In my last article on tinned meats I described how to give a nice
little dinner at a short notice, supposing the larder only contained
a cold shoulder of mutton. I will now give a few hints on the general
management of tinned meats. I will also fulfil my promise of describing
how to make that most useful article in cooking, brown roux, which in
my opinion is absolutely essential should we wish to make our tinned
thick soups a success.
First let us consider the best way of managing tins, the contents of
which are generally eaten cold, and do not require warming up.
Perhaps the two most common examples of tinned provisions are sardines
and tinned lobster. For very many years sardines have been a popular
breakfast dish, and the plan has been to open the tin of sardines, and
leave the sardines in the tin till all are finished. Tinned lobster is
a more modern invention, and inexperienced housekeepers, from habit,
have treated the lobster exactly as they have the sardines, viz., they
have opened the tin and left the lobster in the tin. I would warn you
that this method of dealing with tinned lobster is not merely wrong,
but absolutely dangerous. From time to time reports have arisen on the
danger of eating tinned goods, and every now and then we hear of cases
of persons being ill, who date the origin of their illness from eating
some species of preserved provision. You would do well to bear in mind
that the persons to blame are not the makers of the tinned goods, but
the housekeeper who opens them and then fails to exercise her common
sense. Probably every housekeeper is aware of the fact that if you make
soup it is necessary to turn the soup out in a basin before going to
bed. Every cookery book teaches us the fact that if we leave the soup
in the saucepan all night long it spoils. Why? Why should soup get bad
in a metallic vessel, where it would not get bad in a porcelain one?
The answer is very simple—on account of the metal being acted on by the
air. If you leave a moist knife in the kitchen, in two or three days
it becomes rusty. Why, then, should we expect meat or fish or food of
any kind whatever to keep good in a tin, when we know it would not keep
good in a tin saucepan? The fact is, we have never thought about it at
all. But I do not think I need enlarge upon the subject, as, if you
have any common sense, a hint will be sufficient, and if you have no
common sense, it is useless to attempt to reason with you. Therefore
bear this one most important point in mind—whenever you open any kind
of tinned provision, turn it out of the tin directly the tin is opened;
otherwise it will instantly commence to undergo a chemical change,
which becomes stronger the longer it is opened. Some persons, perhaps,
will say, How is it that we have been in the habit for years, perhaps,
of opening sardines, and have never experienced any inconvenience
whatever? The simple reason is that the sardines are preserved in
oil, and that the oil prevents the action of the air on the metal. To
explain my meaning, you may try the following experiment:—Take two
bright knives; dip one in water and the other in thick oil. Leave the
two knives for three or four days. The one dipped in water will be
covered with rust, owing to the action of the air on the metal (perhaps
some of you are sufficiently acquainted with chemistry to know what I
mean by saying that the metal oxidises); the knife that has been dipped
in oil, on being wiped, will be found as bright as it was before,
owing to the action of the air being prevented on the metal by the oil.
Space will not allow of my giving a list of all the nice little
delicacies that are now preserved in tins, but I will mention a
few—potted beef, ham, tongue, chicken, turkey, etc. Then there are pork
patties in tins, savoury patties, Oxford brawn, while, if you wish
to have what may be termed higher class delicacies, there is _paté
de foie gras_, as well as truffled woodcock, lark, snipe, plover,
partridges, quails, etc., all of which are sold in tins, the tins being
rather more than half-a-crown a piece. If we take one of these tins
and open it in the ordinary manner, leaving the tin half on as a lid,
it is by no means an elegant-looking dish, whereas if we cut the tin
entirely round the edge and take the top off, then make a little hole
the other side in order to let the air get in, we can turn the whole
of the contents of the tin out in a shape exactly as we could turn
jelly out of a copper mould. The tin of potted beef, if that is what we
have, can be turned out on an ornamental piece of paper placed in the
middle of a dish. The dish can then be ornamented with a little bright
green parsley, and a little cut lemon, and can be made to look really
appetising. In fact, there is no more excuse for sending potted meat
to table in the tin than there would be for sending a mould of jelly
to table in the mould. What would you say if you were asked out to a
dinner were the man to hand round the mould of jelly in the mould, and
you were to scoop it out with a spoon? and yet this is what you have
virtually done over and over again at breakfast.
