Robert did not make his appearance next morning, and his absence seemed
to give fresh ground for the expectation that Lady Darcy would drive
over with him in the afternoon and pay a call at the vicarage.
Mrs. Asplin gathered what branches of russet leaves still remained in
the garden and placed them in bowls in the drawing-room, with a few
precious chrysanthemums peeping out here and there; laid out her very
best tea cloth and d’Oyleys, and sent the girls upstairs to change
their well-worn school dresses for something fresher and smarter.
“And you, Peggy dear—you will put on your pretty red, of course!”
she said, standing still, with a bundle of branches in her arms, and
looking with a kindly glance at the pale face which had somehow lost
its sunny expression during the last two days.
Peggy hesitated and pursed up her lips.
“Why ‘of course,’ Mrs. Asplin? I never change my dress until evening.
Why need I do it to-day just because some strangers may call whom I
have never seen before?”
It was the first time that the girl had objected to do what she was
told, and Mrs. Asplin was both surprised and hurt by her tone in
which she spoke—a good deal puzzled too, for Peggy was by no means
indifferent to pretty frocks, and as a rule fond of inventing excuses
to wear her best clothes. Why, then, should she choose this afternoon
of all others to refuse so simple a request? Just for a moment she
felt tempted to make a sharp reply, and then tenderness for the girl
whose mother was so far away took the place of the passing irritation,
and she determined to try a gentler method.
“There is not the slightest necessity, dear,” she said quietly. “I
asked only because the red dress suits you so well, and it would have
been a pleasure to me to see you looking your best. But you are very
nice and neat as you are. You need not change unless you like.”
She turned to leave the room as she finished speaking; but before she
had reached the door, Peggy was by her side, holding out her hands to
take possession of twigs and branches.
“Let me take them to the kitchen, please! Do let me help you!” she said
quickly, and just for a moment a little hand rested on her arm with a
spasmodic pressure. That was all, but it was enough. There was no need
of a formal apology. Mrs. Asplin understood all the unspoken love and
penitence which was expressed in that simple action, and beamed with
her brightest smile.
“Thank you, my lassie, please do! I’m glad to avoid going near the
kitchen again, for when cook once gets hold of me, I can never get
away. She tells me the family history of all her relations, and indeed
it’s very depressing, it is” (with a relapse into her merry Irish
accent), “for they are subject to the most terrible afflictions! I’ve
had one dose of it to-day, and I don’t want another!”
Peggy laughed and carried off her bundle, lingered in the kitchen
just long enough to remind the cook that “Apple Charlotte served with
cream” was a seasonable pudding at the fall of the year, and then went
upstairs to put on the red dress, and relieve her feelings by making
grimaces at herself in the glass as she fastened the buttons.
At four o’clock the patter of horses’ feet came from below, doors
opened and shut, and there was a sound of voices in the hall. The
visitors had arrived!
Peggy pressed her lips together and bent doggedly over her writing. She
had not progressed with her work as well as she had hoped during Rob’s
absence, for her thoughts had been running on other subjects, and she
had made mistake after mistake. She must try to finish one batch at
least to show him on his return. Unless she was especially sent for she
would not go downstairs; but before ten minutes had passed, Mellicent
was tapping at the door and whispering eager sentences through the
keyhole.
“Peggy, quick! They’ve come! Rosalind’s here! You’re to come down!
Quick! Hurry up!”
“All right, my dear, keep calm! You will have a fit if you excite
yourself like this!” said Peggy coolly.
The summons had come and could not be disregarded, and on the whole she
was not sorry. The meeting was bound to take place sooner or later,
and, in spite of her affectation of indifference, she was really
consumed with curiosity to know what Rosalind was like. She had no
intention of hurrying, however, but lingered over the arrangement of
her papers until Mellicent had trotted downstairs again and the coast
was clear. Then she sauntered after her with leisurely dignity, opened
the drawing-room door, and gave a swift glance round.
Lady Darcy sat talking to Mrs. Asplin a few yards away in such a
position that she faced the doorway. She looked up as Peggy entered and
swept her eyes curiously over the girl’s figure. She looked older than
she had done from across the church the day before, and her face had a
bored expression, but, if possible, she was even more elegant in her
attire. It seemed quite extraordinary to see such a fine lady sitting
on that well-worn sofa, instead of the sober figure of the Vicar’s wife.
Peggy flashed a look from one to the other—from the silk dress to the
serge, from the beautiful weary face to the cheery loving smile—and
came to the conclusion that, for some mysterious reason, Mrs. Asplin
was a happier woman than the wife of the great Lord Darcy.
The two ladies stopped talking and looked expectantly towards her.
“Come in, dear! This is our new pupil, Lady Darcy, for whom you were
asking. You have heard of her——”
“From Robert. Oh, yes, frequently! I was especially anxious to see
Robert’s little friend. How do you do, dear? Let me see! What is your
funny little name? Molly—Dolly—something like that I think—I forget
for the moment!”
“Mariquita Saville!” quoth Peggy blandly. She was consumed with regret
that she had no second name to add to the number of syllables, but she
did her best with those she possessed, rolling them out in her very
best manner and with a stately condescension which made Lady Darcy
smile for the first time since she entered the room.
“Oh—h!” The lips parted to show a gleam of regular white teeth.
“That’s it, is it? Well, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,
Mariquita. I hope we shall see a great deal of you while we are here.
You must go and make friends with Rosalind—my daughter. She is longing
to know you.”
“Yes, go and make friends with Rosalind, Peggy dear! She was asking
for you,” said Mrs. Asplin kindly, and as the girl walked away the two
ladies exchanged smiling glances.
“Amusing! Such grand little manners! Evidently a character.”
“Oh, quite! Peggy is nothing if not original. She is a dear, good girl,
but quite too funny in her ways. She is really the incarnation of
mischief, and keeps me on tenter-hooks from morning until night, but
from her manner you would think she was a model of propriety. Nothing
delights her so much as to get hold of a new word or a high-sounding
phrase.”
“But what a relief to have someone out of the ordinary run! There are
so many bores in the world, it is quite refreshing to meet with a
little originality. Dear Mrs. Asplin, you really must tell me how you
manage to look so happy and cheerful in this dead-alive place? I am
desolate at the idea of staying here all winter. What in the world do
you find to do?”
Mrs. Asplin laughed.
“Indeed, that’s not the trouble at all; the question is how to find
time to get through the day’s duties! It’s a rush from morning till
night, and when evening comes I am delighted to settle down in an
easy-chair with a nice book to read. One has no chance of feeling dull
in a house full of young people.”
