The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. VIII, No. 364, December 18, 1886

Vol. VIII.—No. 364.]
DECEMBER 18, 1886.
By A. G. PAYNE, Author of “Common-sense Cookery,” “Choice Dishes at Small Cost,” “The Housekeeper’s Guide,” &c.
LOBSTER CANNING IN CANADA.
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Tinned meats and provisions may be regarded from two distinct points of view. The majority of persons, especially in this country, look upon them simply as a convenience to housekeepers, but the subject should be regarded from a far higher point than one of mere convenience, for by means of tinned provisions the whole food supply of the world is increased, and thereby the happiness and enjoyment of mankind at large.
By means of tinned meats the superfluities of one country help the deficiencies of others. Owing to this useful invention, no longer are sheep slaughtered for their wool and tallow only, and the carcasses wasted, but the whole is utilised. It should be borne in mind that economy in the use of food is a duty clearly pointed out to us by the highest of all authority. The age of miracles has passed, but were it in our power to multiply our food miraculously, we are taught that it would still be a duty to gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.
At present I will confine myself to the consideration of tinned meats in relation to their value to housekeepers, and I will illustrate my subject by supposing the following case, which is by no means a rare one in England in the present day.
There are, throughout the length and breadth of the land, many hundreds of little quiet country villages which, to a certain extent, may be said to be isolated from civilised life. There is the village inn, alas! generally more than one; the village shop, a few scattered houses and outlying farms. But for all practical purposes the well-to-do inhabitants are dependent for their supplies on the carrier’s cart, which takes a journey into the neighbouring town, some four or five miles distant.
The village shop generally supplies the inhabitants with bread; probably they will kill a pig on Thursday or Friday, and supply the usual dish of pork for Sunday’s dinner. They also will usually be found to deal in cheap crockery, needles and cotton, sweetstuff, candles, pickles, etc. The only means of communication with the neighbouring town is, as I have said, the carrier’s cart, which generally takes a few passengers. I have lately lived in a little village myself, and have travelled by the same hooded conveyance backwards and forwards, never without thinking of the lazy horse associated with David Copperfield; and, indeed, at times I have felt inclined to chalk up in the corner, “Barkis is willin’.” The carrier usually takes his orders the night before, starts at an early hour in the morning, and returns in time to supply the dinner-table. Let us suppose that he has brought with him a shoulder of mutton, and that, instead of dining late, as is our wont, we, on this particular day, dine early. Shortly before our usual dinner hour, we are suddenly alarmed by the astounding news, “Oh, mamma, Mr. Smith has arrived; what are we to do?” Hospitality is a duty, and were I cynically inclined, I would imagine Mr. Smith to be a rich old bachelor uncle, very fond of good living, from whom we had great expectations; but I would rather put this supposititious case. Suppose Mr. Smith to be an old friend of our father who has seen better days, in which he showed us many little acts of kindness. Under these circumstances he is, of all men in the world, the very last one to whom we should like to give the “cold shoulder.” What is to be done?