CHAPTER VII.

VISITORS FOR MARION.

The weather was now getting much warmer, the days were long and sunny, and the evenings light until late; so the girls began to make certain changes in their housekeeping arrangements. To begin with, the choral society which they had been attending on Wednesday evenings all the winter ceased in April, so they had late dinner every evening except Saturday and Sunday. There was some talk of their joining a tennis club; but both Jane and Ada were generally too tired to play after their day’s work, and, as the prudent Marion pointed out, if they joined a club it would mean that they would rush off to play directly they came home for as long as it was light, and get no solid food until past eight o’clock, when it would be too late to see about dinner. Jane thought that this would not matter in the very least, as it would soon be getting too hot for anyone to think of eating; but she was over-ruled by her two elders, who insisted that, as none of them got a solid meal in the middle of the day, it would be a fatal thing if the one big meal were postponed altogether. So she was obliged to give in and be content with what tennis she could get at friends’ houses on Saturday afternoons. This was not very much, and she had a good long walk to get it; but she thought it was better than nothing.

Early in May came a short note from Mrs. Holden to Marion.

“May 6th.

“My dear Marion,—Are you ever at liberty to receive visitors, or are you perpetually busy? Do let me know if I may come over and see you next Saturday afternoon. I want to have a talk with you, and I have to come up to West Hampstead to look over some houses in your neighbourhood. I have written to a house agent for some addresses. Our neighbourhood here is getting so terribly built over, and it is too low down to suit Arthur, who suffers occasionally from bronchitis, so we are thinking of making a move in your direction, as Hampstead stands high. I shall be so glad to be near you, and I hope you will return the compliment.

“Do not think I intend to worry you to go house-hunting with me, for I should not dream of allowing such a thing. Arthur is too busy to come over with me; but my brother Tom is home on leave just now. I forget if you ever saw him—I think he was at school when you used to stay with us. It will do him good to have some sensible domestic occupation such as house-hunting. So I shall come and have a delightful cosy chat with you on Saturday if you will have me, and he shall look over the houses whilst we are discussing the affairs of the State. (By the way, why did some scones I made last week come out of the oven freckled? Don’t forget to tell me.) Whilst we are discussing the affairs of the State, Master Tom can look over the houses and select the most suitable for me to inspect when you are tired of hearing me chatter.

“In haste,
“Yours ever,
“Madge Holden.”

Marion laughed heartily over this letter, and read it out to the other two.

“What does she mean?” asked Ada in a perplexed tone. “How can the scones be freckled?”

“I have a vague recollection of something of the sort happening to some of mine once,” said Jane; “but I have known so many accidents and failures that I can’t possibly recollect them all. Oh, I know! How stupid of me! Of course, the carbonate of soda and cream of tartar were not properly mixed into the flour, and so wherever there was soda a brown patch was the result, as it always makes things darker when used alone.”

“Bravo, Jennie!” said Marion. “I shall tell Mrs. Holden that you will write yourself and reveal the mystery of the scones. I am sorry you and Ada will not see her and her brother as you are going to the concert.”

“Have you ever seen her brother Tom?” asked Ada.

“No, I don’t remember having done so. But I heard of a schoolboy escapade of his years ago. His mother was entertaining visitors on a dark winter afternoon just at dusk; they had rung for the gas to be lighted, but the servant was a long time in coming. In the meantime they were considerably startled by a light that kept flashing in at the window and then disappearing. When everybody was well startled the cause was discovered. Master Tom and some boon companions were at the schoolroom window above amusing themselves by drawing a dark lantern up and down. Hence the phenomenon.”

“How like a boy!” said Jane sedately.

On Saturday afternoon Mrs. Holden appeared, resplendent in a bonnet made of primroses, and with her a tall, sunburnt young fellow, whom she introduced as her brother, Tom Scott.

“But you must not stay, you know, Tom,” said the lively lady. “You really must go and see about those houses, and we shall only bore you with our domestic talk.”

Mr. Scott smiled languidly. He was ensconced in Jane’s own particular rocking-chair and showed no disposition to move, but looked appreciatively round the sunny little sitting-room and at his bright-eyed little hostess, who sat by the work-table at the window with a bunch of sweet-smelling spring flowers in a vase beside her.