[Illustration: IN THE KITCHEN.]
I will now give you a list of the different kinds of soups that can be
obtained in tins, and will explain how to make brown roux, which is
used for improving every kind of thick soup, and also show how thin
soups may be improved. The following soups may be obtained in tins:
real turtle soup, game, grouse, oyster, hare, chicken broth, giblet,
hotch potch, kidney, mulligatawny, mock turtle, ox cheek, ox tail
(thick and clear), tomato, cressy, gravy, green pea, julienne, mutton
broth, Palestine, bouilli, vegetable, venison, and vermicelli.
Brown roux is simply flour fried brown in butter. Probably most cooks
have heard of the ordinary method of thickening soups with flour. The
result is that the soup has a gruelly taste. If, however, the flour
is fried a light brown before it is used for thickening the soup, it
produces quite a different effect. In fact, in one case the flour is
cooked, and in the other case it is raw, and the difference in the
flavour is as great as that between a dish of pastry before it is put
in the oven to be baked, and afterwards. You all know what a nice
thing a rich piece of pie-crust is, especially if it be made from puff
paste. Of course before it was put in the oven to be baked it would be
absolutely uneatable. So with our brown roux. If you wish to make it
properly proceed as follows: Take, if possible, an enamelled stewpan,
and place in it half a pound of butter and melt it. When the butter has
run to oil you will find that there is a sediment at the bottom, which
looks something like milk, as, indeed, it is, as also a frothy scum
at the top; skim this off, and then pour off the oiled butter into a
basin and throw away the sediment. Now add to this clarified butter,
which should have the appearance of good salad oil, half a pound of
dry flour. Remember that you cannot fry anything properly unless it be
first thoroughly dry. The flour and butter will form a sort of pudding,
and you must stir this pudding over the fire with a spoon until the
pudding begins to turn a light brown. As soon as it is turned a light
brown colour, take the stewpan off the fire, but go on stirring. As the
stewpan keeps hot a long time the flour will go on cooking for quite
a quarter of an hour after it has been taken off the fire. You can if
you like slacken the heat by throwing in a piece of onion. Of course,
the onion will very soon turn brown itself. When the brown flour or
roux has got comparatively cool, put it into a basin or small jar, and
put it by for use. You will find it most convenient to make this in
sufficient quantity to last, say, for a month. It will keep good for
almost any length of time.
Every kind of thick soup sold in tins will be greatly improved by a
good dessertspoonful of this brown roux being added to each pint of
soup after the tin has been opened and the contents poured into a
small saucepan. In addition to brown roux you must add a good-sized
teaspoonful of extract of meat. Recollect the brown roux should be
crumbled into the soup, and the soup should be allowed to boil for a
few minutes in order that it may get thick.
Of course we cannot use brown roux for clear soups. Now these clear
soups are undoubtedly, as a rule, very poor. I would suggest the
following means of improving them. Add first of all a brimming
teaspoonful of extract of meat, then to every pint of clear soup take
a teaspoonful of cornflour. Mix the cornflour with a little cold water
in a cup, say a dessertspoonful of cold water, or a little more, and
while the soup is boiling in the saucepan, add the cornflour to it.
You do not wish to make the soup thick, as could be done by adding a
large quantity of cornflour, but by adding a small quantity you give it
what may be called a consistency. The soup, instead of being as thin
as water, is more like milk, and although the soup is not in reality
any richer, it conveys the idea of being exceedingly good. Another
method of improving clear tinned soups in flavour is by the addition
of celery. If you have a head of celery in the house, take a small
stick, and with a knife cut it into very thin slices indeed. Boil this
in the soup, and you will find that it will improve the flavour very
considerably, that is, if the soup contains other kinds of vegetables.
Another method is to boil a couple of beads of garlic in the clear
soup, but then many persons object to the flavour of garlic. Still,
if garlic is used with care it is not nearly so objectionable as many
people think. There is a strong prejudice against the use of garlic in
this country, but I believe this prejudice is brought about by the fact
that English cooks as a rule do not understand how to use it. Garlic
should be used to impart a slight flavour, and should rarely if ever be
chopped up to be eaten.
