Nooks and Corners / being the companion volume to 'From Kitchen to Garret'

by J. E. Panton

Among the flowers we should put large imari bowls of strawberries and cream ready for ladling out on small dishes; the strawberries should be denuded of their hulls, and the whipped cream, which can be thickened with white of egg and made palatable with sugar, should be piled high on the fruit, which, of course, should be unbroken. If a refrigerator is handy, the prepared fruit should be kept there until the last moment, and only produced when the guests have begun to assemble, the places for the bowls being kept by plates to prevent the symmetry of the table being spoiled by a careless or hurried maid-servant.

I strongly advise all the cakes being bought from Buszard, who will, moreover, tell you honestly the amount of the different kinds you should have for the number you expect; and, as a rule, you should prepare for a few more folks than you have down on your list. If a very fine day people often bring friends with them. I personally like them to do this, and if you yourself happen to know anyone who possesses little girls, and who is coming herself, I advise you to ask her to bring the children. Well-brought-up children are delightful additions to a garden-party; they look like bright butterflies flitting about, and should therefore be encouraged to come, not by a written invitation, which would make them unduly prominent and of consequence in their own eyes, but by a casual mention, which cannot inflate them, and yet will show they have been thought about by us. Beside the fruit and cakes, a little finely cut and rolled brown bread and butter should be prepared, but only a little; few people eat it; as a rule it spoils their gloves, and they do not want it, and it is wasted if left, and if the weather is really summerlike and hot, ices should be provided, and also iced lemonade, gingerbeer, and claret-cup. No other wine is requisite. And as wine is frightfully dear, and should never be given unless really good, I advise it being omitted altogether, unless expense is no object. When the garden-party can be from 6 to 9.30 the garden could be illuminated with coloured lamps, and a cold supper succeed the tea. This, of course, is the ideal garden-party, but one which is out of the reach of most people who have a great many friends, and want to see them without an undue and enormous expense.

The tennis-courts, of course, should be swept and garnished and newly marked out for the occasion, and several enthusiasts over this (to me, idiotic) game should be told off to see that all who want to play can do so. If this is not done, we shall be vexed by seeing this game, which is so dear to so many, quite left alone; and I defy any hostess to attend to her guests and keep the tennis-balls rolling at the same time. She must engage the help of her younger guests, and to them must be left the everlasting trouble of making up the sets, which seem to me to have only just begun as they are finished. Now, in the dear departed days of croquet, a hostess had nothing to do but make up the sets of eight and set them going. She saw nothing more of her guests, a well-played set of eight lasting quite as long as the garden-party itself could be expected to do.

Anyhow, there must be something beside tennis to amuse our guests, and I think a band is almost a necessity, particularly if one is blessed with a decent local band; then the expense will not be ruinous. One can get an excellent string band from town for about 20l. I particularly like Mrs. Hunt‘s ladies’ orchestra (Les Merveilleuses), all particulars of which can be had from the secretary, or from Chappell & Co., New Bond Street; but sometimes it is as well to encourage local talent if one can do so without fatal effects, when for 5l. you can have a good deal of music, always a cheerful matter, and can sometimes have very good music too. But a local band should always be put a good way off, distance, as a rule, lending an immense amount of enchantment to their productions.

I think also that some of the charming open-air scenes from Shakespeare can be given with great effect. I also am very fond of Mendelssohn’s open-air glees; and some recitations are often amusing. But should these latter be indulged in, let me beg that the hostess knows beforehand something about them, else will her fate be what mine was once, when an enthusiast began a long, long, long poem. I don’t know to this day what it was, whether it was meant to be pathetic or comic or not, but I do know my agonies were awful, and that I was rapidly going mad, when an opportune shower put a stop to the eloquence, which had gone on unceasingly through the passing of several express trains, all of which made a hideous noise, and any one of which would have been sufficient to daunt any other individual. Short, amusing—really amusing—recitations are always a success, and I should taboo anything tragic or sentimental, or anything which lasted over ten minutes at the outside.

Never, however, be persuaded to give a garden-party trusting to tennis alone. There can be nothing more dreary than such an entertainment; it is like an at-home, where nothing but talk is provided. I would never heap on amusements out of doors or have music without stopping in doors, but I should always provide it in such a way that it serves as a pleasant reason for the gathering. An in-door at-home with music can never be a success if the seats are put in rows, and people are forced to sit stiffly close together; an outdoor one can never pass off well unless we prepare amusements, and see that our guests are really entertained and yet not overburdened with our attentions.

I think a whole chapter might be written on the art of being a hostess; and yet, perhaps, a few words may suffice. I believe a hostess, like a poet, is born, not made. Still, a few hints may not be out of place, for I think sometimes parties are unsuccessful because, though possessed of the best intentions, the hostess may lack the knowledge that alone can ensure a successful entertainment.

In the first place, without emulating two friends of mine, one of whom took the youngest unmarried girl in the room down to dinner, while the other, out of pure kindness, let his wife walk in first and then followed himself, and in consequence was hugely laughed at. I do think that in ordinary society a great deal of ridiculous fuss is made about precedence. What can it matter to the wife of some man knighted but the other day whether she or the wife of the parson goes into or out of the room first? If it does, she must be so stupid that I should not care to see her in my house; while to me it does matter immensely whether I have someone to take me in who knows what is going on in the world and reads his newspaper and sees every play that comes out. Give me a man like that, and I don’t in the least care what his father was, neither should I care one bit whether Jones and Mrs. Smith, and Mr. Smith and Mrs. Brown, walked in or out of the room before me; they may all go, if they like, in a string. So long as I have a pleasant companion and a pretty table to look at, and a well-cooked dinner, I don’t care in the least how I reach the dining-room.

See that the people who are likely to get on have an opportunity of knowing each other; watch that no one is sitting glum and disconsolate in a corner; remember, if you can, who is anxious to be introduced to or shown any celebrities in the world of art and letters who may happen to be present; and, above all, consider everyone’s pleasure before you think of your own; and in a large gathering never sit down until you are actually driven to do so through fatigue, and you may be quite sure that the party will be a success. And send out your invitations, remembering that the pleasantest people are not always those who can afford to ask you again, and that your object in entertaining is above all to give pleasure, to see clever and entertaining, people in your house, and not to ensure a return as soon as may be for what you are doing. I do not care if people are the highest in the land if they are dull; I would far rather meet and know people who are clever and interesting than the most exalted member of the peerage I could number among my acquaintances if she were stupid and uninteresting, and had nothing to recommend her but her coronet and her connection with what Jeames de la Pluche calls the ‘hupper suckles.’

I think that I have now given some idea how to ensure success at the two kinds of parties which might be used as means of introducing a daughter to the world at large; but, of course, there are a great many other gatherings which may be indulged in, and, above all, let us learn always to be ready to give a welcome to any of the children’s friends. Should we discover that they are not nice we can easily speak about it, and tell our reasons for not receiving them; but well-brought-up young people will only make nice friends, and we must invariably be ready to give them a cheerful welcome. We can always be glad to see them after dinner, or to afternoon tea. This cannot ruin us, and when possible we should let them stay in the house and encourage them all we can. At the same time the rules of the house must be kept; the hours for meals and the general habits of the elders respected; and we must not be expected to help in the entertaining—that must be left entirely to the younger members of the household, whose friends they are.