Musk Melon Jelly
After the sandwich scheme was fully arranged, it seemed as though the “substantials” were well looked out for, and that I must be giving a thought to the fruits which were to make glad the senses of those bidden to the feast. Not any great amount of deep thinking was required to make a selection, however, for there was an abundance at hand from which to choose; there were plums, juicy and sweet, of richest hues—purple, red, and green, and others of the most tempting golden color imaginable, and certainly no well-furnished table could afford to be without either specimen. Grapes, too, there were in an infinite variety, but for Hortensia’s party I chose only black Hamburgs and Muscats. Of course, I knew she must have peaches, and I spent a weary hour in trying to find some that tasted as well as they looked, but my labor was in vain. As a compensation for this disappointment, however, I found cantaloupes possessing a flavor which can only be expressed by the words “divinely perfect.” And I found, too, delicious little musk melons to be prepared in this way: Slice the melon, removing both rind and seeds, put in a preserving pan with a little sugar, and stew to a marmalade; rub it through a sieve, dissolve in it a sufficient amount of gelatine, and when quite cool mix with it stiffly whipped cream, flavored with a little essence or liqueur, as one likes.
Cakes and ices, of course, are as important to the great and unqualified success of a garden party as are the guests, and of the former I decided that the varieties known as “Madeleines” and “petits fours” would be most acceptable to all concerned, while of the latter there could be no question as to the desirability of moussé with peaches, chocolat parfait, and milk sherbet.
Of quite as much importance as either of the articles mentioned in the foregoing paragraph are the bonbons, and the advice which I have bestowed upon Hortensia in regard to them I repeat here for the benefit of any who may care to follow it, namely: “Costly thy bonbons as thy purse can buy.”
Moss Rose
For out-of-door feasting plenty of drinks should be provided; “cups,” whether of claret, hock, or champagne, should be made on the spot and not prepared beforehand, as the taste of stale soda water is absolutely objectionable. Cider, if iced, is really delicious, while a drink which the English find highly refreshing is called “moss rose,” and is made of equal quantities of tea, coffee, and “cup,” either of the champagne or claret brand.
I have a story to tell you. It has nothing of mystery in it, neither need it, necessarily, prove harrowing; it is far from being romantic, and there isn’t a glimmer of sentiment in it. It hasn’t a moral; if it had I shouldn’t relate it. No, it is just true; that’s the best of it and it’s the worst of it, too, as you will admit, because it isn’t without a parallel.
It—my story—is of a very charming old farmhouse situated “near to Nature’s heart.”
At this farmhouse was gathered together a small company of people known to the natives of that section of the country as “summer boarders.” To themselves this same company was known as a band of “nature-worshippers.” One day they were all seated in the shade on a little knoll, each one trying to outdo the others in the matter of rhapsodizing the “eternal hills,” the “books to be found in brooks,” etc., when up spake one of their number who had hitherto been silent: “Oh, I would give all the delights that this place possesses for one hour in the company of an ice-chest stocked as it could be with the good things in market now.”