Rapid travelling, ninety years ago, was a comparative term, but Ivor
performed the journey as fast as relays of horses could convey a
post-chaise to the coast, and as quickly as contrary winds would allow
him to cross the Channel.
He sent no warning of his approach. A letter could not go with greater
speed than Denham went himself. Now that he was actually on the road to
Polly, each hour’s delay became all but insupportable. Six long years
since he had said good-bye for one fortnight to Polly! Would she be
altered—as much as he himself was altered?
It was a cold day, late in spring, when he found himself at the front
door of the Bryces’ comfortable mansion. The old butler opened to
Denham, as once before to Roy, but this time Drake was not taken in.
One glance—and his face changed.
“Sir!”
“You know me? I hardly thought you would.” Ivor grasped kindly the old
retainer’s hand. “I am taking you all by surprise.”
“It is a surprise indeed, sir. And I’m heartily glad to see you again.
Not but what you ain’t looking as you should, sir. Them furrin parts
haven’t suited you, I’m thinkin’.”
“Captivity has not suited me. And I have travelled hard, and taken
little rest. But the old country will put me right. Who is in?”
“My mistress, sir, is in the drawing-room, and Miss Keene and Miss
Baron. I was about to take in lights.”
“Wait till I have gone in. And Drake, you can announce me, but don’t
say my name so that it can be heard.”
Drake obeyed to the letter. He threw open the drawing-room door, and
mumbled something inaudible. Denham entered, bowing ceremoniously.
“You can bring lights, Drake,” said Mrs. Bryce. The room was dark, and
the fire had fallen low.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m excessive glad to see you, sir,” Mrs. Bryce declared cordially,
after a hurried whisper to Polly, “_Who_ did he say, my dear? Oh, well,
’tis easy to see—he’s one of the military. A soldier home from the
wars.” Then she turned to Ivor with her welcome. “Mr. Bryce is away,
I’m sorry to say, but doubtless you can await his return, and Mr. Baron
will be in this minute.”
Ivor had some difficulty in recognising his friend Roy under this
designation. Polly was casting half-shy glances at him. Something in
the outline of his figure, dim though the light was, brought Denham to
her mind, but it was not until he spoke that her colour changed fast
from pink to white and from white to pink.
“I shouldn’t be surprised to be informed, sir, that you are but just
home from the war,” said Mrs. Bryce.
“I have not been fighting, I regret to say. My turn for that will no
doubt come. I have been long a prisoner.”
“And you have obtained your release?”
“The Emperor has consented to my return.”
Mrs. Bryce held up both hands.
“That is excessive gracious of him, truly. You are more fortunate than
many. Roy Baron was not so well off, and he had to make his escape. But
he has been since in the Campaign in Portugal and Spain under our great
Commander, Sir John Moore. A truly melancholy story that, sir,—yet he
died as a soldier would choose to die, covered with glory. And Roy—Mr.
Baron, I should say—is now back with us for a little space; and we, his
friends, fondly think he has done well. But will you allow me to offer
you cake and wine? You have a very tired look. What can Drake be about
not to bring the lights?” Mrs. Bryce’s hand was on the bell.
Denham was gazing earnestly towards Polly, so earnestly that she could
not but return the gaze. A thrill ran through her, for there was no
mistaking that voice. Molly took upon herself to put a pointed question:
“Have you come from Verdun, sir, if I might ask?”
“Pray take a seat, sir,” Mrs. Bryce was reiterating. She might as well
have spoken to stone walls.
“I am straight from Verdun,” Ivor replied to Molly’s query. “As I am
fain to think Miss Keene has already divined.”
Polly dropped a curtsey and said nothing. It was not for her to make
any first move. Nobody could hear how her heart fluttered.
“Then, sir, doubtless you will bring messages for us all from the
unfortunate prisoners there detained,” said Mrs. Bryce, not yet
grasping his identity with one of those prisoners.
Drake at this moment carried in the lights, and Roy, entering with him,
cried out in astonishment.
“Den! Why, ’tis Den himself! Can it be in very truth? Den, dear
fellow!”—nearly wringing Ivor’s hands off with the energy of his
welcome.