“Ah, you are so good and clever, you get through so much. I want to
ask your help in half-a-dozen ways. If we are to settle down here for
some months there are so many arrangements to make. Now tell me, what
would you do in this case?” The two ladies settled down to a discussion
on domestic matters, while Peggy crossed the room to the corner
where Rosalind Darcy sat in state, holding her court with Esther and
Mellicent as attendant slaves. She wore the same grey dress in which
she had appeared in church the day before, but the jacket was thrown
open and displayed a distractingly dainty blouse, all pink chiffon,
and frills, and ruffles of lace. Her gloves lay in her lap, and the
celebrated diamond ring flashed in the firelight as she held out her
hand to meet Peggy’s.
“How do you do? So glad to see you! I’ve heard of you often. You are
the little girl who is my bwothar’s fwiend.” She pronounced the letter
“r” as if it had been “w,” and the “er” in brother as if it had been
“ah,” and spoke with a languid society drawl, more befitting a woman of
thirty than a schoolgirl of fifteen.
Peggy stood motionless and looked her over, from the crown of her
hat to the tip of the little trim shoe, with an expression of icy
displeasure.
“Oh dear me, no,” she said quietly, “you mistake the situation. You
put it the wrong way about. Your brother is the big boy whom I have
allowed to become a friend of mine!”
Esther and Mellicent gasped with amazement, while Rosalind gave a trill
of laughter, and threw up her pretty white hands.
“She’s wexed!” she cried. “She’s wexed, because I called her little!
I’m wewwy sowwy, but I weally can’t help it, don’t you know. It’s the
twuth! You are a whole head smaller than I am.” She threw back her
chin, and looked over Peggy’s head with a smile of triumph. “There,
look at that, and I’m not a year older. I call you wewwy small indeed
for your age.”
“I’m thankful to hear it! I admire small women,” said Peggy promptly,
seating herself on a corner of the window seat, and staring critically
at the tall figure of the visitor. She would have been delighted if
she could have persuaded herself that her height was awkward and
ungainly, but such an effort was beyond imagination. Rosalind was
startlingly and wonderfully pretty; she had never seen anyone in real
life who was in the least like her. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue,
with curling dark lashes, her face was a delicate oval, and the pink
and white colouring, and flowing golden locks gave her the appearance
of a princess in a fairy tale, rather than an ordinary flesh and blood
maiden. Peggy looked from her to Mellicent who was considered quite a
beauty among her companions, and oh dear me! how plain, and fat, and
prosaic she appeared when viewed side by side with this radiant vision!
Esther stood the comparison better, for though her long face had no
pretensions to beauty, it was thoughtful and interesting in expression.
There was no question which was most charming to look at; but if it
had come to a choice of a companion, an intelligent observer would
certainly have decided in favour of the Vicar’s daughter. Esther’s
face was particularly grave at this moment, and her eyes met Peggy’s
with a reproachful glance. What was the matter with the girl this
afternoon? Why did she take up everything that Rosalind said in that
hasty, cantankerous manner? Here was an annoying thing—to have just
given an enthusiastic account of the brightness and amicability of a
new companion, and then to have that companion come into the room only
to make snappish remarks, and look as cross and ill-natured as a bear!
She turned in an apologetic fashion to Rosalind, and tried to resume
the conversation at the point where it had been interrupted by Peggy’s
entrance.
“And I was saying, we have ever so many new things to show
you—presents, you know, and things of that kind. The last is the
nicest of all; a really good, big camera with which we can take proper
photographs. Mrs. Saville—Peggy’s mother—gave it to us before she
left. It was a present to the schoolroom, so it belongs equally to us
all, and we have such fun with it. We are beginning to do some good
things now, but at first they were too funny for anything. There is
one of father where his boots are twice as large as his head, and
another of mother where her face has run, and is about a yard long, and
yet it is so like her! We laughed till we cried over it, and father has
locked it away in his desk. He says he will keep it to look at when he
is low-spirited.”
Rosalind gave a shrug to her shapely shoulders.
“It would not cheer me up to see a cawicature of myself! I don’t think
I shall sit to you for my portrait, if that is the sort of thing you
do, but you shall show me all your failures. It will amuse me. You will
have to come up and see me vewwy often this winter, for I shall be so
dull. We have been abroad for the last four years, and England seems so
dark and dweawy. Last winter we were at Cairo. We lived in a big hotel,
and there was something going on almost every night. I was not out, of
course, but I was allowed to go into the room for an hour after dinner,
and to dance with the gentlemen in mother’s set. And we went up the
Nile in a steamer, and dwove about every afternoon, paying calls, and
shopping in the bazaars. It never rains in Cairo and the sun is always
shining. It seems so wonderful! Just like a place in a fairy tale.” She
looked at Peggy as she spoke, and that young person smiled with an air
of elegant condescension.
“It would do so to you. Naturally it would. When one has been born in
the East, and lived there the greater part of one’s life, it seems
natural enough, but the trippers from England who just come out for a
few months’ visit are always astonished. It used to amuse us so much to
hear their remarks!”
Rosalind stared and flushed with displeasure. She was accustomed to
have her remarks treated with respect, and the tone of superiority was
a new and unpleasing experience.
“You were born in the East?”
“Certainly I was!”
“Where, may I ask?”
“In India—in Calcutta, where my father’s regiment was stationed.”
“You lived there till you were quite big? You can remember all about
it?”
“All I want to remember. There was a great deal that I choose to
forget. I don’t care for India. England is more congenial to my
feelings.”
“And can you speak the language? Did you learn Hindostanee while you
were there?”
“Naturally. Of course I did.”
A gasp of amazement came from the two girls in the window, for a
knowledge of Hindostanee had never been included in the list of Peggy’s
accomplishments, and she was not accustomed to hide her light under
a bushel. They gazed at her with widened eyes, and Rosalind scented
scepticism in the air, and cried quickly—
“Say something then. If you can speak, say something now, and let us
hear you.”
“Pardon me!” said Peggy simpering. “As a matter of fact I was sent home
because I was learning to speak too well. The language of the natives
is not considered suitable for English children of tender age. I must
ask you to be so kind as to excuse me. I should be sorry to shock your
sensibilities.”
