THE COMPLEXION.
It has been stated in the papers lately that the Amsterdam physician
to the poor, late Empress of Austria did much by his prescriptions to
maintain the beauty of that most beautiful and accomplished lady. And
yet the Empress was by no means a vain woman, and this is proved by the
fact that, now she is gone, there has been no photograph of her taken
these twenty years.
I thought that I might state as an axiom that beauty is impossible
without a fair amount of health. That for instance, a beautiful
complexion was incompatible with a very serious disease. But I find
that here I am mistaken. "I want a complexion like a girl in a
decline," a woman said to me the other day. I wonder if she had ever
seen a girl in "a decline." To me the dull purple cheeks and lips of
advanced consumption are most ghastly. Other women strive after a dead
white face, and poison themselves with arsenic to try to obtain it.
The beautiful shades of red and white which are admired by most persons
are, however, impossible without good health. Late hours, indigestion,
lack of exercise and the use of cosmetics will destroy a good
complexion, and when once it has gone it is by no means easy to regain.
Of course I do not know, but I strongly suspect that every girl who
has a good complexion is too careful of her appearance to need any of
the crude hints that I can give to her less favoured sisters about
improving their complexions.
The best complexions to be found are not in the drawing-rooms of
Mayfair but in the slums of Whitechapel. Many dirty little ragamuffins
have far finer complexions than any of the leaders of fashion. This
is sufficient proof that soap and water are not the causes of a fine
cheek. Rather is it the outdoor life, the not too liberal diet, the
absence of stimulants, the early hours and the loose clothing of the
urchin that give her her good complexion.
All soap used for washing the face should be of fine quality. You
should never wash your face in very hot water. You should not go out
in a wind without a veil, and you should never lace tightly if you
wish to have a good complexion. When the face gets rough, as it is apt
to do after a walk in the wind, a very little glycerine and rosewater
or glycerine and cucumber will help to keep the face clear and soft.
Cosmetics are undoubtedly a fertile cause of the bad complexions so
common among the upper middle classes, and though by no means all
cosmetics are harmful, you should be very careful what you put on your
face.
Freckles are very annoying to some girls. They are caused, as you
doubtless know, by the sun. It is not the heat, but the light of the
sun that causes freckles, and it is the violet of the light that causes
them. The colour red absorbs the violet rays of the sun, and therefore
a red veil or a red parasol should be used by women who are very prone
to become freckled. I am not going to say that a red parasol will
entirely prevent freckling, but it does very materially lessen it.
Many persons, who would otherwise have a good complexion, are marred by
what are called "birth-marks." These are of three kinds--moles, port
wine stains and "spider nævi."
A mole that is small and not very disfiguring should be left severely
alone. You can do great harm by meddling with it, and not uncommonly it
is made very much worse by caustic or poisonous applications. If you
have a large and really disfiguring mole on your face have it removed
by a surgeon. The younger you are the better will be the result of
the operation. A minute scar will be left where the cut was made, but
if the mole was removed early in life the scar will be a small linear
mark often quite unnoticeable. These big moles are, in themselves,
somewhat dangerous, for in elderly people they occasionally develop
into cancers.
Moles not removed are to be left alone. But to this there is one
exception. If hairs grow upon the moles, they must be removed if
possible. The only safe way (excluding electrolysis which is rarely
called for) to treat the hairs on moles is to cut them short. You
should never irritate a mole by pulling hairs out. The soft, downy hair
so common on small moles may be bleached with peroxide of hydrogen if
very noticeable.
Can anything reasonable be done for port wine stains? Yes, if they
are small. Tattooing with the electro-cautery is a fairly efficacious
method of treating these disfiguring marks. Electrolysis is quite
useless for this purpose. No other treatment is satisfactory except
removal, where this is practicable.
The "spider" nævus is a small dilated vein, usually situated on a very
conspicuous part of the nose. It looks just like a little red spider,
and can be readily removed by plunging a tiny electro-needle into the
body of the "spider."