Pre-occupied though Ivor was with Polly, his gaze rested with
satisfaction upon “his friend Roy.” The boy who had left Verdun for
the dungeons of Bitche was a man now, broad-shouldered, well-built and
soldier-like, frank as ever in manner, yet with a certain something in
the young face, which told not only of endurance, but of the touch of
sorrow. At the present moment, however, Roy’s look was all sunshine.
“I _am_ glad, Den, more glad than words can say. Little I dreamt who I
should find in here! And you’re free! But how is it? How has that come
about? You don’t say old Boney has let you off! Of his own free will?
I wouldn’t have given the old chap credit for so much generosity. What
made him do such a thing? Lucille? No! Bravo, Lucille!”
Nobody else had a chance of being heard. Mrs. Bryce exclaimed and
talked in vain. Polly and Molly waited. Roy’s eager questions had to be
answered, before Denham was allowed to turn elsewhere.
Then came a change of manner and a lowering of voice.
“I shall have no end of things to tell you, things _he_ said of
you too, Den. Ay, I know”—at a slight gesture. “Another time. Yes,
by-and-by. But you’ve seen accounts of the battle. That charge of the
Reserve through the valley wasn’t bad! French column tried to turn
our flank, you know. We did just knock ’em into a cocked hat and no
mistake. The column just simply ceased to exist.”
Molly tried to put in a word, and was baffled.
“You’ll be as furious as I am at some of the comments in the papers.
The utter ignoramuses! What about? Why, the state of our Army getting
back from Spain. I should think the poor fellows _were_ scarecrows,
after all they’d gone through. Small wonder either! The scarecrows
made the enemy give an uncommon good account of ’emselves at Coruña,
all the same. But people here seem to think an Army can walk through a
Campaign, and come back every inch as spick and span as when it left
British shores. Much they know about the matter! And if shoes did wear
out, and our fellows got back barefoot, whose fault was that but the
fault of those who made the shoes at home?”
So much Roy poured out impulsively. Then he stopped. A consciousness
had broken upon him of something unsatisfactory, something impending.
Denham’s face was to him as an open book, and he saw written there
more things than one. One thing that he saw made him turn sharply to
Polly, as she stood a little way off, prettily composed. Was _this_ the
meeting of the two, after six years of enforced separation?
Roy recalled his talk with Polly on his return from Bitche, and in a
flash he read the true state of affairs. He looked hard at each in turn.
“Polly, didn’t I tell you? He has come back.”
Polly stirred slightly.
“You understand? ’Tis Den himself.”
It was necessary for Polly to answer.
“Captain Ivor is indeed most fortunate to have obtained his release,”
she said, adjusting her scarf.
“Fortunate to have obtained his release!” repeated Roy slowly.
Then he acted, with a decision and promptitude worthy of his vocation
in life. A gesture ordered Molly to make herself scarce. Seizing Mrs.
Bryce by the arm, he dragged away that astonished lady, reserving
explanations till they were outside the room. After which he poured
forth profuse apologies, but would allow no re-entrance, literally
setting his back against the door.
(_To be concluded._)
ON SOME POINTS OF DEPORTMENT IN SINGING.
I hope you who read these words will not think that I am encouraging
the vanity of which we all, girls and boys too, possess a certain
amount, in giving a few suggestions which may help to dispel some of
the awkwardness so often shown by the young and inexperienced vocalist.
How often, usually at the moment of going on the platform at some small
amateur concert, have I heard the cry, “Oh, I must have a piece of
music to hold in my hand!” from some nervous young singer, oppressed by
the feeling that she is all hands and has nowhere to hide them!
How often has a pretty song, tastefully sung, been spoiled by a
wriggling of the shoulders, or a rocking of the body from side to side
most irritating to behold!
How often has a song “breathing of scent and flowers,” of love and
spring-time, been warbled with a forbidding scowl and wrinkled
forehead—the expression of the whole face suggesting some hidden agony
rather than interpreting the spirit of the composition!
All these things are most distracting to a listener and detract
considerably from the effect of the performance; and a little trouble
and study, combined with the assistance of your good and true friend
the looking-glass, will do much to improve matters.
Let us take the three points I have mentioned in their order.
First the hands. Clasp them loosely in front of you and then forget all
about them! Make a point of practising it whenever you are fortunate
enough to obtain an accompanist to play for you, or when you are having
your singing lessons. Commit your song to memory so as to dispense with
the music, stand away from the pianoforte, avoid propping yourself
against the wall or leaning upon the furniture, stand easily, and let
your hands clasp naturally and comfortably.