Rosalind drew her brows together and stared steadily in the speaker’s
face. Like many beautiful people she was not over gifted with a sense
of humour, and therefore Peggy’s grandiose manner and high-sounding
words failed to amuse her as they did most strangers. She felt only
annoyed and puzzled, dimly conscious that she was being laughed at, and
that this girl with the small face and the peaked eyebrows was trying
to patronise her—Rosalind Darcy—instead of following the Vicar’s
daughters in adoring her from a respectful distance, as of course it
was her duty to do. She had been anxious to meet the Peggy Saville of
whom her brother had spoken so enthusiastically, for it was a new thing
to hear Rob praise a girl, but it was evident that Peggy on her side
was by no means eager to make her acquaintance. It was an extraordinary
discovery, and most disconcerting to the feelings of one who was
accustomed to be treated as a person of supreme importance. Rosalind
could hardly speak for mortification, and it was an immense relief when
the door opened and Max and Oswald hurried forward to greet her. Then
indeed she was in her element, beaming with smiles, and indulging a
dozen pretty little tricks of manner for the benefit of their admiring
eyes. Max took possession of the chair by her side, his face lighted up
with pleasure and admiration. He was too thoroughly natural and healthy
a lad to be much troubled with sentiment, but ever since one winter
morning five years before, when Rosalind had first appeared in the
little country church, she had been his ideal of all that was womanly
and beautiful. At every meeting he discovered fresh charms, and to-day
was no exception to the rule. She was taller, fairer, more elegant. In
some mysterious manner she seemed to have grown older than he, so that
though he was in reality three years her senior, he was still a boy,
while she was almost a young lady.
Mrs. Asplin looked across the room, and a little anxious furrow showed
in her forehead. Maxwell’s admiration for Rosalind was already an old
story, and as she saw his eager face and sparkling eyes, a pang of fear
came into his mother’s heart. If the Darcys were constantly coming down
to the Larches, it was only natural to suppose that this admiration
would increase, and it would never do for Max to fall in love with
Rosalind! The Vicar’s son would be no match for Lord Darcy’s daughter;
it would only mean a heart-ache for the poor lad, a clouded horizon
just when life should be the brightest. For a moment a prevision of
trouble filled her heart, then she waved it away in her cheery, hopeful
fashion—
“Why, what a goose I am! They are only children. Time enough to worry
my head about love affairs in half-a-dozen years to come. The lad would
be a Stoic if he didn’t admire her. I don’t see how he could help it!”
“Rosalind is lovelier than ever, Lady Darcy, if that is possible!” she
said aloud, and her companion’s face brightened with pleasure.
“Oh, do you think so?” she cried eagerly. “I am so glad to hear it,
for this growing stage is so trying. I was afraid she might outgrow
her strength and lose her complexion, but so far I don’t think it has
suffered. I am very careful of her diet, and my maid understands all
the new skin treatments. So much depends on a girl’s complexion. I
notice your youngest daughter has a very good colour. May I ask what
you use?”
“Soap and water, fresh air, good plain food—those are the only
cosmetics we use in this house,” said Mrs. Asplin, laughing outright
at the idea of Mellicent’s healthy bloom being the result of “skin
treatment.” “I am afraid I have too much to do looking after the
necessities of life for my girls, Lady Darcy, to worry myself about
their complexions.”
“Oh, yes. Well, I’m sure they both look charming; but Rosalind will go
much into society, and of course——” She checked herself before the
sentence was finished, but Mrs. Asplin was quick enough to understand
the imputation that the complexions of a Vicar’s daughters were but
of small account, but that it was a very different matter when the
Honourable Rosalind Darcy was concerned. She understood, but she was
neither hurt nor annoyed by the inferences, only a little sad and
very, very pitiful. She knew the story of the speaker’s life, and the
reason why she looked forward to Rosalind’s entrance into society with
such ambition. Lady Darcy had been the daughter of poor but well-born
parents, and had married the widower, Lord Darcy, not because she loved
him or had any motherly feeling for his two orphan boys, but simply
and solely for a title and establishment, and a purse full of money.
Given these, she had fondly imagined that she was going to be perfectly
happy. No more screwing and scraping to keep up appearances; no more
living in dulness and obscurity; she would be Lady Darcy, the beautiful
young wife of a famous man. So, with no thought in her heart but for
her own worldly advancement, Beatrice Fairfax stood before God’s altar
and vowed to love, honour, and obey a man for whom she had no scrap
of affection, and whom she would have laughed to scorn if he had been
poor and friendless. She married him, but the life which followed was
not by any means all that she had expected. Lord Darcy had heavy money
losses, which obliged him to curtail expenses almost immediately after
his wedding; her own health broke down, and it was a knife in her heart
to know that her boy was only the third son, and that the two big,
handsome lads at Eton would inherit the lion’s share of their father’s
property. Hector, the lifeguardsman, and Oscar, the dragoon, were for
ever running into debt and making fresh demands on her husband’s purse.
She and her children had to suffer for their extravagances, while
Robert, her only son, was growing up a shy, awkward lad, who hated
society, and asked nothing better than to be left in the country alone
with his frogs and his beetles. Ambition after ambition had failed
her, until now all her hopes were centred in Rosalind, the beautiful
daughter, in whom she saw a reproduction of herself in the days of her
girlhood. She had had a dull and obscure youth; Rosalind should be the
belle of society. Her own marriage had been a disappointment; Rosalind
should make a brilliant alliance. She had failed to gain the prize for
which she had worked; she would live again in Rosalind’s triumphs, and
in them find fullest satisfaction.
So Lady Darcy gloated over every detail of her daughter’s beauty,
and thought day and night of her hair, her complexion, her figure,
striving still to satisfy her poor, tired soul with promises of future
success, and never dreaming for a moment that the prize which seemed
to elude her grasp had been gained long ago by the Vicar’s wife, with
her old-fashioned dress and work-worn hands. But Mrs. Asplin knew, and
thanked God in her heart for, the sweetness and peace of her dear,
shabby home; for the husband who loved her, and the children whom they
were training to be good servants for Him in the world. Yes, and for
that other child too, who had been taken away at the very dawn of his
manhood, and who, they believed, was doing still better work in the
unseen world.
Until Lady Darcy discovered that the only true happiness rose from
something deeper than worldly success, there was nothing in store for
her but fresh disappointments and heart-hunger, while as for Rosalind,
the unfortunate child of such a mother—— Mrs. Asplin looked at the
girl as she sat leaning back in her chair, craning her throat, and
showing off all her little airs and graces for the benefit of the two
admiring schoolboys, gratified vanity and self love showing on every
line of her face.