Wounds on the face, as elsewhere on the body, do not leave a scar
unless they go right through the skin. Serious wounds of the face
always leave scars, and the scars will be prominent in inverse ratio
to the skill with which the original cut was treated. All considerable
wounds of the face should be stitched up with horsehair and treated on
rigid antiseptic principles so as to obtain rapid healing. The more
rapidly a wound heals the less disfiguring will be the resulting scar.
Many women complain very bitterly of a dark ring round their necks. It
is natural for the skin round the neck to be darker in colour than that
on the face or chest. If the ring is really very dark and conspicuous,
carefully applying a little peroxide of hydrogen will often make it
less noticeable.
I will not say much about face powders save that those containing
any colouring matter, lead or arsenic, should never be used by any
one. Where there is a tendency to acne, powder must only be used with
extreme caution. Unquestionably powder of any kind is a mistake.
(_To be continued._)
PREPARATION FOR MARRIAGE.
By the Author of "How to be Happy Though Married," etc.
A minister of one of the many denominations once began an extempore
marriage service with these words, "My friends, marriage is a blessing
to a few, a curse to many, and a great uncertainty to all. Do ye
venture?" When no reply was forthcoming he said, "Let's proceed." Now
I think that it is only those who are wickedly careless, or so stupid
that they are without anxiety, who make this venture without due
preparation, and this preparation should begin, as it seems to me, with
our earliest years. Not, of course, that little boys and girls should
be always thinking of and planning for marriage, but that their parents
and guardians should remember that this is a fate in store for them,
and that one day these children will have homes of their own which they
will either curse or bless.
That some preparation is required for marriage was authoritatively
recognised by the ancient state of Belgium, as I gather from a picture
which I once saw in the Historical Society's collection of paintings
in New York. The scene is the inside of a peasant's house in Belgium.
On an easy chair sits a fatherly old priest who is catechising a shy,
awkward-looking country bumpkin. Near him is his lady-love. She would
gladly prompt him only the priest is keeping a sharp eye upon her.
In the background is the girl's mother preparing a wedding repast in
case the young people pass their qualifying examination. Underneath
is the name of the picture--"Catechism before marriage according to
the ancient State of Belgium as necessary for state and matrimonial
security." Now we think that this was a very good rule, which provided
that before young people should take upon themselves the great
responsibilities of marriage, they should have learned at least this
much of the catechism, how to do their duty to their neighbour. Of
course husband and wife are more to each other than mere neighbours,
but they are that at least, and if they do not do their duty towards
each other, homes will be wretched, and where homes are miserable the
state cannot but be weak, so we see that it was a matter for state
control.
Suppose a man spends his youth not in settling his habits, which is
what we ought to do when young, but in sowing wild oats, do you not
think that he will reap a crop of wild oats in his domestic life?
"Who is the happy husband? He who scanning his unwedded life
Thanks Heaven with a conscience free 'twas faithful to his future wife."
Who, on the other hand, is a miserable husband? He who cannot bring to
his marriage a clean bill of moral health, who cannot make upon his
wife the best of all marriage settlements, the settlement of habits in
the right direction. And even young ladies require some preparation
for marriage. If they are frivolous and flirty and have no higher
notion of worship than to burn incense to vanity, they will not be
happy themselves in married life and assuredly they will not make their
husbands happy.
Then there is physical or bodily health to be considered. Mr. Herbert
Spencer says that the foundation of all success in life is to be a good
animal. If a young man is always ailing (sometimes the consequence of
ale-ing) he will not be capable of supporting his wife and children,
and if a woman have a chronic sofa complaint, she may be a very good
woman, but she has mistaken her vocation when she became a wife. The
doctor's bills too have to be considered, and the effect upon children
of hereditary complaints. On one occasion as Dr. Johnson and a young
man were waiting in Mr. Thrale's drawing-room before dinner, the young
man asked the doctor if he would advise him to marry. Nettled at the
interruption the doctor replied, "Sir, I would advise no man to marry
who is not likely to propagate understanding." This was a wise answer,
for people should not marry if they are likely to have children who
will be diseased in soul, mind or body. It is said that money is a
root of evil, but it is not a bad thing to have a little bit of this
root with us when we go shopping, and some of it is also required when
we go marrying, unless we are to think that mortality is one of the
effects of matrimony as a certain servant girl seems to have thought.
