire. Cook the butter and flour together in a saucepan; add the milk, stir into the turnip, season to taste, and serve.

_Browned Onions._—Peel rather small onions, and boil them until tender; drain off the water, and pour over the onions a cupful of soup or gravy; let the onions simmer in this for ten minutes; then take them out, and keep them hot while you thicken the gravy with browned flour. Pour over the onions just before sending to the table.

_Orange Roly-Poly._—Two cups flour, one and a half cups milk, one tablespoonful butter, one tablespoonful lard, two teaspoonfuls baking-powder, one saltspoonful salt, four fair-sized sweet oranges, half-cup sugar. Sift the baking-powder and the salt with the flour; rub the butter and lard into it; add the milk, and roll out the dough into a sheet about half as wide as it is long; spread this with the oranges peeled, sliced, and seeded; sprinkle these with sugar; roll up the dough with the fruit inside, pinching the ends together, that the juice may not run out; tie the pudding up in a cloth, allowing it room to swell; drop it into a pot of boiling water, and boil it steadily for an hour and a half; remove from the cloth, and lay on a hot dish. Eat with hard sauce flavored with lemon.

2.

Turkey Soup.
Roast Pork. Apple-Sauce.
Boiled Potatoes. Stewed Tomatoes.
Chocolate Custards.

_Turkey Soup._—Break up the carcass of the cold turkey after all the meat has been cut from it, and put it, with bits of skin and gristle and the stuffing, over the fire in enough water to cover it; cook gently for several hours, and then let the soup get cold on the bones; strain it off, skim it, and put it back on the fire. Have ready in a saucepan two cupfuls of milk, thickened with a tablespoonful of butter and two of flour; stir this into the turkey liquor, boil up, and serve.

_Chocolate Custards._—Four cups milk, four eggs, one cup sugar, four tablespoonfuls grated chocolate, two teaspoonfuls vanilla. Put the chocolate over the fire in a double boiler with part of the milk, and let it cook until smooth; add the rest of the milk, and, when this is hot, pour it upon the sugar mixed with the beaten yolks of the eggs. Return to the stove, and cook until the custard begins to thicken; when cool, pour into glasses or small cups, and heap on the top of each a méringue made of the whites of the eggs whipped stiff with a little powdered sugar.

3.

Oyster Soup.
Broiled Steak.
Baked Cabbage. Fried Potatoes.
Cup Puddings.

_Oyster Soup._—One quart oysters, two cups milk, one egg, one tablespoonful butter, pepper and salt to taste. Strain the liquor from the oysters, and bring it to the boiling-point in one vessel while the milk is heating in another; drop the oysters into the scalding liquor, and leave them there until they begin to crimp. Stir the butter into the milk, and pour this upon the beaten egg; turn this in with the oysters; cook together one minute, and serve immediately. Some persons like a pinch of ground mace added to oyster soup.

_Baked Cabbage._—Wash and quarter a small cabbage; put it on in plenty of boiling water, and let it boil furiously (_uncovered_) for twenty minutes. By doing this, and having a cup of vinegar on the stove at the same time, you do away with the disagreeable odor which usually accompanies the cooking of cabbage. Drain it when done, and chop it fine; add to it a tablespoonful of butter, one egg beaten light, a scant half cupful of milk, and pepper and salt to taste. Bake in a pudding dish to a good brown.

_Cup Puddings._—One cup sugar, two tablespoonfuls butter, one cup milk, two eggs, two cups flour, two small teaspoonfuls baking-powder, one saltspoonful salt. Beat the yolks of the eggs light, and mix with the creamed butter and sugar; add the milk and the flour, mixed well with the salt and baking-powder; bake in small cups or deep patty-pans, and serve one to each person. Eat with either hard or liquid sauce.

4.

Corned-Beef Soup.
Stewed Rabbits.
Baked Corn. Fried Sweet Potatoes.
Plain Fruit Pudding.

_Corned-Beef Soup._—Heat to boiling with a sliced onion three cups of the liquor in which a piece of corned-beef was boiled; just before it begins to bubble drop into it the freshly broken shell of an egg, boil up once, and strain. Put the cleared soup back on the fire, and when it boils again add to it two cups of milk in which have been dissolved two tablespoonfuls of flour; pour a little of this on a beaten egg, and return all to the fire for a minute before serving.

_Baked Corn._—Two cups canned corn chopped fine, one egg, half-cupful milk, one tablespoonful butter, pepper and salt to taste. Beat the egg light, stir this and the milk into the corn, season, and bake in a buttered pudding dish until firm.

_Plain Fruit Pudding._—One cup molasses, one cup milk, one and a half cups flour, quarter-cup seeded raisins, quarter-cup currants washed and dried, quarter-cup shredded citron, one cup suet, one saltspoonful salt, one small teaspoonful soda. Chop the suet into the flour, first mixing the latter with the salt and soda; add the milk and molasses, and beat thoroughly; dredge the fruit and stir it into the pudding; boil in a brown-bread mould two hours and a half. Serve hard sauce with it.