“I find this climate so trying after India,” he remarked.

“Nonsense, Tom! Marion, he is too lazy for anything! How far is it to Thornicroft Gardens?”

Marion said that it was only two streets away.

“We must have tennis,” said Mrs. Holden; “so, if the houses are nice, one of those might do, as I understand the gardens at the back have several courts. I am thankful Tom is an engineer: so if there is anything radically wrong with the house he will detect it, so I have not that responsibility! Now, Tom, do start off; and, if you are good, Marion will give you some tea when you get back! Be quick!”

So off he went, and for the next half-hour Mrs. Holden poured her domestic experiences into the ear of the sympathetic Marion.

“Tell me about calves’ heads,” she began eagerly.

“Whatever do you mean?” cried Marion, laughing. “You are like a child asking for a story. ‘Tell me about fairies.’”

“Well, you know what I mean!” she said impatiently. “I want to know all about them, how much they cost, and if it would be feasible to have one, and if they are nice. But I won’t have one if the cook is likely to make a hash of it!” she said energetically.

“Well, your cook might make a hash, and a very good hash too; but that is no reason why you should not have one. You need only have half a head, which will cost you about 3s. or 3s. 6d. Have it boiled the first day and served with white sauce over and bacon round alternately with slices of tongue, and hashed the second day.”

“But don’t you have to skin it, or do something like that first? I read something about skinning it in my cookery-book, and it puzzled me dreadfully.”

“All that is done at the butcher’s. It is as well to blanch the head by putting it in boiling water, bringing the water to the boil, and throwing it away. Then put it in a pan, with enough water to cover and vegetables to flavour, and cook gently about two and a half hours.”

“That was just what I wanted to know. I understand about skinning the tongue and cutting it in pieces to put round the dish; but what are you to do with the brains?”

“Tie them in muslin and cook them for half an hour separately in water or stock, divide in small pieces and put round the dish. Before you go I will give you a nice recipe for hashing the remains. By the way, was the dinner list of any use?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Here is this week’s then,” said Marion, as she went to her desk and, opening it, gave the list to Mrs. Holden. “You see we have just been having calf’s head ourselves.”

DINNER LIST.

Sunday.

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Thursday.

Friday.

Saturday.

“You see, we have cold dishes rather often now the weather is getting warmer,” said Marion as Mrs. Holden put down the paper. “Here is the food bill:—”

£s.d.
1 lb. fillet of veal010
Half a ham, 3½ lbs.024
Leg of lamb (Australian)031
Half a calf’s head029
1¼ lb. neck of veal010
Cucumber004
2½ lb. new potatoes005
3 lb. potatoes003
2 lb. cod010
Sponge cakes006
Milk019
Pint of gooseberries003
1-pint packet lemon jelly004
Small bottle olive oil005½
½ lb. tea0010
1½ lb. butter at 1s. 4d020
½ lb. loaf sugar001¼
2 lb. Demerara003½
1 lb. fat, for rendering002
Fourteen eggs010
Four lettuces008
Eight loaves024
£1210¼

“By the way, I have made a discovery. Oh, I know it will be no news to you; but I was proud of it, I assure you! It is, that there are several quite cheap pieces of veal that one can buy—breast of veal, for instance, and neck—for 8d. a pound. I always had looked upon veal as quite dear. But I don’t know how to cook these joints. You can’t make veal cutlet of them, can you?”

“No; they would not do for that. But the ‘Spring Stew’ that you see there is a dish made of neck of veal, new potatoes, spring onions and lettuce.”

“Many thanks. It is of no use trying to get my people to eat cold meat; they simply won’t. Tom is so accustomed to the good cooking of his native servants that he is a dreadful handful. I am so glad you taught me how to make a good curry; that at least is always appreciated.”

“Is he graciously pleased to commend it?” asked Marion, laughing.

“Yes, indeed. He has a most extraordinary opinion of your talents, as he said he did not know such a thing as a good curry was to be had in England. Was that not rude? Now, I will not talk ‘cooking’ any more. Do play me something. I see the piano is invitingly open. It is ever so long since I heard you. Or will it tire you?”