The mistress with whom she last lived meeting her one day asked, "Well,
Mary, where are you living now?" "Please, m'am, I'm not living anywhere
now I'm married." Some of us who are married find that we have survived
the operation and also that we require a certain amount of money to
live upon, and therefore we can sympathise with the sensible girl
who, having tried a rigorous love-in-a-cottage dietary gave it as her
experience that a kiss and a cup of cold water make a poor breakfast.
At the same time it is quite possible to exaggerate the amount of money
necessary for marriage. Show me a couple who are miserable on account
of straitened circumstances, and I will show you a dozen couples who
are unhappy on account of other circumstances. I suppose we all know
old bachelors who have plenty of money for marriage but they have not
enough courage, and they make, "I can't afford it" a mere excuse. This
was the case with Pitt. When he was Prime Minister of England and had
from all sources an income of about £30,000 a year he used to say that
he could not afford to marry, and then some one calculated that in
his household about sixty pounds of meat was allowed for each man and
woman. For the more economical arrangement of his domestic affairs,
if for no other reason, he ought to have married. I sometimes say to
young officers who are inclined to be extravagant, "I wonder how you
can afford not to be married, I could not." Certainly if a young man
will smoke the best cigars and will give expensive drinks to every one
who claps him upon the back and calls him "Old Man" he cannot afford
to marry--why? Because he will not deny himself small and not very
elevating luxuries for the sake of obtaining the great luxury of a good
wife. Then if a man has a small income he must choose for a wife a
girl with a slender waste, not one, that is to say, who has made her
waist small by health-destroying corsets, but one who can manage her
husband's income with the least amount of waste.
"Why don't the men propose?" is a question which is often asked. One
reason why some of them do not do so is because they are afraid of the
possible extravagance of wives. I gather this from a question which
was lately overheard in a ball-room. A lady of a not very retiring
disposition asked a middle-aged gentleman with whom she was dancing,
"Why don't you marry, can't you afford to support a wife?" "My innocent
young thing," was the reply, "I can afford to keep ten wives, but I
can't afford to pay the milliner's bills of one." This matter is more
in the hands of the ladies than they seem to think, and things would
be greatly helped if mothers, instead of seeking only to marry their
daughters to rich men, would educate these young ladies in such a way
that men who are not wealthy could afford the luxury of marrying them.
I know a mother who got a large family of daughters off her hands by
telling prudent young men in confidence that the puddings they tasted
at her house were all concocted by her daughters, and that the dear
girls made their own dresses and hats.
At what age should men marry? I have heard of them doing so as young
as twenty, but it is useless to argue with people like this who may be
said not to have come to years of discretion. A man who lived to a very
advanced age accounted for his doing so by saying that he had never
stood when he might have sat, that he married late, and was soon left a
widower.
When two very young people marry, it is as if one sweet pea should
be put as a prop to another. Of course much depends upon the young
man. Some men are better fitted to take upon themselves the duties
of marriage at twenty-five than are others at thirty-five. Between
these two ages is the usual time, and if men put off much after the
last-mentioned age they are likely to get into the habit of celibacy
which, like all other bad habits, is difficult to break away from. In
this habit they will continue till they are about sixty years of age,
when a terrible desire to know for themselves what matrimony is like
will seize them and they will propose right and left to every eligible
lady, until at last they are picked up, not for themselves but for
their money or their position, or because some one is tired of being
a Miss and wants the novel sensation of putting "Mrs." before her
name. It is not natural for a young woman to wish to marry an old man.
"When it is time for you to marry," said a father to his daughter, "I
shall not allow you to throw yourself away upon one of the frivolous
young fellows I see about. I shall select for you a staid, sensible,
middle-aged person; what do you say of one about fifty years of age?"
