BOOK II. THE GARDEN. LETTER VII. PLANTING A REGULAR GEOMETRICAL

INDEX.

PREFACE.

In the present edition of the "Lady's Country Companion," a reduction has been made in the price, to render the work still more generally useful than it has hitherto been; but in all other respects it is essentially the same.

The principal object of this work is to save young housekeepers the pain and trouble of buying their own experience; and though it is particularly addressed to those residing in the country, I have had the satisfaction of finding that it has been in many cases almost equally useful to those living in towns. It may, however, be interesting to my readers to know that it was originally written for the benefit of a young friend, who was precisely in the position I have represented Annie to be in, and who, knowing I had resided in the country in my youth, asked my advice. Of course, in preparing the work for publication, many things were added or enlarged on, particularly in the parts relating to cooking and gardening, and in the suggestions for altering and furnishing the house; but nearly all the housekeeping and farm-yard details were the result of my personal experience. It happened in my youth, that my father, who was in the law, was obliged, from ill health, to give up his profession, and to reside in the country; and as my mother was dead I kept his house. I had thus to practise what I have here attempted to teach; and I shall be only too happy if I am the means of sparing others the annoyances I suffered myself.

I have stated these facts now, as it is possible, from the gradually declining state of my health, I may not have another opportunity of mentioning them in their proper place, and as I think my readers will be likely to place more confidence in my counsels when they know they are founded on realities. I have always been anxious to make my books useful, but I am now still more so than ever I was before.

J. W. LOUDON.

Bayswater, Dec. 10, 1851.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.

LETTER I.

INTRODUCTION.

Your letter, my dear Annie, informing me that you are about to be married and to settle in the country, has interested me exceedingly, as it reminds me of my own youth, when my first essays in housekeeping were made under circumstances very similar to those in which you will be placed. It is true I was not then married, but, as my mother was dead, the care of the house devolved on me; and I knew even less about household affairs than most girls of my age and rank in life, as my mother had an old and favourite housekeeper, who managed every thing, and who would not suffer the slightest interference in her department. When my mother died, this person left us; and my father, with a shattered constitution and a greatly diminished fortune, retired to a small estate he had in the country. I was then young and thoughtless; I had no sisters; and having, like you, been brought up in a town, I had no ideas of the country but as a place where eggs, cream, and fruit were in abundance; where I might keep as much poultry as I liked; and where there were shady lanes, and green fields abounding with pretty flowers.

The place we went to live at had a good house, commanding a splendid view; an excellent garden; three fish-ponds, and about thirty acres of grass land, which enabled us to keep cows and horses, without troubling us with any of the laborious duties of cultivating arable land.

At first I was enchanted with the change. I was never tired of feeding my poultry, watching the dairy-maid, and managing the fruit and flowers; but, alas! I soon found that there are few roses without thorns. My first trouble was three gentlemen calling on us one day unexpectedly, and my father asking them to stay dinner. We were seven miles from the town where we had formerly lived; and, though there was a small town within two miles of us, the road was bad, and the miles very long ones; while the town itself, when we reached it, was one of those provoking places the shopkeepers of which never have what is wanted, though they always say they had abundance of the required article the week before, and believe they shall have it again the week after. I need not enter into the details of my troubles in preparing for this well-remembered dinner. Meat was out of the question; and though I was enabled, with infinite difficulty, to give my father's friends enough to eat, no one but a young housekeeper in a similar situation can have any idea of what I suffered. The lesson, however, was not lost upon me; and you may easily imagine that ever afterwards I took care to have a cooked piece of hung beef, or ham, or some similar substantial article of food in the house, that I might be provided for a similar occurrence.

The recollection of what I underwent while buying my experience makes me anxious to spare you, my dear Annie, the pain of a similar ordeal; particularly as it is more disagreeable for a young newly married woman to feel in housekeeping difficulties than a single one; as it makes you fear your husband had a higher opinion of you than you deserve. In your situation the difficulty is increased by your husband not having lived at the Manor-House since the death of his parents, when he was only ten years old; so that he can have no idea of the petty troubles you will be exposed to. Under these circumstances I will do my best to clear the path that lies before you, and to teach you how to enjoy rationally a country life.

BOOK I. THE HOUSE.

LETTER II.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE COUNTRY—MAKING FIRES.

You complain, my dear Annie, that when I wrote to congratulate you on your marriage, I did not send you any of the advice I promised. The neglect was intentional. I was unwilling to disturb the happiness of the honeymoon by any allusion to the troubles of life; but now that you are actually arrived at the mansion which is to be your future dwelling, I will not delay any longer beginning the fulfilment of my task. I am sorry to hear that you felt chilled and depressed at the first appearance of the Manor-House; though I am not surprised that you found the room you were ushered into dark and cold, since you tell me that the windows are shaded by some lofty Scotch pines, which are certainly the most gloomy of all the vegetable race, and which must necessarily impede both the light and the warmth of the sun. You add that you are ten miles from a market-town, and at least seven from any visitable neighbours; that the kitchen-garden is a mile from the house, and under the care of a cross old gardener, who cannot be displaced; that there is no separate flower-garden; and, in short, that if it were not for your affection for your husband, you would be miserable.

Your letter would make me very uneasy on your account if I had not had a good deal of experience of the world; but I am comforted when I reflect that in early youth the vehemence of our feelings always makes us exaggerate both our pains and our pleasures. Have you ever looked at a landscape through a window of coloured glass, and remarked the cold and miserable appearance presented through the purple pane, contrasted with the rich glow thrown upon every object by the orange glass? Both give a false idea of the reality; but the impressions thus received are not more erroneous than those we often experience of what passes around us, when viewed through the medium of our feelings. I thus consider your letter as produced by a view taken through the purple glass; and I am far from believing that you will dislike the country when you know it better; and still less do I give credence to your vehement assertion that you never can be happy in your present residence.

Happiness, I suspect, in most cases, depends more upon ourselves than we are generally willing to allow; and I am quite sure that young married people who are attached to each other, and have a competency, may be happy if they will, particularly in the country, where their principal amusements must all centre in home. You will, perhaps, be surprised to find that I think this a cause of happiness, but you will find in time that I am right; and that our chances of being happy decrease in proportion as we depend upon others for our enjoyments. I cannot conceive a more miserable life than that of a beauty who has no pleasure but in being admired; and who, consequently, must pass her time in fits of alternate depression and excitement. It would give me the greatest pain to see you plunge into this species of mental intoxication, and I rejoice that you are placed in a situation where you will not be exposed to the temptations arising from bad example. In this respect your present abode seems to be everything I could wish; as, from the description you have given me of the difficulties attending visiting your neighbours they seem to be enough to cure the most ardent lover of dissipation; and, unless the neighbours be more than commonly agreeable, I think you will not feel inclined—

——"Frequent visits to make
Through ten miles of mud for formality's sake,
With the coachman in drink, and the moon in a fog,
And no thought in your head but a ditch or a bog."

Do not suppose from this that I think you should be unsociable; on the contrary, I think it a duty to mix occasionally with the world, as, unless we do so, we should soon learn to set a false value upon ourselves and upon every thing around us. The society of persons in our own rank in life is, therefore, essential to teach us our true level; and I have no doubt you will find some agreeable persons among your neighbours when you know them better, whose friendship you will think worth cultivating.

I will now take your objections to your residence in detail; and we will try if some remedy cannot be devised for them. I am glad your house is large. In town, we are often content to put up with the inconveniences occasioned by want of room, as we know that space is valuable, and cannot always be had; but, in the country, where we feel the free air, and see no houses before us, it seems hard to be confined. You may also find it convenient, in the winter, to have room to take exercise within doors; and I hope you have a good-sized hall or gallery to play at battledore and shuttlecock in; for that is a game not to be despised in the list of country amusements. The trees are certainly an objection. Our ancestors seem to have had strange ideas about planting trees in front of a dwelling. It is true, that the modern conveniences of blinds and verandas were then probably unknown; and, therefore, a few trees were judged agreeable to shade the windows from the glaring light and heat of the sun. At least, this appears to me the only way of accounting for the strange manner in which we often see trees placed close to the windows of an ancient manor-house, as though purposely to intercept the prospect, and to impede the entrance of two of the greatest blessings of nature, light and free air. I should hope that your husband will consent to have these trees cut down, or at least thinned out; and I am sure he will find the sacrifice amply repaid by the air of cheerfulness which will be given to his rooms. I have also no doubt that when these rooms are better ventilated, and the sun is permitted to reach them, you will find them warmer; though I confess that a country-house is generally colder than one of the same size in town. I do not mean from the size of the rooms, for large rooms, having fewer draughts, are less difficult to warm than small ones; but because houses in the country are more exposed to the wind, and the air round them is colder than in towns. In some old country-houses the rooms are small, and there are numerous long, narrow passages, which are sure to produce draughts: but to cure this evil, thick curtains may be suspended over the doors, care being taken not to prevent the doors from opening freely; or there may be double doors and double windows.

In warming a room, if an open fireplace be used, a good deal depends upon the mode of managing the fire. Servants are very apt to throw on a quantity of coals at once, in such a manner as to smother up the flame; and, when this is the case, the heated air produced by the imperfect combustion of the coals passes up the chimney with the smoke, and very little warmth enters the room. If, on the contrary, the coals are carefully arranged on the fire so as to allow a free current of air to pass through them, perfect combustion takes place, and the coals become a glowing mass, from which rays of light and heat spread in every direction; while the cheerful appearance of a bright glowing fire must be felt by every one. Where an opportunity occurs of altering a fireplace, its capability for diffusing radiant heat will be greatly increased by making the back and sides of fire-brick or fire-stone; as these substances retain heat much longer than any kind of metal, and are consequently more likely to prevent the fire from being chilled by the addition of fresh coal. Drying the coal before burning it is an excellent plan to prevent smoking, as it makes the fire exceedingly bright and fierce. It is true that the coal appears to vanish with extraordinary rapidity, but the combustion is so complete, that a much greater quantity of radiant heat is evolved from the same quantity of fuel.

In many country places it is convenient to burn wood, especially where the fireplaces are large, as wood burns best on the hearth, or with the logs supported by what are called andirons or dogs; and fires of this kind harmonise admirably with large rooms and the general appearance of the fittings up of an old country-house. A wood fire, however, requires a good deal of attention to manage it well, as, without care, it will often go out before the logs are half burnt; especially when wood is burnt in a grate, unless it is mixed with a little coal, and there is a plate at the bottom of the grate to keep in the ashes. It must also be remembered, that, though large logs are very useful to make a large fire, yet, when a quick supply of heat is required, it is best to use wood cut into short thick pieces; and that wood burns much better when dry than when green. Green wood, indeed, contains about one-third of its weight of water, which of course evaporates in the shape of vapour, and this vapour aids in carrying the heat up the chimney; dry wood, on the contrary, produces a clear bright fire, which gives out radiant heat. Opinions differ as to what kind of wood is best for fuel. Pine wood burns freely, from the quantity of turpentine it contains, but it does not give out much heat. Beech is preferred on the continent of Europe, and maple in America; but Count Rumford says that the greatest mass of radiant heat is produced by the fuel of the lime tree. Generally speaking, close-grained smooth woods make better fuel than those the grain of which is open and rough. Pine cones are admirable for lighting a fire; and you will find the gloomy Scotch pines, which have so annoyed you with their shade, may be useful in this respect, as producing an article of domestic economy.

If any of your chimneys should smoke, the usual remedy is contracting the mouth of the chimney, or raising it higher by the addition of a chimney-pot. The last is a most unsightly remedy, and I hope you will not have occasion to try it. Indeed, old houses seldom smoke, unless their chimneys are damp for want of use, or that birds have built in them; though nothing can be more common than to have smoky chimneys in modern houses. One reason, I believe, is, that newly built chimneys very often smoke because they have not been properly cored; that is, the projecting pieces of mortar, &c., which are formed inside the chimney while it is building, have not been removed, and prevent the proper ascent of the smoke. Another common fault in modern fireplaces is, that they are too shallow to allow sufficient space for the grate; and, when the grate is set too far forward into the room, it is evident that a very strong draught will be required to draw the smoke up the chimney. Neither of these faults is common in old houses; in them the chimneys are generally as smooth inside as the walls of the room, and the fireplaces are usually two feet deep, or even more, instead of being only nine inches, as I am told is the case with some modern villas. I say nothing about stoves, as I confess myself prejudiced against them, from the numerous fires they have occasioned; and I think open fireplaces not only safer and more agreeable, but much more conducive to health, as they aid in ventilating the apartments, and without a constant change of air there can be neither health nor happiness.

In speaking of the different kinds of fuel, I forgot to mention peat and charcoal, but you will find these more useful in the kitchen than in the parlour; and coke I would not advise you to employ, on account of its close unpleasant smell.

LETTER III.

HALL.—MORNING ROOM.—BOOK-CASES; PLANTS IN POTS; SQUIRRELS; CANARY BIRDS, PARROTS AND MACAWS; MONKEYS; GOLD FISH; AND CUT FLOWERS.—DRAWING-ROOM.—DINING-ROOM.

I have just received your letter, enclosing a plan of your house and a sketch of its present appearance; and, I confess, it appears to me that you have not complained of its gloominess without having abundant reason for doing so. Pray tell your husband, however, that I fully sympathise with his reluctance to cut down trees that he has been familiar with from his boyhood; and that, so far from liking to see wood felled myself, I feel positive pain when even the large limb of a noble tree falls to the ground. But I think it a weakness to give way too much to this feeling; and, if I had a favourite tree that I was convinced was injurious to the health, or even to the comfort, of human beings, I would instantly have it cut down, in the same manner as I would submit, without hesitation, to the amputation of an arm or a leg, if I had sustained an injury that I was quite sure could not be cured in any other way. You say you felt excessively pained when your husband said, that, though he did not think any circumstances could ever have induced him to order those trees to be cut down, he was quite delighted to have such an opportunity of pleasing you; and that, when you heard the workmen employed in cutting the trees down the following morning, you felt every blow they struck, and you thought he must hate you for wishing him to make such a sacrifice. These feelings are quite natural; but, in my opinion, the readiness with which your husband complied with your wishes will strengthen the bond of affection between you instead of weakening it, as there cannot possibly be a stronger proof of love than is shown in sacrificing our prejudices in favour of the beloved object; and I am sure, with your grateful and amiable disposition, you will be delighted to prove that you can make sacrifices in your turn, whenever a proper opportunity for doing so may occur.

I am sure the removal of these trees will make the house appear more cheerful; and I can now only recommend you strongly to take care that your rooms are well ventilated, by the windows being always opened in fine weather, whenever the rooms are unoccupied, for, I repeat, though you laughed at my former assertion, that a free circulation of air is essential both to health and happiness. You ask, how is it possible that fresh air can contribute towards happiness? and I, in return, ask you if you have never felt the influence of a fine clear bracing morning in making you feel gay and happy, quite independently of moral causes. On such occasions,

"The bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne,"

and we feel equal to any exertion that may be required of us. Look at the contrast between country children, as they run shouting and laughing only from the irrepressible glee of their own hearts, and the children of a close and over-populated town, who creep from school shivering and sad, with countenances as dull as the appearance of the atmosphere they are compelled to breathe. You enjoy in the country the inestimable advantage of being able to procure as much fresh air as you like, only by opening your windows; but the inhabitants of towns, when they throw open their sashes, often admit air more impure than that already in their rooms.

I will now give you my opinion as to the best method of furnishing your rooms, so as to make them look as cheerful as possible.

I see by the plan (fig. 1.) that you have a good-sized hall, so that you will have room for playing at battledore and shuttlecock after all; and I repeat that it is a game not to be despised, though you do speak so contemptuously of the

"Transports that shuttlecock yields."

I think you do wrong to treat with so much scorn these trifling amusements. It is the part of true wisdom to enjoy every harmless pleasure which falls within our reach, provided we do not occupy, by so doing, those hours which ought to be devoted to more serious employments. Thus, if you do not like battledore and shuttlecock, perhaps you may billiards, and your hall would do admirably for a billiard-table. The small room on the right hand is your husband's business-room, and it is very conveniently situated, as people who want to see him on justice-business, or to show him dogs, or any thing relating to sporting, &c., can go in by the side glass door, without entering the house.

On the other side of the hall is the room you thought so gloomy the night you first arrived; and this I would advise you to fit up partly as a library, and partly as a morning sitting-room. I see that one of the windows faces the east; and this you will find is in itself sufficient to make the room pleasant for a morning room, as you will have the rising sun upon it, and that always diffuses an agreeable warmth in a room, at a period of the day when warmth is particularly agreeable. I wish the other window looked on a flower-garden, as it faces the south; and, now that the gloomy Scotch pines have been cut down, it would be just a little sheltered place, where flowers would delight to grow, particularly if your husband would consent to remove a small cedar that I see still casts a shade upon it. However, we must not ask for too much at once; and, till your flower-garden is made, I would advise you to have a few plants in pots in the east window. Remember though, you must have only a few plants, as more than five or six would give the window the appearance of being a substitute for a greenhouse, a most unpleasant idea at any time, and particularly so in the country. Two rather tall and spreading geraniums, with showy trusses of flowers, a large well-trained SÓllya heterophÝlla, a fine PolÝgala oppositifÒlia, and two showy well-grown Fuchsias, will be quite enough. They should be in large handsome pots, standing in saucers for the sake of cleanliness; and care should be taken not to fill the pots with earth higher than to within about an inch from the brim, so as to leave plenty of room for watering. The space left should be filled with water every morning, and the water suffered to run through the pots into the saucers; which, after waiting about ten minutes, or more if necessary, so to allow as much water as possible to drain through the earth in the pots, should be emptied, as nothing can be more injurious to most kinds of plants in pots than to let water stand in their saucers. If a constant fire be kept in the room so that the air is always hot and dry, the pots in which the plants are kept should be set within other pots, and the space between the two filled with moss. This is also a good plan with plants in balconies, to prevent the roots of the plants becoming dry and withered. Plants in rooms always require a great deal more water than plants in a greenhouse, to counteract the dry atmosphere of a living-room; and when practicable they should be set out in the rain, or syringed over head, to wash off the dust which, from sweeping the room and other causes, will inevitably rest on the leaves and choke up their pores, thus impeding the action of these very important organs. Air also is as essential to the health of plants as it is to that of human beings, as both live by decomposing it; and thus when plants are kept in a room, that room requires to be more carefully ventilated than would otherwise be necessary.

You say that all your rooms must be completely new furnished, and ask my advice as to the colours of the curtains, &c., in the different rooms. It is extremely difficult to give this, as taste differs exceedingly as to colours. As general rules, however, it may be observed that cold colours, such as pale blues and greens, never look well in rooms lighted from the north; and that warm colours, such as rich yellows and reds, should be avoided in rooms lighted from the south. As, however, it is desirable, if possible, to shake off the dislike you have taken to what I hope you will make your morning sitting-room, and as that dislike has arisen partly from the gloomy dark green curtains and dingy tapestry on the walls, I would advise you to adopt only light colours in the furniture; particularly as the room will be generally used by daylight. First, the tapestry must be entirely removed: indeed you say it is already half-decayed from age and damp; and I would then advise you to have the walls, if they are in a proper state, painted or papered according to your fancy; taking care that the colour of the curtains and other furniture harmonizes with that of the walls. If your curtains are of moreen or damask you should have inner curtains of white muslin, which may be trimmed with lace, or have a coloured border: and these white curtains alone you will probably find sufficient during summer. There should be two sofas, an easy chair or two, comfortable footstools, and several small tables of different kinds, in addition to the ordinary chairs and tables; and I should add a chiffonier and a cabinet piano. You can, if you wish to be economical, have brown holland covers to the sofa and chairs; and you can pin plain white muslin over the silk of the piano and the chiffonier, to save them from the flies. The carpet may be Brussels, or Kidderminster, or a printed drugget, the first of the three being far the most expensive; the Kidderminster carpet and the drugget are nearly alike in price, but the drugget looks best, though it does not wear well. Whatever the material of the carpet may be, the colours should correspond with those of the furniture and the walls. As your books will be in daily use, they will be best in open cases with a little curtain of leather nailed along the shelves to keep out the dust. They should always, if possible, fill up entirely the space left for them; and on this account it is best to have movable shelves where it is practicable. Should the books not stand high enough to fill the space for them, the housemaid may remove the dust with a goose's wing, or with one of those brushes with long hairs now sold for similar purposes; but do not let her take the books down oftener than twice a year, as frequent removals will not only injure the binding of your books, but will occasion you great annoyance, from the confused manner in which they are sure to be replaced on the shelves.