“It seems almost cruel to say so,” she sighed to herself, “but it
would be the best thing that could happen to the child if she were to
lose some of her beauty before she grew up. Such a face as that is a
terrible temptation to vanity.” But Mrs. Asplin did not guess how soon
these unspoken words would come back to her memory, or what bitter
cause she would have to regret their fulfilment.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
ALL ABOUT OATMEAL.
BY DORA DE BLAQUIÈRE.
The native land of the common oat seems to be absolutely unknown, but
as in many other cases, the best authorities have given it an origin in
Central Asia. The wild oat from which it descends is found in Europe,
in North Africa, Siberia, Japan, and the North-West Provinces of India;
and it was well known to the Greeks and Romans, though it is not one
of the cereals that are mentioned in the Bible. But the common oat, as
we know it, is an improved form (says Professor Buckman) derived by a
continued and selective cultivation from the aboriginal wild oat, of
which I have been speaking. The word oat or oats is from an old English
word _ata_, from the verb _etau_, to eat; and it means anything in
the way of food which can be eaten. The botanical name of the genus
is _avena_, and there are upwards of forty species in it, which are
generally natives of cold or temperate climes. It can be grown in a
wider range of climatical differences than wheat, but in a less range
than barley, while in every temperate region it has become recognised
as a food for horses. In the more northerly parts, where less wheat is
grown, it has formed the staple food for man, under the two well-known
forms, _i.e._, of porridge and oatcake.
A drug has been distilled from it under the name of _Avena Sattisa_,
which is supposed to give the qualities of cheerfulness and spirit; the
same qualities, in short, which the oat is considered to give to horses.
In the returns of 1894, for the United Kingdom, we find that oats are
more cultivated than wheat, but it is much to be regretted that the use
of oatmeal as food is becoming unfashionable amongst the poorer classes
in England, who consider that wheat is a more refined food, and who
leave off oatmeal when possible. The Highlanders of Scotland are an
example of muscular vigour, and also of the clear intellects which are
fostered under its regimen; one of the old Edinburgh reviewers says,
“We cultivate literature on a little oatmeal,” and, at some time of the
day, in Scotland, the native consumes oatmeal under some form or other.
Porridge for breakfast is known in other lands as well as in Scotland,
and is quite as well liked, particularly when a generous larder affords
cream in thickness and plenty. But to be a true son of Scotland you
must be above such frivolous additions. The kernels or grain of the
oat, deprived of the husks, are called groats, or grits; and in old
days they were used entire in broths and soups, like hot barley. When
bruised you will recognise them very well, as forming part of a sick
folk dietary. _Sowans_, known also as seeds or _flummery_, is made from
the thin pellicles or inner scales which adhere to the groats in the
process of shelling. These are steeped in water for a few days, till
they ferment and become sourish. They are then skimmed and the liquid
boiled down so much, that when cold it will become of the thickness of
gruel. In Wales this is known as _Sucan Budrum_, and is prepared in the
same manner; but it is boiled down even more, to become, when cold, a
firm jelly, like blanc-mange. It has a high reputation as a nutritious,
light food, for weak stomachs. Chemically speaking, in this change,
the starch has been converted into dextrin and sugar, the latter
passing at once into acetic fermentation.
Sowans is used as a light supper dish, with milk, cream, or butter, and
sweetened with sugar to taste.
Bread is made of oatmeal mixed with pea-flour in parts of Lancashire,
as well as in Scotland. A peck of oatmeal and another of peameal may
be mixed thoroughly together, and sifted through a sieve to which add
three or four ounces of salt, and make into dough with warm water.
Then roll into thin cakes or flat rolls, and bake on a hot plate or in
the oven. This, of course, is unfermented bread. In Scotland the thick
cakes of oatmeal are called bannock, and the thin ones cakes, and in
the farm-houses a great number are made at once and stored on a rack
close to the ceiling, where they will keep for a long time if quite
dry. When needed, they are crisped before the fire and slightly browned.
Bread is also made of oatmeal and wheat flour; also oatmeal and rice.
Take a peck each of flour and oatmeal and half a peck of potatoes,
peeled and washed and boiled. Knead into a dough with yeast, salt, and
warm milk. Make into loaves and bake as usual. Rice is made in the same
manner.
In the early centuries oatmeal was eaten almost altogether raw by the
Scot, as indeed was the flour of wheat, and I daresay every other kind.
In Mrs. Stone’s delightful book, _Teneriffe and its Seven Satellites_,
she gives an account of the food of the population of the islands,
and says that it was undoubtedly a primeval usage derived from the
mysterious Guanches, the first inhabitants of the Isles, a civilised
people who embalmed their dead, but have long since ceased to exist
as a separate people. This flour is prepared by first roasting the
wheat itself, then grinding it, and afterwards storing it in bags for
carriage. It is eaten simply mixed with cold water, and is not only
palatable, but delicious, with a sweet and nutty flavour, caused by the
previous wasting of the grain. Even now, in many parts of Scotland,
oatmeal is eaten uncooked and stirred simply into hot or cold water,
with salt, mixed together in a basin. This is called brose, a word
derived from the Anglo-Saxon, and the same as breuis and broth, the
word meaning the liquor in which meat or anything else is boiled and
macerated. Kail brose is made of green vegetable, mixed with the
oatmeal, and it may have meal or broth as well. Plain brose is called
often “sojer’s brose,” as it was made in haste, and “crowdy” is also
a Scotch word, used to describe any food of the porridge kind, or a
mixture of oatmeal and any liquid at hand, which might be milk, or even
something far stronger.
The cooking of oatmeal marks an advance in civilisation, I suppose.
Even the very word porridge is more recent, and marks an epoch when the
Scotch received some instructions from one of the Latin nations; the
original word being either from the Latin _porrus_, a leek, or the old
French _porree_, or a pottage, made of beets with other pot herbs, a
kind of food made by boiling vegetables in water with or without meat.
The person who taught me to make the best of porridge was an
Irishwoman, and her method was to stir the oatmeal into the pot
containing the boiling water, which must be bubbling fiercely, and must
also have been salted. The oatmeal she sprinkled in with her left hand
(having the oatmeal close to her) and stirring all the time busily with
her right hand. Long experience will tell you how thick to make it,
and it wants at least half an hour’s boiling to cook it properly.