I will now go on to another class of preserved provisions, viz., fish.
Sardines and pilchards are preserved in oil, and are very nice eaten
just as they are, only bear in mind that cut lemon and cayenne pepper
is a very great improvement to them in their natural state.
A very simple method of having a nice dish in a hurry for breakfast or
for dinner can be made as follows:—Open a tin of sardines or a tin of
pilchards, pour the oil of the tin into a frying-pan, and add to it a
brimming teaspoonful or more of curry powder, moistened in a little
water. Add a teaspoonful of cornflour, also moistened in a little
water. Stir the whole for a time till you get a thick, oily gravy. Now
add the fish, either sardines or pilchards, and gradually make them hot
in this quickly-made curry sauce, and with a spoon keep pouring the
sauce over the fish. You must be careful not to break the fish. As soon
as the fish are thoroughly hot through, take them out of the frying pan
with a slice similar to that you use for taking out fried eggs, place
them on a hot dish, and scrape all the oily curry gravy over the top.
Some few years ago great things were expected from what was called the
Australian meat in tins. Since the introduction of frozen meat, we have
heard a great deal less about meat in tins. Still these tins are very
useful to persons living in out-of-the-way places in the country, where
frozen meat would be just as difficult to obtain as ordinary butchers’
meat. Australian meat differs very much in quality. As a rule you will
find that unless the meat is surrounded by a good deal of jelly it is
not worth having at all. When the Australian meat has plenty of jelly
with it, and you can turn it out in a solid lump, I am not sure but
what the best method is to have it as it is—cold. It wants cutting with
a very sharp knife indeed. It is very light of digestion. You can send
it to table just as it is, surrounded with the white part of a lettuce,
placed alternately with beetroot. Australian meat can, however, be
sent to table hot, and there are several ways of doing it. One method
is to make it into an Irish stew. Warm the tin just sufficiently to
melt the jelly, pour off all the jelly into a saucepan, and slice
up half-a-dozen good-sized onions and boil them in the jelly. Boil,
say, an equal weight of potatoes to meat, also separately, in some
water. Then place the hot cooked potatoes, the tender-boiled onions,
and gravy with the meat in a saucepan, and as soon as the meat is hot
through send it to table. The reason why we proceed this way is that
the drawback to Australian meat is that it is already over-cooked;
consequently, you must avoid cooking it more than can be helped.
Tinned meat can also be made into curry in a similar way—that is,
after you have melted the jelly you pour it off and use it to make
some strong, rich curry sauce. The meat should then be placed in the
curry sauce and served as soon as it is hot through. The meat should be
shredded with a couple of silver forks, so that the curry can be eaten
with a fork.
Australian meat can also be used for making a meat pie. To make a good
meat pie, you must melt the jelly, pour it into a saucepan, and boil
with it six beads of garlic, and also add some gelatine to make the
jelly when cold nice and firm. In fact, it should be quite as firm as
an ordinary mould of jelly. Now place the Australian meat in a piedish,
pour the gravy over it, and place a few very thin slices of bacon
on the top. You can also mix with the pie a teaspoonful of chopped
parsley, and be sure to add plenty of black pepper. Few cooks realise
what a large amount of black pepper is required for a meat pie. You
can also add to the pie half-a-dozen hard-boiled eggs cut in halves.
Now cover the piedish over with the crust, and bake it in the oven. As
soon as the pastry is done, the pie is done; the meat, as I have said
before, is already over-cooked. Try and manage to keep by you a little
of the gravy, and when the pie is cold, add the remainder. Pour this
gravy into the pie through the top, and fill the gravy up so that it
reaches the crust. Remember, this pie can only be eaten cold. If you
use garlic in a meat pie, you cannot cut the pie while it is hot. The
gravy should be poured in when it is nearly set.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
A “PRINCESS OF THULE” IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
BY REV. THOMAS B. WILLSON, M.A.
Away in the far, far West of Ireland, the great Clew Bay indents the
coast of the County of Mayo. At the northern entrance of this bay rise
the mighty cliffs of Achill, against which the long Atlantic rollers
dash themselves, in all weathers, with unceasing spray, and after a
storm with terrific fury. On the south the promontory of Old Head, near
Lewisburg, rises abruptly from the sea, but with less striking cliffs
than on the northern side.