5.

Roast Duck.
Canned Green Pease. Boiled Potatoes.
Lettuce.
Crackers and Cheese.
Lemon Tarts.

_Canned Green Pease._—Turn the pease from the can into a colander; pour over them several quarts of cold water, so as to rinse the pease thoroughly from the liquor in which they were canned; after this, pour as much boiling water over them, and set the colander over a pot of boiling water, covering the pease; let them steam there until heated through, dish, and put on them a couple of teaspoonfuls of butter, and pepper and salt to taste.

_Lemon Tarts._—Line small patty-pans with a good puff paste, and fill them with the following mixture: Half-cup butter, one cup granulated sugar, three eggs, juice and grated rind of a lemon, two tablespoonfuls brandy, nutmeg to taste. Beat the yolks into the creamed butter and sugar; add the lemon, spice, brandy, and whites; bake in a steady oven, and eat when cold.

6.

Black Bean Soup.
Halibut Steak.
Browned Potato. Scalloped Cauliflower.
Coffee Jelly.

_Black Bean Soup._—Two cups black beans, six cups cold water, one onion, two sprays parsley, four or five cloves, one teaspoonful mixed thyme and sweet-marjoram, one quart corned-beef liquor. Pick the beans over carefully, wash them, and put them in soak in the cold water; let them stand all night, and in the morning transfer them to the soup kettle. Put with them the onion, herbs, and cloves, and simmer all together gently until the beans are soft; rub them through a colander, return to the fire, add the corned-beef liquor, and boil for an hour; pour the soup on two hard-boiled eggs, quartered, and a few thin slices of lemon, laid in the tureen.

_Scalloped Cauliflower._—Boil the cauliflower tender; tie it in a piece of net before putting it in the boiling water; cut the clusters apart, and arrange them, stems downward, in a pudding dish; pour a cup of drawn butter over them, season with pepper and salt, sprinkle with fine bread or cracker crumbs, and bake until of a good brown.

_Coffee Jelly._—Two cups clear strong coffee, one cup sugar, one cup boiling water, half-cup cold water, half-box gelatine. Let the gelatine soak in the cold water an hour; stir the sugar into it, and pour over both the boiling water and the hot coffee; strain into a mould. When cold, turn out in a glass dish, and serve with whipped cream.

WHAT SHALL WE EAT?

The cook-book of the olden time gave its recipes with a generous disregard of cost. Such items as a ham boiled in wine were not unusual, and the quantities of costly materials demanded were on a Gargantuan scale. Even in the average French culinary manuals economy can hardly be said to be conspicuous, except by its absence, although Gallic cooks have a world-wide reputation for the wonderful results they can produce by a small expenditure. Even in this day, when economy is honored and studied, in the recipes that appear in print as written by women living in some parts of the South, there is a call for what to Northern ideas seems a reckless profusion of eggs, butter, and cream. The lavishness of these demands is often quite out of keeping with the common opinion of the straitened circumstances supposed to have prevailed of late years in that section of the country. The general impression these recipes give was voiced by a New England woman, who, after reading a collection of recipes from the pen of a well-known Southern writer, exclaimed, "Well, _I_ can't afford to cook like that; but I presume she has always had plenty to do with."

In spite, however, of some instances of this kind which indicate extravagance, the general trend in culinary guide-books of the day is towards economy. Tracts, pamphlets, octavos, and quartos are published, giving directions for preparing a dinner for five persons at a cost of twenty-five cents, of fifty cents, of seventy-five cents, of a dollar. The Sunday and weekly newspapers have columns devoted to the same theme, and the countless household magazines with which the reading public is almost snowed under all spare a corner for the discussion of the same momentous topic. It may be noted, _en passant_, that this sudden interest in dietetics is responsible for many of the literary aspirations now current. Women who had never thought of meddling with pen and ink except in their private correspondence rush into print for the purpose of describing a dinner which will cost only twenty-seven and two-thirds cents, and, encouraged by success in one or two efforts of this kind, fondly imagine themselves possessed of talents which ought to bring them in a competency.

Far be it from the woman who has herself known housekeeping cares and struggles, who has mourned over small leaks and sought diligently the best methods of "making sixpence do the work of sevenpence half-penny," as an English writer puts it, to deride any endeavors to teach housekeepers how to best use slender means with happy results. But a word of warning may not be amiss concerning certain features of most of the directions thus given. Here it is: If an appetizing dish is to be made at small cost, care in preparation _must_ supplement cheap materials.

