The Value of Health.

The value of health to any of us, whether old or young, cannot well be over-estimated. It is not, mind you, mater, that a deviation from its paths may lead to death. Indeed, many times and oft it would be far better if it did so directly. Instead of that, however, it may be, in girlhood, but the prelude to a long life of untold misery and wretchedness. Indeed, an ailing girl can never be anything save an object of pity. It is spring-time with her, but alas! it is a sad one—a spring that brings not with it the promise of a gladsome happy summer. The sun may shine, but it shines not for her. She is unable thoroughly to enjoy anything. There are times when her very soul seems darkened, and when even spiritual comfort brings no season of relief or even forgetfulness. And at such moments is it any wonder that she finds herself envying her more happy sisters, and thinking that the world is not only dark but cruel? Her companions have health and happiness; they may go anywhere and enjoy anything, and perhaps they forget her entirely until their return.

What comfort shall I pen in these papers for girls such as these? I think I can give a little hope, and, with our Editor’s kind permission, I shall continue this subject in my next paper, and have something to say about ailments and departures from the normal standard of health, and hints for regaining Heaven’s greatest blessing, that may prove invaluable to many.

[“THAT LUNCHEON!”]

A YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER’S DILEMMA.

“Nellie dear,” said Mr. Vernon, the principal solicitor in Riversmouth, to his nineteen year old daughter and housekeeper, “I have just run across to tell you that young Squire Laurence is riding over to consult me this morning, and I should like to bring him in to lunch at half-past one. Can you manage it?”

For a moment dismay ran riot in pretty Nellie’s heart. Nearly ten o’clock already, nothing to speak of in the house, and a smart luncheon to provide, as well as the schoolboys’ early dinner! However, she must do her best, and answered cheerfully to that effect.

“It need not be grand, you know,” added her father encouragingly, “so long as everything is nice and tasteful, as you so well understand how to make it.”

Nellie had been on her way to practise, but she now returned to the kitchen, and, resuming her big apron, surveyed the larder for the second time that morning. Ten minutes earlier, yesterday’s underdone leg of mutton re-roasted, with some vegetables, and the remains of yesterday’s pudding, with the addition of a homely roly-poly, had been deemed sufficient for the one o’clock meal, and as Mr. Vernon was dining out that evening, the butcher had been dismissed without orders. Economy was a stern necessity to Nellie, whose housekeeping allowance was not unlimited.

Accustomed to making “something out of nothing,” the cold remnants did not look as hopeless to her as they might to some young housekeepers. A cold whiting, the badly-roasted mutton, and a bowl containing about half a pint of tomato sauce, represented absolute riches to Nellie’s mind at that moment, and she quickly collected her materials and set to work in the kitchen.

The menu she drew up was as follows:—

The maid was despatched with orders for the milkman and greengrocer, and a basket in which to bring back a pound of cold salt beef in slices from the pastrycook’s, half-a-dozen scallop-shells, and two lemons.

In the meantime Nellie began the creams, which she knew must have plenty of time to cool, and for this reason decided to make them in cups. There was only a quart of milk in the house; a pint of it she put into a bowl with half an ounce of gelatine, and left it to soak for half an hour, whilst she made the rest into a custard, and stood the jug containing it in cold water to facilitate its cooling.

She next prepared a small bowl of breadcrumbs, and finely flaked the whiting, removing the bones. Then Mary having returned with the things, Nellie peeled a small quarter of one of the lemons very thin, and put milk, gelatine, lemon-peel and five ounces of white sugar into a lined saucepan on the fire.

During the time it took to bring it to the boil, she buttered the scallop-shells and proceeded thus:—A layer of breadcrumbs, a layer of fish, salt and pepper to taste, a layer of breadcrumbs, sprinkled with small lumps of butter, and so on, taking care to heap the materials well up in the centre of the shell, and to scatter the last layer of breadcrumbs liberally with butter; the scallops were then placed on a baking-sheet ready for cooking, twenty minutes being sufficient to brown them nicely.

After boiling for five minutes, the contents of the saucepan were strained into a jug with a lip, and when sufficiently cool to prevent curdling, the well-beaten yolks of two eggs were stirred in. The directions, Nellie knew, were to pour constantly from one jug to another till nearly cold, but she had to content herself with doing this occasionally, whilst making the pastry for the tart.

A ring at the bell announced the arrival of the greengrocer with the apples and lettuces. As Mary was busy in the upper regions, Nellie answered the door herself, returning quickly to prepare the apples, which she quartered and cored before peeling them, to keep the pieces whole.

By this time the lemon-cream was cool enough for her to add carefully the strained juice of the lemons, stirring briskly the while, after which it was poured into the cups, and these were surrounded with cold water to set the cream quickly.

“Now for the mutton,” said Nellie to herself, proceeding to cut up the joint. “No wonder the boys said it was like ‘old boots,’ and I fear its toughness isn’t entirely due to under-cooking! Well, ‘cannelon’ is a splendid way of using tough meat,” she thought, first reserving several thick slices to be converted into mock cutlets next day, and then grinding the rest in the mincing-machine. The minced meat was well seasoned with salt, pepper, parsley, thyme, and a dessertspoonful of Harvey’s sauce, adding a soupçon of finely-chopped onion, half a cupful of breadcrumbs and a well-beaten egg. She made the mixture into balls rather larger than a walnut, and placed them, wrapped in oiled paper, on a tin, to be baked in a moderate oven for half an hour. The tomato sauce was put in a lined saucepan ready to be heated, and the potatoes which Mary had peeled for that “early dinner” she cut into slices to be fried crisp and brown.

Mary was a tolerable plain cook; therefore, after directing her, Nellie was free to arrange fresh flowers in the dining-room, and to make the necessary additions to her toilet, before laying the luncheon, which she did herself, in order to send the handmaiden up to dress at a quarter to one.

The salad was soon made and prettily decorated, the beef arranged tastefully on a dish and garnished with parsley, and then Nellie whisked the whites of two eggs with a little sugar to a stiff froth, piling it in snowy billows amongst the golden creams, previously turned out into a glass dish. To this the custards in dainty little cups made an excellent vis-à-vis, the salad occupying a central position on the table.

Mr. Vernon, entering the dining-room with the guest, was abundantly satisfied with the result of Nellie’s busy morning. Spotless damask, bright electro-plate and glass, go far to making up for costly dishes or priceless silver, and the luncheon-table, decorated by an old gold centre-piece, with sprays of fiery Virginia creeper, and vases of citron chrysanthemums, was a picture. He could not but observe the quick look of admiration his daughter called forth when he presented Mr. Laurence.

She presided at lunch with a gentle dignity, conversing with the visitor, her father and the two boys, and betraying no anxiety about the arrangements, which insouciance Mary tried to deserve by changing the courses as deftly as she could. Mr. Vernon, perhaps for the first time, realised what a treasure he possessed in one who, at such short notice, could provide a luxurious meal, and have house, servant, herself and her little brothers, looking the pink of neatness to do honour to any friend of his.

Possibly Mr. Laurence was clever enough to read between the lines, for the lawyer’s modest circumstances were well known; at any rate, the luncheon-party, which Nellie triumphantly assured her father had only necessitated the outlay of four shillings, was the means of introducing the Squire of Templemeade to his future wife.

[LETTERS FROM A LAWYER.]