But the most delightful form of gruel is that made by a Scotchwoman
with milk and not water; and this needs well boiling too. Many people,
however, prefer the gruel made by steeping the oatmeal in water for
some hours, and pouring off the water and boiling that. The best gruel,
I consider, is to be obtained on an Atlantic steamer; especially if
it should happen to be of Scotch extraction, and to have a Scotch
stewardess. There is some consolation in your sorrows at sea, if you
can get some of the chicken broth they make on the Cunard steamers,
which is quite too good to be forgotten. They put barley into it, I
think, or perhaps rice; but whatever the flavour is, I have never
succeeded in obtaining the same on shore, and I am inclined to think it
is the long boiling that is the secret. When cold it forms a solid and
nearly clear jelly.
There is plenty of oatmeal, too, in haggis, that essentially Scottish
dish, which Robert Burns called “The great chieftain of the pudding
race.” The component parts of a haggis are a sheep’s head and liver,
boiled, minced, mixed with suet, onions, oatmeal and seasoning,
moistened with beef gravy, and put into a haggis bag and boiled. A
haggis will keep for some time, as it is quite firm, and may be packed
for a journey. But in that last event the onions must be omitted in the
making of it. Both black and white puddings are indebted to oatmeal
for some of their filling, but few people, unless educated up to it,
appreciate either of these delicacies.
Cock-a-leekie is a Scotch name for a very ancient English dish, that
was known as long ago as the 14th century by the name of Malachi. “Ma”
is the old name for a fowl, and Malachi means sliced fowl. So, though
the modern rendering seems to promise that the leeks in it would be
too prominent for most people, it is a mistake. The fowl is first half
roasted, then boiled in broth, then cut up, and served with a quantity
of vegetables, mostly onions. Spices were added, and the broth was
thickened with fine oatmeal.
There are some English recipes in which oatmeal plays a part, and the
first that I remember is what is called tharfe cake, in Yorkshire,
which is baked for the fifth of November. I give a very old family
recipe for it. Take four pounds of fresh oatmeal and rub into it one
pound of butter, one pound of brown sugar, a quarter of a pound of
candied lemon peel, and two ounces of caraway seeds well bruised. Mix
the whole with three pounds and a half of treacle. When the cake is
baked, which should be in a slow oven, pour over it a little flavouring
while hot.
Parkin is also a Yorkshire cake, which resembles tharfe cake, but is
not so good. The following is also an old recipe for it, and both of
these cakes will be found very good for children’s use. Rub half a
pound of butter into three pounds of fine oatmeal, add one ounce of
ginger, and as much stiff treacle as will make it into a stiff paste.
Roll it out in cakes of about half an inch thick, lay these on buttered
tins and bake in a slow oven. The tops may be washed over with milk,
if you prefer it, as it has a more appetising effect perhaps. All the
modern recipes for parkin contain baking powder and sugar, but for the
first there is no need at all, as all these Yorkshire cakes are not
at all of the light order, and are both heavy and stiff, nor are they
intended to be very sweet.
One of the dishes in which oatmeal plays a part, is in the savoury
or sweet porridge seen in Derbyshire and the north of England. It is
made as follows: Oatmeal two or three tablespoons, onions two or three
ounces, milk one pint, butter a quarter of a pound, pepper and salt
one teaspoonful. Boil the onions in two waters; when tender shred them
finely, and add them to the boiling milk, sprinkle in the oatmeal, add
the butter, pepper and salt, boil during from ten to fifteen minutes,
pour into soup plates and serve with sippets. Instead of onions, grated
cheese may be stirred in with the oatmeal.
To make sweet porridge proceed in the same manner. Take the same
quantity of oatmeal, but instead of onions and pepper put in two or
three ounces each of sugar, sultanas and currants, and candied peel if
you like it, and serve in the same manner. This is a very excellent
porridge for children’s suppers.
In America, the coarse oatmeal is used for frying oysters. They are
rolled in it—instead of either in flour or crackers—before frying,
and a very good addition it makes. The oatmeal may also be used for
chops or cutlets, if you have no crumbs.
I had nearly omitted a Persian dish, of oatmeal and honey, which is a
kind of porridge made by beating up a tablespoonful of oatmeal and the
same quantity of honey with the yolk of an egg, and then pouring on it
a pint of boiling water and boiling the mixture for a few minutes.
The following is an oatmeal pudding. Take of oatmeal one pint, of
boiling milk two pints, of eggs two and of salt a little. Pour the
boiling milk over the oatmeal and let it soak all night. Add the eggs,
well beaten; butter a basin that will just hold it, cover it tightly
with a floured cloth and boil it an hour and a half. Eat it with cold
butter and salt. When cool it may be sliced and toasted and eaten as
oat-cake buttered.
A porridge of rice and oatmeal was once very popular amongst
vegetarians. It was made by boiling eight ounces of rice in a pint of
water, and as the water was absorbed, gradually adding two quarts more,
also add half a tablespoon of sugar and some salt, and lastly stir in
eight ounces of oatmeal, and let the whole boil for twenty minutes. If
it be liked sweet, add two ounces of sugar, but if savoury add pepper,
salt and some onions boiled and chopped.
Our forefathers were very fond of oatmeal flummery, but it has quite
gone out of fashion, though an excellent dish. Put a pound and a half
of fine white oatmeal to steep for a day and a night in cold water,
and pour it off clear, adding as much more water, and let it stand for
the same time; then strain it through a fine hair sieve, and boil it
till as thick as hasty pudding, stirring it slowly all the time, and
being most careful to prevent its burning. When you first strain the
water off, put to it one large tablespoonful of white sugar and two
tablespoonfuls of orange-flower water; then pour it into a bowl and
serve. It is eaten cold, and with new milk, or cream, and sugar. I am
sure my readers will have heard very often of “flummery,” and perhaps
may like to try it for themselves.
An oatmeal hasty pudding also comes from Yorkshire. Beat the yolks of
two eggs with half a pint of new milk, cold, and a little salt. Thicken
this with fine oatmeal, and beat to a very smooth batter. Set a pint
and a half of new milk on the fire, and when it is scalding hot pour in
the batter, stirring it well that it may be smooth and not burn. Let it
be over the fire till it thickens, but do not permit it to boil, and
the moment you take it from the fire pour it into a dish. It is eaten
with cold butter and sugar, and either a little lemon juice or vinegar.