Now for the wriggling. Any of you who have had your photograph taken
must remember the unpleasant little arrangement which the photographer
sticks behind your head to keep it still; and some of you may have
protested against the discomfort and unnaturalness of it and have
appealed to be allowed to pose without it, only to get the answer that
it is indispensable, as the head moves constantly, though not enough
to be noticed, yet sufficiently to spoil any exposure longer than an
instantaneous one. And yet the person being photographed is apparently
motionless! Now watch someone who is telling some exciting news or
some funny story, and you will see that the head moves with every word
spoken—the more emphasis, the more movement!
I remind you of these things in order to show you how very necessary
movement is to us and how, naturally, the head moves in speech rather
than the body.
If you carefully watch a confirmed wriggler, you will notice that,
though the body sways or the shoulders move, the head is very rigid
and is usually held very high, and altogether the position looks
constrained and awkward, and it has a disastrous effect upon the voice,
for all these little awkwardnesses and uglinesses mean that there is
a corresponding unnaturalness of production, and the memorable maxim
in the Koran, that “there are many roads to Heaven, but only one
gate,” applies forcibly to singing, in the respect that the only true
singer is he who produces his voice with the most ease and simplicity
(though that may have only been acquired by the hardest study) quite
irrespective of the particular method by which he has been taught.
There is one great drawback which we must take into consideration from
which all singers suffer more or less, and which is at the root of most
of these faults of “deportment” and of this one in particular, and it
is this.
A certain amount of nervousness is inseparable from singing,
whether we sing to just one or two chosen friends or before a
large concert audience, and even when we won’t confess to “feeling
nervous,” we cannot escape from another form of it and a very trying
one—self-consciousness. And the usual result of self-consciousness is
to seize upon the muscles of the throat, to cramp and contract them
till the head is held as if in a vice, so that the voice comes hard and
strained; and as the natural movement of the head is prevented by this
rigidity, Nature (who never stands still) asserts herself by giving
the necessary movement to the body instead; hence the wriggling of the
shoulders and the rocking from side to side.
In this case prevention is better than cure, and the best thing to do
is to practise diligently moving the head from side to side whilst
singing, especially when practising exercises. Do not raise it high,
and avoid the inclination to raise it as the voice rises to the higher
notes; but move it freely and constantly from side to side. At first
you will find this very awkward, and it will seem terribly unnatural
and ridiculous; but persevere, and you will find that not only your
appearance will be improved, but your voice will come easily and
your throat will not get that aching, tired feeling of which so many
complain after singing for quite a few minutes, and which is due to the
contraction of the throat and the constrained position of the head.
For the third point, facial expression, I commend you to your
looking-glass. Indeed, the greater part of your study should be done
with its assistance. First to be assured that your mouth is open, then
to watch that no grimaces appear, no pucker between the brows, no
opening the mouth crookedly, no blinking of the eyelids. Try to let
your expression vary as freely as it does when you are talking.
Remember you have only your face to assist you. A reciter can call
gesture to her aid; but a singer does not want to do anything that
might bring down upon her the accusation of being “theatrical.” She
wants to stand quietly and naturally, her hands folded, her head rather
low, and tell her story, her face changing with the changes of her song.
But bear in mind that all these things which come naturally to us when
we are not thinking about them or about ourselves become unnatural when
we are struggling in the grasp of the demon self-consciousness, and it
is for that reason that I conclude these hints with the paradoxical
reminder that as the unstudied and natural usually looks constrained
and unnatural, our aim must be to learn artificially and to practise
incessantly to look natural.
FLORENCE CAMPBELL PERUGINI.
HANGING CASE FOR UMBRELLAS AND STICKS.
From Edinburgh comes this very useful pattern. It can be hung
permanently in one’s bedroom to preserve parasols, etc., from dust, in
which case we suggest the use of two nails, eight inches apart, instead
of one as in A, Fig. 3; it can be rolled up when travelling, and when
unpacked suspended from any hook in the wardrobe. One yard of strong
art serge or any other suitable material not less than forty-two inches
wide will make two. The back part is cut according to Fig. 1. Fig. 2
represents the front portion which has two box pleats at the lower
edge to make the necessary fulness and should be so folded as to fit
exactly on to the back part. There is a line of stitching through back
and front from C to D, thus making two pockets. Tack the corners AA and
BB together and continue round each side to D. The whole case must be
neatly bound with ribbon or braid, and the loop added for hanging. The
front of the pocket (Fig. 2) should be bound from A to B before fixing
it in position.