There has been a great deal said and written about the folly of always purchasing the best cuts of meat. Hundreds of pages have been printed demonstrating satisfactorily—to their authors—that a piece of beef from the round can be so cooked as to make it equal to _filet de bœuf_; that lamb's or pig's liver is of as good a flavor as calf's liver, which costs twice as much; that old fowls properly treated cannot be distinguished by the taste from young broilers; and that a variety of other delightful things can be accomplished by the woman who chooses to attempt them. All this is, no doubt, true in part. The point that is seldom sufficiently emphasized is that it requires to achieve these wonders either a certain knack, which is as much a talent in its way as is a gift for music or drawing, or else a special training in this particular kind of cookery. It is easy enough for any one to be a good cook who knows how to follow a recipe, possesses a little deftness of hand, and is provided with the best materials for her work. Nowadays the cook-books seldom deal in the glittering generalities that once made their pages full of pitfalls for the unwary. Usually the directions are explicit, the quantities and proportions almost scientific in their accuracy, and the successive steps in compounding and cooking so clearly defined that the wayfaring woman, although a fool, can hardly go very far wrong; that is, _if_—and it is a very big if, too—she does not have to use imperfect ingredients to compass a perfect achievement. Bricks may doubtless be made with stubble instead of straw, but the children of Israel found it a rather difficult process.

If, then, to change the figure, the iron be dull, one must put to it the more strength. The housekeeper who is compelled by circumstances to practise rigid economy must resolutely set herself to the study of cheap cookery. She may know already how to roast a "rib cut" of beef, how to broil a porterhouse steak, how to broil and fry tender chickens, but all this knowledge is of comparatively little value to her just now. She must learn instead how to braise, how to treat a "pot roast"; she must study stews, perfect herself in the manufacture of minces, hashes, fricassees, croquettes, fritters; she must know what vegetables and meats may be put together in utilizing "left-overs"; she must acquire a thorough knowledge of soups of all sorts, and of soups _maigre_ in particular; and she must work in this line until she is able to set as appetizing if not as elegant a table on her small means as her richer neighbor across the way can on a housekeeping allowance of a double amount.

Of course this involves a great deal of hard work and of competent vigilance. Even if a servant is kept, only in rare instances can she be trusted to undertake this kind of cookery. Simple cookery, like roasting and boiling, is seldom successful unless one has the best materials to work with. But usually the woman who must economize is wealthier in time than in anything else, and she must make it take the place of money. Above all, she must struggle against the temptation to yield to weariness or discouragement, and to satisfy herself with the custom into which so many of her sisters drift, of cooking tough, inferior pieces of meat in the easiest way, as though they were "prime cuts," and thus endangering the teeth, tempers, and digestions of her family.

A potent aid in making cheap cookery savory is the judicious use of seasoning. In some homes knowledge of these seems to be confined to an acquaintance with pepper, mustard, onion, and parsley. Little is known of the variety of even simple herbs, like thyme, sweet-marjoram, and summer-savory; and still less of Worcestershire, Harvey's, anchovy, and chilli sauces, of chutney, of curry powder, of tarragon vinegar, of bay leaves, of _maître d'hôtel_ butter, of olives, of tomato and walnut catsups, or of the careful employment of spices in small quantities. The magical improvement wrought by the addition of a little lemon juice and a wine-glassful of California sherry (at fifty cents a quart bottle) is totally unknown.

Of course the first outlay for some of these commodities may savor of extravagance. But many of the articles are very cheap, and even the more costly ones are used in such small quantities that a supply of any one of them will last a long time. Moreover, if a woman's aim is to prepare dishes which her family will eat and enjoy, she will find that the purchase of condiments pays, and the variety their occasional use gives will make a change back to simple diet more agreeable.

THE CHILDREN'S TABLE

In comparatively few American homes does the custom prevail of giving the children their meals apart from their parents. Domestic arrangements would be sadly complicated were it common in the ordinary household, as it is in England, to have a separate breakfast served for the little ones in their nursery while the seniors discuss their more elaborate morning repast in their own _salle à manger_.

Usually, and wisely, American children eat at least two of their meals with their parents, and thus have what benefit may be derived from association with older people. It is only when the father and mother fail to guard against letting the little ones gradually assume the reins of government that affairs reach a point which makes one long to banish the babies to the nursery, or even further, if by such means peace might be secured at meal-times.

Nowhere does the spoiled child appear to worse advantage, or make more of a nuisance of himself, than at the table. His incessant chatter, the constant interruption his appeals for attention make in the conversation of the older people present, his clamorous demands for any article of food which happens to strike his fancy, his loud protests when his wishes are denied him, his slovenly (often disgusting) habits of eating, make the family meal-times a pandemonium and penance to the hapless guest upon whom the youngster has no claims of affection to render his vagaries amusing or interesting.