“I am not tired at all,” said Marion, and went to the piano. “What shall it be? Something calm and soothing, I suppose, and not at all suggestive of domestic worries.”

So Marion played a delicious “Lullaby” of Rubinstein’s, and Mrs. Holden lay back in the rocking-chair to listen—a graceful figure in blue.

“Thank you so much!” said a voice behind her as she finished.

Marion started slightly, and looked round to find that Mr. Scott had come back again, and had been let in by Abigail without her noticing the fact.

Mrs. Holden laughed mischievously.

“I have not had such a treat since I went to India,” said her brother. “Pray do not stop. You don’t know how much I enjoy it,” and he sat down prepared to listen to more.

So Marion played on. This time it was the “Spinn lied” from the “Lieder ohne Worte.”

“Tom, you are positively improving,” said his sister critically, as she finished and Abigail came in with the tea-things. “Just before you went away, I remember taking you to a Saturday concert at St. James’s Hall, and you annoyed me by coming out in the middle. Marion’s playing seems to have worked a sort of charm.”

“Oh, nonsense, Madge, you must not give me such a bad character! I am very fond of music really, Miss Thomas,” he said, turning to Marion; “but I always prefer it at home. Somehow, a concert always makes me feel very sleepy towards the end. I don’t know if it is the heat, or what.”

“You ought not to mind the heat, surely,” she suggested, smiling.

He laughed.

“Well, at all events, it is not nearly so enjoyable.”

“Well, what about the house, Tom?” asked his sister, as she drank her tea and ate Marion’s crisp little home-made cakes appreciatively.

“Green Lawn, in the next street but one, has just the number of rooms you want. Everything about it seems all right, and there is an excellent tennis lawn. Could you move by Lady Day?”

“Yes, I must. Did you see no others?”

“What was the good of looking at others until you had signified that this would not do,” he remarked sagely.

“Marion, can you come and look at it with us?”

“Yes, certainly,” and she went to put on her hat.

“You need not stay longer if you want to be off,” said Mrs. Holden to her brother when Marion had left the room. “We shall manage quite well by ourselves. I know men don’t care for fussing about over houses, and you said you wanted to go down to the club.”

He seemed to think the club could wait, for he made no haste to be off; and soon Marion came in again, looking very charming in her pretty hat with pink primulas.

So the three walked through the sunny streets to Green Lawn. It did not take very long to look over the house, and Mrs. Holden was delighted with it, and quite decided to take it if her husband liked it as well as she did.

“So we shall soon be having you for neighbours, and how delightful that will be, my dear! I only hope I shall not worry you by incessantly running in to ask advice. I really must be self-denying, and not run into the Rowans too often. Come and have dinner with me next week and talk it all over. Which day can you come? Come next Thursday if you can. You don’t mind coming so far now the evenings are so light, do you? Tom can see you home.”

Marion protested that she was quite equal to seeing herself home; but Mrs. Holden insisted, and so it was arranged. By this time they had arrived at the station from which Marion’s friends were going back to Camberwell, so they said good-bye.

When she got home, she remembered that Mrs. Holden had not got the recipe that had been promised; so she wrote it out at once and posted it to her lest she should want to use it before they met next Thursday.

Hashed Calf’s Head.—Cut the remains of a cooked calf’s head into neat pieces. Chop a large onion and cook it in three tablespoonfuls of vinegar for ten minutes; add a dessertspoonful of Chutney and two tablespoonfuls of flour mixed with a gill of cold stock. Stir until it boils, stir in a pint of the stock in which the head was cooked; season well and colour with browning. Put in the slices of head, and simmer very gently for half an hour.

(To be continued.)

[FRUIT PUDDINGS.]

By the Author of “Summer Puddings,” “Savouries,” etc.

o many people get tired of the ordinary way of serving fruit simply stewed or as a tart, that I hope the following collection of recipes of different and dainty ways of utilising fruit may be used to vary somewhat the monotony of a wholesome article of diet.