“COUSIN LIL.”
[Illustration: _FIG 1_]
[Illustration: _FIG 2_]
[Illustration: _FIG 3_]
“AFTERNOON TEA;” A CHAT OVER THE TEACUPS.
BY AMY S. WOODS.
Within the last twenty years the simple but most popular meal known by
the name of “afternoon tea” has become a prominent feature in domestic
and social life.
“Afternoon tea!” The very words suggest to our minds pleasant visions
of cosy fireside tea and talk on winter afternoons, or lazy enjoyment
of the “cup that cheers” under the welcome shade of some spreading tree
in drowsy summer-time.
True, the institution of this meal has been much condemned of late. We
are told that women drink far more tea than is good for them and are
growing more nervous in consequence; while the sterner sex complain
that the enjoyment of their dinner is spoiled by their previous
indulgence in the dainties of the tea-table.
Nevertheless, I think even those who cavil most at the evil influence
of tea and its accompanying delicacies would, in their hearts, be sorry
to witness the abolition of a meal which has won the support of so
large a section of English society, from royalty downwards.
[Illustration: AFTERNOON TEA.]
To those who are weary of formal entertainments, it comes as a boon and
a blessing, while to those whose love of social pleasures is larger
than their purse it is even more welcome, as it enables them to
entertain their friends more frequently, with but little of the cost
and trouble which more elaborate social gatherings involve. And it is
to this latter class of afternoon-tea devotees that I dedicate the
following recipes and suggestions.
It is easy for dwellers in London or other large towns to obtain a nice
variety of cakes and biscuits wherewith to grace their tea-tables;
but those who live in country villages are less fortunate, and are
sometimes sadly conscious of lack of variety in the cakes they can
make or procure. I hope therefore that the recipes here given will be
acceptable to all those who are willing to spend a little care and
trouble in carrying them out. Most of them are capable of further
variation, and clever heads and fingers will devise artistic and dainty
decorations and ornamentations for themselves, the result of which
will be that their cakes will be quite as beautiful to look upon, and
probably more beautiful to eat than those supplied by a fashionable
confectioner.
One thing must be remembered by all aspiring cake-makers, viz., that
dainty cakes and biscuits require time, care, and patience in their
production, and cakes that are hurriedly made are seldom satisfactory.
Another point to be remembered is that afternoon tea is not a
substantial meal, so that we must endeavour to have all our dishes as
dainty and elegant as possible both in their composition and manner of
serving.
We cannot perhaps all boast of silver or Sheraton tea-trays, or of
Dresden or Worcester china; but a plain linen or small-patterned damask
cloth embroidered with a large initial, and either prettily hemstitched
or edged with Torchon lace, will hide all the deficiencies of our
tea-tray, and now that such pretty Coalport china can be bought at such
a reasonable price, no one need be without a charming tea-set.
In arranging the china and linen for afternoon tea, it will be well to
remember that coloured china looks best upon a white cloth or upon a
cream-coloured one embroidered in silks or flax threads to match the
colours in the china, while for use with plain white or white-and-gold
china a cloth of art linen, in plain blue, yellow or pink, with white
embroidery is most suitable.
Nor need any hostess lament over her scarcity of small silver table
appointments in the way of teapot and cream jugs and sugar basins, for
a china teapot and hot-water jug and the sweet wee cream jugs and tiny
basins now sold to match almost every stock pattern of china, look
quite as dainty and artistic as their more imposing silver brethren.
See that your bread-and-butter is delicately thin, and that it and your
cakes and sandwiches are served upon dainty doyleys of fringed damask,
and if you provide two small plates, one with brown and one with white
bread-and-butter, they will be found more convenient to hand about than
one large plate.
When there is only a small party, the use of a luncheon tray, with
three divisions, will save trouble in handing cakes, etc., and, be it
whispered, these same trays are also convenient when your stock of cake
is low, as small pieces of cake which could not possibly attain to the
dignity of the cake-basket, will make quite an imposing appearance
if cut in slices and arranged in one division of the tray, with some
biscuits in the second and some carefully-rolled bread-and-butter in
the third.