So long as custom and necessity render it advisable to have a child at the same table with his parents, these should fix upon a plan of action, and adhere to it. Desiring to have their children looked upon as comforts and not as spoil-sports, they should enforce strict obedience, exact quiet at table, and inculcate stringently the once-honored maxim—of late years fallen sadly into disuse and disrepute—that little boys and girls should be seen and not heard. Remembering how much easier it is to check a habit at the outset than to break it off after it is fully formed, the father and mother should watch their children's table manners, and repress at once the carelessness and unpleasant tricks that seem, possibly through original sin, to come naturally to most little folk. The correct handling of spoon, fork, and knife should be taught as soon as they are permitted to use these implements, and slovenliness should be rebuked and held up as a disgrace. Not least in importance is it that the father and mother should, after due consideration, establish an outline of diet for the youngsters, and allow no divergence therefrom.

By "an outline of diet" is not meant an unvarying rotation of viands as wearying and de-appetizing to the child as it would be to his elders, but a scheme of nourishment by which hurtful articles of food will be eliminated from the bill of fare, and only wholesome ones admitted. A great deal of careful thought is often necessary in the formulation of such _menus_, for children have as many gastric idiosyncrasies as grown people, and frequently these are only disclosed little by little. In illustration of this may be cited the case of a handsome, healthy boy baby who, although a victim to colic during the first months of his life, gave no other evidences of eccentricity of digestion until he was nearly three years old. At that time the mother began to notice that his breath was often sour, and that he complained occasionally of pain in the stomach and bowels. His dietary had always been so simple that she was at first puzzled to understand what could be the disturbing cause. After sundry experiments and careful observation, she finally ascertained that the discomfort and bad breath followed any unusual eating of sweets, although it might be only such simple desserts as bread and syrup, bread and jelly, plain cookies, or home-made sponge-cake, or even an infrequent lump of sugar. She put an embargo upon sweets, and found an almost immediate improvement. Further investigation demonstrated that an occasional indulgence—say once a day—produced no evil consequences, but that more frequent treats of this sort had painful _sequelæ_. Her course thereafter was plain and easily followed.

A child's breakfast should always begin with some cereal, but this need not invariably be oatmeal. Other preparations often agree better with the children, and a variety is preferable to the monotonous use of the one kind of porridge. Gruels or porridges of farina, corn-starch, rice-flour, corn-meal, hominy, arrowroot, wheat-germ meal, or cerealine are nearly all relished by the babies, and should be accompanied by milk in any amount, but _no sugar_. If the child has never been accustomed to the latter, he will eat quite as heartily without it.

If the porridge is properly prepared, the little ones will usually make their chief breakfast from it, with milk or milk-and-water as a beverage. Tea, coffee, or chocolate should be tabooed. The children are better off without any of the three, although some mild preparation of cocoa is probably the least harmful drink they can have other than milk or cold—not iced—water.

As the little people grow older they may have a second course of baked or stewed potato, buttered, dry, or milk toast, a soft-boiled or poached egg, bread and butter, bread and jam, or a little fruit, either fresh or stewed. When they have once become accustomed to seeing older people eating food which is refused them, they will take the denial of certain articles as a matter of course, and rarely think of entering a protest. They will learn that hot bread and griddle-cakes are not meant for little boys and girls, and will take abstinence from meat at breakfast or in the evening, and fried foods or rich desserts at all times, as a matter of course.

At noon, which should be their dinner-time, a more varied diet is permissible. Then there may be soup and some kind of meat for the older children—chicken, rare roast beef, boiled or roast mutton, a piece of steak or a chop—stews entirely freed from grease, potatoes, sweet or white, or some other vegetable, and a plain dessert. It is very little additional trouble to so regulate the bill of fare that what makes the lunch of the "grown-up" may embrace certain articles that will suit the childish stomachs; or there may be a little soup reserved from the dinner of the evening before, a dish of some carefully warmed-over vegetable, possibly a little of last night's meat prepared in a mince or stew, which will obviate the necessity of cooking fresh food for the easily pleased little ones. Often bread and apple-sauce, stewed fruit, or a small portion of fruit jelly or marmalade is as acceptable a dessert as can be provided.

Having eaten these two meals with the family, it is as well to let the younglings have their simple tea by themselves before the family dinner. A dish of soft toast, or a bowl of bread and milk, or of crackers and milk, or of rice and milk, and bread and butter, are usually all they ought to have so soon before their bedtime. They may have a side table set in the dining-room, or a tray may be carried to them in the nursery, and the repast superintended by the mother or nurse. Sometimes papa will come home in time to look in upon his little folks at their final meal, and to help them to settle it afterwards by a romp. Knowing no other mode of life, the children will rarely think of questioning the judgment that sends them to bed early after their light supper, instead of permitting them to sit up to a late, heavy, and indigestible course dinner.

THE FAMILY TEA

A pleasant feature of domestic life which is done away with by the late dinner is the family tea. This meal, always an informal one, used to give play to the housekeeper's fancy in the concoction of dainty dishes with which to render the repast more appetizing to the tired and hungry master of the home. Now, to be sure, she has lunches upon which to expend her culinary ingenuity; but then the person for whom she best loves to cater, her husband, is rarely at home.

