KITCHEN RHYMES.
The Crowning Art.
It's fine to be a Bishop with a shovel-hat and gaiters;
It's fine to be an Author with a style like Walter Pater's;
It's very fine to be a Judge like Darling or like Avory,
But it's finer far to be a cook who understands a savoury.
Too Many Cooks?
The broth was spoiled, so said the ancient books,
By the employment of "too many cooks";
But nowadays we think the saying funny,
When cooks can not be had for love or money.
Higher Education.
I can't afford to send my sons to Eton;
The fees are now prohibitively high;
But I'll send my girls to study Mrs. Beeton,
And hope to reap the profits ere I die.
Loss and Gain.
In good Victoria's golden reign
Cooks were not lured, by love of gain,
From their professional domain
To making war munitions;
But they had compensations too
Denied by law to me and you,
And used to supplement their screw
By secret trade commissions.
Fireless Cookery.
When I was young, in days far hence,
The heat of the kitchen was most intense,
But now, by the use of electric connections
Our cooks are able to keep their complexions.
A Dietetic Tragedy.
Jack Sprat on nuts grew fat;
His wife ate nothing but prunes;
The Butler drank quarts
Of his master's ports,
And the Cook ran away with the spoons.
Before the War.
Master's at his broker's thinking of a flutter;
Mistress, she's out golfing, trying her new putter;
Cook is at a matinee, laughing at the songs;
Why keep a cook when you can feed at restaurongs?
During the War.
Master's in the trenches with his only son;
Mistress manages the farm and keeps a poultry run;
Miss Belinda roasts and bakes and answers all the bells,
For Cook and House-and Kitchen-maid are all making shells.
"To-day we hear that the elevation to the Peerage of Mr. H. J. Tennant, M.P. for Berwickshire, is certain. We hope the tile he assumes will be a local one."
Berwick Journal.
A Tweed Cap, we presume.
"The list of these Canadian doctors is a long one.... It includes ... Major Meakins and Captain Thomas Cotton, the distinguished cardiologists, who are now attached to the Hampstead Hospital for the study of the Soldier's Heart."—The Times.
This subject must be far and away the most popular at the present time, and we have an idea that the finest experts are not attached to the Medical profession.
Mother (to little girl engaged in grooming with a nail-brush a newly-born kitten). "Oh, Maisie, I don't think that the mummy-cat would like to see you doing it that way."
Maisie. "Well, Mummy, I couldn't lick it."
HIS LADY FRIEND.
When the post came in Private Grimes was sitting alone, hammering a strip of metal with a stone. During the eight months that this solitary and silent man had been in Flanders he had not received so much as a picture-postcard, and he expected nothing now. But to the surprise not only of himself but of all the men who saw it, this post brought him a letter:—
"Deer Henery she is in the best off helth i thort you mite be wunderin' the wether heer is shokin' As it leeves me at presant Bill."
Grimes read it with obvious satisfaction and put it in his pocket; soon he took it out and read it again.
In the group round the fire that night Grimes was again working on his piece of metal.
"'Eard from 'is girl at last," said Private Brant to the others, indicating Grimes by a jerk of the head. "'Dear 'Arold, when are you goin' to send me the bewtiful ring you're makin'?' she says."
"Ring, is it?" said Parker. "Looks as if it would be more like a kid's 'oop, when it's finished. She must 'ave a finger like two thumbs. Grimes, old son, you can take it from me she won't give you a blanky thank-you for it. Lummy, look at the jools!"—and in the firelight they saw the glint of red and blue against the polished strip of metal.
"Is she young and fair, Grimes?" asked a humourist.
"If she was 'ere she'd teach you manners," said Private Grimes.
The jewels were pieces of glass from a shattered church-window. Grimes was pleased with them, and even whistled a note or two as he worked. "Won't give me a thank-you, eh?" he thought, with a bit of a smile.
Three weeks later he went home on leave. She was not at Victoria (whoever she was). His visit would be a surprise for her. He got off the tram at Vauxhall and turned into the narrow side-streets.
From the yard of a brewery in the distance a van was emerging. A big red-faced man was on the dickey, and on a barrel beside him was something white. Grimes whistled; and the white patch leapt into vigorous life, giving out glad barks and little impatient whines. "Wot cher, Grimey!" called the driver, as he pulled up to lower the wriggling patch of white to the road; and Bess, an ecstatic bull-terrier, with the gladdest of pink-rimmed eyes, came bounding towards the soldier.
He caught her up and took a good look at her. She licked his unwashed unshaven face.
"Looks all right, don't she, Grimey?" asked the other a little anxiously. "Never 'ad a thing to eat but wot you said, all the time."
"Looks a treat, Bill," said Bess's master; and Bill knew that this was high-praise.
"'Ere, Bess, 'ere's a sooveneer," said Grimes. He put her down and, taking her paw in his hand, bent and fastened into place that strip of waste war-metal, ornamented with bits of saints from an old church window in Flanders.
The Preparatory Course.
Application just received on behalf of a young lady who is anxious to do War-service as a teacher in an elementary school:—
"She has had some little test of her powers of discipline, as she has started and trained a pack of Wolf Cubs in the parish."
Farmer. "Now let me see if you can milk that cow."
Girl (by vocation barmaid—regarding the horns). "Which handle's for the milk and which for the cream?"