"Well, father," was the reply, "if it is just the same to you, I would
prefer two of twenty-five."
As to the age women should marry--I don't like to burn my fingers with
that question. All I shall say is that if there are some of them--as
it is said there are--not worth looking at after thirty years of age,
there are quite as many not worth speaking to before that. Please
yourself then, young man, only do not choose one who is either a child
or an old woman.
AUTUMN.
Radiant sunsets garnered
Through the bygone year
From the earth's deep bosom,
Slowly now appear.
Rainbow glories flooding
Forest, hill, and vale,
With a ruby lustre
And an amber pale.
Now the forest minster
Trembles as each chord
Swells the rocking pine trees
On the wind's keyboard.
Till the music endeth
In an accent drear
Wailing out a requiem
To the dying year.
Earth her treasures gathered
From the seasons past.
Heapeth them an off'ring
On an altar vast!
Till the fires of Heaven
Catch the ascending glow.
And the heart of Heaven
Into earth doth flow.
Where is now the glory?
Where is Autumn's glow?
Passed into a furnace
Working deep below.
Forging through the darkness
Gems surpassing fair,
That the coming springtime
In her crown shall wear!
_Envoi._
Garner--heart--the sunsets
Of thy passing years.
Bygone strains of music,
Remembered but in tears.
Till thy sorrow's--silent,
Alchemy transmute.
And each broken reed of song
Grows into a flute.
V. R.
[Illustration]
LILIAN'S FELLOW-TRAVELLER.
BY ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY.
"Wherever in this world I am,
In whatsoe'er estate;
I have a fellowship with hearts,
To keep and cultivate;
And a work of lowly love to do
For the Lord on whom I wait."
_A. L. Waring._
"Now then, jump in, Lil! Hurry up, young woman! What is the matter with
the girl! Has not the guard just told us that the train is crowded,
and that there is not another seat?" and Ralph Moore took hold of his
sister's arm rather impatiently. Lilian had her foot on the step; but
she still hesitated, and there was a decided frown on her pretty face.
"It is quite full too," she said, rather crossly, "and it is so hot
and stuffy;" and indeed, a crowded third-class compartment on a sultry
August day is not a desirable locality; and Lilian's distaste and
reluctance were only natural under the circumstances.
"There's no help for it--in you go!" muttered Ralph, in a gruff voice,
and a pair of muscular arms lifted the girl in; and the next moment
the guard gave the signal, and the train moved slowly away. Ralph
grinned triumphantly, as he lifted his straw hat a little derisively
to his sister. Sheer muscular force of argument had prevailed over a
girl's contumacy.
"Little stupid!" he said to himself, as he whistled to his dogs. "I do
believe she would rather have lost the train than put up with a little
discomfort on the way."
Lilian stood helplessly for a moment with her small Yorkshire terrier
under her arm. No one moved or made room for her, until a cheery voice
from the end of the compartment broke the silence.
"There is lots of room, miss, between those two ladies. Let me hold
your basket, ma'am, until the young lady is settled," and then, with
a discontented expression, Lilian wedged herself into the fraction of
space assigned for her use.
"It is too bad of Ralph," she thought. "I shall get out at the next
station; it is like the Black Hole in Calcutta; it is worse than a
cattle-pen." On one side of her was the inevitable fat woman with a
basket; on the other a shabby, red-faced widow, with a fretful baby;
then came a couple of loutish-looking lads. On the seat opposite her
there was a surly-looking man, and an old labourer in corduroy; two
young market-women, with bundles of vegetables, and then the owner of
the voice. Lilian regarded him with youthful arrogance and distrust.
He looked like a shopman; he was a small, undersized young man, with
a round boyish face. He had a thick crop of red hair, and looked as
spruce as though he was out for a holiday; his red silk tie and the
scarlet geranium in his buttonhole seemed to make a flaming spot of
colour in the carriage.
"The sun is in your eyes, miss," he observed the next moment; "the
curtain has got wrong somehow; but if one of you ladies could oblige me
with a pin, I will soon fix it," and he regarded Lilian with an affable
smile.