In some families it is the custom to have tea one night in the week. It may be on Saturday, when there is no school and the children can all be at home to an early dinner, or on Sunday, when many people dine in the middle of the day. Still other households prefer a noon dinner and a simple tea in summer, pleading the advantage of getting the heavy cookery out of the way in the morning, instead of being obliged to stand over a cook-stove through the long blazing afternoon.

In one way or another, then, there are few families where the tea-table is not spread at least once a week, while in many homes it is a daily institution. It only ceases to be delightful when it is, through carelessness, allowed to slip into a groove, and when the suggestion of making it attractive is put aside with the excuse, "Oh, anything will do for tea!"

Some years ago a party of city people spent a charming summer in a farm-house high up among the Berkshire hills. The accommodations of the roomy old-fashioned dwelling were good, the breakfasts and dinners excellent, well cooked, and liberal in provision. But the teas! Night after night the guests gathered about a tea-table adorned with plates of cold bread, of butter, and of cake, pitchers of milk, and occasionally a dish of berries or of stewed fruit. Tea there was, as a matter of course, but never a bit of meat or fish, or an egg in any form, boiled, poached, or in an omelet; not even a pat of pot-cheese or a few slices of dairy cheese. Warm biscuit, muffins, and waffles were likewise conspicuous by their absence.

It was all very well for those who ate bread and milk and were fond of cake, but for a party of ravenous young people, who had spent a long afternoon playing tennis, fishing or driving, or tramping over the hills in the hunger-provoking air, the sight of the table was not inspiriting; nor did it become more popular as the season advanced and the early frosty evenings improved appetites that had never been poor. Yet, in spite of loudly expressed hints, it never seemed to occur to the farmer's good wife that her tea-table was not supplied with every viand the most exacting eater could desire.

Naturally, when a hearty meal has been served in the middle of the day, there should be no thought of having to prepare a second dinner for the evening. But there should be, at least, some relish to vary the monotony of plain bread and butter, something to give the meal an aspect other than that of a perfunctory "feed," where every one eats on the principle upon which Nicholas Nickleby "distended his stomach with a bowl of porridge" the morning after his arrival at Dotheboys Hall—not that he wanted it then, but lest he should be inconveniently hungry when there was nothing to eat.

There are many delicious supper dishes which are made with little difficulty. In winter, oysters, clams, scallops, broiled ham, fried, broiled, or stewed chicken, chicken scallop or mince, sausages, bacon and eggs, with any of the large varieties of griddle-cakes or warm breads, will make a meal to satisfy any one; while in summer, salads of eggs, fish, lobsters, chicken, cold lamb or veal, shrimp, cheese, beet leaves, lettuce, cabbage, potato, string-beans, and of many other kinds, may be relied upon. Omelets and other preparations of eggs are inexpensive, easily cooked, and generally popular, while cold meat goes well on a summer evening, especially when accompanied by bannocks, scones, butter-cakes, toasted crackers, wafers, or some light bread that is easily made and not hard to digest. Then there are galantines, potted meats, jellied fish, pickled salmon, cottage-cheese, and numerous other little delicacies that are not costly and yet are good.

The table for tea should be set much as it is for breakfast, with the exception of the oatmeal sets. All the dishes may be placed upon the table at once, as they would be at lunch, and the family may do much of the passing of plates. The tea is served with the first course, and the cups and tray may be removed to make room for the dish of fruit or simple sweets that generally concludes the meal. The saucers in which these are served should stand on plates, on which each guest may lay the cake which is usually passed at the same time. Hot puddings are out of place at tea, but instead there may be, in winter, apple-sauce, stewed prunes, preserved ginger, brandied and preserved peaches, pears or plums, jams or marmalades, custards, blanc-manges, jellies, or anything of that sort; while in summer it is rarely impossible to procure berries of some kind, or other fruit. A dish of "bonny-clabber"—better known, perhaps, as "loppered milk"—of junket, or of syllabub is always delicious, and is usually easily obtained where milk and cream are plentiful.

No domestic sight is pleasanter in its way than a tea-table on a cold winter night, spread with a bright cloth and set out with dainty china and shining silver, and with all the cheer-inspiring appurtenances of the tea-tray; with the plate of hot bread, the savory dish of hot meat, and the little relishes that housekeepers know well how to supply. And in summer its counterpart is seen in the table laid in the room brightened by the level sun's rays, where a crisp salad, piles of white and brown bread, and a plate of rusk or tea-biscuit, pitchers of milk, and a dish of berries with cream in abundance revive the fainting appetites and spirits of those who have borne the heat and burden of the day.

In summer a tea on the lawn is an agreeable variety to introduce occasionally. A medium-sized table may be carried out under the trees, and spread with a white cloth. On this are placed the principal dishes—the bread-and-butter, which may sometimes have its place taken by sandwiches; the salad or cold meat, or both; the cake and fruit. The tea-tray and kettle may be here too, or the tea may be made in the house. Iced tea and coffee make a pleasant change once in a while.