In that delightful book, _The Chemistry of Cookery_, by Mr. W. Mathieu
Williams, the well-known scientist and lecturer, a book that ought to
be studied by every housekeeper, I find that he advocates the idea of
porridge being made for some days before it is required, then stored in
a closed jar, and brought out and warmed for use. The change effected
in it is just that which may theoretically be expected, _i.e._, a
softening of the fibrous material, and a sweetening, due to the
formation of sugar. This may be called an application of the principle
of ensilage to human food; for ensilage is a process of slow vegetable
cookery, a digesting or maceration of fibrous vegetables in their own
juices, which loosens the fibre, renders it softer and more digestible;
and not only does this, but, to some extent, converts it into dextrine
and sugar.
“Although in many respects,” says a recent writer, “oatmeal and flour
are very similar, the effect produced by them upon the system is very
different. Oatmeal is richer in oily, fatty matter than any other
cultivated grain, and its proportion of proteine compounds exceeds
that of the finest wheaten flour. Although so nutritious, it cannot be
used as a substitute for flour; the peculiar character of its gluten
preventing the meal being made into fermented bread. But in other
forms it may be made into very pleasant food, such as biscuits, gruel,
oatcake and porridge. Oats are a natural grain in England, and are
cultivated at less expense than wheat. This last is better adapted for
making good fermented bread, and so is more in request. But perhaps the
time may come when we shall return to the use of unfermented bread,
and shall think that bread made from other grains, and unfermented,
is quite as good, or even better, than the fermented bread of flour.
At the present time, however, wheat is more consumed than any other
grain,” and with this long quotation I will conclude.
[Illustration: G.O.P. ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS]
STUDY AND STUDIO.
H. M. I.—1. Your hymn tune shows the need of instruction in harmony.
There are several consecutive fifths in it, and other faults which
study would enable you to avoid. We should advise you to take
lessons.—2. Dr. Lemmi’s Italian Grammar is published at 5s. by Messrs.
Oliver & Boyd, Edinburgh, and by Messrs. Simpkin, Marshall & Co.,
London.
WHEELBARROW.—If you write to the office of _The Boy’s Own Paper_,
56, Paternoster Row, we believe you will find that a chart of the
colours peculiar to the different colleges of each University has been
published. At all events, we refer you to the Editor.
TOPSY.—We should prefer the Senior Cambridge and the Cambridge Higher
Local out of the four examinations you mention.
IN our September part we informed RUBY that the couplet
“Crabbed age and youth
Cannot live together.”
was from “The Passionate Pilgrim,” by Shakespeare. In so saying
we handed on the information of three recognised authorities on
“quotations,” and observed that “The Passionate Pilgrim” appears
without note or comment in numerous editions of Shakespeare’s works.
“The Passionate Pilgrim,” a miscellany of twenty “Songs and Sonnets,”
was first published in 1599, and the words “By W. Shakespeare” are
on the title pages of the 1599 and 1612 editions; but of the twenty
poems only five are certainly by Shakespeare, and the poem in question
(No. xii. of the series) is not one of these. Its author, in fact, is
unknown, although it appears now, and appeared three centuries ago,
under Shakespeare’s name.
WILD ROSE.—1. In bar seven of your composition you have the second
inversion of a chord, which should not be followed by the first
inversion of another chord. It is, however, an interesting attempt, and
we should urge you to persevere.—2. Your writing is rather too small
and crabbed, and seems to us as though in childhood you had not learned
to “turn” your letters well. Copy any model you admire, and you will
soon improve.
DONOVAN and TILLY WHIM.—We can direct you to three amateur reading
societies, mentioned in this column during the past year or so, but
can take no responsibility whatever with regard to them. Address—The
Half Hour Reading Society, 2, Headingley Terrace, Headingley, Leeds;
The Queen Reading Society, secretary, Miss Isabel G. Kent, Lay Rectory,
Little Abington, Cambridge; Miss E. L. Tangye, The Elms, Redruth,
Cornwall. The National Home Reading Union, Surrey House, Victoria
Embankment, is being continually recommended by us.
SISTER HARRIET.—Your most satisfactory plan is to write to the
publisher of the books you name, asking your questions, and enclosing
a stamped envelope for reply. Unless the authoress objects to the
particulars being known, you are sure to receive an answer.
ANONYMOUS.—You give no name nor pseudonym in your inquiry about the
Civil Service.
OUR OPEN LETTER BOX.
A. MARTIN wishes to find a poem called “Voices at the Throne,” beginning
“A little child—
A little meek-eyed child,
Sitting at a cottage door.”
“SWEET MARIE” is informed that her quotation,
“Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep and you weep alone,”
is from one of Ella Wheeler’s poems of Passion—“Solitude.” We thank
our masculine correspondent for his help and his very kind letter.
ETHEL RIMMER has more replies from SOLDIER’S DAUGHTER, ALICE NIMON,
and C. PERKINS, whom we thank. KLONDYKE, in answering Ethel Rimmer,
requests a recipe for “the American Harlequin Cake,” and inquires the
name of the English agent, Gold Coast. These queries are scarcely
literary; but as they occur in a letter concerning a literary subject,
we print them here.
CAN anyone direct “DOUBTFUL” to the verses beginning
“The woman was old, and ragged, and gray,
And bent with the chill of a winter’s day”?
MABEL ENTWISTLE sends a reply to La Marguerite’s question concerning
painting on panel, which we copy verbatim:—
“Surely she refers to chrystoleum painting. Chrystoleums are
photographs taken from Academy pictures and then painted on. It
is possible to affix these (whether painted on convex or flat
glass) on to a panel. If this is what La Marguerite means, if she
will write to me, I shall be pleased to send full particulars and
give her any help I can, as I have had considerable experience in
chrystoleum painting. But if she refers to the painting on the
surface of photographs in water-colours, that is something I have
wanted to learn for some time, and shall be equally glad to obtain
information upon. This art requires a special medium and treatment
of photo, I know, but I cannot get to know exactly. Trusting this
may be of some use,
“I remain,
“Sincerely yours,
“MABEL ENTWISTLE.”
1, William Street,
Darwen.
MEDICAL.
A. Z.—Mussels form a food of considerable value, but they are by
no means free from danger. As a food they are fairly nutritious and
digestible, though far inferior in both these points to oysters. The
dangers of eating mussels are very real, although they have been
grossly exaggerated. They depend in part upon whether the mussels have
been feeding upon sewage. Mussels taken from the mouths of rivers or
elsewhere where they can come into contact with sewage matter should
never be eaten. The danger is much greater when the mussels are eaten
raw. If they are boiled first the likelihood of harm resulting is
considerably less. Practically all germs are destroyed by boiling, so
that there is little fear of contracting typhoid from eating boiled
mussels. Indeed the danger of catching typhoid is far less from eating
mussels than it is from eating oysters, because the latter are nearly
always eaten raw, whereas the former are usually cooked. But besides
the dangers of contamination with sewage, there is another danger
in eating mussels, that is, that mussels are very liable to quickly
decompose, and in their decomposition to set free animal poisons of
the most virulent description. This is the chief cause of the numerous
deaths which occur from partaking of mussels. But when we consider the
vast number of mussels eaten in England, especially in the North, it is
no wonder deaths should now and then occur.