Apple Pudding.—Six apples peeled and cut up in pieces, one quince, half a teacupful of water, two tablespoonfuls of sugar, the rind of half a lemon, one teaspoonful of lemon juice and a piece of butter the size of an egg. Put all into an enamelled pan and stew to a soft pulp and rub through a sieve. If the apples have been cooked very soft and are free from lumps, then it is not necessary to put them through a sieve.

Into the pulp stir three eggs, well beaten, a quarter of a pound of stale bread or cake crumbs grated, a dash of nutmeg, and two tablespoonfuls of milk. Pour into a tin mould previously well buttered inside and dusted with crumbs and bake in a good oven for quite an hour, turn out and serve with fine sugar over the top.

Apple Soufflé.—Butter the outside of a pie-dish and cover with pastry made as follows—

Six ounces of flour, three ounces of butter, two teaspoonfuls of sugar, and the yolk of an egg. Rub butter, sugar, and flour together, then mix to a paste with the beaten yolk and a little water. Roll out in the usual way, cut to the size of your dish, cover, and put into a good oven to bake, and slip off, and then you have a dish of paste. Meanwhile peel and core one and a half pounds of apples, and stew them with a quarter of a pound of sugar and juice and grated rind of half a lemon till quite soft; then stir in half-a-dozen ratafia biscuits and a penny sponge cake crumbled down, the yolks of two eggs and a drop of water. Cook on the fire again for a minute or two, then pour into the pastry-dish and spread over the top the whites of the three eggs beaten to a stiff froth with a tablespoonful of sifted sugar, dust sugar on the top and ornament with ratafia biscuits and preserved cherries to taste, then place in a nearly cold oven to slightly brown.

Apple Fritters.—Make a batter of a pint of milk, two well-beaten eggs, and flour enough to make a thick batter. Pare, core, and chop up into small pieces six apples, mix into the batter and fry in spoonfuls in boiling lard deep enough to cover the fritters. Fritters can also be made by slicing pared and cored apples, dipping them into thick pancake batter and frying them in butter.

Apple Dumplings.—Six apples pared and cored, six ounces of dripping, one pound of flour, one teaspoonful of baking powder, one quarter of a teaspoonful of salt, two ounces of sugar.

Put flour, powder, and salt in a basin, rub in the dripping lightly, then make into a stiff paste with water. Divide into six pieces, roll out and place an apple on each, fill up cores with sugar and work paste round each apple till covered, brush over with milk, place on a greased tin and bake from half an hour to three-quarters.

Apple Meringue.—Stew six apples pared and cored till soft, then stir in a small piece of butter. When cold add a cup of grated bread-crumbs, the yolks of two eggs, a tip of salt, sugar to taste, and a small cup of milk.

Butter a dinner plate, cover it with short crust or puff paste, make a fancy border, and bake till done. In the middle pour the apple batter, and heat up. Take the whites of the eggs, beat stiff with half a teacup of fine sugar and a few drops of essence of lemon, pile on the top of apples to cover them, place in oven to set but not to brown. Sprinkle pink sugar over the top and serve hot or cold.

Apple Pudding (American).—One quart of milk, four eggs, three cupfuls of chopped apples, the juice of a lemon and half the grated rind, nutmeg to taste and a pinch of cinnamon, one quarter of a teaspoonful of carbonate of soda dissolved in a little vinegar, flour enough to make a stiff batter. Beat the yolks of the eggs very light, add the milk and seasoning, then the flour; stir hard for five minutes, then beat in the apples, then the whites of the eggs beaten to a stiff froth, and lastly mix the soda well in. Bake in two square shallow tins, buttered, for one hour. Cover with a buttered paper when half done to prevent it hardening. Eaten hot with a sweet sauce.

Apple Meringue Pudding.—One pint of stewed apples, three eggs (yolks and whites beaten separately), a half cupful of fine sugar and one dessertspoonful of butter, one teaspoonful of nutmeg and cinnamon mixed, one teaspoonful of lemon juice. Add sugar, spices, butter and yolks to the apples while hot, pour into a buttered dish and bake for ten minutes. Cover while still in the oven with a meringue made of the stiffly-beaten whites, two tablespoonfuls of castor sugar and a little almond essence. Spread it smoothly and quickly, close the oven again and brown slightly. Eat cold with cream and sugar.

