Soak a pint and a half of the beans overnight in plenty of lukewarm water. In the morning drain off all the water and cover with fresh cold water; see that your soup-digester is perfectly cleaned, and three quarts of beef stock put in it, then set it over the fire. (Of course you never allow your digester or soup-pot to be put away without being thoroughly cleaned; but sometimes girls have been known to forget or make a mistake; and it is best for many reasons that all utensils should be examined thoroughly, rinsed with hot water, and wiped dry each time you take them out for use, if only to remove what dust may settle on them while in the closet.)
As soon as your kettle is in order and the stock in it, drain off the water from the beans; put them into the stock and set at once over the fire where it will come to a boil slowly. As soon as that takes place, set it a little one side, and it will simmer, not quite boil, till time for dinner. It will take some four or five hours to make the beans perfectly tender. Half an hour before straining, add a teacupful of tomato catsup and half a pint of canned tomatoes or six fresh ones. Let it cook a little more briskly for a half-hour, then rub through a coarse sieve or colander, and serve hot. In preparing stock for this soup, the savory herbs and mushrooms may be omitted, also the tomatoes, as it is better to add them just before the beans are done, and strain all together. Some like to squeeze a few drops of lemon-juice into soup when in their plates, and it is well to have a quarter of a lemon put on a small saucer or cup-plate by every one at the table, so that they can add it if agreeable.
An excellent beef soup can be made from the bones left from a roast. Cut the bones apart, and crack them to pieces with a broad hatchet kept for that purpose only, as the good husband may object to having his carefully kept hatchet used by “women folks,” and you may be equally unwilling to take articles that have been used you know not for what. Cover the bones with cold water, and set on the range where they will simmer, not boil, between three and four hours. When the meat is so tender as to slip easily from the bones, scrape it all off and set it aside; put the stock thus made in a stone pot and cover closely, after it is cold. We should have said in former directions that stock must not be covered up till cold, then closed carefully. The next day remove every particle of the fat; warm the stock enough to strain it; cut up one onion (if you and your family like them), two or three potatoes, one turnip, a few bits of cauliflower or cabbage, if desired, and two carrots. Put these in the stock, adding, if you like, a half-pint of rich stock; add pepper and salt to your liking, half a teacupful of tomato catsup, a table-spoonful of rice washed clean, or “star” macaroni. Boil one hour, and dish without a second straining. Of course all these seasonings and vegetables must be varied or modified to suit the special tastes of different families.
The meat cut from the bone may be made into nice “force-meat balls,” and put into the soup when dished for the table. To make these balls, rub the meat smooth in a marble mortar. If very dry, moisten with a spoonful of rich stock. When smooth, season with salt, pepper, a little thyme, summer savory, and green parsley chopped fine. Beat one egg light and stir in, thickening the whole with cracker crumbs, enough to roll into small balls the size of a large walnut, and fry in boiling lard, or place on a dish and bake a clear, even brown, and put into the soup the last thing before sending to the table.
Julienne soup is among those most used at hotels and eating-houses. Put half a spoonful of butter into the soup-kettle; slice in two onions, and fry to a clear brown, taking care not to scorch them; then add three quarts of good stock, two small turnips and two carrots chopped small. Let this boil gently one hour, and then add a pint of green peas, freshly gathered, and the same of young and tender string-beans, a little mace, salt and pepper as needed, and a single stock of celery chopped fine. Too much celery gives a bitter taste to soup. Boil two hours more; then rub a table-spoonful of butter, with the same amount of flour, and stir gradually into the soup. Boil a few minutes and dish.
A good vermicelli soup with stock made from a shin of veal, boiled in three quarts of water, can be prepared with little trouble. The stock must be skimmed carefully, and, this done, put in one whole turnip, one carrot, and one onion; none of these should be cut up. Boil three hours; add salt and pepper to taste, and a quarter of a pound of vermicelli after the three hours’ boiling, and let it boil gently one hour more, then take out the bone and vegetables and serve. If the stock boils away too much, add a little water.
LXXVIII.
TESTING CHARACTER.
NOTHING so completely unmasks all the peculiarities of each individual, showing bright and noble traits most clearly, and casting deeper shadows on all that is weak, disagreeable, and unlovely, as being shut up in a steamer or in cars for days together, acquiring an intimacy in one week far more familiar than would have been formed in a year of ordinary intercourse. Nowhere are selfishness, irritability, and vanity so quickly detected; nowhere are such opportunities to manifest patience, self-abnegation, and all sweet and gentle qualities, in the most forcible and attractive manner, as in this phase of social life. You may call daily, or spend weeks with people in their own homes, and never imagine that fierce ambition, weak and silly vanity, petty jealousy, or a harsh and bitter temper are smoldering where all appears so cheerful and quiet, ready to be fanned into flames by the first annoyance beyond their power to repel. While no shadows fall or clouds obscure their sky, how pleasantly the moments pass by! Smiles and gentleness meet you at every step. To secure your comfort and pleasure is their delight; to dispense the hospitality of their homes gracefully and with a free hand does them honor; to neglect to do so would detract from the dignity of their social position, and be disgraceful. Every attention and courtesy paid to a guest reflects honor on the host, and few are so perfect that these considerations do not have some weight. This may be assumed without at all detracting from higher motives.
But become companions on a journey with those who, as host and hostess, have been so attractive, and the most astonishing changes, for which you are entirely unprepared, utterly foreign to your estimate of their character, may meet you in every word and act. Take care, however, while watching the mote in your neighbor’s eye, that he does not discover the beam in your own. In the infelicities of traveling, remember you are liable to the same criticism, and watch and pray lest your own conscience compels you to acknowledge the justice of the censure.
On the other hand, you will often see persons so quiet and gentle at home, that while you respect, you never think of them as presenting any very striking characteristics. Sensible and unobtrusive, the goodness, unseen, carries comfort to all around, while the recipients seldom recognize the cause of the good influence which surrounds them, until some startling commotion proclaims their silent ministration. The freedom born from a common annoyance, discomfort, or danger, such as is often experienced in traveling, sometimes reveals heroes and heroines where we least expected to find them.