I know you were always fond of pets, though you never kept any, as your aunt did not like them; but now you are your own mistress, I think it very likely you will have a canary bird, and perhaps a parrot; and I am sure you will have some gold fish, which you will keep in your morning room. I would not advise you to keep a squirrel, on account of its unpleasant smell in a cage, and its hiding propensities out of one; though in other respects squirrels are pretty little creatures from their gracefulness and agility, and the intelligence that sparkles in their bright little eyes. If you do keep a squirrel, feed it with bread scalded in hot water, and plenty of nuts; and take care that its cage is cleaned, its hay changed, and its tin for food washed out with hot water, every day.

Your canary bird, if you have one, should be kept scrupulously clean, and the bottom of its cage should be strewed with clean sand every morning. It should also have fresh water every day, both for drinking and bathing, the latter being in a shallow vessel; in the moulting season a small bit of iron may be put in the water for drinking, but no other medicine should be given. Its food should be as simple as possible, and should consist principally of summer rape seed, that is, those small brown rape seeds which are produced by plants sown in spring, and are ripe in summer; and not those sown in autumn and reaped in spring, which are large and black. A little duck-weed in spring, lettuce leaves in summer, endive in autumn, and slices of sweet apple in winter, may be added; and occasionally a few poppy or canary seeds, and a very small quantity of bruised hemp seed: but this last should be given as a great treat, and only sparingly: all sugar, bread, and other delicacies, are very injurious. It must never be forgotten that birds kept in cages are in a most unnatural state, and that they require the greatest care to keep them in health. Three things should be especially attended to: viz. cleanliness, simple food, and abundance of fresh air. This last particular may appear strange to those who know that the canary bird, being a native of a warm climate, is easily injured by cold; so much so indeed, that in winter its cage should never be hung in a room without a fire. But, notwithstanding this, it should have the windows of the room open frequently when the sun shines, even in winter; and in summer it should be kept as much as possible in the open air. The poor little creature shows its own feeling on the subject indeed very distinctly; for, as soon as it is placed near an open window in the sunshine, it begins to bathe, and to preen its feathers, and then it sings gaily its loudest songs of joy, frequently fluttering its wings at the same time, as though from a sensation of intense enjoyment. The cage for a single canary bird should never be less than eight inches in diameter and a foot high, and should have sticks placed across it at different heights for the bird to perch on.

Parrots, macaws, and cockatoos thrive best on a pole with a stand at the bottom for sand, as their tail and wing feathers generally become ragged when they are kept in a cage. Some grey parrots and blue macaws are very apt to pull out their breast feathers; but this is the result of a disease brought on by eating too much meat. The same cause also brings on gout in the feet, and other complaints. All the parrot tribe are hard-beaked birds, and consequently not carnivorous: their food in their native country is grain and fruit, and their habits in this respect should always be kept in view in feeding them; for though birds in confinement are in an unnatural state, and require more indulgences than they would need if wild in the woods, yet they should never have food given to them which their organs are quite unfitted to digest. Parrots and other similar birds should therefore be fed as much as possible on ripe fruit, boiled wheat or Indian corn, and milk; or, if these articles be not attainable, bread or captain's biscuit soaked in boiling water, with enough milk added to enable the bird to drink, will be found the best substitute. Bird-fanciers use generally bread made without salt, and very well baked, crumbled into water and then slightly squeezed; but the birds get very thin if kept for a long time only on this diet, and require a little milk, though that is a food they certainly never can have in their natural state. Bechstein says that they will get fat on the seed of the safflower (CÁrthamus tinctÒrius), and indeed these seeds are called by the French graines de perroquets. Though the parrot tribe are not carnivorous, they are all very fond of a bone to pick; and I believe that they may be indulged with one occasionally, provided there is no fat and very little meat on it. Parrots should be supplied every day with clean water to wash, and their feet should be frequently examined and cleaned from any dirt that may be adhering to them.

Should you take a fancy to a pet monkey, most of the common kinds are kept chained to a pole on a stand, and fed like parrots; but marmozets, which are pretty little creatures, are very tender, and are generally kept in a cage like squirrels. They will eat animal food, and one that was at liberty is said to have snatched a gold fish out of the water, and devoured it. The most interesting circumstance relating to them is, however, their fondness for their young, which is nursed by both the male and female like a baby.

Gold and silver fish are very ornamental and suitable objects to keep in a lady's morning room. It is generally supposed that they are quite incapable of affection; but some that we have certainly knew me again when I came back after having been out of town; and one, which I call Goldy, and which we have had four or five years, will come and nibble my finger when I put it near him, or swim after a feather when I draw it gently along the surface of the water.

It is, however, very difficult to keep gold fish long in a room, particularly in a glass globe. When it is wished to do so, only two or three should be in one globe, and the water should be changed every day in winter, and twice a day in summer; the fish having no food but the animalcula which they find in the water, which should always be from a pond or river, as spring water is not only too cold, but often contains some mineral substance which is likely to prove injurious. When several fish are kept in a small space, the water should either be kept continually changing by a fountain, or in some other mode; or the fish should be fed with some farinaceous substance, but never with baker's bread, as it is decidedly injurious to them. I am told that the dealers in gold fish, who always keep a great number together in darkness, in a large tub or tank, feed them twice a day with boiled grits; other persons recommend crushed barley or oats: in France they use a kind of paste made of maize or Indian corn; and in America, I am told, they prefer brewer's grains, or a paste made of bran and flour. Whenever farinaceous food of any kind is used, it should be given in small quantities, and be quite fresh; the vessel in which the fish are kept being always cleaned thoroughly every day, to prevent the possibility of any of the food in a sour state remaining in it.

Though gold and silver fish certainly look best in a glass globe, I doubt whether they live so long in one as they will do in an opaque vessel. When I kept my fish in a large oblong china vase, I lost only one in five years; but in a glass globe I lost seven in about six months. I tried various modes of treatment, such as putting gravel in the water, and giving the fish duck-weed and pond-weed to shelter them from the sun; but I had still the mortification to see my fish die, and generally without any apparent cause. The first symptom was the fish appearing languid and unwilling to move; but in a few hours, it began to swim on one side, and when turned on the other side it instantly resumed its former position; shortly after, the tail drooped down, so as to throw the body into an angular position, and in the course of a few hours the poor fish was dead. It is true that the year in which these experiments were tried appears to have been decidedly unfavourable for gold fish, as a great many died, even in ponds, where they are generally much more healthy than when kept in rooms. In one instance, especially, nearly twenty died in the marble basin of a fountain, where fish had been kept for years with an average of not more than two or three deaths in a year. In many cases, the cause of death in gold fish is evidently a plant nearly allied to the green scum formed on stagnant water. This plant, which is called Achyla prolÍfera, consists principally of threads so exceedingly fine as to be imperceptible to the naked eye, but which take root in the body of the fish, as the mistletoe grows on the apple tree, and in time produce a soft downy substance like mould, that first appears on the gills and tail, but gradually covers the whole body of the fish. When this extraordinary disease, if it may be so called, is discovered in its first stages, it may be stopped by sprinkling salt on the back and sides of the fish; but the application appears to cause intense pain, as the fish, as soon as it feels the salt, darts from one side to the other of the vessel that contains it, and appears to be writhing with agony. This, however, soon goes off, and the fish appears quite restored, seldom requiring a second application.

The best way of keeping gold and silver fish is certainly in a pond in the garden; particularly if the situation be warm and exposed to the sun. It is necessary, however, if the pond be shallow, and the water clear, to have two or three bundles of faggots thrown into it, that the fish may find shade, when they wish it. Faggots are also very useful when it is wished to breed gold fish; as they afford both warmth and shelter, without which gold fish never produce young. When first hatched the gold fish is nearly black, but it gradually becomes streaked with gold or silver; the metallic hue increasing every year, till the black finally disappears.

As you are fond of having flowers in your room, and as your present garden is so far from your house, you will perhaps be glad to know how to preserve cut flowers as long as possible. The most simple rules are, not to put too many flowers in a glass, to change the water every morning, and to remove every decayed leaf as soon as it appears, cutting off the end of the stems occasionally, as soon as they show any symptoms of decay. A more efficacious way, however, is to put nitrate of soda or nitrate of potash (saltpetre) in powder into the water; as about as much as can be easily taken up between the forefinger and the thumb, put into the glass every time the water is changed, will preserve cut flowers in all their beauty for above a fortnight. Camphor in powder has nearly the same effect.

The drawingroom should be fitted up with more elegance than any other room in the house. The walls may be panelled, and the panels filled in with fluted silk, with a gilt moulding round them; or the walls may be covered with flock or satin paper, with a gilt moulding under the cornice. In either case the cornice should be rich; and there should be bosses on the ceiling to indicate the place for the chandeliers, if you have any. A slight degree of conformity between the style of the furniture and that of the house is, I think, advisable; but, as your house appears to have had additions made to it in different reigns, almost any style of furniture that suits your own taste may be adopted without incongruity. There should be several large looking-glasses, two or more chandeliers; and against the walls there should be a few choice cabinet pictures, which should be characterised by delicacy and beauty rather than force. A Claude or two, some of Guido's exquisite female heads, and one of Raphael's Madonnas, would be very suitable, or modern paintings of first-rate artists; but I think no picture should be admitted unless its subject is elegant as well as pleasing. There should be large mirrors in panels, or in richly gilt frames, and a very handsome white marble chimney-piece, as I see there is but one indicated in the plan, with a very rich-looking steel grate, made low to show an ornamented back. I suppose the windows near the fireplace are false ones, as otherwise there would be a cross light; the three windows opening on the terrace are, however, quite sufficient to give light to the room; and that at the south end I should like to see opening into a conservatory. I scarcely know what colour to recommend for the hangings of the walls. Full-toned colours lessen the size of a room, and light colours enlarge it. Crimson is very becoming to female beauty, and it has besides the advantage of being in perfect keeping with the character of a drawingroom in an old mansion. The curtains should be silk or silk damask, and made with either a piped valance or very deep gold fringe; and the inner muslin curtains should have a rich border, and be trimmed with either lace, or with silk fringe of the same colour as the outer curtains. The chairs should correspond, and should have a great deal of gilding about them. The carpet should be Wilton, and made in one piece, of a pattern to fit the room; and this pattern should consist chiefly of flowers. There should be several sofas and ottomans and ornamental footstools, an excellent piano, and a harp, ornamental screens to correspond with the style of the curtains; consoles with richly gilt frames, and looking-glass slabs and brackets for ornamental china; candelabra for lights; an elegant ormolu clock; and in short, a variety of articles that will suggest themselves; only take care not to crowd the room too much, lest you should give it the air of an upholsterer's warehouse rather than a drawingroom.

The dining-room should be characterised by the massive appearance of its furniture, and the richness of its hangings. The curtains may be of maroon-coloured cloth, or moreen, trimmed with gold. The carpet should be Turkey or Axminster, and need not quite cover the room, but may leave a part to be rubbed bright or painted. You should have a large handsome chimney-piece, and a large grate, so contrived with a plate at the bottom, as to contain wood as well as coal. Some persons advise having no light in a dining-room except from one large chandelier hung just over the dinner-table, but sufficiently high above it to cast no shade; while others recommend side lights to show the pictures, if there should be any, on the walls. If there are, they may be of quite a different character from those in the drawingroom, and of more solemn and serious subjects, though still not painful ones; and they may include pictures by the Dutch masters, and those by English artists in the domestic style. Your dining-room is very conveniently placed in being so near the kitchen; and it is also convenient to have folding-doors opening into both the dining-room and the drawingroom, placed exactly opposite each other. The passage or vestibule between them is useful in keeping out sounds from the drawingroom, and also the smell of dinner; and it may easily be made ornamental by filling the end next the window with greenhouse plants in flower. These will also have a good effect from the hall; and in addition to them, the vestibule may contain a bust or some choice piece of sculpture, before which may be placed a lamp. The sideboard in the dining-room may be placed in the recess left for it.

I have now given you all the advice that I think you will find requisite; for, after all, you must remember that, notwithstanding any thing I may have said, the furniture and decorations of the rooms must depend principally on your own taste; I can do no more than point out what kind of style is suitable to the different rooms, and you must do the rest.

LETTER IV.

FLIES.—SERVANTS' OFFICES, INCLUDING THE HOUSEKEEPER'S ROOM AND STORE-CLOSET, THE KITCHEN, AND THE SCULLERY.—BREWING; MAKING HOME-MADE WINES, CIDER, AND PERRY; AND MAKING BREAD, ROLLS, CAKES, RUSKS, MUFFINS AND CRUMPETS, AND BISCUITS.

It gave me the greatest pleasure, my dear Annie, to hear that your husband is so well pleased with the improvement produced by the removal of the Scotch pines, that he wishes you to follow my advice in other things, and that you have actually ordered furniture for your morning room in accordance with my suggestions. You ask, however, why I have said nothing of your husband's business-room, and add that you suppose I forgot it; but this was far from being the case. The reason I omitted it was, that I wished, if he asked your opinion respecting it, you might be able to speak entirely from your own feelings, and not from the advice of another. No female friend should ever, on any account, interfere between a man and his wife. In any matter that falls within your own province, I shall always be delighted to give you the best advice I can, but that is all. Should any quarrels arise between you and your husband, (and it would be very strange, indeed, if there should not,) your best plan is to keep them entirely to yourself, and never to ask advice respecting them from any friend whatever.

But to return to your house. I was very much surprised to find that you were annoyed with flies, till I read "notwithstanding all the pains our careful housemaid takes to catch them with saucers of sugar and water." This explained the mystery. It is the saucers of sugar and water that attract the flies, and, indeed, one half of what are called remedies for these little pests only increase the nuisance. Besides, without pretending to any morbid sensibility, I must confess that I always think the sight of the poor flies struggling to get out of the liquid grave into which they have been entrapped extremely painful to the feelings. I know it is a law of nature that all creatures should prey upon each other; but I do not like killing creatures by wholesale, when there appears no absolute necessity for so doing. I think if you remove your sugar and water, your flies will disappear of themselves; and, if they do not, you must, in such rooms as are lighted from one side only, adopt our kind friend Mr. Spence's admirable plan of putting network over the window-frame, so that whenever the window is opened, either at the top or the bottom, the space is still covered with the net. You will be astonished to see how efficacious this simple plan is; as, though the flies could easily get through the meshes, they are afraid of trying, lest they should be entrapped.

I will now proceed to say a few words on your servants' offices, and of these the housekeeper's room generally ranks first. As I see no store-closet marked in your plan, I suppose you will make the housekeeper's room serve for that purpose; particularly as you say you mean to be your own housekeeper; and you will find the store-closet a most important place in the country, as it is necessary to lay in larger stores of all the common articles of daily consumption than are ever required in a town, where shops can be sent to on any emergency. Your housekeeper's room should therefore have ranges of cupboards and drawers all round it, to contain the household linen, china, glass, pickles, preserves, cakes, tea, coffee, sugar, and in short every article wanted by the family, a store of which is kept. There should be a bureau, or desk with drawers beneath, to keep the account-books, receipts for bills, and other papers relating to housekeeping; and on one side of the fireplace you may have a cupboard with iron doors enclosing a small oven, and a range of charcoal stoves, for making any dishes in French cookery, or any cakes or preserves that you may take a fancy to do yourself, with the assistance of your maid, apart from the observation of the other servants. On the other side of the fireplace may be a similar cupboard, containing a small sink with a wash-hand basin furnished with a plug and waste-pipe to let off the water, and two pipes, one to supply cold water from a cistern, and the other hot water from a boiler behind the fireplace.

Before fixing up the cupboards the walls should be made perfectly dry, and, if they are not so, they should be battened, that is, covered with canvass strained over slips of wood nailed to the walls, strong brown paper being afterwards pasted over the canvass. This preserves a stratum of air between the walls and the backs of the cupboards, which effectually excludes damp. You may easily know when a room is damp by its appearance, before you have kept any thing in it. If the walls have been whitewashed, they will show various-coloured stains; and, if they have been papered, the paper will hang loose. No expense should be spared to make a room dry, that is to be used for keeping stores in, as the mischief done by damp is incalculable. Lump sugar crumbles into powder; moist sugar hardens into lumps; saltpetre and bay salt turn to water; preserves become mouldy or candied, cakes soft, and linen mildewed. Nor is the mischief done by damp confined to any one part of the house. In the butler's pantry the silver will become spotted; in the cellar the wine will lose its strength and flavour; and, in the living-rooms, the oil paintings will become blistered, and the books and engravings stained.

But to return to the housekeeper's room. In one part you can have a cupboard to open with folding-doors like a wardrobe, for keeping tea and sugar and similar articles. There should be shelves in this, on which should stand numerous tin canisters marked with the names of the different articles they contain. In the upper part should be a shelf suspended by cords passing through holes bored in the corners, for loaves of sugar, or any similar articles likely to be attacked by mice. The common tea should be kept in a chest lined with lead, which may stand in the lower part of the closet, and the finer kinds should be kept in canisters. A bag of raw coffee may also stand on the lower shelf of the closet; but, after the coffee is ground, it should be kept in a canister, and as far apart from the tea as possible, as, if it is near it, it will give the tea an unpleasant taste. Moist sugar should be kept in a large tin canister, the lid of which opens with a hinge. The coffee-mill, if in this apartment, must be fixed to some part of the room where it will be quite firm, and yet be so placed that the person grinding may have room to use the arm freely; but many persons have the coffee-mill in the kitchen, and also a mill for pepper. When any thing is to be ground in a mill, of a different nature from what it is generally used for, the mill should be first cleaned by grinding in it a hard crust of bread.

A second cupboard should be set aside for the soap and candles. In this there should be some strong hooked nails driven into the wall, for the kitchen candles; and a kind of bench or wooden stand for the boxes containing mould candles, if you use any, though most persons now prefer the composition or stearine candles with plaited wicks, as they do not require snuffing. These candles, and those of wax or spermaceti, may be kept a long time without injury, if they are covered with paper within the box, to prevent them from becoming discoloured, which they will soon be, if much exposed to the air; but tallow candles of all kinds should never be kept more than six months, as, when old, they are very apt to gutter. Soap, also, should never be kept too long, or be suffered to become too dry. It is true that, when used too new, it wastes away very rapidly; yet, if it is kept more than six months, and particularly if it becomes too dry, it cracks and shrinks so much, as to render it very troublesome to use, and nearly double the quantity is required.

Dried currants and raisins, for cakes and puddings, should be kept in canisters in another closet; and almonds and raisins for dessert in boxes. Sage and other herbs I have found keep best in powder, after they have been dried in an oven. Every leaf should be pulled off separately into a kind of tray made of tin, and put into an oven when about the right heat for baking bread: as soon as the leaves are dry enough to rub into powder, they should be crushed with a rolling pin, and after being sifted, put into wide-mouthed bottles, which should be carefully corked. Herbs thus prepared will keep good without losing their flavour for years; and they have the advantage of being always ready for use when wanted, without the smallest particle of dust.