A rug or two may be laid on the grass if any of the party have a nervous dread of colds, and a few little tables will provide a space upon which to rest a cup of tea or a glass of milk when the lap is occupied by the plate containing the more solid viands. Low chairs should stand here and there, and the whole scene will present a charmingly festal appearance at a trifling outlay of time and trouble.

A certain family who possess a delightful country place make their Sunday evening _al fresco_ tea one of the pleasantest spots in the week. No one is present but the family and any guests who may be staying in the house. The pretty, simple meal is served out on the grassy lawn, which slopes down to the water. When the eating is over, the maid comes out, gathers the dishes into a tray, and carries them back to the house, happy in the thought that there is no supper-table to be cleared and no dining-room to be brushed up.

Long after the vestiges of the feast have been removed the family sit there, chatting pleasantly, watching the sunset and the stars coming out or the moon rising. By and by some voice begins a hymn, the others take it up, and the singing goes on until the early bedtime comes, and the party turns towards the house with a restful happiness that is none the less deep and true because it is hard to describe or to analyze.

AFTERNOON TEA

Among the many English customs which have been introduced into American society there is none that sooner attained a widespread popularity than afternoon tea—a simple and easy form of entertainment, that entailed little expense and less trouble upon the hostess, and supplied a long-felt want. Soon all over the land teas were the rage, and in large cities and small villages alike cards were flying about, bearing upon them the name of the hostess, and in one corner, "Tea at five o'clock" or "Tea from four to six," as the case might be.

With the usual tendency of the citizens of this great and glorious country to impress upon the fashions borrowed from other nations the stamp of their own individuality, it was not long before the stereotyped tea, bread-and-butter, and cake, which had at first made up the _menu_ of these entertainments, began to undergo modifications. First, chocolate was added, on the plea that many people do not care for tea. Bouillon came next, and the use of this served as the basis of that absurd report, instantly accepted by foreigners, that the American young women were so fragile in constitution as to be obliged to brace themselves up with strong beef tea at their receptions, in order to enable them to perform their social duties. With bouillon came sandwiches; next appeared salad, and after that oysters, croquettes, creams, ices, and charlottes followed one another in rapid succession, until the metamorphosis of the modest tea into the reception, with its heavy party supper, was complete.

Part of this change may be attributed to the display and love of competition which are numbered among our national characteristics. But at least a portion of the blame must fall upon the participants in these entertainments, who, not understanding that a tea to be a tea must be simple, did not hesitate to grumble at the trifling nature of the refreshments there offered for their delectation.

"I am sick of your afternoon teas!" grumbled one lord of creation, when informed that the family had just received cards to one of these affairs. "_I_ like to go to a place where you get something to eat besides a cup of beef tea and a cracker, or tea and bread-and-butter. It isn't the kind of supper a hungry man wants when he comes from his business. He needs something hearty."

Ignorant and boorish though he was, he voiced the sentiment of many of his sex, who, owing to the training American society has furnished in this respect, consider no party a success unless the social enjoyments are supplemented by a big "spread." In England, where the dinner hour falls later than it usually does in this country, the light sustenance offered by afternoon tea serves as a welcome break in the long stretch which intervenes between luncheon and dinner. Here a man who has his appetite whetted for a six-o'clock repast cares little for a trifling refection at five or half after five. It only serves to blunt his hunger without satisfying it.

Of course, as soon as the tea was merged into the virtual equivalent of an evening party given in the daytime, its recommendation as a cheap and convenient method of entertaining one's friends vanished. While one merely dropped in for a cup of tea on the way home from calls or shopping, a plain walking gown or visiting costume was perfectly appropriate. But with the increased formality of the tea arose the necessity for richer dress, and the afternoon kettle-drum became a kind of heterogeneous-looking assembly, where, at five o'clock in the afternoon, some of the women would appear in evening gowns, with low necks and short sleeves, and some in street suits, while the men, of course, wore morning coats; although in small towns the sight of men in dress suits before six o'clock is an anomaly too often witnessed.

Even apart from the matter of dress, other difficulties and complications arose. Persons in moderate circumstances who had rejoiced at the advent of the tea, because it rendered feasible the gratification of their hospitable instincts at an outlay within their means, shrank back in dismay from this hybrid form of assembly, declaring that it was as easy to give a regular evening party, and get the credit for that, as it was to receive guests in a fashion which assumed simplicity, but cost no less than an affair that made more show.