Apple Omelette.—Six apples, one tablespoonful of butter, nutmeg to taste, and a teaspoonful of rose-water.

Stew the apples as for sauce, beat them smooth while hot, adding the butter, sugar and nutmeg. When perfectly cold put in the yolks beaten well, then the rose-water, and lastly the whites whipped stiff; pour into a warmed and buttered pie-dish. Bake in a moderate oven till delicately browned.

Brown Betty.—One cupful of bread-crumbs, two cups of sour chopped apples, half a cupful of sugar, a teaspoonful of cinnamon, and two tablespoonfuls of butter chopped into small bits.

Butter a deep pie-dish, put a layer of apples at the bottom, sprinkle with sugar, cinnamon and pieces of butter, then crumbs, then another layer of apples, sugar, and so on till the dish is full, having crumbs on the top. Cover closely and bake in a moderate oven for three-quarters of an hour, then uncover, sprinkle with a little sugar and brown quickly.

Apple Batter Pudding.—One pint of rich milk, two cups of flour, four eggs, a teaspoonful of salt, a quarter of a teaspoonful of soda dissolved in hot water.

Peel and core eight apples, and arrange them closely together in a pie-dish. Beat the above batter till light and pour it over the apples and bake for one hour in a good oven. Unless the apples are very sweet, the cores should be filled up with sugar.

Apples and Tapioca.—One teacupful of tapioca, six juicy sweet apples, a quart of water and some salt.

Soak the tapioca in three cups of lukewarm water in a pan, put the pan back on the range and let it just keep warm for several hours till the tapioca becomes a clear jelly. Peel, core, and pack the apples together in a dish, fill the centres with sugar, cover and steam in the oven, then put the tip of salt into the tapioca, and pour it over the apples, return to the oven and leave till quite cooked—about an hour. Serve with cream. If there is any objection to the appearance of the pudding, then a beaten white of egg can be spread over it just before removing from the oven.

German Apple Tart.—One and three-quarter pounds of apples, quarter of a pound of dates.

Peel, core, and cut the apples into small pieces, stone and quarter the dates, and put them in a pan with a very little water and stew till soft. Then stir in two tablespoonfuls of sugar, one ounce of butter, one teaspoonful of ground cinnamon, half a teaspoonful of ginger. Beat smooth, then turn out to cool.

Make a short crust of half a pound of flour, two ounces of castor sugar, one teaspoonful of cinnamon, a small teaspoonful of baking powder, and a quarter of a pound of butter. Rub all together and work into a dough with the yolk of one egg and half a teacup of milk. Divide the dough into three pieces, roll out for bottom and sides a little thicker than the piece for the top. Line tin, fill up with the apple mixture, smooth on top, then lay third piece of crust over it, pinching the edge to the side crust, then bake in a moderate oven for half an hour. Beat the white of the egg to a stiff froth, sift in two ounces of castor sugar, a drop or two of lemon juice, and then spread evenly on top of the tart when nearly cool, and leave to set.

Apple Mould.—One and a half pounds of apples, pare, core, and cut in quarters, put in a pan with half a pound of sugar and four ounces of butter. Stew till soft, but keep the pieces whole, lift them on to a sieve and let the syrup run into a dish. Butter a pudding-dish, line it with thin fingers of bread, lay in the pieces of apple, cover with slices of bread, brush over with egg, pour over some syrup, and bake in a moderate oven for three-quarters of an hour. Turn out and serve with sauce.

Apple Charlotte.—One and a half pounds of apples, peel, core, and cut up, and put on to stew with very little water and three ounces of sugar. When soft rub through a sieve, then put back into the pan, add four ounces more sugar and simmer till thick, taking care not to let the pulp burn.

Cut some stale bread into fingers, dip into melted butter, and arrange them round a well-buttered pudding mould, lapping one edge over the other and pressing firmly down, cover the bottom with rounds of bread in the same way, shake in some bread-crumbs, fill up with the apples, place more rounds of bread on the top, put into the oven and bake for an hour. Turn on to a dish, let it stand a few minutes, then draw off the mould and dust sugar over. By allowing the mould to remain a little, there is less danger of it sticking.