As I think you have told me you are several miles from a town, it will be necessary to recollect every thing that may be wanted when you send there, to avoid the inconvenience of sending frequently. For this purpose, I think you will find it useful to have a slate hanging up beside your desk in the housekeeper's room, on which you can write down the name of any article that you find is nearly exhausted when you are giving it out.

Your kitchen appears, by the plan you have sent me, to be of a very good size, and well lighted, which is essential to both comfort and cleanliness, as it is impossible for the cooking to be performed properly, or the culinary vessels to be kept clean, without abundance of light. It is also well placed, as it faces the north, which a kitchen should do whenever it is practicable, to keep it free from too much sun. In old country houses the ceiling of the kitchen is frequently furnished with racks for bacon; and there are hooks driven into the beams for hung beef, tongues, and hams, but in other places these are kept in the larder. In either case I would advise you always to have a plentiful supply of salted meat in the house, to be ready for emergencies; and I would always have a ham, a tongue, or a piece of hung beef, ready cooked; which will not only be useful for breakfast, and luncheon, but will be found a most potent auxiliary in the case of unexpected guests arriving when the larder may be at a low ebb. In the course of my experience I have always found that there are few things more agreeable to a husband than to be able to take a friend home unexpectedly, and yet to be sure that he will find a good and even elegant dinner, without any bustle or ill-temper being caused by his appearance. In large establishments the sudden arrival of a stranger is of very little consequence; but as your husband has an ancient name to keep up on limited means, and, above all, as you have undertaken to be your own housekeeper, you must remember that, in places where the butcher lives several miles off, and calls for orders only once or twice a week, it is essential you should make such provision as to be never taken off your guard. To aid in this I will, if you like, at some future time, give you a few hints on cookery, particularly on impromptu dishes, which I trust you will find useful; but I must now return to the fitting up of the kitchen.

You tell me you shall want a new kitchen-range, and ask what kind I would recommend. I would advise you to shun all those that are said to burn remarkably little fuel, as they are generally very complicated, and of course extremely liable to go out of order; a serious inconvenience any where, but particularly in the country. I should recommend you to have an open grate from four feet to eight feet wide, having of course a contrivance to make the part intended to contain the fire larger or smaller at pleasure; and the fireplace should be at least two feet deep, to allow of a boiler behind the fire, communicating with another on the side of the grate, care being taken either to have the boilers fed constantly by a pipe from a cistern, or to have them filled every night when the fire is low, as it is very dangerous to pour cold water into a boiler when it is nearly empty and quite hot. The sudden change from heat to cold sometimes indeed makes the iron contract so rapidly as to burst the boiler. It is useful to have an oven on one side of the grate, not, indeed, for baking any thing, for food seldom has its proper flavour when cooked in such ovens, but to keep plates and dishes warm. The floor of a kitchen is generally laid with stone, but it is a great comfort to the cook to have a part boarded near a table under one of the windows, for the convenience of standing upon the boards when in the act of cooking. The kitchen doors should have their hinges on the side next the fireplace, to avoid disturbing the current of air near the fire when they are opened.

As your kitchen is large, you may perhaps be able to have a small range of charcoal pans for French cooking, in addition to the ordinary kitchen-range, if you have not something of the kind in the housekeeper's room; and among your kitchen utensils you should have two or three that will be useful in French cooking. One of these should be a braising pan, with a deep concave rimmed lid, in which fire can be put whenever you have any dish cooked that requires fire above and below; another should be two saucepans, one going within the other, like a gluepot, forming a bain marie. German saucepans, and other enamelled articles for the kitchen, are very convenient in all dishes where milk or cream is used; but it is a long time before any liquid boils in them; and when it does boil, it continues to do so for a minute or more after the saucepan is taken from the fire, on account of the enamel retaining the heat. You ought also to have a cupboard in the kitchen, for the cook to keep her spices and other articles in, fitted up with shelves and canisters: and there should be another closet for the flour tub and bread jar, which should stand on a board raised at least six inches above the floor, to keep them from the attacks of mice and black beetles. The egg-basket and the salt-box may also find a place in this closet, so as to keep the general appearance of the kitchen neat and clean. Of course you will have one or two dressers for plates and dishes, made with drawers and cupboards below. Every kitchen should also contain a clock, that the cook may see exactly how the time goes, and have no excuse for not being punctual.

The scullery should be as close to the kitchen as possible. It should be paved with Yorkshire stone or brickwork, and it should have a cistern of water closely adjoining it. In every scullery there should be a stone sink, with a plate-rack at one end, and under the plate-rack should be a slanting dripboard with a kind of gutter at the base, to convey the water that drains from the plates and dishes to the waste-pipe of the sink; and it will be found a great convenience to have a pipe carried to it from the boiler behind the kitchen fireplace, in order to afford a constant supply of hot water. The scullery should also contain two coppers, one small, for boiling hams or large pieces of beef, and another of a much larger size for brewing.

For brewing twelve gallons of table ale at a time, the copper should hold eighteen gallons, as about six gallons of water will be absorbed by the malt. The usual proportion of malt and hops required for this quantity is, one bushel of malt and three quarters of a pound of hops. Pale malt is the best, and it should be plump and crisp, breaking readily, and full of flour; it should also taste sweet. The hops should have no bad smell, and they should be in condition, that is, they should abound in the yellow powder called by chemists lupuline, which makes them feel sticky when rubbed between the fingers. The malt must be crushed or ground before it is used. River water is preferred for brewing, and it should be heated in the copper to about 175°, or rather more.

A large deep tub is then provided, called a mash-tub, in one side of which, at the distance of an inch or two from the bottom, is fixed a cock, or what is called a spigot and faucet (fig. 2.), with the end which projects within the tub covered with basket-work to prevent the escape of the grains when the wort is drawn off. About six gallons of hot water are then poured into the mash-tub, and some of the malt is shaken in, a little at a time, and mixed with the water by the help of a wooden instrument called a mash-stirrer (fig. 3.); more water is then added, and then more malt, till nearly all the water has been poured in, and only a peck of malt is left dry. The dry malt is then strewed over the mass of malt which has been mixed with the water, and the mash-tub, having some sticks laid across it, is covered with an old blanket, a piece of sacking, or a coarse cloth, and the malt is left for an hour and a half or two hours to steep. This is called mashing the malt; and the goodness of the ale depends upon the care with which this operation is performed. The water should never be suffered to become cooler during the operation than 160°, or it will not dissolve the starchy matter contained in the malt; and, if it is hotter than 180°, the malt will be set, as the maltsters call it, that is, it will become changed into a glutinous paste, from which no strength can be extracted. When the malt has been sufficiently mashed, the wort is drawn off by the spigot, and it will be found that the eighteen gallons of water have only yielded about thirteen gallons of wort, and sometimes not so much.

A new kind of mashing-tub (fig. 4.) has been invented, which has a false bottom pierced with holes, through which the wort filters, instead of being drawn off by the spigot; and, by an improvement on this, the hot water is poured through a tube into the part of the mashing-tub which is below the false bottom, and suffered to rise up through the malt. When ale and beer are to be made, the ale wort is drawn off first, and then more water is heated to 175° and put to the malt, to make the beer; but when all the liquor drawn from the malt is mixed together, it is called in some places "table ale," and in others "one-way beer."

While the malt is being mashed, the proper quantity of hops should be steeped in water, having been first well rubbed and separated; and when the wort is drawn off they should be added to it, and the whole put into the copper to be boiled. During the boiling the mass should be frequently stirred, to prevent the hops from either floating at the top or settling to the bottom, which they would otherwise be very apt to do. The boiling should continue briskly till the liquor begins to break, the time for which varies from half an hour to two hours and a half, according to the strength of the wort. The "breaking" is known by large fleecy flakes which appear to float in the liquor; and, when it appears, a bowlful of the liquor is taken out and set aside, when, if the flakes part and subside, leaving the wort clear, it is considered enough. Some large shallow vessels called coolers are then provided, and some sticks being laid across one of them, a sieve or wicker basket is set upon them, and the liquor is ladled out of the furnace into the sieve, to strain it from the hops. The other coolers are afterwards filled in the same manner, and then the whole are exposed to a cool current of air, in order that the liquor may cool as rapidly as possible.

When the liquor is about 70°, it is generally tunned off into a large vat or cask for it to ferment. About three quarters of a pint of yeast is mixed with a little of the wort, and as soon as it begins to work it is added to the rest. Another mode is, as soon as the wort has cooled to 70°, to convey it in the coolers to a cellar, where the temperature is about 55°, and then to mix two gallons of it with a pint of good thick yeast, and put it into an upright eighteen-gallon cask, the head of which has been knocked out, but which is covered with a piece of flannel, on which the head is laid loosely. As soon as the fermentation has begun, about three gallons more of the wort are added, provided it has not cooled below 65°; but, if it has, a pailful must be taken out and heated, so that when mixed with the rest of the three gallons, the whole shall be about 70°. When this has been added to the wort fermenting in the cask and well stirred, the cask should be covered and left to work for the night. Early the following morning the working wort should be tried with a thermometer, and, if it is between 70° and 75°, five gallons more of the wort should be added, heated as before to about 68°. The liquor should then be stirred, and left for six hours, after which three gallons more wort at 65° are added. It is then covered and left for four hours more, after which nearly all the remaining wort is added, reserving only about two quarts.

This process is very tedious, but it is said to make the ale exceedingly fine and clear; and, if the proportions be one bushel and a half of malt to a pound and three quarters of hops to make twelve gallons, it is said exactly to resemble the celebrated Indian ale. If the heat of the working wort be ever found above 75°, the remaining wort should be added cool, and the whole should be tunned out as soon as possible.

In the usual mode of brewing, when the fermentation has gone on till the yeast begins to look brown, the beer should be tunned; that is, the yeast is removed, and the beer is put into the casks in which it is to remain; and, in general, the beer is not taken down into the cellar till at this period. The casks are placed slantingly, with the bung out; and they are always kept quite full, being filled up with beer reserved for that purpose, as the beer they contain works out. In about a fortnight all the fermentation will be over, and the casks may be bunged up.

According to the Indian ale process, two quarts of wort were kept back from that fermented; and when the beer is to be tunned, which it is into two six-gallon casks, a quart of this unfermented wort is put into each cask, with two table-spoonfuls of flour and one of salt. The frothy yeast is then taken off the beer, which is poured into the barrels till it reaches the bunghole, and the froth begins to flow over: as the froth subsides, the barrels may be filled up with fresh beer, and the yeast which flows down should be caught in a vessel placed for the purpose. In a few days the yeast will become thick, and will cease to flow over: the barrels should then be filled up and the bungholes covered with brown paper, coated with thick yeast: the fermentation will afterwards proceed more slowly, and in a fortnight the barrels may be bunged down, and the bungs covered with a mass of moistened clay and sand. The Indian ale should be kept six months before it is tapped; but the other kind may be drunk in a month.

Home-made wines may be manufactured from almost any kind of fruit; and they are divided into two kinds, viz. those made with cold water, and those made with hot water.

Green Gooseberry wine is made in the first manner, by crushing the fruit in a deep tub with a fruit-crusher (fig. 5.), and pouring cold water on it, in the proportion of one gallon of water to ten pounds of fruit. It is then left to stand about six hours, when the mass, or marc, as it is called, is put into a coarse bag and pressed; more water is afterwards poured over the marc, which is again pressed, till as much water has been added as will make the proportion in all four gallons of water to ten pounds of fruit. The marc is then thrown away, and to every gallon of the liquor, or must, as it is called, three pounds of lump sugar are added, and the whole is well stirred together; the tub is afterwards covered with a blanket, and the wine is left to ferment in a temperature of from 55° to 60°. In twelve hours, if the fermentation has begun rapidly, or in twenty-four hours, if it is slow, the liquor is put into a cask and left to ferment, the bung being put in loosely, and the cask being kept filled up with fresh must as it works off. When the hissing noise subsides, the bung is driven in firmly, and a little hole is made in the head of the cask, near the bung, which is stopped with a wooden peg. In two or three days this peg is loosened to let any air out that may have been generated; and this is repeated, at intervals, several times, till no more air escapes, when the peg is driven in tight. An excellent wine may be made in a similar manner of the stalks of the giant tart rhubarb, which, if old, should be peeled and cut in pieces before they are crushed.

Ripe Gooseberry wine is made with hot water; first crushing the fruit, and, after letting it stand twenty-four hours, pressing the juice through a linen cloth. Hot water is then poured over the marc, in the proportion of two quarts of water to every gallon of the fruit before it was crushed; and, after remaining in the tub twelve hours, the marc is again pressed, and the liquor from it mixed with that produced by the fruit. Two and a half or three pounds of lump sugar should now be added to every gallon of the liquor, and the whole left to ferment. If moist sugar be used, the quantity should be four pounds to every gallon of the liquor. The rest of the process is the same as before; but when the fermentation has ceased it is usual to add British brandy, in the proportion of one quart to two gallons and a half of the wine.

When Currant wine is made, it is said to be best to boil the liquor after the sugar is added, before fermenting it in the cask.

Elderberry wine is generally made with moist sugar, and ginger and other spices are added to it.

Cowslip wine is made by boiling sugar and water together, and pouring the liquor over the rind of lemons and Seville oranges, in the proportion of four of these fruits to a gallon of sugar and water: the juice of the oranges and lemons is added, and the whole is fermented with yeast. The cowslip flowers are then put into the wine, in the proportion of one quart to every gallon of liquor, and stirred up well till they sink. When the wine is tunned, a few sprigs of sweet briar are often put into the cask, and one ounce of isinglass for every gallon of liquor; in a few days it is bunged up close. In six months it will be fit to bottle; but it will be better for remaining longer in the cask.

Any other kind of wine may be made when the wine is to be made of English fruit, either as was directed for the green or the ripe gooseberry wines; and when not made of English fruit, by boiling sugar and water, and fermenting it, before adding the substance that is to give the flavour as directed for the Cowslip wine.

Cider is made by grinding apples, and then expressing the juice, which is fermented with yeast, but without sugar. Perry is made in the same way; and both may be made on a small scale by bruising apples or pears in a deep tub, as was recommended for bruising fruit in made wines.

A brick oven for baking Bread is often placed in the scullery. The ordinary size of an oven of this kind is about six feet long by four feet deep; and it is about eighteen inches high in the centre of the arch: the floor (which generally inclines a little from the head of the oven to the mouth) is laid with tiles, and the arch is formed of fire-brick, set in fire-clay or in loam mixed with powdered brick; the whole being surrounded by a large mass of common brickwork, to keep in the heat.

When the oven is heated, the faggots, or other kind of wood which is used for that purpose, are lighted near the mouth, and then pushed on till they are as nearly as possible in the centre of the oven, so that the heat may spread as equally as possible through every part. When the heat is between 250° and 300°, it is judged sufficient, and the fire is drawn out to prepare the oven for the reception of the bread. As, however, few cooks can be expected to have a proper kind of thermometer at hand for ascertaining the heat exactly, it is necessary to have some easier rules for judging; and the following, the correctness of which I have experienced, are taken from the first volume of that excellent and useful work, the Magazine of Domestic Economy.

"A judgment must be formed by the clear red heat of the bricks of the arch and sides of the oven, and the lively sparkling of the embers on its floor. The former criterion proves that the bricks have received enough of body heat to consume that black carbonaceous coating which the smoke communicates to them at the early stage of fire; the second shows that the principle of combustion is in full activity, and not rendered inert by a cold surface, either at the top, bottom, or sides. Finally, if the brickwork be hot enough, and the point of a long stake be rubbed forcibly over any part of it, so as for the moment to make a black trace of charcoal, this trace will be burnt off, and the bricks left clear in a second of time."

When the oven is sufficiently hot, the remaining embers are drawn out with an iron hook fixed at the end of a long pole, and the bottom of the oven is cleaned with a wet mop, made of long shreds of woollen cloth or coarse sacking. The oven is then quite ready to receive the bread, and it should be put in immediately. It generally takes about an hour to heat a moderate-sized oven properly; and it takes an hour and a half, or two hours, to bake loaves of the ordinary size.

Little iron grates are sometimes sold for heating ovens, but they are more suitable for coal than wood; and, though an oven may be heated with great rapidity with coal, it does not retain its heat so long, and is more fitted for baking French bread, or cakes, than large-sized household loaves. When, on the contrary, a brick oven is heated with wood, and the hot embers are pushed by the scraper to every part of the oven, the whole mass of brick becomes what is technically called soaked, and is in a fit state for a family baking of bread. When the bread is in, the oven door should be stopped quite close; but over the door is a small opening called the stopper, which should be opened when the bread has been in a little time, in order that the vapour from the bread may escape. It is from not attending to this that home-baked bread is so frequently heavy.

Home-baked bread is generally best when made of what is called grist flour; that is, wheat ground at a mill, and only the coarse bran removed from the flour. Twenty-four pounds of this flour will make about thirty-two pounds of bread; but if the best white flour is used, two or three more pounds of it will be required to produce the same quantity of bread. Bread is made either with leaven or yeast.

Leaven is made by mixing flour with warm water into a thin paste and then leaving it to ferment. When it begins to rise in bubbles, more water and flour is added, and it is again left to ferment, and then more flour with a little salt is added to make the dough. The dough must be kept warm during the whole operation, as fermentation will not take place unless the heat be from sixty to seventy, or seventy-five degrees. Bread of this kind is very light, but it soon becomes acid. Nearly all the household bread in France is made in this way.

When yeast is used, the usual proportion is half a pint of brewer's yeast mixed with a pint of warm water to twenty-four pounds of flour.

If no fresh yeast can be procured, it may be made by putting a teacupful of split peas into a basin and pouring about a pint of boiling water over them. A cloth is then put over the basin, and it is set near the fire to keep warm. In about twelve hours it will begin to ferment, and a kind of scum will rise, which may be used as yeast. This is called Turkish yeast; but a better method is practised by the Americans, which is as follows:—Take as much hops as may be held between the thumb and finger, put them with a few slices of apples into a quart of water, and boil the whole for about fifteen or twenty minutes. Then strain the liquid, and when it is lukewarm stir in a little flour with three or four table-spoonfuls of treacle so as to make a thin paste; then set the whole in a warm place, and in a few hours the fermentation will be sufficiently strong to allow enough flour and water to be added to make a proper sponge for bread.

If you have a small quantity of yeast it may be increased in the following manner:—Take one pound of fine flour, and mix it to the thickness of gruel with boiling water; add half a pound of brown sugar, mixing the whole well together. Then put three table-spoonfuls of yeast into a large vessel, and pour the mixture upon it. It will ferment violently, and the scum which rises to the top will be good yeast, which may be used immediately, or may be preserved for some time in an earthenware vessel covered closely from the air, and kept in a warm dry place.

In the Magazine of Domestic Economy it is said that when yeast has become sour, and even slightly putrid, it may be recovered by adding a tea-spoonful of flour, the same of moist sugar, a pinch of salt, and a little warm water: this is to be stirred together and left to ferment for half an hour. I have never tried this, but it is very nearly the same as the receipt I have given above. The yeast from home-brewed beer is very apt to be bitter; but it is said that this may be cured by pouring it through a sieve containing about a pint of bran. To keep home-brewed yeast it should be put into a large pan and have three times the quantity of water poured upon it, being well stirred up, and then left to settle. The next day the water is to be poured off, and fresh put on, and in this manner it is said that yeast may be kept for six weeks. All yeast is best purified before it is used; that is, the yeast should be put into a vessel, and cold spring water being poured upon it, they should be stirred together and then left to settle. The water is afterwards poured off, and the yeast taken out carefully, leaving a brown sediment at the bottom.

The best way of keeping yeast is to hang it up in a cabbage net, so as to let it dry with the air about it on all sides. This is the way the Germans prepare their solid yeast, which is now so much used in London.