No doubt all my readers are acquainted with the silver or
electro-plated handles which are now sold for attaching to cake and
bread-and-butter plates, and a very convenient invention too; but
should your means preclude your indulgence in these luxuries, do not,
I pray you, be inveigled into buying the substitutes made of a sort
of millinery arrangement of wire, ribbon, and artificial flowers.
They soon become shabby and tawdry, while even when they can boast of
pristine freshness the idea of ribbon and artificial flowers in such
close proximity to eatables is to my mind at once incongruous and
inartistic.
In cutting bread-and-butter or sandwiches, a loaf at least twenty-four
hours old should be used, as it is impossible to obtain a satisfactory
result with new bread. Servants, it may be noted, are as a rule far
too liberal with the butter, which they often leave in lumps in any
holes there may be in the surface of the bread; and should the bread be
cut as thin as it ought to be, the butter will probably work its way
through to the other side with very unpleasantly greasy results.
And now for the recipes themselves, and as savoury sandwiches—and,
indeed, sandwiches of every kind—are always favourites we will have a
friendly chat concerning them before passing on to cakes and biscuits.
For the foundation of all sandwiches, we must use evenly cut, and not
too liberally buttered, bread, and be very careful that our seasoning
is generously used, but with discretion. To crunch a lump of salt in a
sandwich is by no means a pleasant experience.
_Cress Sandwiches_, though always appreciated, are simplicity itself.
Carefully wash and thoroughly dry the cress, arrange on slices of
bread-and-butter, sprinkle with salt, and, after pressing the covering
slices firmly down, cut into two-inch squares and pile on a doyley,
garnishing with tiny bunches of cress.
_Watercress Sandwiches_ are made in the same way, using only the
leaves, which must be most carefully washed in salt and water. Most
people consider the addition of a little mayonnaise sauce a great
improvement, and the following will be found a simple but excellent way
to make it:
Rub the yolk of a hard-boiled egg very smooth, adding a good pinch of
salt, a grain or two of cayenne pepper, and a quarter of a teaspoonful
of made mustard; then add alternately, and drop by drop, lest the sauce
should curdle, one tablespoonful of vinegar and two of salad oil, and
one tablespoonful of very thick cream. Use a wooden spoon for the
mixing, and do not make the sauce too liquid or it will ooze through
the sandwiches.
_Chicken Sandwiches_, made with a little finely pounded chicken with a
layer of watercress or lettuce and a little mayonnaise, are excellent.
_Cucumber Sandwiches_ are always welcome in hot weather. Soak the
slices of cucumber in some well-seasoned vinegar for two or three
hours before using, turning it frequently. Cut the bread round each
slice of cucumber with a small round pastry-cutter and garnish with
parsley. A little dab of mayonnaise in each sandwich is a great
improvement.
_Shrimp Sandwiches_ are delicious. From a pint of shrimps, pick out a
few of the largest with which to garnish your sandwiches, shell the
remainder and allow them to get thoroughly hot over the fire (but not
to boil) in a quarter of a pound of fresh butter, or two ounces of
butter and two tablespoonfuls of thick cream, and a discreet seasoning
of salt and pepper. Pound the mixture in a mortar until perfectly
smooth, and then spread upon either white or brown bread-and-butter,
and cut the sandwiches into rounds. A dariole or tiny pudding-mould
with a crimped edge answers capitally for the purpose. Pile upon a
doyley and garnish with the shrimps upon some fresh parsley.
Crab or lobster paste prepared in the same way but with the addition of
a little mustard and vinegar, and no cream, makes excellent sandwiches.
_Anchovy Sandwiches_ are made in the same way, using a good brand of
anchovy paste instead of the shrimp mixture. If you have plenty of
eggs at command, the hard-boiled yolks of two, pounded to a paste with
two ounces of butter and a tablespoonful of anchovy paste, will make a
superior sandwich.
_Egg Sandwiches_ are filled with the same paste of pounded eggs, well
seasoned, but without the anchovy; another ounce of butter or two
tablespoonfuls of cream is an improvement in this case.