A few women have had the courage to adhere to what was the original design of the afternoon tea, and to offer their guests only the light refreshments suitable for this form of entertaining. To such people the labor connected with thus gathering their friends about them is a trifling task. The hostess sees that her rooms are in their best looks; fills a few vases with fresh flowers, to give a festal air; sets a round-table in her drawing-room or library, or in the dining-room, if these apartments are _en suite_; draws up her prettiest cups and saucers and plates in battle array, and invites a few young girls or intimate friends to assist her. They wear either pretty house costumes or dainty tea gowns. For refreshments are provided tea and chocolate, possibly bouillon, bread-and-butter or tiny sandwiches, and plenty of light cakes. The eating is a secondary matter, the _raison d'être_ of the company being the desire for pleasant social intercourse in an informal fashion.

The woman who has a regular "at home" or a weekly "afternoon tea" during the season provides even less. She has tea or cocoa—rarely both—bread-and-butter or fancy biscuit, and cake. The toasted muffins or crumpets and the many tea-cakes dear to the British palate are little in vogue here, where the dinner hour is almost invariably six or half after six. Very few are the houses where daily afternoon tea is the rule.

Numberless pretty adjuncts can be procured to contribute to the attractiveness of the kettle-drum. The tall crane, with its brass, copper, or silver kettle, the daintily embroidered tea and tray cloths, the fine fringed or hem-stitched doilies, the exquisite china, the quaint teapot, the cozy, the odd dishes for cake and biscuit—all afford opportunity for the display of a cultured taste or of a quick fancy. Nothing need be very costly, but everything must be pretty, and in this day the combination of beauty and cheapness is by no means difficult or unusual.

The cards for an afternoon tea bear simply the name of the hostess, and that of her daughter if the latter is "out," and in the corner is written or engraved "Tea" or "At Home," and the day and the hour of the entertainment. The card of any friend who is visiting the hostess, or who entertains with her, is enclosed in the same envelope. If the invited guest cannot be present, she sends her card, by post or by private hand, so that it may reach the hostess upon the day when she receives.

Those people who live in the country, or who are so fortunate as to possess summer places out of town, can give charming outdoor teas, which far surpass in pleasantness anything that can be devised in the city. We Americans live too much in the house, and that, too, in a climate which offers great facilities for a freer mode of life. A tea on a lawn or veranda when the air is full of the perfume of flowers and the country is in its holiday trim is a delight to all those lucky enough to be invited to it. For such a kettle-drum, iced tea and lemonade or claret-cup, sandwiches, and cake may be offered, with berries or other fruits when these are in season.

HIGH TEA

For a small company the high tea is an excellent form of entertainment. It is not suitable for a large assembly, but when a limited number of guests have been invited to spend the evening in some such recreation as card-playing, it is very pleasant to ask them first to high tea. Or if the latter part of the evening is to be devoted to dancing, a chosen few of the guests may be invited to tea first, and the remainder requested to come later. In that case no supper should be offered to the dancers except cake, ices, and coffee.

Should the dining-table be large enough to accommodate all the guests bidden to the high tea, it may be drawn to the requisite length, and all the company seated about it. But if, from the limited dimensions of the dining-room, or because it better suits the fancy of the hostess, small tables are preferred, these may be laid so as to accommodate at each six, or four, or even two, always taking care in the last case that the right two are placed together.

If one large table is used, it may be spread with either a dinner or a tea cloth. Flowers should be in the middle upon a pretty centre-piece, and there may be small vases set about here and there. Individual bouquets are not at all necessary. The places should be arranged as usual, with small silver for each course, and the usual accompaniments of butter-plates—or of bread-and-butter plates—salt-cellars, glasses, napkins, etc. If it is warm weather, the table may be further beautified by the bowls or baskets of fresh fruits that are to make part of the dessert, and, in winter, dishes of cake, of preserved or brandied fruits, etc., may be on the table. Should the hostess prefer, however, these may be placed on the sideboard, thus allowing space for the more substantial viands, which at a tea are seldom relegated to the position on the side-table that they would take at dinner.

At the head of the table sits the hostess, with the tea-tray in front of her. It by no means follows, however, because this repast is called a tea that the Chinese herb should be _en évidence_. If the party is composed chiefly of young people, the chances are strongly in favor of their preference being for coffee or chocolate. They may be offered their choice of these beverages, which the hostess pours out, the servant passing them with cream and sugar, that each may add of these to suit himself. Russian tea may possibly be offered, but even this is apt to be less popular than either chocolate or coffee.

Should small tables be used, the hostess may preside over a tray placed upon one of them, or, when it seems more convenient, the cups may be filled outside, and passed to each with the cream-pitcher and sugar-bowl. It saves some delay in serving if there are a cream-pitcher and sugar-bowl on each table. These little tables may be covered with small cloths or large napkins, and need have nothing else upon them beyond the necessary furniture for each place, except, perhaps, a vase of flowers. While small tables are often admirable as accommodating more people with comfort than could be seated at a large table, yet the latter gives opportunity for a prettier display of floral decoration, china, silver, etc., than is afforded by the former.