When bread is to be made, the necessary quantity of flour is put into a kneading trough, or into a deep-glazed earthenware pan, and a round hole is made in the centre for the yeast and water, which is slightly mixed with the surrounding flour, so as to form a light batter, and over this is strewed enough dry flour to cover it. I remember, when I was a child in my father's house, I have often watched the cook perform this operation (which I now find is called setting the sponge); and I always used to see her, when she had done, make a cross in the flour sprinkled over the batter, without which she declared the bread would never rise. As soon as the sponge is set, the earthenware pan is placed before the fire, and a linen cloth laid over it. In a short time the sponge begins to rise, and forms cracks in the covering of flour. More water is then added, heated to about the warmth of new milk, and salt is scattered over the flour, which gradually mixes with the water, kneading it well with the hands so as to form a fine compact dough. Some dry flour is then laid under it, and sprinkled over it; and the dough, being again covered with a cloth, is left to ferment, which, if the yeast were good, it does in about an hour, sufficiently to allow the dough to be made into loaves of bread.

A kind of bread, which is very good for toast and butter, is made by boiling and mashing some mealy potatoes, and then rubbing them into flour which has been previously warmed before the fire, in the proportion of half a pound of potatoes to two pounds of flour. When well mixed, add a proper quantity of salt, with enough yeast, warm milk, and water to make it into dough. It should be left to rise for two hours before it is made into a loaf, and it should be baked in a tin.

For Rolls. Warm an ounce of butter in a pint of skimmed milk, and add a spoonful and a half of yeast and a little salt. This will be sufficient for two pounds of flour, and will make seven rolls. The dough should rise before the fire half an hour, and the rolls should stand another half hour before the fire after they are made. They should be baked in a quick oven, and will take about half an hour. The butter may be omitted.

To make French rolls. Add half an ounce of soda to the above quantity; make them long in shape, and rasp them when they are baked.

For Sally Luns. Take two pounds of flour, and add half a pint of milk and half a pint of cream, with a bit of butter the size of a walnut; when a little warm, put to it three well-beaten yolks of eggs, three or four spoonfuls of well-purified yeast, and a little salt. Mix the whole together, and let it rise for an hour; then make it into cakes, and lay them on tins lightly rubbed over with a little butter. Let them stand on the hearth to rise for about twenty minutes, covered with a thin cloth, then bake them in rather a quick oven.

For Yorkshire or milk cakes. Dry a pound and a half of flour before the fire; beat up the yolk of an egg with a spoonful of yeast; add three quarters of a pint of new milk lukewarm; strain the whole through a hair sieve into the flour; mix it lightly into dough, and let it rise by the fire an hour; then make it up into cakes. Rub the tins with a very little butter, and let them be warm when you lay the cakes on them; cover with a thin cloth, and let them rise on the hearth about twenty or thirty minutes; bake them in a brisk oven. This dough makes very good buns, with the addition of a little good moist sugar, and a few caraway seeds or dried currants.

Both the Sally Luns and the milk cakes may be washed over with the white of an egg before they are put in the oven.

For Rusks, or Tops and Bottoms. Beat up four eggs with half a pint of new milk, in which a quarter of a pound of butter has been melted; add two table-spoonfuls of yeast, and three ounces of sugar. Mix with this as much flour as will make a very light batter, and set it before the fire for half an hour; then add a little more flour, to make it stiff enough to work. Knead it well, and, if wanted for rusks, roll it into cakes about six inches long and two broad; when baked and cold, cut them into slices, and dry them in a slow oven. For tops and bottoms, make the dough into little square cakes, and flatten them. When baked, just cut them slightly round, and then tear them in two, and put them again into the oven.

To make Banbury Cakes. Set a sponge with two table-spoonfuls of thick purified yeast, half a pint of warm milk, and a pound of flour. When risen, mix with it half a pound of currants, well cleaned and dried, half a tea-spoonful of salt, half a pound of candied orange and lemon shred small, one ounce of spice, such as powdered cinnamon, allspice, ginger, and nutmeg, or mace. Mix the whole well together with half a pound of honey. Roll out puff paste a quarter of an inch thick; cut it into rounds with a tin cutter about four inches across; lay on each with a spoon a small quantity of the mixture; close it round with the fingers in an oval form; place the joining underneath; press it gently with the hand, and sift sugar over. Bake them on a baking-plate a quarter of an hour in a moderate oven, and of a light colour.

For Bath buns. Rub half a pound of butter in a pound and half of flour, quarter of a pound of powdered sugar, a little salt, and half an ounce of caraway seeds. Beat the yolks of four eggs and three whites; put half a pint of warm milk to four spoonfuls of good yeast; when settled, pour it off on the eggs, and mix all into the middle of the flour till about a third of the flour is mixed in. Cover it with flannel, and set it before the fire to rise, about half an hour, then mix all up, and cover it till well risen. Make up the buns, and set them before the fire on a baking-tin about a quarter of an hour; bake them in a quick oven; when done, brush them over with sugar and beaten egg.

For Oat cakes. Merely mix oatmeal and water together till about as thick as ordinary dough, then roll out as thin as possible, and bake on a hot flat iron called a girdle, hung over the fire. A few eggs are sometimes added to make what is called in Scotland Car cake.

For Muffins and Crumpets. Take a pint and a half of warm milk and dissolve in it a tea-spoonful of salt of tartar (subcarbonate of potash), then mix with it five table-spoonfuls of yeast. When it has stood to settle, pour it off by degrees, if for crumpets, into two pounds of flour with a little salt, stir it well, and then beat it till it looks like a thick batter, and may be drawn out to a great length when you lift up the spoon. Set it before the fire to rise, and when it bubbles up bake the crumpets on a hot stove, or a girdle. For muffins, take three pounds of flour, and roll the dough into balls, and let them rise before putting them on the iron plate. When the muffins begin to bake they will spread into the proper shape; and when one side is done they should be turned on the other side. The crumpets do not require turning; but if they are wished to be thick, they may be baked in an iron hoop. Potato crumpets are made by adding to three pounds of mealy potatoes boiled and rubbed through a coarse sieve, half a pound of flour, an egg, a little salt, and a spoonful of yeast.

For a Brioche. Take a pound of fine flour, divide it into three parts, to one of which put a table-spoonful of yeast, mixed with warm water into a light batter, then set it before a fire if the weather is cold, and let it rise half an hour. In warm weather it need not be put to the fire, as it will rise immediately. Mix the rest of the flour with a quarter of an ounce of salt, three eggs, a quarter of a pound of butter, and enough warm water to make it into a stiff dough. Work it well, and then add the portion that was previously prepared. Knead the whole well together, and then wrap the dough in a white napkin, and leave it for seven or eight hours. Then divide the dough into pieces, as if for buns, and make them into the usual half-twisted form of a brioche, using a little warm milk to moisten them if necessary. Lastly, wash them over with eggs well beaten, and put them in the oven.

I shall now give you two or three receipts for biscuits, and sweet cakes.

For Butter biscuits. Warm two ounces of butter in as much skimmed milk as will make a pound of flour into a stiff paste, knead it well, and beat it with a paste roller; roll it out thin, cut the paste into round cakes with a glass, and prick them with a fork. Bake in a quick oven.

Stamped biscuits are made by rubbing a quarter of a pound of butter into a pound of flour, then mixing it with cold water and a tea-spoonful of yeast into a paste. Knead it till it is quite smooth; then cover it on the board with a basin for half an hour, and afterwards make it into balls, stamping each with the print.

Abernethy biscuits may be made by adding caraway seeds and a very little sugar to the above.

For a Sponge-cake. Take half a pound of flour, three quarters of a pound of lump sugar powdered, and seven eggs, leaving out three of the whites; beat all well together, and add the rind of a lemon grated on some of the sugar before it is pounded. Bake in a mould, and in a quick oven.

For Naples biscuits. Put a quarter of a pint of water, two spoonfuls of orange-flower water, and half a pound of fine sugar into a saucepan, and let it boil till the sugar be melted; then pour it upon four eggs well beaten, stirring the whole as fast as possible while the syrup is poured in. Continue beating it well till cold; then stir in half a pound of flour. Make clean white paper into moulds of the proper size for the biscuits, pour the batter into them, and put them on tins to bake; sift fine sugar on, and set them in a brisk oven, taking great care that they are not scorched.

For Wine cakes. Mix two pounds of flour, one pound of sugar, and one ounce of caraway seeds, with four eggs, and a few spoonfuls of water to make a stiff paste; roll it thin, cut the cakes in any shape, and bake them on floured tins. While baking, boil half a pound of sugar in half a pint of water to a thin syrup; and, while both are hot, dip each cake into it. Put them into the oven on tins, to dry for a short time; and when the oven is cool put them in again, and let them remain in four or five hours.

For a Pound cake. Take two pounds of flour, one pound of butter, one pound of sugar, one pound of currants, a little cream, lemon-peel, mace, and cinnamon; first rub the butter in the flour, then put in the cream, a little yeast, and five eggs, and set it to rise; when risen enough add the other ingredients. Bake in a tin lined with paper well buttered.

For Ratafia drops. Blanch and beat four ounces of bitter and two ounces of sweet almonds with a little rose-water, a pound of sifted sugar, the whites of two eggs well beaten, and a table-spoonful of flour. Drop this mixture so as to form balls about the size of a nutmeg, and bake them on wafer paper.

For Macaroons. Blanch four ounces of sweet almonds, and pound them with four spoonfuls of orange-flower water; whisk the whites of four eggs to a froth, then mix them, and a pound of sugar sifted, with the almonds, to a paste; and, laying a sheet of wafer-paper on a tin, put the paste on in different moulds, or cut into little cakes, the shape of macaroons.

GÂteau d'Avranches. Grate one pound of loaf sugar to a fine powder, and add it to the yolks of fourteen eggs. Beat them well together for half an hour, and then add the juice of two lemons, some orange-flower water, and half a pound of potato flour. In the mean time another person must beat the whites of the fourteen eggs for half an hour or more till they look like snow, as, should any liquid remain, it will spoil the cake completely. Put this snow to the yolks, and beat the whole together for ten minutes; then pour the whole quickly into a mould that has been well buttered before the fire, and put it directly into an oven, which must be hot, but not quite so much so as for bread; three quarters of an hour will bake it.

For Gingerbread. Put into a Maslin kettle half a pound of fresh butter and three quarters of a pound of treacle, and keep them on the fire, stirring them together, till they are melted and thoroughly incorporated. In the mean time mix half a pound of moist sugar with two pounds of flour and three quarters of an ounce of ginger, and pour the treacle and butter quite hot on the flour, sugar, and ginger; work the whole well together, and when almost cold roll the paste out, and cut it into cakes. Bake them in rather a slow oven. If it is wished to have the gingerbread very rich, only half the quantity of flour must be used; and the paste, which is rolled very thin, is cut into squares. This kind of gingerbread is called Parliament.

LETTER V.

IMPROMPTU COOKERY.—SOUPS.—POULTRY.—PIGEONS.—GAME.—SALADS OF COLD MEAT AND POTATOES.—MODES OF DRESSING POTATOES AND CARROTS.—SAUCES.—OMELETTES, CREAMS, AND SIDE DISHES.—MISCELLANEOUS COOKERY.—NATIONAL COOKERY.—THE FRENCH POT-AU-FEU.—ITALIAN MACARONI.—GERMAN SAUER KRAUT.—POLISH BARSCH.—SPANISH OLLA PODRIDA AND PUCHERO.—SCOTCH HAGGIS, BARLEY BROTH, AND HOTCH-POTCH.—ENGLISH PLUM-PUDDING.

The anxiety you express to see my promised hints on cookery has induced me to send them to you without waiting till I had finished all that I have to say of the servants' offices of your house; and you will observe that I shall first confine myself to what may be styled Impromptu Cookery, or cookery for the country, in contradistinction to cookery in towns; my principal aim being to enable you to have a nice little dinner ready in a short time on any emergency, without keeping an expensive table in ordinary. I have already advised you always to have a supply of salted meat in the house; but this is not enough, as a single dish of meat with vegetables and pudding, though quite sufficient as far as regards mere eating, does not form such a dinner as your husband would like to see on his table, if he were to bring a friend home unexpectedly. If, however, you are able to give them a well-flavoured soup, and two or three nicely cooked made-dishes to support the joint, (or piÈce de rÉsistance, as the French call it,) you have at once a dinner that is not expensive, and yet gives an air of elegance and refinement to the table.

I suspect indeed it would be a good plan to have several dishes on your table every day, whether you have company or not. It is not more expensive; for made dishes, by employing more vegetable matter, actually save the consumption of solid meat: and it is certainly more wholesome, as the stomach will more easily digest food of several kinds than a dinner taken from a single dish. The French know this perfectly well; and hence, however heartily a Frenchman may eat, he is scarcely ever troubled with indigestion, while many English people find indigestion the misery of their lives. "The Frenchman," says a writer on Domestic Economy, "begins his dinner with light soup, and successively disposes of his four dishes and his dessert. The whole quantity that he has eaten is, however, much less than the Englishman's meal from his single joint, and he experiences no inconvenience. In eating of a number of dishes, a little of each, the imagination is acted upon, and exaggerates the quantity really taken; the appetite is, therefore, satisfied with much less. The different matters received into the Frenchman's stomach, independently of their greater or less approximation to chyme by the process of cookery they have undergone, form a light heterogeneous mass or tissue, through which the gastric juice readily passes, whilst many of the different varieties he has swallowed act upon each other as solvents, and help the work of digestion." Besides, it is well that the servants should be accustomed to the same style of living when you are alone as when you have company, to prevent the awkwardness inevitable when persons do any thing that they are not in the habit of doing frequently. One of the greatest dangers of a country life is, indeed, that of getting into habits of slovenliness, both of the person and the table. If you once allow yourself to say, "It is of no consequence how I dress, or what we have for dinner to-day, for we are not likely to see any one," all my exhortations will have been thrown away.

In the first place, in order always to keep up a good table at a small expense, take care never to be without plenty of Stock for soup. The best way of preparing this is to have two or three pounds of lean beef cut into pieces, and put into a stewpan with five quarts of water, a bunch of sweet herbs, two onions sliced, and a little pepper and salt. Let it stew very gradually for two or three hours, without being suffered to boil. When all the goodness is drawn from the meat, the gravy should be strained off clear and kept in an earthen jar for use. When a stock like this has been provided, it is easy to make any kind of soup from it that may be required. For instance, if hare soup be wanted, it is only necessary to cut a hare in pieces, and to let it stew gradually in this gravy till it becomes tender. If a vegetable soup be desired, it is simply adding onions, carrots, and turnips cut into dice, with perhaps a little celery and a few cabbage lettuces cut small: or these vegetables may be cut in slices and fried in butter, and then stewed till tender in the soup, which should have been previously thickened with a little butter worked up with flour. On other occasions, the soup may be varied by adding macaroni, rice, or vermicelli, or, in fact, any thing else usually put into soups; or partridges or giblets may be stewed in it, according to circumstances. The receipt for this excellent stock is taken from Dr. Hunter's Receipts in Modern Cookery; and the following is another from the same work, of much richer quality, but which I have also tried and found excellent:—Take beef, mutton, and veal, of each equal parts. Cut the meat into small pieces, and put it into a deep saucepan with a close cover; the beef at the bottom, then the mutton, with a piece of lean bacon, some whole pepper, black and white, a large onion in slices, and a bundle of sweet herbs. Over this put the veal. Cover up close, and put the pan over a slow fire for ten minutes, shaking it now and then. After this pour on as much boiling water as will a little more than cover the meat. Stew gently for the space of eight hours, then put in two anchovies chopped, and season with salt to the taste. Strain off and preserve for use. If properly made, this gravy will become a rich jelly, which will keep good a long time, and a piece of which may be cut out occasionally, when a made dish or a rich soup is wanted in haste.

The two following receipts for impromptu soups are from a French cookery book. The first is called Soup made in an hour. Cut into small pieces a pound of beef and a pound of veal; put them into a casserole, or wide shallow saucepan, with a carrot and an onion cut in slices, a few slices of bacon, and half a glass of water. Hold it over the fire for a short time till the meat and vegetables begin to brown, taking care, however, that they are not burnt; then pour over the whole a pint of boiling water, and let the soup stew gently for about three quarters of an hour; after which the soup only requires to be strained through a sieve to be fit for use. The other is for Soup made in a minute, and it consists in taking the congealed gravy from roast meat, either from the dish or from under the dripping, after the dripping has become cold and has been removed, in the proportion of a quarter of a pint of jelly to a quart of boiling water, and adding pepper and salt to the taste.

An excellent white soup may be made by boiling a knuckle of veal down to a strong jelly, with a bundle of sweet herbs, and another of parsley. The liquor should then be strained from the meat and herbs, and flavoured with mace and nutmeg, adding milk or cream, and thickening with arrow-root. A few Jerusalem artichokes or young turnips (particularly the Teltow turnips), boiled quite soft and rubbed through a sieve, and a little celery, are a great improvement to this soup. Partridges stuffed with forcemeat and stewed in the stock of this soup till they are perfectly tender, but not so much so as to fall to pieces, make a delicious dish; but in this case the soup will not require either to be flavoured with mace and nutmeg, or to be thickened, unless it is wished to be very rich. Vegetable marrow or pumpkin, boiled and rubbed through a sieve, will form a variety to thicken this soup; or chestnuts boiled, peeled, and mashed, may be used for that purpose; celery may also be employed occasionally to flavour it.

For Hare Soup, cut a large hare into pieces, and put it into a stewpan with five quarts of water, one onion, a few corns of white pepper, a little salt, and some mace. Stew over a slow fire for two hours, or till it become a good gravy. Then cut the meat from the back and legs, and keep it to put into the soup when nearly ready. Put the bones into the gravy, and stew till the remainder of the meat is nearly dissolved. Then strain off the gravy, and put to it two spoonfuls of soy, or three of mushroom or walnut catsup. Cayenne pepper to the taste may be added, and wine in the proportion of half a pint to two quarts of gravy, if it is wished to make the soup very rich. Lastly, put in the meat that was cut from the back and legs, and when it is quite hot send the soup to table.

A Green Peas Soup may be made by taking six or eight cucumbers pared and sliced, the blanched part of as many lettuces, a sprig of mint, two or three onions, a little parsley, some white pepper and salt, a full pint of young peas, and half a pound of butter. Let these ingredients stew gently in their own liquor for an hour. Then have in readiness a quart of old peas, boiled tender. Rub them through a cullender, and put to them two quarts of strong beef gravy. When the vegetables are sufficiently tender, mix all together, and serve up the soup very hot. This receipt is very suitable for the country, where vegetables are abundant. In this respect you have a great advantage over the dwellers in towns; and you will find it easy to make a great variety of soups, by boiling any kind of vegetable till it is tender, afterwards rubbing it through a coarse sieve, so as to make what the French call a purÉe, and then mixing it with beef gravy or stock, as before directed. A purÉe of old peas or carrots makes an excellent soup.

I have only to add to my chapter on soups, that it is an excellent plan to have the bones of a sirloin of beef or roast leg of mutton, the remains of a hare, or, in fact, any thing of that kind, put into a large deep earthen pan, with rather more than enough water to cover them, a couple of carrots sliced, and perhaps a leek or an onion. The pan should then be carefully tied down, or have a cover fitted on it, and it should be put into an oven after the bread has been drawn, and suffered to remain all night. This makes an excellent consommÉ or stock for any kind of brown soup: and it is a good plan to have a stock of this kind prepared every time there has been a baking of bread, so as to leave the oven in a proper state; as it not only saves the purchase of fresh meat for soup, but makes an excellent use of food that, under other circumstances, would very probably be wasted or given to the dogs. The liquor in which veal or fowls have been boiled should always be saved, and when cold, after the fat has been removed, it should be poured off clear from the sediment and used as a stock for white soups; and the scrag end of a neck of mutton, the root of a tongue, and various other portions of beef and mutton, which would be unsightly if sent to table, should, also, always be stewed down for brown soups. In the latter case, if the stock made in this manner looks pale or dingy, it may have a rich colour given to it by the following composition or Roux, which is also useful for made dishes and sauces. Put a quarter of a pound of lump sugar into a pan, and add a quarter of a pint of water, with half an ounce of butter. Set it over a gentle fire, stirring it with a wooden spoon till it appears burnt to a bright brown colour; then add some more water. When it boils, skim, and afterwards strain it; and then put it into a bottle, which should be kept closely corked till the composition is wanted for use.