So much for sandwiches; the eight varieties I have mentioned will serve
as a foundation from which clever housekeepers will devise numerous
other kinds. Almost any scraps of shell-fish, game, or poultry, can be
pounded and used as I have described, and if the seasoning is all that
it should be, and the sandwiches are delicately made and served, they
will always find some appreciative mortals to enjoy them!
* * * * *
And now to turn our attention to the cakes and biscuits, which I hope
my fair readers will make with their own dainty hands, and thus ensure
success, even if it be evolved from early failures.
Before passing on to the actual recipes, will they accept six general
hints as to successful cake-making?
Firstly (as I have said before)—Give yourself time, and do not hurry or
slur over any part of the process.
Secondly—Be sure your oven is at the right temperature before you put
in your cakes. A quick oven is best for buns and small cakes, and a
tolerably quick one to raise large cakes, and then the heat must be
lowered and kept at a regular temperature to bake them through. When a
cake has risen, lay a sheet of buttered paper over the top to prevent
it blackening. To ascertain if a cake is sufficiently baked, plunge a
clean knife or skewer through the centre; if it comes out clean and dry
the cake is baked, if sticky, it requires further baking.
Thirdly—Be very careful that your cake-tins or moulds are thoroughly
clean and well greased. Line your plain tins with well-greased plain
paper, not printed. The tins for small cakes such as queen cakes should
be sprinkled with flour and castor sugar after they are buttered.
Fourthly—Use only the best flour, and see that it is well dried,
sifted, and warmed before using. Clean currants and sultanas with flour
on a sieve; this not only cleans them but prevents them from sinking in
the cake.
Fifthly—Before commencing to mix your cake, be sure your tins are
ready, and that you have round you all your ingredients weighed and
prepared, so that you may not have to leave your cake unfinished while
you fetch something you have forgotten. All cakes but those made with
yeast should be baked directly the mixing is finished.
Sixthly—Do not be disheartened if your first attempt to make a new
cake is a failure. We too often forget that success is frequently the
outcome of many failures.
Before giving any recipes for fancy cakes, let me advise you to give
the following recipes for “Sally Lunns” and “Tea Cakes made with
yeast,” a trial.
For the former, mix half a teaspoonful of salt in a pound of flour, and
add three tablespoonfuls of sugar. Melt half an ounce of butter in half
a pint of new milk, and when milk-warm pour it over half an ounce of
German yeast. Add a well-beaten egg and a little grated nutmeg. Stir
lightly into the flour with a wooden spoon, cover with a cloth and set
it in a warm place to rise; then bake from fifteen to twenty minutes in
a quick oven. Some well-greased hoops are best to use for baking Sally
Lunns, and the cakes should be brushed over with some beaten egg before
they are quite baked. To serve, split each one into three slices, toast
a delicate brown, butter and cut each slice in two, place together and
serve on a very hot plate.
For _Tea Cakes_ take two pounds of flour, half a teaspoonful of salt,
quarter of a pound of butter or lard, and three ounces of sugar, with
a few currants or sultanas if liked. Mix half an ounce of German yeast
with three-quarters of a pint of warm milk and one egg. Rub the butter
into the flour, and add the other dry ingredients, mix in the liquid
part and knead lightly, and then set to rise. When sufficiently light
divide into round cakes, place on a baking-sheet and allow them to
remain a few minutes longer to rise again before baking. They will
require from a quarter to half an hour in a good oven. They may either
be split open, buttered, and eaten while hot, or toasted in the same
way as Sally Lunns. The great culinary authority, M. Soyer, recommends
that after toasting cakes or hot buttered toast, each piece should be
cut through separately and then placed together, as when the whole is
divided at once the pressure needed to force the knife down to the
plate, forces the butter into the lowest slice, which is often swimming
in grease while the upper slices are comparatively dry.
And now we will turn our attention to a few cakes which I can cordially
recommend. Let us take _Cherry Cake_ to commence with. For this you
will require six ounces of flour, three ounces of butter, three ounces
of castor sugar, two eggs, the grated rind of half a lemon, two ounces
of crystallised or glacé cherries and a teaspoonful of baking-powder.
Slightly warm but do not oil the butter, beat it to a cream with the
sugar and lemon, add the eggs, well beaten, then the flour and cherries
(cut in halves), and lastly the baking-powder. Whisk thoroughly, pour
into a paper-lined tin and bake from three-quarters to half an hour.