ARIEL.—If you wish your daughter to become a physician you must send
her to a hospital where lady students are taken. She cannot by any
possibility learn medicine without clinical instruction. The medicine
which can be learnt from books is of no value without practical
instruction. There is not such a thing as an amateur medical man or
woman. A person is either a qualified and registered medical man, or
else he is a quack, or a “medicine man” if you like. The law has lately
shown its objection to such persons in very strong terms.
ANXIOUS ONE.—There are two causes of double chins, age and obesity,
and they usually operate together. We cannot, alas! mitigate the
effects of advancing years. We cannot prevent Father Time from
meddling with us. The treatment of obesity we have over and over again
described. The chief points to attend to are to reduce the amounts of
starchy or sugary food taken; to take liquids only in great moderation;
to forego alcohol in any form, and to take plenty of exercise daily.
Tight lacing and wearing tight collars are also said to produce double
chins.
VIOLET.—In an article called “Diet in Health and Sickness,” published
in this magazine the year before last, you will find information about
the treatment of obesity. The chief points to attend to are:—reduce
the quantity of farinaceous and sweet food; avoid alcohol in all
forms, and only take liquids of any kind in moderation; take plenty of
exercise and avoid all drugs and nostrums.
LADICE.—1. One attack of eczema does predispose to others; but it
is quite possible, indeed it is probable, that you will completely
overcome the disease in time. The application that you are using is
good, but the following is better, viz.:—lime water, olive oil and
oxide of zinc, equal parts of each, shaken up into a cream. This forms
a very soothing application. Is your hair free from scurf? Eczema of
the face often follows from seborrhœa.—2. April 8, 1868, was a Sunday.
“AN OLD READER.”—We are sorry to say that we can give you but little
help. The description of your illness is not sufficiently lucid for
us to come to any conclusion as to what is wrong with you. And your
account of the present trouble with your legs is also so incomplete
that we can make nothing out of it. It may be due to flat-foot or
sciatica, or one of a vast host of conditions. You had far better see
the doctor who attended you during your last illness, as what you have
now may be only a sequel to that disease.
CAT TONY.—Eustachian obstruction sometimes ends in complete deafness.
More often partial deafness ensues. It is a very difficult complaint to
treat. Complete cure is the exception rather than the rule; but some
improvement is usually gained by medicinal measures. Sometimes it gets
better of its own accord; but it is foolish to rely upon its doing so.
Though certainly dangerous to hearing, it is not of itself of any vital
danger.
SYBIL.—You tell us that you weigh 9 st. 12 lb., but you neglect to
state your height. How is it possible for us to know whether you are
stout or not? 9 st. 12 lb. is certainly rather heavy for a girl of
seventeen; but then everything depends upon your height. The weight
is nothing extraordinary; and as you say that your health is perfect
you had far better take no notice of your condition. Unless really
necessary, it is better for stout persons to remain as they are than to
attempt to reduce their weight by means which must of themselves injure
the health.
A SUBSCRIBER TO THE “G. O. P.”—Obviously you must be careful not to
overtire yourself or get wet, since these bring on the attacks of
neuralgia. During the attacks cover the course of the nerve with cotton
wool, and take ten grains of citrate of caffeine. A small blister or
other form of counter-irritation may give you relief; but it must not
be used when the attack is acute.
GIRLS’ EMPLOYMENTS.
WOOD VIOLET (_Civil Service_).—A well-educated girl, such as the one
you describe, is wise to try to enter the Civil Service at the age of
sixteen. Under the new rule she is eligible from sixteen to eighteen
for one of the posts of girl clerks. These girl clerks receive a salary
of £35 the first year, £37 10s. the second and £40 the third. They can
afterwards be promoted to the rank of Female Clerks, if they have shown
themselves to be possessed of superior intelligence, otherwise they
become sorters. The advantage of entering the Service young is, that
a girl understands the routine of office work by the time she is old
enough to hold a clerkship, whereas women entering for a clerkship as
outsiders have their duties to learn. A Female Clerk begins at a salary
of £55, and may eventually obtain a maximum of £100, and further may be
promoted. A Female Sorter, in London, receives 12s. to £1 a week, and
in the provinces 10s. to 21s. 6d. a week. There are also prospects of
promotion for sorters. The examination is held in the ordinary English
subjects, together with French and German. Edinburgh would be the
nearest examination centre for you. The examinations are advertised in
the principal papers on a Thursday some weeks before the date fixed.
You would doubtless see the announcement by watching the pages of
_The Scotsman_. Having seen the advertisement, write at once to the
Secretary, Civil Service Commission, London, S.W., asking for a form
of application. This you return, with the necessary details respecting
yourself filled up, and you will then be informed the precise address
of the place of examination and the other particulars you require to
know. We think we have now told you all that is necessary. We have
only to add that a girl who intends entering this examination should
now occupy herself more particularly in acquiring a neat clerical
handwriting, in studying English composition, and in perfecting herself
in arithmetic and geography.
LA COMTESSE (_Dairy Work_).—You would expend £5 very wisely, it seems
to us, in taking a month’s course of training at the Reading Dairy
Institute. You had better wait till the spring, as you suggest, and
then devote your attention as closely as possible to the practical
dairy work and cheese-making. From renewed inquiry which we have made
on the subject we still learn that women licensed at such schools as
this obtain excellent posts as dairy-maids and managers of dairies, and
receive salaries of about £25 with board and lodging. You should try on
the completion of the course to get an appointment in the dairy of some
large landed proprietor, and you might be willing to forego something
in wages at first in order to work under a competent superintendent.
The Principal of the Dairy Institute, we imagine, must constantly be
asked to recommend trained pupils. In any case you should consult him
as to the whole question of your suitability and prospects before
engaging to take the course of tuition.