I shall say nothing about roast meat, or any of the routine of ordinary cooking; but I shall confine myself to a few extemporaneous dishes for the table; and on these occasions the poultry-yard and the dove-cot will be found of the utmost importance.

Any kind of poultry will be tender if cooked as soon as it is killed, though it will be tough if kept till the following day; and the feathers may be removed almost instantaneously by dipping the dead bird for a moment into boiling water. The only objection to fowls is, that many persons, particularly gentlemen, are very apt to become tired of them if they are served too frequently, and it is therefore advisable to vary the modes of dressing them as much as possible.

Sometimes a forcemeat may be made for roast fowl, by boiling about a dozen and a half of sweet chestnuts, and pounding part of them with the boiled liver of the fowl, and about a quarter of a pound of bacon, adding parsley and sweet herbs chopped very fine, with pepper, salt, and other spices, to the taste. Fill both the body and the crop with this mixture, and then roast the fowl; when it is done, make a sauce by pounding the remaining chestnuts very smooth, and putting them with a few spoonfuls of gravy and a glass of white wine into some melted butter. The sauce is generally poured over the fowl when it is served up.

A broiled fowl should be split open at the back, and made as flat as possible, and sometimes the breast-bone is removed. The thick parts are generally scored, and seasoned with salt and pepper, after which it is laid on the gridiron with the inside of the fowl next the fire. The fowl is, however, very much improved by putting it, after it has been split down and seasoned with pepper and salt, into a stewpan, with a little butter, and only enough water to prevent it from burning. When the fowl has stewed in this manner for about twenty minutes, it should be laid for about five minutes over the fire on a gridiron previously made quite hot, and served with a sauce made of the liquor in the stewpan, flavoured with mushroom catsup, or in any other way that may be preferred. Fresh mushrooms stewed and added to the liquor are a great improvement to this dish.

For a Dunelm of chickens. Take a few mushrooms, peeled as if for stewing; mince them very small, and put to them some butter, salt, and cream. When put into a saucepan, stir over a gentle fire till the mushrooms are nearly done; then add the white part of a roasted fowl, after being minced very small. When sufficiently heated, it may be served up. If fresh mushrooms cannot be had, a very small quantity of mushroom powder or a little catsup may supply their place.

The French frequently put some rice tied quite loosely in a cloth into the pot with a fowl, when it is to be boiled; and, when the fowl is sufficiently done, they cut it up and fricassee it, by putting the pieces into a casserole, with a lump of butter worked into a paste with a dessert-spoonful of flour and a wine-glassful of water, and the same quantity of new milk, with salt, white pepper, mace, &c., to the taste. Sometimes they add mushrooms, and sometimes small Welsh onions, and artichoke bottoms which have been previously boiled, to the fricassÉe; and sometimes they make the sauce much richer by adding to it the yolks of four eggs well beaten, in which case they generally put in a little lemon-juice or a very small quantity of vinegar, just before serving up. In the mean time, a little salt is thrown into the water in which the fowl was boiled, and the rice is kept simmering in it till the fowl is ready. The rice is then drained, and, being taken out of the cloth, is heaped round a dish in the centre of which the fricassÉe is put. When the dish is wished to be of a superior description, only the best parts of the fowl are used, and the back and side bones are kept back.

Pigeons are still more useful in extemporaneous cooking than fowls, as, being smaller, they are sooner cooked; besides, they are said to lose their flavour when kept. They are very good roasted, either plain or larded (that is, covered with slices of fat bacon, over which are put vine leaves tied on with string): and when the pigeons are nearly done, the string and the remains of the larding are taken off, and the birds browned before the fire. Sometimes they are stuffed with forcemeat before roasting. Another way of dressing pigeons is to cut each in two, and put them into a casserole with a little butter and a few slices of bacon. The casserole should then be held over the fire for a few minutes, shaking it frequently to prevent the pigeons from burning; and, as soon as they have acquired a light brown, a few green peas should be added, and a sufficient quantity of the simple kind of stock I first mentioned poured over them to cover the whole. The pigeons should now stew gradually till they are done, and then a lump of butter worked into a paste with flour should be put into the casserole, to thicken the gravy before dishing up. This is a French dish called Pigeons aux petits pots; and the following is another, which is called Pigeons À la crapaudine. It is made by splitting pigeons down the back, and flattening them as much as can be done without breaking the bones too much. The pieces are then rubbed over with oil, salt, and pepper; and, some crumbs of bread having been prepared and mixed with parsley and Welsh onions chopped very fine, they are rolled in the mixture so as to be covered with it as much as possible, and then broiled. Sometimes the pieces of pigeon are dipped in yolk of egg instead of oil. They are served with a sauce made of shallots chopped fine, and mixed with pepper, salt, and vinegar, with a little melted butter or oil.

Ducks and geese are generally best plain roasted with green peas, or with apple or onion sauce. Dr. Hunter, however, gives the following receipt for a savoury sauce for a roasted goose:—"A table-spoonful of made mustard, half a tea-spoonful of Cayenne pepper, and three spoonfuls of port wine. This mixture is to be made quite hot, and poured into the body of the goose through a slit in the apron, just before serving up."

Game is generally very abundant in a country house. Hares may be either roasted, jugged, or made into soup. Pheasants are generally roasted, either larded or plain. Dr. Hunter recommends the inside to be stuffed with the lean part of a sirloin of beef, minced small and seasoned with pepper and salt.

Partridges are cooked in various ways in France; but in England they are generally either roasted, or dressed in the French way with cabbages. The following is the French receipt for dressing Perdrix aux choux. Take two partridges, and put them into a casserole with butter, a very little flour, three cupfuls of gravy, a quarter of a pound of fat bacon cut into dice, a little bunch of sweet herbs and a laurel leaf, and let them stew gradually. In the mean time boil a savoy cabbage with three quarters of a pound of pickled pork, or two spoonfuls of dripping, filling the pot with water. When the savoy is tender, take it out and drain it, and then put it into the casserole with the partridges; let the whole stew for about half an hour, and then serve it quite hot. Sometimes a carrot is cut in round slices and stewed with the partridges, and this is a great improvement. Care must be taken to remove the bundle of sweet herbs and the laurel leaf before adding the cabbage, as otherwise it might be difficult to find them, and they would not look well if sent to table. Brussels' sprouts may be used instead of a savoy, and they render the dish more delicate. A half-roasted duck may be stewed in this way instead of the partridges, and is excellent.

Any kind of cold game makes an excellent salad, the meat being cut from the bones and mixed with lettuces cut small, and dressed in the usual manner. The French add capers, anchovies, or any other seasoning, to salads, and garnish them with the flowers of the nasturtium and the borage, which may be eaten without danger.

A Magnonnaise is a salad with alternate rows of cold fowl or roast veal, and lettuce, hard eggs cut in quarter slices, or carrot, or beet, gherkins, anchovy, &c. Cold potatoes cut in slices, and dressed with oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper, make an excellent salad, which may be varied by the addition of fine herbs, slices of beet-root, or anchovies taken from the bones and chopped fine. Boulettes of cold meat, chopped small, and mixed with crumbs of bread or mashed potatoes, are also very useful impromptu dishes. The mixed meat and bread or potatoes is seasoned with pepper, salt, a little parsley, and other herbs, and a shallot or two cut very small; the yolk of an egg or two is then added, and the mixture is made into balls, which are just glazed over with white of egg, and then fried; after which they are served with a little gravy or sauce of any kind, or covered with parsley put before the fire till it is quite crisp. Cold potatoes may also be cut in slices and warmed in a casserole, with some butter mixed first in a plate with a little flour, some parsley cut very fine, pepper and salt, and a very little lemon-juice or vinegar: this is called À la maÎtre d'hÔtel. They may also be cut in slices and fried, and then served with sauce blanche.

Sauce blanche is made by mixing butter with some flour on a plate, and then putting it into a casserole with a little water. It should be held over the fire, and frequently shaken, till it boils; it is then taken off the fire, and a little salt and vinegar thrown in; after which it is again shaken, and held over the fire till it is quite hot, but not boiling, when it is served. Some cooks add a little of the yolk of eggs, well beaten up with the salt and vinegar. Carrots are very good boiled, and then cut in slices, and dressed À la maÎtre d'hÔtel, or fried and served with sauce blanche like potatoes. Carrots are also very good cut into small pieces and stewed till they are tender, with a little butter, and only just enough water or gravy to prevent them from burning. A sauce is made of the yolk of an egg beaten up with some cream, a little salt being added, and it is poured on the carrots; the saucepan is then again put on the fire, and when the whole is quite hot it is served.

It may be useful here to mention two or three kinds of sauce which may be used either for cold meat or fish; and also some of the ways the French have of dressing cold fowl or veal, which are very nice.

Dutch sour sauce. Take the yolks of two eggs, a lump of butter, a little bit of mace, and a table-spoonful of good white-wine vinegar. Put all together into a saucepan over a gentle fire, and keep stirring all one way till the sauce is thick enough for use.

Onion sauce. Melt some butter in a little thick cream, but add neither water nor flour. Boil the onions, and take two coats from their outsides. Chop the inside smooth, and put them into the melted butter, with salt to the taste. Stir one way over the fire for a quarter of an hour, and send up the sauce quite hot. Another way is to boil the onions soft, and to rub their pulp through a cullender or coarse sieve before adding it to the butter.

Sauce À la Bechamel is made by putting sliced onions and carrots into a saucepan with a little butter and flour and a pint of cream; pepper, salt, and nutmeg are added, with mushrooms and finely chopped parsley, if desired. The whole is suffered to stew gently three quarters of an hour, and then it is strained and thickened with a liaison of yolks of eggs. Another kind is made by adding an equal quantity of veal stock to the cream; and dressing any dish À la bechamel means serving it up with a white sauce; either made as above or in any other way, provided it consists principally of cream or thickened milk.

Sauce veloutÉ is a white sauce, the base of which is veal stock instead of cream.

A Liaison of eggs is made by taking some fresh eggs (it is essential that they should be quite fresh), and separating the white carefully from the yolk. The yolks are then beaten up, and two or three spoonfuls of the liquor they are wanted to thicken is added to them, stirring them carefully. The saucepan is then taken off the fire while the eggs are gradually mixed with its contents, and only put on the fire again for a minute, carefully stirring the contents so as to make them quite hot, but not boiling, before they are served up.

Sauce À la Tartare is mixed by putting shallots and other herbs cut very fine, with mustard, salt, pepper, oil, and a little vinegar. The ingredients are all mixed well together and served cold, or they may be made hot for fish.

A Blanquette is made by cutting cold meat into thin slices, and then putting it into a saucepan with a lump of butter, a little flour, pepper, salt, a bunch of sweet herbs, and a little gravy. Simmer it gently five minutes, and then put the meat into a dish; and after thickening the sauce with the yolks of eggs beaten up with a very small quantity of vinegar, and putting it over the fire for a minute, pour it quite hot over the meat.

A Marinade is made by stewing the remains of a fowl or slices of cold meat with butter or oil, vinegar, pepper, salt, onions, and sweet herbs; and then draining the pieces, dipping them in white of egg, and flouring them or covering them with bread crumbs, and frying them.

A Capilotade is a brown fricassÉe or hash, and a Terrine is a pie baked in a dish, but without crust.

Croustades are pieces of stale, firm bread, cut like sippets, but much thicker, and hollowed out into the centre, keeping the piece cut out to serve as a lid. The croustades are then fried a fine brown, and while hot they are filled with minced fowl or veal; or if a sweet dish is required, with some kind of marmalade or jam made hot.

Omelettes are always a great addition to a dinner table, and they are easily made. The following is the French receipt for the Omelettes aux fines herbes. Take any quantity of eggs and beat them well, adding pepper, salt, parsley, and any other herbs, with a few shallots or small onions chopped very fine. Melt enough butter in a frying-pan to cover the bottom of the frying-pan with liquid, and when it is boiling pour in the omelette, and fry it till it becomes a fine brown. When served, fold it so that only the brown side may be seen, and pour over it a kind of sauce made by putting a little butter, flour, and catsup in the pan, and shaking it for a few minutes over the fire; or a little gravy may be heated and poured over it. The frying-pan should not be too large, as an omelette should always be rather thick. About six or eight eggs will make an omelette of the ordinary size, and about two ounces of butter will be required for frying it. Other omelettes may be made by omitting the herbs, and adding mushrooms cut very small, or mushroom-powder, grated ham, grated cheese, or, in fact, any other substance that may be thought desirable.

Dr. Hunter gives the following receipt for a Potato omelette. Take three ounces of potatoes mashed, and add to them the yolks of five eggs, and the whites of three. Add white pepper, salt, and nutmeg to the taste. Fry in butter, and serve up with clear gravy, to which some add a little lemon-juice. Sweet omelettes may be made by adding to the eggs orange-flower water, and sugar, or grated lemon-peel and sugar, or marmalade of apples or apricots, or raspberry or currant jam. The omelette is then fried in the usual way; but it is usually served without doubling it up, sugar being grated over the upper side after it is put in the dish, which is then set in front of the fire for a few minutes, or the omelette is browned by holding over it a flat red-hot iron called a salamander.

The following is a receipt for making an Omelette soufflÉe, taken from a French cookery book. Break six eggs; separate the whites from the yolks, and beat up the latter with four ounces of grated lump-sugar, and a little orange-flower water, or the rind of a lemon cut very fine, or grated. Then beat the whites of the eggs into a froth, and mix them quickly with the yolks, and pour them into a dish in which two ounces of butter have been melted, and which is quite hot; hold a salamander over the eggs for about five minutes, when they will rise in blisters; then, sprinkling a little powdered sugar over the dish, serve it quite hot, without losing a moment, as, if it be allowed to cool, the puffed up part will fall, and the appearance of the dish will be spoiled. When this dish is made in England, the butter is generally melted in a frying-pan, into which the eggs are poured, and suffered to fry for a minute or two, after which the omelette is put into a hot dish, and set in the oven to rise. A little grated sugar is then sprinkled over it, and it is served immediately.

Apples and apricots cut in slices and dipped in a light batter make a very agreeable addition to a small dinner; and the flowers of the Judas tree, and vine leaves, sugared and steeped in brandy, and the young shoots of the vegetable marrow, all make nice dishes when dipped in batter and fried.

Frangipane is made by beating up two or three eggs, and then adding to them two spoonfuls of flour, mixed quite smooth with a little milk. Put the whole into a casserole, and set it on the fire for a quarter of an hour, shaking it continually that the frangipane may not burn. The dish may be flavoured with sugar, orange-flower water, or crushed macaroons; and it is eaten with tarts or preserved fruit.

Fromage À la crÈme is a very elegant addition to the dessert. It is made by taking a pint of new milk, and adding to it a spoonful of rennet, and keeping it warm till the curd rises; the curd is then carefully taken up without breaking it, and laid in a wicker basket, or on a sieve, to drain. When nearly all the whey has run off, it is served with cream poured round it, and sugar grated on the top.

For Syllabubs, to one quart of cream put the rinds and juice of two lemons, a teacupful of white wine, two table-spoonfuls of brandy, a little nutmeg, and sugar to the taste; and then whip them to a froth with a whisk.

A Devonshire syllabub, or junket, is made by putting a pint of cider, with two table-spoonfuls of brandy, and sugar to the taste, into a large bowl, and milking upon it till the bowl is nearly full. In twenty minutes some clotted cream is heaped up in the middle of the dish, and powdered cinnamon, grated nutmeg, and Harlequin comfits strewed over the top. When cider cannot be procured, half a pint of port is used instead, omitting the brandy; and when a cow is not accessible, lukewarm milk poured from a coffee-pot spout, held up as high as possible, will do almost as well.

For impromptu Cheesecakes. Take a quarter of a pound of butter, and the same quantity of pounded lump-sugar, two eggs well beaten, and the juice of a lemon, with the grated rind. Beat the butter into a cream, and mix the whole well together. Then put some light puff paste in pattypans, and drop a little of the mixture into each. Another way of making impromptu cheesecakes is with butter, sugar, and sweet almonds, taking of each a quarter of a pound, and adding the yolks of four eggs, with the white of two, and the grated rind of a lemon.

Common Cheesecakes made with curd take more time to prepare, but are, I think, better; they are made by turning some milk with rennet into curd, as if for making cheese, and then beating three quarters of a pound of the curd, which should be quite dry so as to crumble, with five ounces of butter till the mixture is quite smooth. Two ounces of sweet almonds and five or six bitter ones, pounded in a mortar, and mixed with four ounces of lump-sugar, crushed and sifted, should be added; and the whole should be moistened with the yolks of four, and the whites of two eggs beaten up with three spoonfuls of cream, two of brandy, and a little nutmeg. The pattypans should be rather large, and rubbed with butter before the paste is put into them, and the space left for the curd should be filled quite full. These cheesecakes should be baked about twenty minutes, and they are excellent. As I have said you are to line your pattypans with puff paste, you will probably now ask how it is to be made. There are numerous receipts given in the cookery books, and I really don't know which is the best; but I will tell you how I have seen most excellent paste made when I was a girl, by one of the best plain cooks I ever met with.

For Puff Paste, the flour was put in a wide earthen pan set before the fire, till it was quite warm, turning it frequently with the hands. A little butter was then rubbed into the flour, and enough warm water was added to make the whole into a very smooth and even paste, every lump in the flour having been carefully crumbled in the process of mixing. The paste was rolled out rather thick, and little bits of butter stuck all over it; flour was then dusted over the butter, and the paste was folded up so as to cover the flour. This was repeated as often as required, and half a pound of butter to a pound of flour was considered to make a very rich crust, a quarter of a pound of butter to a pound of flour being the usual proportion.

Short or Sugar Paste was made by rubbing two ounces of lump-sugar, crushed by a rolling-pin so as to be very fine, into a pound of dry flour, and adding three ounces of butter, both the butter and the sugar being so mixed as to leave no lumps. The yolks of two eggs were then beaten up well, with some cream, and added to the flour, so as to make it into a paste, and if more moisture was required, milk or cream was used, but no water. This paste only required rolling out once, and it was delicious.

In some of the modern cookery books equal quantities of butter and flour, in addition to the yolks of two eggs, are recommended for rich puff paste; and it is directed that the greater part of the butter should be made into a ball, and the buttermilk having been squeezed out of it, it should be put into the crust and covered with it, like an apple in making an apple-dumpling. The crust is then to be floured and rolled out five or six times. I have never tried this paste, and I should think it would be difficult to make. Regular pastrycooks, I am told, use oil, which they mix with the flour without any water; and lard or dripping is often used in large families to save butter. Eggs give a great richness to paste; but when used the whites should be omitted, as they are apt to make the paste hard.

Having thus broken through my determination to give you only receipts for impromptu cookery, I think I must give you a few hints on what may be called National Cookery, or, in other words, that I may teach you how to make the favourite dishes of most of the nations of Europe. I do this principally to amuse you, and to enable you to produce variety in your entertainments, as the greatest enemy you have to dread is monotony; but you may occasionally find it useful to know how to produce the favourite dishes of foreigners, when you have to entertain them.