The bill of fare is easily arranged. There are no raw oysters or clams, as at a lunch or dinner; and while bouillon may be provided, it is not at all necessary. The meal may begin with oysters in some form, as fricasseed, fried, broiled, steamed, or panned, or in croquettes. With them are passed bread-and-butter (brown or graham bread cut thin is good with oysters) or rolls. The plates are then removed, and the next course brought in. This may consist of chicken—broiled or fried—or broiled birds, or French chops, and of potatoes in some form, as _à la parisienne_, French fried, or hashed with cream and browned. Cold tongue or ham is sometimes also passed at this time, and warm bread in some shape, as French rolls, sally-lunn, tea-biscuit, rusk, or waffles. The coffee or chocolate is also served at this stage in the proceedings.

After this course comes a salad—lettuce and tomato mayonnaise, or chicken, lobster, or salmon—fresh plates being served for this, as a matter of course. Olives and some fancy cheese—Brie, Roquefort, or Gorgonzola—usually come with the salad. Cheese at this stage is strongly recommended by the epicure; but it is not essential, except to those who hold, in the words of the old doggerel, that

"A dinner (or supper) without cheese
Is like a kiss without a squeeze."

The table is now cleared, and the dessert brought in. This may be quite simple, as, say, preserved or brandied fruit with fancy cakes; or it may be more elaborate, and comprise jelly, charlotte-russe, or fresh fruit of some kind, and light cakes. Ices are not strictly _en règle_, although no canon of taste is seriously offended if they are offered. It is better, however, to serve them later in the evening. Still, they are not essential even then. Finger-bowls set on doilies laid on pretty plates must be passed the last thing before the guests quit the table.

Of course the _menu_ suggested above may be altered to suit the season and the taste of the entertainer. Lobster or crabs, clams or shrimps, may be substituted for the oysters. Green pease may accompany chops, or sweetbreads may be the principal meat dish of the second course. Roast duck, turkey, or chicken may be provided if broilers are out of season, or birds may be served with a lettuce or celery salad for the third course. And when one reflects upon the fancy dishes which may be prepared for dessert—the blanc-manges, the jellied fruits, the Spanish or Bavarian or Hamburg creams, the charlottes of divers kinds, the whips, custards, and syllabubs—the only difficulty that arises is where to choose.

A pretty notion is to introduce some unexpected feature into the high tea which will appeal to the imaginations of the guests as well as to their palates. A little ingenuity will suggest some novelty of this sort. The literary salad, which has become well known in certain localities, may yet be unfamiliar in others. This is made by cutting a number of slips of paper, writing on each one a prose or poetic quotation, and attaching each strip to a leaf of pale green tissue-paper, cut and crimped into the fashion of a lettuce leaf. Different shades of the paper should be selected, so that the tints may blend as they do in a veritable head of lettuce. These leaves are then arranged in a bowl, and at some point in the meal, usually just before the dessert, the bowl is passed, and each guest draws out at random two or three of the leaves. The endeavor then is to guess the authorship of the different quotations, and a prize is usually offered to the one who guesses the greatest number correctly. The prize may be the bowl or dish in which the salad is served. Or, instead of quotations, conundrums may be written on the slips, and puzzling out their answers usually affords a great deal of amusement.

A bright young hostess, who was always bubbling over with new and charming ideas, hit upon the clever one of having her guests' characters told by chirosophy. She obtained a specimen of the handwriting of each of those whom she had invited, and sent the samples to a specialist, who deduced from each an estimate of the characteristics of its writer. The verdicts thus obtained were enclosed each in an envelope bearing the name of the person whose peculiar bias was therein described. The envelopes were then bound with ribbons, tied, and sealed. One was laid at the place of each guest at the table, and after providing a fruitful source of wonder and comment during the early part of the meal, the seals were broken when the fruit was passed. Each read aloud the statement contained in her envelope, and it was curious and amusing to observe with what accuracy many idiosyncrasies and singular traits of disposition had been indicated.

SOME HINTS ABOUT SUPPER

In these days of theatre and opera parties the matter of late suppers assumes more importance than it possessed in the time when these amusements were less universally popular. Upon the occasions when a young man escorted his "best girl" to the play or the concert, he took her afterwards, as a natural sequence, to a restaurant, where they partook of some such light refreshment as ice-cream, cake, and coffee, this style of supper being varied sometimes by the introduction of oysters in one form or another. But when a company of young people go to the theatre nowadays, and return afterwards to the house of their chaperon or of some other member of the party, they are usually hungry with the healthy appetite that it is no longer the foolish fashion to conceal.

The members of whist clubs, of literary or dramatic circles, of small dancing classes, of amateur orchestras, and of a variety of other similar social organizations, feel a like desire for food after an evening's busy occupation, while even in the family the sensible custom is gaining ground of eating something not long before retiring—a something which, if not equal in extent and weight to the late supper of our English cousins, is yet more substantial than the caramels and chocolate creams with which school-girls, and often their seniors, solace the hunger that is apt to attack them about bedtime.