Another plan is to bake the cake in a Yorkshire pudding tin, and when
baked to cover the top with pink icing, made with the white of an egg
beaten up till fairly liquid but not frothy, and mixed very smoothly
with sufficient icing sugar to make a smooth paste. You will find the
readiest way of doing this is to use a wooden spoon on a dinner-plate,
holding the bowl of the spoon with the fingers; a little practice and
patience are needed to make the icing perfectly smooth, but remember
one lump spoils the appearance of the icing. Add a few drops of
cochineal and a few drops of vanilla flavouring, and spread the icing
evenly over the top of the cake with a paper knife or dessert knife;
a steel one must not be used. Take off any drops that may run over the
sides of the cake and divide it in two pieces while the icing is wet,
then dry at the mouth of the oven.
For _Orange Cake_ take the weight of three eggs in butter, sugar and
flour, the grated rind and strained juice of an orange, or two, if
small, and a teaspoonful of baking-powder. Make and bake the cake in
exactly the same way as the preceding one, but if iced, use white
icing, or colour it with a little grated orange-rind and juice, using
orange-juice to flavour it.
_Madeira Cake_ is made in the same way and with the same proportions,
but the orange is of course omitted and some finely-sliced lemon or
candied peel substituted as a flavouring, or a little essence of
vanilla.
For various kinds of cake you cannot have a better foundation than by
taking the weight of as many eggs as you wish to use, in flour, butter
and sugar, and then adding the various flavourings and a teaspoonful,
more or less, according to the number of eggs, of baking-powder.
Desiccated cocoanut makes a nice change if _Cocoanut Cake_ is desired,
or, if you do not mind the trouble of grating it, the fresh cocoanut is
of course superior. After the cake is baked brush the top over with a
little white of egg and scatter some of the cocoanut upon it.
Twelve delicious little _Rice Cakes_ may be made by taking one egg and
its weight in sugar and butter, half its weight in ground rice and half
in wheaten flour. When mixing add the rice after the flour, and also
a few drops of flavouring or the grated rind of half a lemon. Bake in
small tins in a quick oven for ten minutes. If two or more eggs are
used and the other ingredients increased in proportion an excellent
cake can be made.
_Almond Buns_ are also nice. For these take half a pound of flour, six
ounces of butter, six ounces of castor sugar, four ounces of almonds
blanched and chopped, and a teaspoonful of baking-powder. Mix together
the butter, sugar, eggs and flour, add the almonds and baking-powder
last, form into buns and bake on a buttered tin for twenty minutes.
_Queen Cakes_ are always favourites but require careful making and
the proper heart-shaped tins to bake them in. Prepare the tins as
previously directed by buttering them very thoroughly and sprinkling
with castor sugar and flour. Then take three eggs, their weight in
fresh butter, sugar, flour, and currants, and the grated rind of a
lemon. Cream the butter and sugar together, add the eggs, fruit, and a
pinch of salt, then the flour and half a teaspoonful of baking-powder,
and lastly a small wineglassful of good brandy. Whisk thoroughly, shake
off any loose flour or sugar from the tins, fill them three parts full
of the mixture and hit each one sharply on the table before putting in
the oven. Bake for twenty minutes.
_Genoese Pastry_ is also popular, but cannot be made in a hurry. Take
half a pound of butter, half a pound of castor sugar, half a pound of
flour, the yolks of two eggs and the yolks and whites of two more eggs,
and half a teaspoonful of baking-powder. Mix thoroughly, spread evenly
over sheets of buttered paper placed in Yorkshire pudding tins, smooth
over with a knife dipped in boiling water, and bake twenty minutes in a
moderate oven, but keep the cake a pale brown colour.