The Pot au Feu is the popular soup of France, which is found in every house, from the prince to the peasant: it is made by putting a solid piece of beef into cold water, in the proportion of one pound of meat to a quart of water, and letting it simmer in an earthen pot on a hot hearth for six hours, taking off the scum as it rises. A little salt is thrown in after the liquor has begun to simmer, and carrots, cabbage, an onion or two, and any other vegetable that may be in season are put in, after the scum, caused by the addition of the salt, has been taken off. This pottage can never be made properly unless wood is burned in the kitchen, as it requires to be kept constantly simmering, but never boiling rapidly during the whole of the six hours; and this can scarcely be accomplished with a tin kettle or saucepan placed at the side of a coal fire. In France they generally use a piece of the rump for the pot au feu, as they have their meat (which they call bouilli) sent to table, with the best of the vegetables, taken carefully out of the liquor, laid round it. The soup is then strained off and poured quite hot on a slice of bread, either toasted or untoasted, according to taste, which is laid at the bottom of the tureen. Sometimes, instead of using bread, the pottage is served plain; or vermicelli is added in the proportion of from one to two ounces to each quart of soup. The vermicelli is put into a saucepan, and enough of the bouillon to cover it is strained over it, and it is stewed very gently for about half an hour, so as to be ready to add to the soup when it is put into the tureen. In winter, instead of vegetables, rice is frequently put into the pot au feu about two hours before it is served up; or it is stewed for about an hour in a separate saucepan, and added when the pottage is served up.

Macaroni is the national dish of Italy, and it is prepared by covering it with ten times its volume of boiling water, and letting it remain till it becomes soft. When this is the case, some salt is thrown into the water, and the saucepan is held over the fire for a minute, till the liquid begins to bubble, when cold water is thrown in to stop the ebullition: the macaroni is then drained, and placed in a dish alternately with small bits of butter, pepper, and grated cheese; or, instead of butter, gravy of any kind may be used, or tomato sauce. The Italians use the same kind of soup as the French, but they always serve a dish of grated cheese to eat with it; and sometimes they add parsley chopped very small to the potage before serving it. The cheese used in Italy is either Parmesan or Gruyere, but any strong flavoured, dry cheese will do.

Sauer kraut is the national dish of Germany, and it is made from very large close cabbages, which are deprived of their outer leaves so as to leave only the hard white part, or head. The first process of preparing them is to scoop out the interior part of the stalk with an iron instrument or scoop; they are then cut into small shreds by a wooden machine, composed of a flat board or tray, which has a ledge on two sides, to steady a box or frame, into which the cabbages are put. In the middle of the board are four flat pieces of steel, similar to the steel part of a spokeshave, placed in an oblique direction, and the near edge of each being a little raised up, with small spaces between each, to let the shreds fall down into a tub placed underneath to receive them. The cabbages are then put into the box before described, which is pushed backwards and forwards, when the cabbages, being cut by the steel, fall in small shreds into the tub placed below. A barrel stands ready to receive them when cut, the sides of which are first washed with vinegar. A man stands on a chair by the barrel, with clean wooden shoes on, whose business it is to salt and prepare them, which is done in the following manner:—The man first takes as much of the cut cabbage as covers about four inches above the bottom; he next strews upon it two handfuls of salt, one handful of unground pepper, and a small quantity of salad oil; he then gets into the barrel, and treads it down with his wooden shoes till it is well mixed and compact. He next takes another layer of cabbage, and puts salt and pepper on it as before, and treads it again, and so goes on till the barrel is filled. A board is then placed on it, and upon the board some very heavy weights are put, and it remains so ten or fifteen days, when it partially ferments, and a great deal of water swims on the surface: it is then put into the cellar for use. The men who prepare sauer kraut are Tyrolese, and carry their machine on their backs from house to house.

In the annexed sketch (fig. 6.), a is the cutting-tray, b the box into which the cabbages are put, c the scoop, and d the tub into which the shreds fall.

The Beet-root soup called Barszez or Barch is the national dish of Poland. It is made by putting the siftings of rye into a barrel, and filling it with warm water in the proportion of three quarts of siftings to four or five gallons of water. The barrel is set in a warm closet heated to about 70°, and soon begins to ferment. In twelve hours it is ready for use. The liquor is then strained off, and set near the fire, with any meat or poultry that may be required. When the meat is sufficiently stewed it is taken out of the soup, which, after it has been well skimmed and strained, is mixed with a pint of cream in which four table-spoonfuls of flour have been beaten up, and into which a red beet-root has been grated. The soup is then set on the fire for a minute, and when quite hot it is served up. The meat is served on a separate dish, and it is garnished with another beet-root cut in slices, and dried mushrooms which have been previously boiled in a separate saucepan. Another much superior kind of barch, (which may be called a beet purÉe,) is made by boiling several roots of beet, taking care not to break the skin, so that they may preserve their bright red. When quite soft they are taken out of the water, peeled, and rubbed through a sieve. Half a pound of flour is mixed with a quart of thick sour cream, and added to five or six pounds' weight of pulp, and this is thinned with stock from any kind of meat previously boiled and strained. The whole is then suffered to simmer till the raw taste of the flour is gone off, and it is then served quite hot. It should be of the colour and consistency of raspberry cream, and, when properly made, it is delicious. Both these receipts were given to me by an English lady now residing in Poland, so that you may rely upon them as being genuine; and the following receipts for Spanish dishes were procured for me by a friend from a gentleman who is a native of Spain.

The Olla Podrida is decidedly the national dish of Spain, and, prepared according to the receipt I am going to give you, it is really excellent. It is composed of the following ingredients:—a fowl, pieces of beef, mutton, veal, and bacon; half a Spanish sausage, and some garvanzos (Spanish peas). The garvanzos should be soaked all night in, warm water and a little salt. Next morning the whole of the above are to be slowly boiled together for three hours or more; add some onion, one or two cloves, salt, carrot, garlic, and open cabbages. Pour the soup upon very thin pieces of bread, not toasted. After the soup, the vegetables, bacon, and sausage are served on one dish, and the fowl and meat on another. Sometimes vermicelli or rice is put into the soup instead of the thin pieces of bread; but the bread appears to be most generally used.

To make a Puchero, put from two to six pounds of beef into a stew-pan, adding a quart of water for every pound of meat. Place the saucepan on a moderate fire, which should be gradually increased in force so that the scum may be carefully removed, which should be done as it rises to the surface until no more of it appears. The saucepan is then to be left on a fire, kept uniformly moderate, for the space of four hours. When it has boiled two hours, put into it three carrots of moderate size, two turnips, four leeks, and a parsnep, each cut in half, a handful of parsley, more or less, a roasted onion pierced with two or three cloves, and a good proportion of salt. Warm water must be occasionally added, according as the soup evaporates. The above, with the addition of a whole fowl, or even the half of a chicken only, the giblets of a turkey, or a bone of roast lamb, makes an excellent dish in the class of plain cooking. There should be put in this dish some garvanzos soaked in warm water the previous night, and put into the saucepan as soon as the soup begins to get warm. A piece of ham or bacon, or a piece of the Spanish sausage, should be put in at the same time as the vegetables.

A Scotch haggis. Take the large stomach of a sheep. After being nicely cleaned, put it to soak in cold water for a night. Boil the pluck of a sheep till it becomes very tender; mince it small, together with a large portion of suet, and season with white pepper, salt, and a little onion shred small; add a quart of the liquor in which the pluck was boiled, and as much oatmeal, previously browned before the fire, as will make the mixture as thick as batter. The ingredients are then put into the stomach, which must be firmly sewed, to keep out the water; and, after boiling for three hours, it is served up in a deep dish. Though the pluck is here mentioned generally, we must observe that neither the liver, nor what is called the cat's-piece or spleen, is to be used. When the haggis comes to table a portion of the skin where it is sewed is taken up with a fork, and a hole is made by cutting the skin all round it. If the haggis has been properly made the gravy will spurt out to a great height the moment the skin is pierced.

Scotch barley broth is considered best when made with a sheep's head, the wool from which has been singed off with a red-hot iron. This operation requires great care, as every particle of the wool should be removed, and yet no impression should be made on the skin. When singed the head should be soaked in water all night. In the morning it is scraped and washed, and then it is split open, and the brains taken out. Some persons rub the brains over the skin of the head to remove the blackness; but others do not like either the broth or the head unless both are black. When properly prepared it is put into a kettle with some turnips and carrots cut small, some onions, and some salt; and a gallon of water should be added, in which a teacupful of Scotch or pearl barley has been boiled slowly for half an hour. The whole should then be boiled very gently for two or three hours, or longer, in a close kettle. When served the soup should not be strained, but only the head should be taken out and served on a separate dish, and the broth should be sent to table with the barley and vegetables in it. The meat on the head should be quite tender and thoroughly done. If the taste of the head be disliked, the soup may be made by adding to the stewed barley, the vegetables, and three pounds of the lean end of a neck of mutton, instead of the head. A pint of green peas may also be added, if in season.

A Scotch hotch-potch. Take equal quantities of fresh beef and mutton, a pound and a half of each to three pints of water; chop them finely, and let them simmer gently in a stew-pan. When the meat is tender, season with salt and pepper, and add a peck of green peas, three or four or more carrots, two cauliflowers, a few onions, and any other vegetable that may be in season, cutting them small, and dredging them with flour. The whole should stew gradually till the vegetables are tender, when it should be served without straining. In the winter, when other vegetables are scarce, potatoes may be substituted for some of them; but carrots should always be most abundant.

For an Irish stew. Take four pounds of potatoes, and a pound and a half of meat, with a few onions, and one carrot, which will make a good stew for six or seven persons. The meat must be cut into small pieces; if it is half mutton it will be all the better; add about three pints of water. When the greater portion of the potatoes are in pulp, it will be done. Season it with salt and pepper.

The English national dishes are, I suppose, roast beef and plum pudding. I need not tell you how to roast your beef, but I may give you a receipt for a pudding under it, as I think puddings of that kind are peculiar to England.

For an excellent Yorkshire pudding, take six eggs, six heaped table-spoonfuls of flour, and one tea-spoonful of salt. Beat the eggs well, strain them, and mix them with the flour, and then add gradually about a pint of milk, so as to make the whole into a rather thin batter. Warm the pan, and rub it with dripping or butter before the batter is poured into it, and let the batter be about an inch thick. When the pudding is browned on one side cut it into quarters, or eight pieces, and turn them to brown the other. In some places the pudding is made very thin, and not turned; and sometimes currants are added. A plainer pudding may be made with half a pound of flour, a tea-spoonful of salt, three eggs, and a pint of milk.

For a Plum pudding, take suet, flour, currants, and stoned raisins, one pound each, the grated rind of a lemon, four eggs, a wine-glassful of brandy, and as much milk as is required to make it of a proper consistence. It should be boiled eight or nine hours in either a cloth or a mould, and served with wine sauce.

Sir Joseph Brookes's Plum pudding. "Take the crumb of a twopenny loaf, six ounces of suet, two apples grated, three ounces of sugar, the rind of a lemon grated, a little candied orange, half a pound of currants, two table-spoonfuls of flour, the yolks of four eggs, half a nutmeg, a little ginger, and three table-spoonfuls of brandy. Mix all well together, and boil two hours. Eight ounces of apple or gooseberry pulp, with five ounces of sugar, may be substituted for the suet."

Mr. Sopwith's Victoria pudding. "Take half a pound of flour, half a pound of currants, a quarter of a pound of suet shred very fine, a quarter of a pound of moist sugar, half a pound of mashed potatoes, a quarter of a pound of carrots boiled and beaten smooth, and one ounce of lemon-peel. Mix all well together the night before the pudding is wanted, and boil it four hours." Another similar pudding is made as follows:—"Take of flour, suet chopped fine, currants, raisins, and grated carrot, half a pound of each; mix the ingredients well together, without any liquid, and boil five hours. A little grated lemon-peel may be added, and the pudding should be served with sweet sauce poured over it."

I shall now give you a few miscellaneous receipts of various kinds, which I know to be good.

A Charlotte de pommes is a French apple pudding, made by lining a mould or dish with thin slices of stale bread that have been dipped in clarified butter. The middle is then filled with apples, stewed as if for sauce; and a piece of bread being laid on the top, the charlotte is baked with fire above and below.

A French Apple pudding is made by baking or stewing some apples with sugar till they become a sort of marmalade. A custard is then made of half a pound of sweet almonds, blanched and pounded smooth, with an ounce of bitter ones, half a pint of cream, the yolks of two eggs, and the white of one, and poured over the apples, which should then be baked in a slow oven. As this is what is called a French apple pudding in England, it may amuse you to give you now what is called an English apple pudding in France; it is as follows:—Take twelve moderate-sized apples, pare and core them, and then put them into a saucepan with four or five table-spoonfuls of water. Stew them till they are soft, and then mix them with half a pound of powdered lump sugar, the juice of three lemons, and the grated rind of two, and the yolks of eight eggs well beaten. Mix all well together; cover a dish with a light puff paste, and pour the mixture into it. Put it into the oven, and bake it half an hour.

A Parsnep pudding is made by boiling two parsneps, draining the water from them, mashing them, and adding grated bread, the yolks of two eggs, sugar and spice to the taste, and a little cream; the whole, when mixed, is poured into a light puff paste, and baked.

Mr. Sopwith's Almond pudding. Take five or six bitter almonds, blanched, and pound them in a mortar, with seven or eight pieces of lump sugar. Then beat up the yolks of two, and the whites of three eggs, and add them to the almonds and sugar, with two spoonfuls of cream made lukewarm. Pour the whole into a mould or basin well buttered, and steam it for twenty minutes.

To make a Cabinet pudding. Butter a pudding basin, and line the inside with a layer of raisins that have been previously stoned. Then cut some thin bread and butter, taking off the crust, and fill the basin with it. In another basin beat up three eggs, and add to them a pint of milk, with sugar and spice; mix all well together, and pour the whole into the first basin upon the bread and butter. Let it stand half an hour, and then tie a floured cloth over it in the usual manner, taking care that the basin is quite full. This is a most delicious pudding; and when turned out of the basin it has a singular appearance, the outside being quite covered with raisins.

For Lemon cream. Take a quart of lemonade made very sweet, strain it, and put it in a saucepan on the fire. Add the yolks of eight eggs beaten, and stir it always one way till it is of a proper thickness. Serve it in custard-glasses, or in a cream-dish. To make the lemonade, dissolve five ounces of sugar in two pints of boiling water, having previously, with part of the sugar, rubbed the yellow rind off a lemon; then add the juice of three lemons. Some persons put the lemon and sugar into a jug, and pour the boiling water upon them.

Rice flummery, which is a very nice side dish, is made by mixing a quarter of a pound of ground rice with a little cold milk, and then adding a pint of hot milk which has been boiled with a stick of cinnamon and a bit of lemon-peel; add sugar to the taste, and, if required, a few drops of essence of almonds. Boil it up, stirring it carefully, and then pour it into a mould.

Dutch flummery is made by boiling two ounces of isinglass in three half-pints of water very gently for half an hour. Strain the liquor, and add a few lumps of sugar which have been rubbed on the rind of two lemons, and the juice of three lemons strained; then beat the yolks of seven eggs, and add them gradually. Put the whole over the fire, and stir it carefully, all one way, till it boils, and then pour it into a mould, or put it first into a basin to settle before putting it into the mould. The whites of the eggs beaten up to a froth will look very pretty over preserves; or they may be coloured with some kind of preserve, to form a dish.

The following is a receipt to make Rice cream, which was sent to me by a friend, and is said to be most excellent. Take a quarter of a pound of ground rice, one quart of cream, the peel of a lemon, and a small piece of butter. Put all into a stewpan, and place it over the fire, stirring it carefully till it boils, when it should be of about the same thickness as bread sauce. After boiling two minutes, add a spoonful of prepared isinglass, and turn it out, as you would any other cream. Send it to table with a little raspberry or currant syrup.

Blancmange may be made quickly by boiling, or rather simmering, two ounces of isinglass in three pints of milk till it is dissolved, which will be in about half an hour. Then strain it into a pint and a half of cream; sweeten it, and add a little peach-water, to give the flavour of almonds. Let it boil up once, and then stand a few minutes to settle before it is put into the moulds. Use tin moulds, and set them in cold pump-water changing the water when it becomes warm, and the blancmange will very soon be quite firm.

I will now give you a few miscellaneous receipts, and then I think you will have had enough; for I know, as far as my own experience goes, I have always felt perplexed, when I have taken up a cookery book, by the great number of receipts which I found in it, and all of which appeared to me so excellent that I knew not which to choose. I have, naturally enough, supposed you to have the same feeling; and thus, in what I have written, I have endeavoured as much as possible to save you the trouble of selection, by giving you only such dishes as I either know to be good myself, or which have been given to me by friends I can fully rely upon. But I am forgetting your receipts; they are as follow:—

To make Potato flour or starch, to serve also instead of arrow-root. Peel and wash the potatoes, cutting out all the specks; then grate or rasp them into a pan of water; stir it up well, and let it remain for about ten hours, or till all the flour is settled down. Then pour off the water with the fibrous parts of the potatoes, and put some fresh water to the flour, which, as it settles very hard, must be well stirred and strained into another pan, where let it remain till it is again settled down, and so do till the water is quite clear, which will be in four or five times mixing in fresh water; once straining is sufficient. When clear enough, break the flour up into a dish, and dry it gently before the fire; it takes a good while, as it must be thoroughly dried and broken into a fine powder. It may then be put away for use, and keeps a long time. Very small potatoes answer the purpose as well as large; and, when persons grow them, it uses up those that are too small for boiling. Ten ounces and a half of starch have been produced from very small potatoes, which weighed only seven pounds and a half before peeling them. When this flour is made on a large scale, the potatoes may be washed, and then ground in a cider-mill without paring.

To pickle Lemons. Grate off the rind, then lay them in salt for six days; boil vinegar with a little turmeric, and pour over them boiling; let them stand till next day; then boil in best vinegar, mace, shallots, anchovy, Cayenne pods, and cloves; boil the lemons and liquor together two minutes, and cover them close up. In a few days they will be fit for use, and are much admired with fish, cutlets, or cold meat.

Mixture for India Pickle. One gallon of vinegar, a quarter of a pound of garlic, half a pound of salt, a quarter of a pound of ginger, two ounces of white mustard seed, and two teaspoonfuls of Cayenne pepper; mix all well together. Any vegetables, such as small onions, cauliflowers, French beans, radish pods, and gherkins, may be laid in salt three days, dried, and put into the above mixture, and it is an excellent pickle for general use.

Cucumber Vinegar. Pare and slice fifteen large cucumbers, and three or four onions, a few shallots, and a clove or two of garlic. Then put a layer of slices of cucumber in a deep jar, and strew over it some pepper and salt, and a little Cayenne pepper; then a layer of onions and shallots, with pepper and salt as before; repeating alternate layers of cucumbers and onions till the jar is about half full, when three pints of vinegar is to be poured on the whole. After standing four days the vinegar is strained off, and is ready for use. It is a great improvement to cold meat.

Excellent Walnut catsup. Take walnuts of the size fit for pickling; cut and pound them in a marble mortar to obtain the juice. To a pint of this juice put a pound of anchovies. Boil till the anchovies are dissolved, and then strain through a piece of muslin. Then boil again, and add a quarter of an ounce of mace, half a quarter of an ounce of cloves, some whole white pepper, and seven or eight shallots, a few cloves of garlic, and a pint of white wine vinegar. Boil all together till the shallots become tender; then strain, and, when cold, bottle for use.

Tomato sauce may be made by putting ripe tomatoes into an earthen jar, and setting it in an oven from which the bread has been just drawn. When the tomatoes have become soft, the skins should be taken out, and the pulp should be mixed with vinegar, a few cloves of garlic pounded, Cayenne pepper, powdered ginger, and salt, to the taste. Another way is to stew a gallon of ripe tomatoes with a pound of salt till they are reduced to a pulp; then rub them through a sieve, and add half a drachm of cochineal, and Cayenne pepper, mace, allspice, and ginger to the taste. Let the whole boil gently for twenty minutes, and when cold put into wide-mouthed bottles for use. By adding a little brandy to each bottle, this sauce will keep several years. Tomatoes are also very good, boiled gently in salt and water.