[Illustration: "RAINBOW GLORIES FLOODING FOREST, HILL AND VALE."
[_From photo: Photographic Union, Munich._]
"It is of no consequence," she returned stiffly, drawing herself
up. "Please do not trouble." In her present temper she would have
rather endured any amount of discomfort than be indebted to that very
officious, vulgar young man.
"Oh, it is no trouble"--with beaming good nature. "Thank you,
ma'am"--as the widow gloomily produced a pin--"I will soon have things
ship-shape. There, miss, you are more comfortable now."
But though Lilian thanked him with some outward show of civility, she
was inwardly chafing under what she chose to consider his impertinent
freedom of address. She had done her duty and thanked him, and now she
meant to ignore his existence; but she had reckoned without her host.
"Beg your pardon, miss," the brisk voice began again, "is your little
dog a Yorkshire terrier? I never saw such a small one before."
"Yes." Just this monosyllable and nothing more. She would keep him in
his place; she was determined on that.
"He's a real beauty, if I may make so bold. May I ask his name? I am a
dog-lover, miss, and always was."
"Her name is Musüme."
"Eh, what?" A pair of bright blue eyes regarded her and the dog with
some perplexity.
"Musüme," dropped from Lilian's lips, but she frowned again.
"Is that Latin, miss? It ain't a word I know."
Then Lilian turned almost fiercely on her tormentor.
"No; it is Japanese." But her manner was so repressive; it said so
plainly, "How dare you address me in this familiar way?" that the
young man flushed and looked a little disconcerted. This pretty young
creature in the white dress had a decided temper.
"Beg pardon," she heard him mutter. "No offence, I hope." But the next
moment he was on his feet again. The dust was dreadful; he must close
the window. They were coming to Layton tunnel; he hoped the ladies
would not be nervous, for he had discovered there was no light. Here
Lilian glanced furtively at the gas-lamp overhead. Even when they had
entered the tunnel the voice was still audible at intervals. "Beg
pardon, ma'am." He had evidently trodden on the fat woman's toes.
"Great Scott!" as a shrill whistle nearly deafened them, and one of the
young market-women called out: "Bless your heart, ma'am, they are only
a-clearing the way. There is no call to be frightened. Makes you feel
a bit jumpy in the dark, so it does. Here we are in the light again,
and we are slackening for the station. Shall I put down the window for
a moment, miss, just to give us an airing?" But Lilian took no notice,
and the next moment the train stopped.
The carriage seemed emptying. First the loutish lads and the surly man
got out, then the labourer and the red-faced widow, the fat woman and
the two young market-women followed, and yes--oh, the joy of it!--her
red-headed tormentor was getting out too.
Lilian put down Musüme that she might stretch her little legs, then she
established herself in the fat woman's corner, and pulled the curtain
across the dusty window--the heat would be more bearable now. Then
Musüme uttered a shrill little bark and fled growling to her mistress
as some one entered with a flying leap. It was the red-headed young
man. Lilian nearly gasped, but there was no time to leave the carriage,
for the whistle had already sounded.
"Just saved myself by the skin of my teeth," observed the young fellow,
in his chirpy voice. He had a _Graphic_ and a bag of greengages, and
seemed more cheerful than ever.
"Like to see the _Graphic_, miss?" holding out the paper with an
ingratiating smile that seemed to say, "Let's be sociable."
"Thanks very much, but I've seen it"--distinctly a white lie.
"Dear, what a bad job"--in a disappointed tone. "I could easily have
got _Black and White_ or the _Sketch_."
"Thank you"--in a freezing tone. "I do not care to read."
"Ah, you prefer to look at the scenery; know every yard of it myself
between Layton and Brocklebank. My old mother lives at Brocklebank."
(Lilian had a mother, too, at Brocklebank, but she kept this fact to
herself.) "Beg pardon, may I offer you some greengages? They are very
sweet and juicy."