Before leaving the recipes for apples, I would like to give an excellent way of stewing. Pare the apples, quarter them, take out the cores, and cut the quarters into thin slices, then put them into a pan, put sugar over them to taste, shake it down through the fruit, then put a piece of white paper over, tucking it well round the edges to keep in the steam, then put on the lid, and set the pan at the side of the fire and shake occasionally till it heats.

The steam generated by the moisture of the apples is quite enough to prevent burning, and if care is taken in shaking the pan well there is no fear of burning. Stew slowly till soft. By using no water, the flavour of the fruit is much finer and the apples become a clear jelly and are most delicious to taste.

Gooseberry Fool.—Take a quart of green gooseberries, put them, after topping and tailing them, into a pan with four ounces of loaf sugar and stew them as directed for the apples—without water. When soft, rub them through a sieve, and then stir into the purée half a pint of thick cream, stir all together, add more sugar if required, then when cold pour into a crystal dish. Garnish with whipped cream on the top.

Gooseberry Pudding.—One pint of nearly ripe gooseberries, six slices of stale bread toasted, one cupful of milk, half a cupful of sugar, and one tablespoonful of melted butter. Stew the gooseberries very slowly so as not to break them. Cut your bread to fit your pudding-dish, toast the pieces, then dip while hot into the milk, then spread with butter, and cover the bottom of the dish with some of the pieces; put next a layer of the cooked gooseberries, sprinkle with sugar, then put more toast, more fruit and sugar, and so on till the dish is full. Cover closely and steam in a moderate oven for half an hour. Turn out and pour a sauce over it or eat with cream.

Gooseberry Flummery.—Take six ounces of rice and wash it, then put it into a pan with two pints of milk, and let it cook slowly till it gets soft and thick, then add two ounces of sugar and stir well. Let it get cold, then butter or oil a mould and cover the inside with a layer of the rice about an inch thick, leaving the inside empty till the rice sets. Then fill up with gooseberries stewed thick and soft with sugar and no water, and let it stand till quite stiff and cold. Turn upside down carefully—just before serving a little time—and draw off the mould carefully so as not to break the rice. This can also be steamed after putting in the fruit and served hot with custard sauce.

Flummery of Currants.—Take two pints of red currants, squeeze them and take the juice, add a little raspberry juice, and add three-quarters of a pound of loaf sugar and six ounces of rice flour to it; cook all over the fire and stir continually. Boil for five minutes, then pour into a mould which has been dipped in cold water. Let it stand till cold and set, then turn out.

Raspberry Mould.—Have a mould—a plain one—or a small bowl lined with strips of stale bread, packing them closely together. Then have some raspberries stewed with enough sugar to sweeten them, pour into the mould, cover the top over with fingers of bread, seeing that the mould is quite full, put a plate or saucer on the top with a weight on it and set away till cold. Then turn out. This is all the better for being made the day before it is required so as to give it time to soak up all the juice into the bread; then it is a pretty pink shape. Any kind of fruit—juicy—can be used in this way, but raspberries or red currants are the nicest.

Lemon Pudding.—Take two tablespoonfuls of cornflour and wet it with a little cold water, then add boiling water to make a thick starch, add five spoonfuls of sugar, the juice and grated rind of two lemons and the yolks of two eggs well beaten. Pour into a dish and bake for ten minutes, then heap the stiffly-beaten whites on the top, dust with sugar and brown very lightly in the oven for a few minutes.

Compôte of Oranges.—Pare the rind of three large oranges, cut the fruit across into halves, removing the pips and white skin and pile the fruit in a glass dish. Boil the thin rind with half a pint of water and six ounces of loaf sugar, till the syrup is clear and thick, then strain it over the fruit. Garnish with little spoonfuls of whipped cream.

Pear Meringue.—Take a dozen and a half pears, peel them and put into a pan with sugar and a very little water and stew till tender, but avoid breaking them. Lift them carefully and arrange them neatly in a glass dish. Boil up the syrup with more sugar till thickish, add a drop or two of cochineal—pear syrup is always rather a dull colour without it—and pour over the fruit. Take the whites of three eggs and whip them very stiff, add six spoonfuls of castor sugar, spread roughly over the pears and brown slightly in the oven or with a salamander.