For Tomato sauce (the Spanish way). Cut six tomatoes in half, and, having pressed out their juice, put to them a sufficient quantity of gravy, a quarter of a head of garlic, a little parsley, and a few drops of vinegar. All this must be boiled together for a short time and passed through a sieve. This sauce is a great improvement to mutton chops, ham, boiled beef, or beef steaks.

The Spanish mode of keeping Tomatoes. Boil some sugar, in the proportion of an ounce to each tomato, until it becomes candied. Add a tenth part of onions; and when they begin to colour put in the tomatoes, with salt, pepper, cloves, and nutmeg in suitable quantities. Boil the whole on a very quick fire, and, when of sufficient thickness, strain it through a hair-sieve. Place it on the fire again immediately, and, when it becomes solid, put it into jelly-pots. These must be covered with two plies of paper, and kept apart from the light. The onions may be omitted from the above; in which case it can be used as a sauce for a variety of dishes.

Sirop de Cerises. Prepare some ripe cherries by pulling out their stalks, crush them, and leave them to ferment for twenty-four hours. Press the cherries, and strain their juice through a sieve. The liquid should be quite clear, and to every seventeen ounces of juice add two pounds of lump sugar. Put the liquid into a stewpan on the fire, and let it boil once, then take off the scum, and when the liquor is nearly cold bottle it. All other syrups of fruit are made in the same manner.

I think you will now be as much tired of reading receipts for cookery as I am of writing them, and therefore I will only add two receipts for making Pork pies, the first of which is the mode practised in my native county, Warwickshire.

Half a pound of lard is put into a saucepan containing a quart of water. The saucepan is set on the fire, and stirred till the water boils. The boiling lard and water is then poured slowly into as much flour as will suffice to make it into a smooth and very stiff paste, and mixed with a wooden spoon, after which it must be beaten with a rolling-pin. When the ingredients are thoroughly incorporated, the paste is put into an earthen pan, covered with a linen cloth, and placed near the fire, where it is left for about half an hour. The meat is now prepared by being separated from every particle of bone, skin, and gristle, and cut into pieces about the size of dice. Care is taken to keep the fat and lean separate; but both are well seasoned with pepper and salt. A piece of the paste large enough to form one pie is then broken off the mass, and the rest is again covered up, as it cannot be worked if it is too cold, though it will not stand if it is too warm. If it breaks and crumbles, instead of being plastic, it is too cold; and if it is too soft, and falls when raised, it is either too warm or too rich. When it is of just the right heat to bear being moulded, and yet to retain whatever shape may be given to it, the piece of paste is worked with the hands on a pasteboard, into the form of a high-peaked hat, with a broad brim; and then the peak of the hat being turned downwards on the board, one of the hands is put inside the hat, and the other used to raise and smooth the sides, till the pie is gradually worked into a proper shape. The meat is then put into the crust in layers, two of lean to one of fat, and pressed as closely as possible, in order that the pie may cut firm when cold. When the pie is quite full, the lid is put on, and wet round the edge to make it adhere to the top of the walls, on which it is laid, the two being pinched together, in order to unite them more thoroughly.

In Leicestershire, and some parts of Staffordshire, a layer of raisins is often put below the meat, and, in Northamptonshire, pork pies or pasties are made with the same kind of crust as I have described, but, instead of being raised, it is rolled out, and then cut into pieces of a proper size for the top and bottom, with a long piece of the necessary width for the sides. The bottom is cemented to the walls with egg, the two parts which are to adhere being pinched together; and the crust is filled with well-seasoned meat, put in layers of fat and lean as before; the lid is then put on, and, after it has been made to adhere to the walls, it is washed over with a feather dipped in white of egg.

These pies are frequently baked in a tin, which is made so as only to support the walls, and is fastened on one side with a kind of skewer, which may be drawn out, so as to allow the tin to be removed without breaking the crust. As, however, the sides sometimes look too pale, when the pie is baked in a tin, the pie may be put into the oven again for a few minutes after the tin is removed, in order that the walls may be properly browned.

All pork pies should be baked slowly, on account of the solid nature of the meat; and a hole is generally made in the middle of the lid to let out the steam. No water should be put into the pie when it is made; but, when it is baked, a little gravy made from the bones of the pork may be poured in through the hole in the lid. Pork pies are never cut till they are cold. Those persons who dislike lard may use butter instead of it for the crust; but it is not quite so good.

LETTER VI.

THE LARDER.—SALTING MEAT, BACON, AND HAMS.—THE DAIRY.—MANAGEMENT OF MILK.—MAKING AND KEEPING BUTTER.—MAKING CHEESE OF VARIOUS KINDS.—ICE-HOUSE, ICE-CELLAR, AND ICE-COOLER.

I will now proceed to say a few words on the other servants' offices. The Larder in a country house is generally a square or oblong room near the kitchen, and sometimes sunk a step below it. It should be kept as cool as possible, and should be contrived to be on the north side of the house. Where practicable, there should be two windows, or rather openings in the walls, opposite each other, filled in with wire network instead of glass, to allow a free current of air through the room, and yet to exclude flies and other insects. The floor should be of brick, and furnished with a drain, so that it may be frequently washed with plenty of water, without much trouble. The walls should be whitewashed, and there should be fixed in them at intervals strong iron hooks or holdfasts, for the purpose of suspending uncooked meat. Other hooks should be fixed in the ceiling, for hung beef, tongues, hams, &c. When the larder is dry, there may be also bacon racks fixed to the ceiling; but, if the situation should be damp, these will be better in the kitchen. In some places a circular rack is hung in the centre with hooks round it for game; but in very large establishments there is a separate larder for game, as the smell, when it is high, gives an unpleasant flavour to the fresh meat kept near it. In the centre of the larder there should be a strong wooden table or chopping-block for cutting the meat upon; and close under the walls there is frequently a raised settlice or dais of brick, about two feet high, which serves to support earthen, slate, or wooden troughs for salting meat. In one of the deepest of these should be a kind of pickle or brine, in which anything that is to be salted for keeping may be put; and the other more shallow troughs may be employed for slightly salting meat that is soon to be used.

The pickle for the large brine trough is made by mixing four gallons of water with a pound or a pound and a half of coarse sugar, four ounces of saltpetre, and six pounds of common or bay salt. This mixture should be boiled in a large kettle, and the scum taken off as it rises. When no more scum appears, the vessel should be taken from the fire, and the liquid suffered to stand till it is cold. Another pickle is made by adding to four gallons of water, fourteen pounds of common salt, eight pounds of bay salt, half a pound of saltpetre, and two ounces of sal prunella. Boil the whole together for half an hour, and take off the scum; when cold it is fit for use. The first kind is best for hung beef and tongues; and the latter for salt beef and pickled pork.

When the pickle is ready, the meat to be salted should be examined, and carefully wiped dry with a coarse cloth, any flyblows or bruised parts being removed. If tongues are to be salted, the roots should be cut off, and laid aside for soups; and then the tongues should be scraped and rubbed dry before putting them into the pickling-trough. The skin of the pork should be scraped and cleaned, and the fleshy part should be carefully examined, and wiped dry, any mass that there may be of congealed blood being removed. All the meat that is to be cured being properly prepared, it should be laid in the pickling-trough and the brine poured over it; and, if there are several pieces of meat, care should be taken to lay them so that the brine may touch every part, and completely cover the whole. Meat which has been preserved in the first pickle for ten weeks or more, if cooked without being hung up to dry, will be perfectly tender, and will eat as well as meat that has been only freshly and slightly salted.

It is said that meat may be kept in this pickle for twelve months, provided the pickle be boiled and skimmed about once in two months, and that during the boiling, two ounces of sugar, and half a pound of salt be added. In general, the articles which have been salted, after remaining about a fortnight or three weeks in the pickle, are taken out and hung up to dry. Some persons lay them to drain, and then hang them up without any other preparation; but others advise them to be wiped quite dry and put in paper bags before they are hung up. Whenever fresh articles are put into the pickle, every thing should be taken out of the trough, and the brine boiled up, the scum being taken off and fresh salt and sugar added, as before directed. Sometimes meat is merely salted when it is to be used in a few days; in which case the meat is put into a smaller trough or pan, and only salt is used in the proportion of a quarter of a pound of salt to every two pounds of meat. The salt should be well rubbed in, and the meat turned every day.

The following general observations as to curing meat will probably be of more use than multiplying receipts. What is called bay salt (that is, salt made by evaporating sea-water) gives a finer flavour than common salt, but rather more should be used, to produce the same degree of saltness. Sugar makes meat tender, and gives mellowness and richness, but the quantity used should never be more than one quarter of the quantity of salt, or it will make the meat taste insipid. Saltpetre gives a fine red colour, but it is apt to make the meat hard; and, whenever it is used, there should be at least an equal quantity of sugar to counteract its hardening tendency. The usual proportion is, a quarter of an ounce of saltpetre to a pound of salt; or, if used with sugar, one ounce of saltpetre to three pounds of sugar. Meat should never be salted in very hot weather, unless it is wanted for use in a few days; and it should never be put in pickle at that season. If any meat in the slightest degree tainted be put into the pickling-trough, the brine will be spoiled, and should be thrown away. When it is absolutely necessary, in very hot weather, to salt meat to keep, it is said that a tea-spoonful of muriatic acid and of nitric acid (spirits of salt and aquafortis), in equal parts, should be added to every pound of salt. It is also said that a dessert-spoonful of pyroligneous acid added to every pound of salt will give a fine smoky flavour, without any of the trouble attendant on smoking dried meat; but this last must be used with great care, as too much would spoil the meat.

As Hams require to be salted with more care than any other kind of meat, I have given below two or three particular receipts for curing them, all of which I know to be excellent. The first is very useful in the country, as the hams cured by it may be cooked without steeping.

For a ham twenty-four pounds in weight, take two ounces of saltpetre, half a pound of common salt, one pound of bay salt, and one ounce of black pepper. Mix these together, and rub them well into the ham: then let it stand three days, and at the expiration of that time pour one pound of treacle over it, and let it remain twenty-four hours; after that time, let it be turned every day for a month, and each time rub the liquor well into it. After this, steep the ham in cold water for twelve hours, then dry it well and hang it up. It will not require any further steeping when it is to be boiled; and it should be boiled slowly, say at the rate of about three hours for a ham of the weight of ten pounds. This receipt was given me by Mr. Beaton, and it is impossible for any hams to be better than those cured in this way.

The following is the way of curing hams to give them the Westphalian flavour. For two large hams, take one pound and a quarter of common salt, two ounces and a half of saltpetre, three pounds of bay salt, one pound and a half of brown sugar, and one quart of old beer; boil them all together, and pour the mixture over the hams boiling hot. Turn them and rub them well every day for sixteen days; then smoke them with short horse-litter, and hang them up to dry.

The following is another mode of giving hams the Westphalian flavour, and it is said to be excellent. For two hams weighing thirty pounds, take one pound of common salt, half a pound of bay salt, three ounces of saltpetre, and one ounce and a half of black pepper, the latter ground, and finely sifted. Mix all these well together, and rub the hams with the mixture for four days, turning them every day, and having first washed them well with vinegar. On the fifth day, pour over the hams two pounds of treacle, and rub them well with two ounces of juniper berries bruised. Let them remain in this pickle six weeks, turning and rubbing them daily; then take them out of the pickle, and lay them in spring water for four-and-twenty hours; then wipe them dry and send them to a chimney where wood is burnt. When thoroughly smoked, take them down and put them in a chest with wood ashes. I may here observe that, when hams are cured in any ordinary way, it is said that the Westphalian flavour may be given to them by rubbing over them three table-spoonfuls of a mixture of tar and spirits of wine, when they are just taken out of the pickle.

The following is a mode of making Mutton hams, which some persons are very fond of, though they are too strong for delicate stomachs. Cut a hind quarter of mutton like a ham, and rub it with one ounce of saltpetre, one pound of sugar, and one pound of salt. Lay it in a pan, with the skin downwards for a fortnight, then roll it in bran, and hang it up to dry.

In some places there is no regular larder, but the uncooked meat is kept in a hanging Safe in the open air, which is drawn up and down by a pulley. Cooked meat is either kept in a similar safe, in a fixed safe, in a separate room called a dry larder, or on a table in the centre of the common or wet larder; but, in the latter case, every dish should be covered with a wire-cloth cover to keep off the flies. In many places the salting-room is apart from the larder, and this is a great improvement.

The Dairy should have thick walls, and a brick or stone floor, so contrived that it may be washed with abundance of water every day, and yet have all the water run off by means of a waste-pipe or drain. There should be a kind of shelf of stone or slate round it, about four feet from the ground, and a table of similar materials in the centre, for the convenience of holding the vessels containing the milk and cream; and the window, if there is but one, should look towards the north, and be filled in with wire-cloth, so as to admit the air and yet exclude the flies and other insects. Besides this wirework, the window should also have either a sash frame with ground glass to open inside, or outside shutters, to exclude the sun in very hot weather, and the cold in winter. A thermometer should be kept in every dairy, and the heat should never be allowed to rise above 55°, or to fall below 50°. There should always be a scullery attached to the dairy containing a fireplace and boiler, as the vessels in which milk is kept require to be frequently washed with scalding-hot water to keep the milk sweet, and to prevent the butter and cream from acquiring an unpleasant taste.

Though I do not imagine your knowledge of a dairy to be very great, I suppose you are aware that the milk is drawn from the cow into a can or wooden pail, and brought into the dairy, where it is strained, and then put into shallow vessels or milk-pans, in which it is left for several hours in order that the cream may rise. Cows are generally milked twice a day; the morning's milk being skimmed in the afternoon, when the afternoon's milk is put into pans, or set up as the dairy-maids call it, and the afternoon's milk being skimmed in the morning. The cream, after what is wanted for the table has been taken out, is put into a large wide-mouthed jar or stein, and saved for butter. Cheese is generally made of new milk, which is put at once into the cheese-tub without setting it up in pans. The cheese-tub and cheese-press, the churn and all the apparatus for making butter, generally stand in the dairy scullery, where the operations of cheese and butter making are carried on.

Various kinds of vessels have been recommended for milk, and they have been made of lead, zinc, slate, and other materials. China are the best; but the old-fashioned wooden or earthenware pans appear to be the most general favourites; the only objections being, that wooden pans require a great deal of care to keep them clean, and that the leaden glaze of the earthenware pans is apt to be affected by the acid of the milk, if it should be kept till it becomes sour. No good dairy-maid, however, would ever keep milk in her pans till it became acid: and, if by any chance wooden vessels became tainted by having had in them sour or otherwise spoiled milk, they should be soaked in water in which a large piece of soda has been dissolved; and, if this does not sweeten them, they must be boiled in soda and water, and then immersed in pure cold water for a day or two.

Milk when drawn from the cow is warm, and it should be set up in the dairy before it is quite cold, or the Cream will not rise properly. Cream for butter may stand twelve hours on the milk, but the cream that rises in two or three hours after the milk is set is considered the richest. In many places the milk is skimmed twice, the second time twelve hours after the first; but the second skimming is considered very inferior to the first. In Devonshire, the dairy-maids set the milk-pans on a hot hearth, in order to raise the rich cream peculiar to that county.

In Scotland, Butter is made by churning the whole of the milk, which is put into the churn as it comes from the cow, and kept there till it is slightly sour before it is churned; but this makes the operation of churning very laborious, and the butter has always a sour taste. In England, butter is made only from the cream, which is not put into the churn till wanted for churning, but is kept previously from three days to a week in a deep earthen vessel, and is stirred every day when fresh cream is put in.

Churns are of two kinds, viz. the plunge-churn, the motion of which is up and down; and the barrel-churn, which turns round, and is considered much the best. Churning is generally performed in the open air in summer, and in the dairy scullery near the fire in winter. If kept too cold, the butter will not "come;" and, if too hot, the butter will be soft, and will soon become rancid.

When the butter has come, as the dairy-maids call it, it is gathered together with the hand or a net, and put into a kind of shallow tub; the buttermilk is then emptied out of the churn, which should be left to drain for half an hour or thereabouts, and be afterwards well washed with scalding water and a little salt. The butter in the mean time is kneaded and worked with the hand, or with two small and very smooth pieces of wood, to get all the buttermilk out of it; and in England water is generally poured over it to assist in this operation, though in Scotland it is said that water spoils the butter. When all the buttermilk is worked out, the butter is slightly salted, and then made up into rolls or lumps with the two pieces of wood. In the South of England, as soon as the butter is made, it is put into water; but in the North it is laid in a dry cool place, and covered over.

When butter is intended for salting, it is not made into rolls, but the salt is worked into it as soon as the buttermilk has been removed. The following composition is recommended as a very good one for salting butter for home use. Take two parts of salt, one part of lump sugar, and one part of saltpetre. Beat them well together, and add one ounce of this composition to every sixteen ounces of butter.

When cows are fed on turnips, an unpleasant taste is given both to the milk and butter; but it may generally be removed in the following manner. Pour a quart of boiling water on two ounces of saltpetre, and, when it is thoroughly dissolved and cold, bottle it for use. If two table-spoonfuls of this mixture be put to every four gallons of milk, as soon as it is brought into the dairy and strained, it is said to take off the unpleasant taste; or a lump of saltpetre about the size of a walnut may be put into the cream-pot and well stirred twice a day, when the fresh cream is added. In winter, butter is sometimes so pale as to look almost like lard, but it may be coloured by a little arnatto, which is sold for that purpose in the grocers' shops; or the juice of carrot scraped and strained through muslin, or that of the flowers of the marigold, may be used. In either case the colouring matter is mixed with the cream before churning.

Cheese is made by coagulating milk with rennet, and then separating the whey or watery part from the curd, which, when salted, pressed, and dried, becomes cheese. Rennet is the stomach of a calf washed, cleaned, and salted thoroughly inside and out, being left in an earthen jar, with a thick coating of salt on it, for three or four days. It is then taken out of the pickle and hung up to dry, and in many places it is kept in this state till wanted; but in others, after it has become dry, it is resalted and placed again in the jar, which has a bladder or a piece of thick paper pierced with pinholes tied over it, the rennet being kept twelve months in this state before it is used. In London, calves' stomachs and those of lambs, prepared for rennet, are kept in large casks and sold in the oilmen's shops. In whatever way the rennet has been pickled and preserved, it is always soaked in brine made of salt and water or salt and whey, before it is used, and a bunch of sweet herbs is generally put into the brine in which the rennet is soaked, in order to give an agreeable flavour to the cheese. The whole, however, must be strained off clear before it is put to the milk.

Whenever cheese is to be made, the milk must be warmed to about 90° of Fahrenheit, or the rennet will not act. As soon as the curd has set, it is separated from the whey in several different ways, and on the manner in which this is done the kind of cheese produced will principally depend. When a Stilton, or any other kind of rich buttery cheese, is to be made, a very strong brine is prepared of salt and cold water, in which is steeped a bundle of sweet herbs, consisting of thyme, hyssop, marjoram, and savory, with a branch of sweet-briar, and a few peppercorns. This is suffered to remain three or four days, after which it is strained off, and the rennet having been put into it and soaked four or five days, is then ready for use. When all is prepared, the morning's new milk, together with the cream from the last night's milking, is put into a narrow, but deep, circular pan, and the liquid rennet put to it.