"No, thank you," and then Lilian attempted a yawn and closed her eyes.
Sleep was never farther from her, but she saw no other way of reducing
him to silence, absurd and officious as he was; she had no wish to
quarrel with him; it was evident the poor creature knew no better, she
said to herself, with a superb tolerance.
Once when the silence had lasted a long time, she peeped through her
fingers at him.
He was in a high state of enjoyment; he had the _Graphic_ on his knee,
and the open bag stood at his elbow; his hat was off, and his red crop
gleamed in the sunshine, his round face and wide open blue eyes made
him look like a radiant infant.
"I don't believe there's any harm in him; he can't help being vulgar,"
thought Lilian. "It was really very good-natured of him to offer
to share his fruit with me; there goes another stone. Mr. Redhead
evidently has a fancy for greengages."
Lilian's sense of humour, always her strong point, was overcoming her
moodiness. She was just then thinking how she would dramatise the
situation for Ralph's benefit, when a sudden shock hurled her to the
other end of the carriage.
"Beg pardon--hold on, miss--I believe we are in for a scrimmage, as
sure as my name's Tom Hunter," but before the words were out of his
mouth, there was a second shock; then darkness, a crash, terrified
screams, and then Lilian heard no more.
* * * * *
"Beg pardon, miss, but if you are alive----" These were the first
words that greeted Lilian on her return to consciousness. Where was
she? Where had she heard that voice? Why was it dark? had she fainted?
What was that heaving substance under her?
"Beg pardon, but if you could move a little, miss. I am a bit crushed
and numb-like."
Then recollection returned to the girl. There had been a railway
accident. They were in it. That poor fellow was under her. If she could
only raise herself; if she could reach the window. What was it over
her head? Then as the light of a friendly lantern flashed across the
carriage she screamed loudly,
"Help--help, for mercy's sake!"
"Shift that lantern, Jones, there is some poor body here," exclaimed
a voice near them. Then the door was wrenched open and strong hands
grasped the girl and lifted her out. "There's another down there. I am
afraid he is badly hurt. You had better hail the chap who says he is a
doctor."
"Come along with me, miss," said a second voice; "we are just at the
mouth of the tunnel, but you will have to clamber a bit over the
wreckage. Can you walk--all right, we'll be out in a minute."
But it looked longer than that before Lilian saw the blessed sunshine
again.
"Then you can sit on the grass," continued the friendly porter, "while
we bring the young man round. You are not much hurt, miss; that's a
blessing." And then he hurried off, and Lilian, shaken and miserable,
and bruised all over, sank down on a patch of long grass.
She remembered afterwards how gay the poppies looked, then she hid her
eyes and sobbed, as a broken inert form was carried past her.
"In the midst of life we are in death." The words came to her, and she
said them over and over again. "In the midst of life we are in death."
Slow, stumbling footsteps approaching, but she dare not look up. How
could she know what ghastly burden they were carrying.
"Steady, you fellows. Lay him down and put something under his head.
No, there is nothing to be done; but, poor chap, he will not suffer. I
must see to that broken leg now."
"Perhaps this young lady will stop a bit," observed the friendly
porter. "Help me a moment, mate, while I shift this 'ere jacket under
his head. If we had only a drop of something--not that it would be any
good."
Surely they were not leaving her alone with a dying man. Lilian started
up in sudden terror; then a feeble voice arrested her.
"Don't go, miss--please don't leave me; you heard what that chap
said"--and here a pair of boyish blue eyes looked pitifully at her;
then a great wave of womanly sympathy made Lilian forget her bruises
and nervous fears.
Could that rigid-looking figure--that colourless face with the grey
shade of death already stealing over the features--be her light-hearted
and officious fellow-traveller? A sob broke from Lilian's lips.
"Oh, I am so sorry--so sorry!"
"Don't take on, miss--I ain't in pain--only numb and curious-like; but
it seems hard, don't it"--his dry lips twitching as he spoke--"that a
fellow's holiday should end like this."