ANXIOUS (_Suggestions_).—If the sight of your one eye is thoroughly
strong and satisfactory, you had better learn dressmaking. But if
the eye is at all weak, it would be unwise to try it, and in this
event cookery or laundry-work would be better. In the end we believe
you will not be sorry that you have been considered ineligible as a
shop-assistant. It is only in youth that a shop-assistant can be sure
of obtaining employment; whereas the skilled worker at any trade can
always earn her living.
LAUNDRESS (_Superintendentship or Opening for Laundry_).—If you have
received a thorough training in laundry work, by which we mean not
less than a year spent in learning the business, then by all means
advertise for a post as superintendent or manageress. The National
Laundry Association has lately fully corroborated all that has been
said on the subject in the “G. O. P.” by drawing the special attention
of educated women to the prospects that this business now offers under
the steam laundry system. We hear continually of places where a laundry
is required. Harringay, in the north of London, is one of those most
recently mentioned to us. Requests have reached us also from Lichfield,
Elstree and Richmond-on-Thames to recommend laundresses to establish
themselves in those localities.
H. A. T. (_Training in a Children’s Hospital_).—At nineteen you are
too young to be admitted as a probationer to any London children’s
hospital. But when you are twenty you would be eligible, so far as
age is concerned, for the East London Hospital for Children, Glamis
Road, Shadwell, E. The vacancies there, however, are extremely few in
proportion to the number of applications. No premium is required, and
a salary of £10 is given the first year, £12 the second, and £20 the
third, with laundry and uniform.
TEACHER.—We infer from your letter that the school in which you taught
two years ago was a National School. It ought not then to be difficult
for you to obtain employment of the same kind again. _The Guardian_,
_The Church Times_ and _The Schoolmistress_, are the most likely papers
in which to find advertisements of vacancies.
A “G. O. P.” READER (_Hospital Nursing_).—You can certainly apply to
the matron of any of the chief London hospitals for admission as a
probationer. You should enclose a stamp in order that the matron may
reply to you.
MISCELLANEOUS.
E. SAUNDERS.—The receipt you name is legal, and we think you need feel
no uneasiness. If properly stamped, dated, and signed, no names of
witnesses are required.
PETITE.—Your letter does you much credit. The secret of preserving
the colour of the flowers is to change the sheets of blotting-paper
frequently; between which you lay them for the pressing. Your writing
is very legible, but you reverse the rule for making light and heavy
strokes. The copperplate copies employed for teaching to write would
show you what we mean.
ORTHODOX.—The mistake of the so-called “Peculiar People” consists in
their overlooking the divine injunction to “obey them that have the
rule over you.” They are guilty of a breach of the law in not sending
for a medical man to give an opinion of the case, and offer his advice
and assistance, whether they avail themselves of his skill or not. We
are speaking of adults. In the case of infants and children, of course,
parents are bound to give them the benefit of medical aid; and in both
cases a true and undoubting faith in the promises—in connexion with
prayer—may be exercised _with_ the use of means nowhere forbidden in
the Bible. The danger of the spread of any disease has to be provided
against by the law—an act of mercy, not of cruel persecution, as these
well-meaning but misguided people imagine it to be.
DELTA.—To preserve peas, fill some wide-necked, dry bottles with good
corks, place them in a pan of cold water, with a little hay at the
bottom, and set it on the fire, raising the temperature very gradually
to 160°. Keep it at this point for twenty or thirty minutes. As the
peas will shrink, fill each bottle, as far as the commencement of the
neck, with peas from another bottle, taking care not to bruise them.
When all the bottles are filled, remove the pan from the fire, take
out each bottle separately, fill it to within an inch of the cork with
boiling water; cork immediately, avoid shaking, and tie down the cork.
Cover well with wax, and replace the bottles in the pan, where they
should be left to cool gradually till cold. Then place the bottles in a
dry, cool place, lying on their sides, turn them partially round twice
a week during the first couple of months, and once or twice a month
afterwards.
MOTHER.—Your question is one often raised. Should you desire to add
a name to those already registered for your child (born in England),
you must make application to the registrar who entered its name within
seven days of its baptism. We mean to say—supposing that, six months
after its registration, you wished to add a name at its baptism, go to
the same registrar and state your wish within a week after the baptism.
Procure the certificate of the latter from the clergyman (for a fee
of one shilling), take it to the registrar, and pay a second fee of a
shilling for the insertion of the name in the original registration.
MARGOT.—The honour of having been the first navigator who sailed round
the world was earned by a Portuguese—_i.e._, Sebastien del Cano,
who accomplished the voyage in the ship _Vittoria_. The unfortunate
leader of the expedition was Ferdinand Magellan, who passed through the
Straits November 28th, 1520, and was killed on one of the Philippine
Islands the next year. The first attempt to discover the North-west
passage was made by Corte Real in about 1500; also a Portuguese.
But the first expedition correctly so-called was made by Sir Hugh
Willoughby in 1553, who wished to discover a North-west passage to
China. But he was blocked up by ice and frozen to death on the coast of
Lapland.
A. CROSS.—There are “Y.W.C.A.” Homes in London. Amongst them,
Cloudesley Home, 34, Barnsbury Street, Islington, 17, Aubert Park,
Highbury, Seymour House, Portland Place, Lower Clapton, Ealing House,
Uxbridge Road, Ealing, Kent House, 89, Great Portland Street, Princess
House, Brompton Road, besides restaurants. Probably a communication
of your arrangements in regard to letting rooms to young women at
a reduced rate during the summer months, board as well as lodging
supplied, at from 14s. a week, would bring your visitors from town. We
are not acquainted with Corrymore, near Warminster, Wiltshire; but from
what we have seen of Wiltshire, we can imagine the country to be pretty
and the downs attractive.
E. DE M.—All girls who take our paper, and look to us for advice and
instruction, we consider to be “our” girls. You are quite right in
saying that you have more blessings than crosses. Sometimes the eyes of
people are blind to this great truth. The great love of our heavenly
Father towards us and His unerring wisdom in the trial of our faith and
patience is but little realised. We hope your marriage will be for your
happiness.
ETHELINDA.—Your hand is formed, and well formed. The French phrase,
“_Au revoir_,” is an abbreviated one. In full it should be, “_Au
plaisir de vous revoir_”—“to the pleasure of seeing you again.” As we
have so often told our readers, French pronunciation cannot be given by
English letters—at least, not often. The first word “_au_” (“to”) is
an exception, for the sound is that of the letter “_o_.”
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s note: the following corrections have been made to this
text.
Page 238: Yorkskire changed to Yorkshire—these Yorkshire cakes.
Page 239: crakers changed to crackers—flour or crackers.]