Rhubarb Cheesecake.—Stew a bunch of green rhubarb till soft, then beat it smooth with a fork, draining nearly all the syrup away. Add to the pulp the juice of two lemons, grated rind of one, a scrape of nutmeg—if liked—and sugar to taste, then add three well-beaten eggs. Have a pie-dish lined with pastry—or a deep plate will do—pour in the mixture and bake in a moderate oven for three-quarters of an hour. Serve cold.

Prune Pudding.—Half a pound of prunes. Stew till soft, then remove the stones and add sugar to taste, then the whites of four eggs beaten stiff, put into a dish and bake to a pale brown.

Orange Fool.—Juice of four sweet oranges, three eggs well beaten, one pint of cream, sugar to taste, and a very little cinnamon and nutmeg.

Put all into a pan and set it on the fire till the mixture is as thick as melted butter, keep stirring, but do not let it boil, then when a little cool pour into a glass dish. Serve cold.

Queen’s Mould.—Skin and cut into small pieces enough young rhubarb to fill a quart measure, put into an enamelled pan with one and a quarter pounds of sugar, the grated rind and juice of half a lemon, and twelve almonds blanched and chopped; boil fast and skin and stir till all is a rich marmalade, then add half an ounce of gelatine dissolved in two tablespoonfuls of boiling water. Rub a mould with oil, pour in the rhubarb, and set aside to cool and set. Turn out and serve with cream.

Rhubarb Scone Pudding.—Make a plain paste of half a pound of flour, two ounces of butter, a dessertspoonful of castor sugar, a pinch of salt, one teaspoonful of cream of tartar, half a teaspoonful of baking soda. Rub all together, then add enough sweet milk to make a nice firm paste, roll out the size of a dinner plate, butter the plate, lay the paste on and ornament the edge, and bake in a moderate oven till done. Fill the middle with stewed rhubarb—any stewed fruit is good—cover with the whites of two eggs beaten stiff, dust the top thickly with castor sugar and return to the oven to let it get a pale brown.

Constance.

[From photo: Photographic Union, Munich.

ROSES.

[LAST YEAR’S ROSES.]

By HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.

They are only last year’s roses

In my mother’s china jar,

But their faint and subtle fragrance

Wafts me back to days afar;

And I shut my eyes a moment,

And I see my mother pace

Up and down the garden borders

With her stately old-world grace,

While she plucks the perfumed petals

Beds of glowing bloom among—

Oh, the roses, those sweet roses,

That I knew when I was young!

They are only last year’s roses

In the old blue china jar,

But I hear my mother singing

Songs I loved in days afar:

Yes, you sing amongst your roses,

And I grant them fresh and fair,

But they are not quite so fragrant

As those old-world roses were;

And your songs are not as sweet, dear,

As the songs my mother sung,

And you cannot make pot-pourri

As they used—when I was young!

[AN ALBUM OF BIBLE PLANTS.]

It occurred to me some years ago that, out of the five or six hundred trees and plants mentioned in the Bible, the leaves of a large proportion of them might easily be obtained, dried and arranged in an album, and that such a collection might be made of great use in teaching Scripture, illustrating the meaning of various texts and throwing a light on obscure passages.

My album of Bible trees and plants is often in request. I have found great pleasure in collecting the various specimens, and am still hoping to secure other trees to complete the book.

At first one is apt to think that only eastern travellers can obtain the requisite leaves, but a little reading and Bible study will convince us that very many Scripture trees and plants are quite common and easily obtainable by anyone living in the country. I subjoin a list with which we may begin our book.

Almond (Eccles. xii. 5); apple (Cant. ii. 3); ash (Is. xliv. 14); barley (Ruth i. 22); bay-tree (Ps. xxxvii. 35); box-tree (Is. xli. 19); bramble (Jud. ix. 14); briar (Mic. vii. 4); chestnut (Gen. xxx. 37); corn (Num. xviii. 27); elm (Hos. iv. 13); fig-tree (Hab. iii. 17); flax (Ex. ix. 31); hazel (Gen. xxx. 37); heath (Jer. xvii. 6); mint (St. Luke xi. 42); mulberry (2 Sam. v. 24); mustard (St. Luke xvii. 6); myrtle (Is. lv. 13); nettle (Is. xxxiv. 13); oak (Gen. xxxv. 8); poplar (Gen. xxx. 37); rose (Is. xxxv. 1); rue (St. Luke xi. 42); thistle (Hos. x. 8); vine (Ps. lxxx. 8); wheat (Ex. ix. 32); willow (Lev. xxiii. 40).