"Yes, yes, terribly hard! Is there anything I can do for you?" And
Lilian knelt beside him, and the tears were running down her face--some
of the warm drops fell on the motionless hand.
"Beg pardon, miss, but there's my old mother and Susie--Susie is my
girl, you know--she is stopping along of mother just now"--here the
panting voice grew fainter.
"Tell me your mother's name. I will go and see her."
"Will you now"--rousing up--"I call that real kind. Mrs. Hunter; she
keeps the sweet-shop in Market Street, Brocklebank. I am her only son,
miss," and then almost inaudibly, "she is a widow."
"Yes--yes--I will find her. I live at Brocklebank. Give me your message
please?"
"Tom's love. And do you think, miss, you could put your hand in
my pocket, there's the Testament mother gave me when I went up to
London"--and then with some difficulty Lilian extracted a little red
book. "Tom's love, and tell mother, please, that I minded her words and
read a few verses every day, and that it helped me to keep straight."
"I will tell her, Tom--every word."
"And there's Susie, miss--I bought a bit of a brooch for her; it is in
my waistcoat pocket--tell her not to fret; for I loved her true--aye, I
loved her true! How dark it is getting, miss! Perhaps you could say a
prayer for me?"
"My poor fellow--yes--shall we say the Lord's Prayer together." But
after the first petition Lilian said it alone, the blue eyes were
growing filmy, the hand she held felt cold to her touch. The porters
had come back and were standing near, cap in hand; one of them had
tears in his eyes. "Poor chap, he is going fast, mate," he whispered.
Lilian heard them, and her voice shook with intense emotion. "Oh,
Saviour of the world," she prayed, "who by Thy cross and precious blood
has redeemed us, save him and help him, we humbly beseech Thee, O Lord."
* * * * *
"That is all; every word, Mrs. Hunter. Does it not make you happy to
know that he read his Bible and kept straight?" And Lilian looked
anxiously into the mother's wrinkled face. Tom had got his blue eyes
from his mother.
"Aye, the Lord be praised for that; but I never feared for Tom. He was
always straight. It seems to me that he was better than other boys.
Never was there a sweeter-tempered lad," murmured Mrs. Hunter. "Susie
there will tell you the same. He was never happy unless he was doing
kind things. Even as a baby he would give me his crust if I asked for
it. It did not seem as though he could keep anything to himself." And
here the widow sobbed and put her apron to her eyes. "And to think
that my boy, my Tom, was to have his dear life crushed out of him in a
railway accident! That is what Susie and I have been saying. If he had
only died in his bed."
"It seems hard, Mrs. Hunter, almost cruel, does it not?"--and here
there was a lump in Lilian's throat. "It was his holiday, and he was
going home to his mother and sweetheart, but God called him and he went
straight to his Father's house instead. Perhaps there was work for him
to do up there. Oh, we cannot tell, but God knows best, and he will be
waiting there for you and Susie. You believe that, do you not, dear
Mrs. Hunter?" And then she added solemnly, "Weeping may endure for a
night, but joy cometh in the morning."
INVALID COOKERY.
BEEF TEA.
_Ingredients._--One pound of shin of beef, one pint of water, a little
salt, a few drops of lemon juice.
_Method._--Take away all skin and fat from the beef, and shred it
finely, putting it as you do so into a jar with the water, lemon
juice, and salt; put on the lid and let it stand half an hour; stand
the jar on a dripping tin with cold water, and put it in the oven for
two hours. Stir up, pour off against the lid and remove any fat with
kitchen paper.
QUICK BEEF TEA.
_Ingredients._--Same as preceding.
_Method._--Cut the meat up small and let it stand in the water twenty
minutes; put in a saucepan and let it just heat through, pressing the
pieces against the side with a wooden spoon.
RAW BEEF TEA.
_Ingredients._--Same as preceding.
_Method._--Prepare as in the first recipe for beef tea; cover closely
and let it stand for two hours; stir up and pour off. This must be made
fresh often as it soon turns sour.
STRENGTHENING BROTH.