While it is baking prepare some icing as directed for cherry cake,
using the two whites of egg left over from the cake. Divide into two
portions on two plates, colouring one pink and leaving the other
white; flavour the former with a little raspberry syrup, or juice
from some jam, and the latter with vanilla, lemon, or a little
maraschino liqueur. Dissolve half an ounce of grated chocolate with
two tablespoonfuls of water and stir it over the fire till thoroughly
smooth and liquid, adding two or three lumps of sugar. If you have not
a forcing bag with which to ornament your icing, or if you are not
an adept in the use of it, provide yourself with a few crystallised
cherries, blanched almonds, chopped pistachio nuts, and pink and white
comfits with which to decorate your cakes. How they shall be decorated
I leave to your own artistic minds to decide—only reminding you that
almonds, pistachio nuts or a neat pattern of pink and white icing, or
a border of alternate pink and white comfits are most suitable for
decorating chocolate icing, while cherries and pink sugar look best on
white, and almonds and white sugar on pink. A very speedy and effective
decoration is to sprinkle white grated cocoanut on your pink cakes, and
a mixture of pink (coloured with cochineal) and pale green (coloured
with spinach juice) on white icing, using a mixture of all three
colours on the chocolate. The study of the cakes in some high-class
confectioner’s will help you here. When the cake is baked lift it by
the paper on to a clean pastry-board, remove the paper, divide each
slab of cake across, and then split it open. On one piece put raspberry
jam and press the other half upon it while hot; on another marmalade,
on the third apricot, and on the last strawberry or pineapple. Pour
over the apricot cake your chocolate icing, and while still hot cut
into strips about two and a half inches wide, and then cut again
slantwise across the strips so as to form diamond-shaped pieces. Then
place them at the mouth of the oven to dry, while you proceed in the
same way with your other cakes. Be careful to use your pink icing
with the red jam, and white with the yellow. When partially dry the
decorations must be added, otherwise they will not adhere to the icing,
and then the cakes must be again dried until the icing will not take
the impression of the finger when pressed upon it.
_Scotch Shortbread_ is a favourite with many people, though hardly to
be commended to the notice of dyspeptic sufferers. The following recipe
for it, given to me by a Scotchwoman, will be found a very good one.
One pound of flour, four ounces of ground rice, one pound and a quarter
of butter, three-quarters of a pound of sugar, a little candied peel,
and a pinch of salt. Beat the butter to a cream, add the sugar, and
very gradually sift in the flour and rice; work with the hands till
quite smooth and divide into six pieces. Put each piece on a sheet of
paper and roll out to the thickness of half an inch, prick it all over,
lay on it the pieces of candied peel, pinch the edges, and bake in a
moderate oven from twenty minutes to half an hour.
_Fancy Biscuits_ can be made at home, and will be found quite equal in
taste and appearance to the more expensive kinds sold in the shops.
Care must be taken that the oven is not too hot as they will not look
well if they are browned; and the flour and sugar used for them must
be very finely sifted and thoroughly dry. To make four varieties of
these biscuits at once, take one pound of fresh butter and cream it
with half a pound of castor sugar, and add two well-beaten eggs. When
well whisked divide the mixture into four basins. Divide also a pound
of fine flour into four parts. To the contents of the first basin add
a quarter of a pound of flour and two tablespoonfuls of ground ginger.
Mix well. Turn on to a floured board, roll out to the thickness of a
quarter of an inch, cut out with a small pastry-cutter or the top of a
wineglass, place a piece of candied peel or a preserved cherry on each,
and bake on a sheet of buttered paper laid on a baking tin for about
twenty minutes. Proceed in the same way with the second portion, but
instead of the ginger add the grated rind and juice of an orange, and
if needed, a tablespoonful more flour. To the third division add half a
teaspoonful of vanilla flavouring, and ornament the top of each biscuit
with a little pink and white icing after baking. If the biscuits are
made stiff they will keep their shape well in the baking, and may be
cut into various fancy patterns such as ivy leaves, stars, diamonds,
etc. Ivy leaves with the veins put on in white or pink icing are very
pretty. To the last basin add one ounce of finely-chopped almonds, and
make the biscuits oval in form with two strips of blanched almonds
on the top. Walnuts may be used instead of almonds, in which case I
should make the biscuits in the shape of a half walnut shell with half
a peeled walnut on the flat part. These would require to be made very
stiff. Chocolate icing is very nice to put on vanilla biscuits.
And now space warns me that our chat over the tea-table must come to an
end. I hope that the few simple recipes I have given will be found both
good and economical. Too economical perhaps for some of my friends, but
I would remind all who wish for richer cakes that in the many excellent
cookery-books, both French and English, now published, they will find
recipes which cannot fail to win their most cordial appreciation. Yet
in all humility I venture to hope these few hints of mine may win a
meed of fainter praise from those who, appreciating dainty cookery,
have yet to study economy in their household management.
[Illustration]
THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.
BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object
in Life,” etc.