As soon as the curd is formed, it is very carefully removed from the pan, without breaking it, if possible, and laid on a deep circular sieve, where it is slightly pressed, in order that the whey may drain from it. It is then put into the cheese-vat, which should be ten inches and a half deep, and eight inches and a quarter over, with a moveable hoop of wood on the top, over which a piece of flat board is generally laid. As soon as the cheese has acquired a sufficient consistency, it is removed from the vat and firmly bound round with a clean cloth, which is changed every day, and the cheese bound tighter and tighter, till at last it becomes sufficiently firm to stand alone. Every time the cloth is changed, the cheese is wiped at the top and bottom and turned, so that each end may be equally level. When it has become sufficiently firm to support itself without the cloth, the cheese is removed to the cheese-room; but it still requires to be turned twice a day, and brushed, for about three months.

Single and double Gloucester cheeses are made very differently from Stilton, though the rennet is prepared for both in nearly the same manner, except that some allspice and a little saltpetre are generally added to the brine. In some places the brine is made of whey, in which enough salt is put to make it float an egg; but it is said that cheeses made in this manner are very apt to heave.

The best single Gloucester cheese for toasting is what is called a one-meal cheese; that is to say, it is made entirely of new milk taken fresh from the cow. An inferior kind is called a two-meal cheese, and it is made with the evening's milk after it has been skimmed in the morning, mixed with the morning's new milk. The milk is then warmed, and coloured with a little arnatto, care being taken, however, that none of the solid part of the drug goes into the milk; the usual practice, indeed, is to dip the arnatto in a little milk, and then to rub it on a flat stone or plate. The colouring matter thus produced is washed off into a basinful of milk, which is then allowed to stand and settle, so as to deposit its sediment before it is poured into the cheese-tub. The rennet is then added, and the whole is kept moderately warm (the milk should never sink below 80°) till the curd is come, which is generally in about an hour. The curd is then broken up with a flat piece of wood called a cheese-knife, and the whey is strained from it; the fragments of curd being frequently moved about, to allow the whey to escape from them. Some boiling water is then mixed with a little of the cold whey, and poured quite hot upon the curd, so as to cover it, the curd being stirred briskly about, and afterwards left for half an hour to sink. The liquor is then drained off, and the curd taken up by the hands and carefully squeezed as it is put into the cheese-vat, which is not only filled, but has as much piled on the top as it will hold. When this is done, the curd in and on the vat is turned into a cheese-cloth, and the vat is washed with whey. The cloth, with the curd in it, is next placed in the vat, and the ends of the cloth are turned over the top of the curd, and tucked into the vat round the edges. It is then put into the cheese-press, where it remains about three hours, after which it is taken out and the cloth changed, before it is again put into the vat and into the press. In this state it remains three or four hours longer. It is then taken out of the vat and out of the cloth, and rubbed well with salt all over, taking care that the salt touches every part, after which it is put into the vat without a cloth, and replaced in the press. The next morning it is taken out of the press and again salted and turned, and the same operation is repeated in the evening. After this it is suffered to remain five or six days in the press, being taken out every morning and turned, but not salted. It is then removed to the cheese-room, where it is turned every day for ten or twelve days, and frequently scraped and rubbed. In some places, when the cheese is thoroughly dry, the outer rind is painted with a mixture of Spanish brown and Indian pink, rubbed in with the hand. The whey from this cheese produces a great deal of butter; and, indeed, it is generally set up for cream as soon as it comes from the curd.

The double Gloucester cheese is always made with one meal's milk warm from the cow, and the dairy-maids generally put a lemon, stuck with cloves, into the brine in which they steep their rennet. The cheese-making then proceeds in the same manner as for the single Gloucester, except that, when about half the curd has been put into the vat, an ounce of salt is sprinkled over it before the rest of the curd is put in. The remainder of the operation is the same as for the single Gloucester; the principal difference being in the thickness of the cheese, which, of course, is occasioned by the greater depth of the vat in which the curd is put.

In many parts of Gloucestershire, what is called Sage cheese is made. For this a couple of handfuls of sage leaves and a handful of parsley are generally put into a portion of the evening's milk, and suffered to remain all night. In the morning the milk is warmed, and, after being strained from the leaves, it is turned to curd with the rennet in the usual way. In the mean time a portion of the morning's milk, into which no colouring matter is put, is turned to curd by rennet; and the curds of both kinds are kept separate through the processes of draining and scalding, till they are ready to be put into the vat, when they are mixed according to the fancy of the dairy-maid. Sometimes the green curd is pressed into a tin or wooden mould, so as to form a dolphin or some other fanciful figure; in which case it is taken carefully out of the mould, and put into the vat without breaking it, and the white curd is crumbled between the fingers and pressed carefully and firmly round it. In other cases the sage and parsley leaves are only bruised, and the juice which is pressed from them is mingled with a portion of the morning's milk; or one portion of the milk is coloured red with the juice of boiled beet-root, another green with the juice from spinach leaves flavoured with sage, and another yellow with the bruised petals of the marigold. Portions of milk are coloured with these different substances and coagulated separately, the curd being varied when putting into the vat, according to the fancy of the dairy-maid. In other cases the whole of the milk is coloured and flavoured with sage.

Cheshire cheeses are generally very large, most of those made in spring being one hundredweight each. The rennet for a Cheshire cheese is not considered fit for use till it is three years old. It is soaked in warm water the night before it is wanted, and in the morning the liquor is considered ready without any further preparation. The evening's milk is set up for cream in the usual way, and in the morning the cream is taken off and put into a brass bowl made hot by rinsing it with boiling water. A third part of the skimmed milk is then put into another brass bowl, warmed in the same manner; and the two are put into the cheese-tub, and mixed with the morning's milk warm from the cow. The whole is coloured with the juice of scraped carrots, or of the bruised flowers of the marigold. The liquor from the rennet is then added, and, being well stirred in, the tub is closely covered and kept in a warm temperature till the coagulation is complete, which is generally in little more than half an hour.

As soon as the curd is well set, it is divided and turned over with a bowl to separate it from the whey; after which it is broken into small pieces by the hand, and suffered to settle down, while the whey, which swims at the top, is poured off. The curd is pressed on one side of the tub with a loose board, and the whey that runs from it is again poured off. The curd is then drawn into the centre of the tub, and formed into a heap, and the board is laid on the top and heavy weights placed on it, generally amounting to a hundred pounds. This presses the curd into a solid mass, and squeezes out an additional quantity of whey.

The mass of curd is then cut into slices, and boards and weights put upon each slice. This is repeated several times, till not a drop more whey will run from the curd; after which it is removed to a dry tub, and crumbled with the fingers as small as possible. It is then well salted, and put into a cheese-vat made warm by being scalded with boiling water, and heaped up as high as it will go, the additional curd being kept in its place by a movable tin hoop. A flat board is then laid across the top to press down the curd, which generally rises to a point in the centre of the vat, and the heavy weights are again put on it. At the same time wooden skewers are run into the cheese, in order that every particle of whey may be drawn out of it.

After standing some time, the cheese is taken out of the vat, and laid on a large cheese-cloth, and the curd again broken from the top down the centre, and more salt mixed with it; after which it is pressed into the vat by the hand as before, and weights are again put upon it, while skewers are run through holes purposely left in the vat, into the sides of the cheese, as before. Another vat having been scalded by being rinsed with boiling water, the cheese is wrapped in a cloth and put into it; the ends of the cloth being folded over the cheese as tightly as possible, and tucked inside the vat, where they are kept down by a tin hoop called a binder, which is forced in between the cheese and the upper part of the vat. The cheese is then put into the press under a pressure of about a ton weight, and a number of thin iron skewers are passed through the holes in the vat into the sides of the cheese. After four hours it is turned, and the skewers removed to fresh places, when the cheese is put into the press for another four hours; after which, the process is repeated. It is then put into the press, and left there all night; the following morning it is again turned, and put into the press without the skewers. It remains in the press for four or five days, being regularly turned every morning and evening; and it is taken from the press into the cheese-room, where it is salted on the outside, and tightly bound with a linen cloth. It is kept in this state and turned twice a day for a week; after which it is put on the shelves to dry for a fortnight or three weeks, during which period it must be turned and wiped every day. Lastly, it is then laid on straw, and kept rather warm, lest the rind should crack; and, when the rind begins to feel hard, its surface is rubbed over with butter, and the cheese is ready for the market. It is rather singular that, notwithstanding the pains taken to drain every drop of whey from the Cheshire cheese, its whey yields no butter, and is seldom made any use of except for feeding pigs.

Cheddar cheese is made like Cheshire, except that when the cheese is broken down to be resalted, before it is put in the cheese-press, the curd is crumbled, and four or five pounds of fresh butter are mixed with it. The cheese is then put in a cloth into the vat, and placed under the great press, where it remains only about a quarter of an hour, before it is turned and put into a clean cloth: this process is repeated three or four times; after which the cheese is wrapped in a very fine cloth, and has three or four other cloths wrapped round it. It is then put into the press, and remains there for forty-eight hours; after which it is taken from the press, washed in whey, and then laid on a shelf upon a clean cloth to dry. It is afterwards laid on a shelf without any cloth, and turned every day till it begins to ripen.

The Wiltshire cheeses are of four kinds: the thin, the thick, the loaf cheese, and the pine-apple, or net, cheese. The first two kinds are made nearly the same as the Gloucester cheeses; for which, indeed, they are frequently sold in the London markets. The principal difference in the manufacture consists in the curd, before it is scalded, being cut into dice of about an inch square each, and a thick layer of salt being thrown over them, which is said to harden the surface of the curd, and to prevent its buttery particles being washed away by the hot water. The curd is also put into the vat while it is as hot as the dairy-maid can handle it; and salt is strewed in between every layer. In all other respects, the manufacture of the cheese is exactly the same as in Gloucestershire till it is ready to be carried to the cheese-room, where it is either laid upon elder leaves or the shelves are washed over with their juice, in order to prevent the devastations of mites. The loaf cheeses are made the same as the others; but their vats are from ten inches to a foot in diameter, and six inches deep; and, when the curd is put into the vat, it is in four layers, with alternate thin layers of salt. These are what are generally sold in London as Wiltshire cheeses. The curd for the pine-apple cheese is prepared in the same way as the others; but, instead of being put into a vat and then into the cheese-press, it is put into a net with no other pressure than from the hand of the dairy-maid; who, however, prides herself on getting as much into the net as it can possibly hold. The net is then hung up in the cheese-room, and requires no further care.

I shall now give you only one more receipt for making keeping-cheeses, and that shall be for the far-famed Parmesan. This celebrated cheese is made with skim-milk. The night's milking is skimmed in the morning, and the morning's milk is skimmed about two o'clock in the afternoon: the two are then mixed together and put into a large copper kettle, suspended over a fire by a crane. The milk is stirred till it has reached 125° of Fahrenheit. The kettle is now turned from the fire, between which and it a wooden screen is placed; and, when the bubbling of the milk has subsided, a piece of rennet, tied in a linen rag, is put into the milk, and squeezed several times in different places. The rennet is then taken out, and the milk well stirred; after which it is left till the curd has formed, which is generally in about three quarters of an hour. As soon as this is the case the kettle is again turned on the fire, and the mass of curd is heated to 150°, being well stirred and divided while it is heating. A fourth part of the whey is now taken out of the kettle, and the curd is heated to 180°, stirring it rapidly all the time; and a few pinches of powdered saffron are thrown in, which not only colour it, but give that peculiar flavour always perceptible in Parmesan cheese. The cheese-maker (for as Parmesan cheese is always made by a man, I must not say the dairy-maid) then takes a small quantity of the curd in his hand, and squeezes it; when, if he finds it adhere together, the kettle is instantly turned off the fire, the wooden screen is again interposed, and the curd is left to settle. The whey which rises is immediately poured off, and two or three pailfuls of cold water are thrown over the curd. The cheese-maker immediately plunges his arms into the kettle, and, gathering the curd to one side, contrives to slip the whole mass into a large cloth, which is raised as rapidly as possible, and transferred to a mould without a bottom. This is an operation which requires both strength and skill; for the cheese hardens so rapidly, that it requires the greatest exertions to get it into the mould without spoiling its shape. By its own power of contraction it presses out every drop of whey. An iron plate, with a slight weight on it, is laid on the top to keep it flat; but, by the time it is cold, it is become so hard as to require no further pressure. It is then taken out of the mould, and a thick layer of salt put on its upper surface. The next day the cheese is turned, and the under surface salted in the same manner. In this way the cheese is turned and salted every day for thirty or forty days, till the salt will no longer dissolve. The rind of the cheese is then scraped, and, after a little colouring matter has been rubbed over it, it is covered with linseed oil.

I will now say a few words on Cream cheeses, and then, I think, you will have had quite enough of this subject.

A York cream cheese is made by taking a quart of new milk warm from the cow, into which is sometimes put half a pint of cream, and adding to it two spoonfuls of the water in which a piece of rennet has been steeped all night. The milk is then set before the fire till the curd is formed, when it should be taken up without breaking, if possible, and put into a frame made of oak wood, seven inches long within, four inches wide, and three inches and a half deep. This frame being open at the top and bottom, it must be placed upon rushes to permit the whey to run out; to encourage which, a board must be put within the frame to support a weight to press down the curd, between which and the curd some rushes must be put. After standing two days, the rushes must be renewed, when the cheese should be taken from the vat and turned as often as necessary. This will make an excellent cream cheese without the cream; and, indeed, the York cheeses sold in the shops are always made of milk only, without any cream. The rushes should be sewed together with thread.

A kind of cream cheese is, however, made in Yorkshire of cream only, without any rennet. "Take any quantity of cream and put it into a wet cloth. Tie it up, and hang it in a cool place for seven or eight days. Then take it from the cloth and put it into a mould (in another cloth) with a weight upon it, for two or three days longer. Turn it twice a day, when it will be fit for use."

The following is a receipt for making a Bath cream cheese. Add half a pint of cream to a quart of new milk, and warm the mixture till it is about 80° of Fahrenheit; then stir in as much rennet as will coagulate it. As soon as the curd has formed, put a cloth over the bottom of a large shallow vat, and, taking the curd up with a skimming-dish, place it in the vat and wrap the cloth over it. As the curd shrinks, the vat must be filled up with fresh curd, till the cheese is of a proper thickness. When the cheese has become a little firm, it is turned out of the vat and laid in a dry cloth. A board is then put over it, on which is placed a weight of two pounds. At night it is put into another clean cloth, and the next morning it is slightly salted with a little fine dry salt, and placed on a bed of fresh nettles or strawberry leaves, being covered with leaves of the same kind. These leaves are changed every morning, and the cheese is turned twice a day for a fortnight, after which it is fit for use.

I think I have now told you almost all I know relative to those points of domestic economy in which a country life differs from a life in town. I have, however, omitted to mention an Ice-house, which you will find an important addition to your comfort in summer. A common ice-house is a kind of well, built in Roman cement, and sunk in the ground. It is arched over, and the ice is put in through a hole in the top. A door is on one side for taking the ice out, and there is a drain at the bottom for carrying away the water that runs off as the ice melts.

A more modern invention is a small cellar built adjoining the house, with double walls, the space between the walls being filled with charcoal. The cellar has double doors with a space between, so that one may be shut before the other is opened, to prevent the entrance of the atmospheric air. The ice is kept in a sunk part made like a bath, at the farther end of the cellar, furnished with a drain to carry off the superfluous water; and in the other part of the cellar are shelves, on which wine or food can be placed to be kept cool. The old-fashioned ice-house was always made in the park at some distance from the house, and consequently was of very little use; but the modern ice-cellar is very useful for keeping cool, water, butter, and other articles of daily consumption; which can be fetched out of it when they are wanted, as easily and expeditiously as they could be out of a common dairy or pantry.

When ice is supplied from a distance, it will soon melt, if exposed to the atmospheric air during summer. To prevent this it may be kept in an ice chest, that is, a large deep coffer lined with cork, and with a double lid; or in a box called a refrigerator, which may even be brought into the dining-room. The refrigerator consists of a double frame of wood, with the space between filled in with charcoal. The bottles of wine are placed in little tin cases left for them, and ice is put between the cases. Below the ice is a tin grating, through which the melted water runs, and is let off when requisite by a cock. The box is made to hold two bottles of wine on one side, and a bottle of water and a glass for butter on the other.

The American refrigerator is another contrivance of the same nature, which will keep the ice unmelted for a fortnight even during the hottest weather in summer. This box, like the other, is double, the inner part being of lead, and the space between the two being filled with sawdust. There are two lids so as completely to exclude the air when both are closed.

The usual mode of cooling wine and other liquids by ice, is to surround the bottle, or other vessel in which the liquor is contained, entirely with ice, observing that the hottest part of the wine is always at the top of the bottle, but that if the top is chilled faster than the bottom, the cold wine descends, and that which is still warm rises and takes its place. As, therefore, the wine is liable to be set in motion by the process of cooling, it is best to decant it before it is put into the refrigerator, as otherwise there will be danger of disturbing the sediment of white wine and the crust of port. When ice is perfectly clean and clear, like that of the Wenham Lake, it is sometimes broken into small pieces, and put into the liquid which is to be cooled; but this could not be done with the ice collected from the dirty ponds near London.

When it is wished to cool wine rapidly, it is only necessary to put it into a thin glass bottle, and to wet the outside with ether; as cold is produced by rapid evaporation sooner than in any other manner, wine-coolers are formed on this principle.

A freezing mixture for cooling wine, and for freezing ice-creams, may be formed by mixing five parts of sal ammoniac with five parts of nitre and sixteen of water. A mixture of snow or pounded ice and salt produces a most intense cold, but it is only while the salt is melting the ice or snow that the cold is felt. Muriate of lime, mixed with snow, produces a still greater degree of cold. Several other mixtures may be used for freezing; but those producing the most intense cold are mixtures of nearly equal parts of sulphate of soda with nitrous or sulphuric acid, the sulphate predominating. Eight parts of sulphate of soda, mixed with five parts of muriatic acid, will produce a cold equal to zero. When any liquid is to be frozen by these mixtures, the bottle containing the liquid is put into a wooden vessel containing the mixture; and if the cold is to be very intense, the outer vessel may be placed on a flat piece of cork in a much larger empty vessel, the whole being covered with a woollen cloth. Water freezes soonest when it has been boiled, and forms the most compact and beautiful ice.

The principal utensils required for making ice-creams are a tub large enough to contain about a bushel of ice, which must be pounded small, and mixed with salt, nitre, or soda, and a freezing-pot made of pewter, like those sent out with ice-creams. Copper spoons or spaddles are also required for stirring the ingredients of which the ice-creams are composed, while the process of freezing is going on. When all is ready, the ingredients for the ice-creams are poured into the freezing-pot, which is put up to its cover into the tub full of ice and salt, and kept turning round continually by its handle till the freezing is completed. The turning the pot is the most difficult part of the operation, and it requires great attention, as, unless the ingredients are kept in constant motion, the sugar, which is the heaviest, will sink to the bottom, and the other articles will be unequally frozen, so as to form unsightly lumps. The cover must be taken off occasionally, to see how the process is going on, and the cream that has adhered to the sides of the freezing-pot should be scraped off, and mixed with the rest by the spaddle, in order to prevent waste. The whole of the ingredients should also be mixed together with the spaddle if they appear to be settling irregularly.

Ice-creams and water-ices should be perfectly smooth, and soft enough to break easily with a spoon. The ice-creams are made by mashing the fruit with which they are to be flavoured, and adding to a pint of the juice, after it has been strained, a pint of thick cream, the juice of half a lemon, and sugar to the taste. The lemon-juice should be put in last. Sometimes whipped cream is used, the cream being first mixed with sugar, and laid on a fine sieve, turned the bottom upwards in a bowl, as it is whipped, so that the cream which drains from it may not be wasted. Water-ices are generally only the juice of the fruit strained and sweetened, as, if water is added, the ice is apt to freeze too hard. Lemon-ice is composed of the juice of four lemons, and the rind of one, to a pint of clarified sugar-syrup, the whole being strained before putting it into the freezing-pot.