A perfect leaf or spray of each tree should be laid between sheets of blotting-paper under a heavy weight, the paper being dried daily till the specimen is fit for insertion in the book.

The album may be of any shape we please, but about twelve inches by ten is a convenient size and shape for the purpose.

When the leaf is fixed upon the page the Latin and English name should be written beneath it and the Bible texts in which the tree is mentioned.

I find strips of gummed paper hold the leaves most securely, and instead of using stamp paper, which is too thin for the purpose, I cover a sheet of notepaper with thick gum and allow it to become quite dry; it is then ready for use and affords a large supply of tiny strips.

Besides the texts I like to add all I can learn as to the history and uses of the various trees and plants.

Here, for instance, is what I have said about the myrtle.

“A plant originally brought from Western Asia but found wild as far as Afghanistan.

“Among the ancients the myrtle was sacred to Venus; wreaths of it were worn by the victors in the Olympic Games and by Athenian magistrates. It was used in medicine, in cookery, and by the Tuscans in the preparation of myrtle wine, called Myrtidanum, for which purpose it is still employed. It is, however, chiefly used in perfumery, and a highly-scented astringent water called Eau d’Ange is distilled from its flowers. The berries have a sweetish, powerfully aromatic taste, and are eaten in a fresh state or dried as a condiment.

“The wood is very hard and beautifully veined.”

This account I compiled and wrote in my album about twenty-six years ago; perhaps at the present time many interesting facts about the myrtle might be added.

I have as yet only spoken of the trees and plants of easy attainment for our Scripture album.

The more interesting specimens such as carob-tree, olive, pomegranate, palm, oleander and others we may have to wait for, but with a little thought and patience we may probably obtain even these.

If we happen to know any friends who are going to the South of France for the winter, they could easily dry some sprays of the plants I have mentioned, and bring them to us in due time. If we have not this possibility, then in some florist’s greenhouse we may probably meet with oleander and palm, and we may grow our own carob-trees by sowing the seeds in pots, and, sheltered indoors from frosts, they will germinate and in time produce leaves large enough for the album. The carob is not mentioned by name in the Bible, but it is a Palestine tree, and yields the long, brown pods which were the “husks that the swine did eat” in the parable of the Prodigal Son; they are also believed to have been the “locusts” which, combined with “wild honey,” sustained John the Baptist in the wilderness, hence they are often called St. John’s bread. If we desire to buy the pods, they may be obtained at most corn-dealers under the name of “locusts.”

Another interesting fact about the carob is this, that the brown hard seeds used to be the weights jewellers employed for weighing gold, silver, and precious stones; hence the term “carat” with which we are familiar.

The long curved pods are eaten, when fresh, by the poorer inhabitants of Palestine; they are sweet and nourishing.

The oleander is not mentioned in the Bible, but it grows so abundantly on the shores of the Lake of Galilee that it has some claim to be admitted into our collection.

We may grow our own date plants if we will; the seeds germinate very freely at any season if kept warm and in moist soil. The leaf does not divide into leaflets and become a true palm leaf until the plant is five or six years old. If we desire a small palm leaf that will at once fit into our book, any florist will be able to supply a spray of Cocos veitchii, a small and delicate species just fitted for the purpose.

These hints will enable anyone to form a Bible plant album, and many a pleasant and profitable hour may be spent in reading about each tree, and the passages in Scripture where they are mentioned are invested with a deeper interest from our knowledge of many facts which otherwise would have passed unnoticed.

E. B.

[NOCTURNE.]

For Pianoforte.

Matthew Hale.

[SHEILA’S COUSIN EFFIE.]

A STORY FOR GIRLS.

By EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen Sisters,” etc.