_Method._--Take equal quantities of beef, mutton, and veal, and prepare
in the same way as ordinary beef tea.
MUTTON BROTH.
_Ingredients._--One pound of scrag of mutton, one pint of water, two
ounces of pearl barley, salt, a blade of mace, a little chopped parsley.
_Method._--Cut as much fat as possible from the meat; cut the meat up
small and chop the bones; put the meat and bones in a saucepan with
the water, mace, salt and barley, which should be blanched (see "Odds
and Ends"). Put on the lid and simmer very gently for two hours. Stir
up and pour off against the lid into a basin; stand in cold water in a
larger basin for the fat to rise, skim well, re-heat and add a little
chopped and blanched parsley.
ESSENCE OF BEEF.
_Ingredients._--One pound of shin of beef, two tablespoonfuls of water,
a little salt, a few drops of lemon juice.
_Method._--Scrape the meat, put it in a jar with the water, salt, and
lemon juice; put on the lid and stand the jar in a saucepan of boiling
water; let the water boil round it four hours. Stir up and pour off.
RAW MEAT SANDWICHES.
_Method._--Scrape a little raw beef finely and put a little piece in
the middle of some tiny squares of thin bread, cover with other squares
and press the edges tightly together with a knife so that the meat may
not show.
MEAT CUSTARD.
_Ingredients._--One large egg, half a gill of beef tea.
_Method._--Beat the egg and beef tea together and steam in a buttered
teacup for twenty minutes.
A CUP OF ARROWROOT.
_Ingredients._--Half a pint of milk, one ounce of arrowroot, one ounce
of castor-sugar.
_Method._--Mix the arrowroot smoothly with a little cold milk; boil the
rest of the milk and stir in the arrowroot; stir and boil well, taking
care it does not burn.
CORNFLOUR SOUFFLÉE.
_Ingredients._--Half a pint of milk, one egg, one ounce of cornflour,
one ounce and a half of castor sugar, one bay leaf.
_Method._--Mix the cornflour smoothly with a little cold milk; boil
the rest with the bay leaf and sugar; stir in the cornflour and let it
thicken in the milk; separate the white and yolk of the egg and beat in
the yolk when the cornflour has cooled a little; beat the white very
stiffly and stir it in very lightly. Pour into a buttered pie-dish, and
bake in a good oven until well thrown up and a good light brown colour.
CUSTARD SHAPE.
_Ingredients._--Half a pint of milk, two eggs, quarter of an ounce of
gelatine, two ounces of castor sugar, vanilla.
_Method._--Beat up the eggs with the sugar and milk; pour into a jug,
stand in a saucepan of boiling water and stir with the handle of a
wooden spoon until it thickens; dissolve the gelatine in it, flavoured
with vanilla, pour into a wetted mould and turn out when set.
SPONGE CAKE PUDDING.
_Ingredients._--Two stale sponge cakes, three eggs, half a pint of
milk, two ounces of castor sugar, a piece of thin lemon rind.
_Method._--Boil the milk with the rind and the sugar; let it cool a
little and add the eggs well beaten; cut the sponge cakes in pieces and
lay them in a buttered tin, pour the custard over and bake gently until
set. Turn out and set cold.
LEMONADE.
_Ingredients._--Two large lemons, one quart of water, a quarter of a
pound of castor sugar.
_Method._--Pare the lemons very thinly, so that the rind is yellow both
sides, put the rind with the sugar and the lemon-juice in a jug, pour
boiling water on it, and let it stand till cold, strain and use.
BARLEY WATER.
_Ingredients._--Two ounces of pearl barley, one quart of water, a small
piece of lemon rind, one ounce and a half of castor sugar.
_Method._--Blanch the barley; put it in a saucepan with the lemon-rind
and sugar, and simmer gently one hour. Strain and use.
TOAST AND WATER.
_Method._--Toast a piece of bread until nearly black. Put it in a jug
and pour cold water on it.
ART IN THE HOUSE.
HOW TO DECORATE AND FURNISH A GIRL'S BED SITTING-ROOM.