The bay is surrounded by hills and mountains, bare for the most
part of trees, but clad in the richest purple by the heather in
the summer-time. Conspicuous among the mountains is the wondrous
cone-shaped Croagh Patrick, towering in an almost perpendicular mass on
the southern shore, above the ruined abbey of Murrisk. From the top of
it St. Patrick, according to popular legend, expelled the serpents for
ever from Ireland, and it is regarded as a specially holy place by the
people, who in great numbers make an annual pilgrimage to the top.
Many are the islands which dot the surface of the bay, some large,
some very minute. There are said to be no less than three hundred
and sixty-five of them, one for every day in the year, and if one
looks upon the wondrous archipelago from a neighbouring height, they
can well believe the number to be not much exaggerated. The little
town of Westport is the only place of any importance on the bay, the
terminus of the railway from Dublin, a spot which has seen better
days, its large empty warehouses on the quay telling the sad tale of
long-departed commerce.
Gorgeous are the sunsets to be seen in summer over this bay; and a
conspicuous object, as the sun sinks into his “watery bed” in the
Atlantic, bringing a new day to our brethren beyond the seas, is the
great Clare Island, which forms a sort of natural breakwater at the
entrance of the bay, restraining the full sweep of the great Atlantic
rollers. Deep purple look the mountains and cliffs of the island as
the sun sinks lower and lower, and the bare rugged cliffs and smaller
adjacent islands seem transformed as if by magic, until they almost
appear to be the Laureate’s
“Summer isles of Eden lying in dark purple spheres of sea.”
This rugged island in the sixteenth century was the home of a very
remarkable woman, who may not unfitly be called a “Princess of
Thule”—one very different indeed from Mr. Black’s charming heroine,
cast in a much sterner and rougher mould—but a princess, nevertheless,
and one undoubtedly from “Ultima Thule.”
Here lived and died the celebrated Grana Uaile, whose name in its
Anglicised form we know as Grace O’Maley. She was the daughter of
Breanhaun Crone O’Maille, or O’Maley, the Chief of Murrisk and of the
Isles of O’Maley, of which Clare was the most important. The O’Maleys
were a powerful clan, and had fought bravely in many of the local
struggles. Breanhaun O’Maley died when his daughter had just grown to
womanhood, leaving behind him a son, who was quite a child, and the one
daughter, Grace. The laws of succession were not firmly established in
those days and in that part of Ireland, and the strong-minded woman
found little difficulty in setting aside the claim of the boy, and
establishing herself as Chieftainess of the clan or sept of O’Maley.
She soon gathered together a number of followers, who were ready to
support this dauntless woman in those very unsettled days for Ireland,
when the Virgin Queen sat upon the throne of England.
Quickly she became famous as the head of a powerful clan, and as a
leader of rare courage and intrepidity. The Lord Deputy Sidney, writing
of her in 1576, says, “O’Maley is powerful in galleys and seamen.” It
is not curious that the matrimonial affairs of this remarkable woman
were somewhat peculiar. She was twice married. First, to one of the
O’Flahertys of Connemara. They were a powerful clan in the county
of Galway, and had a stronghold called Krishlane-na-Kirca, or the
Hens’ Castle, on the shores of Lough Corrib, the remains of which are
still to be seen. The O’Flahertys were a wild and turbulent race in
those days, the terror of the merchants of the then prosperous city
of Galway, who commonly inserted in the prayers in their churches a
petition to be delivered “from the ferocious O’Flahertys.” On his death
she married Sir William Burke, a man of English race, who, however,
had cast off allegiance to the English Crown, and was better known as
the MacWilliam Eighter. It was a curious union, as Grana Uaile would
only agree to it “for a year certain.” At the end of that period she
disowned him, but did not attempt to contract any further alliance.
She sided, however, with Sir Richard Bingham against these Bourkes,
and they were defeated in a battle, a result largely achieved by the
followers of Grana Uaile.
As a return for this timely aid, Queen Elizabeth invited this western
princess to pay her a visit in London. The invitation was accepted by
her, and she set sail from her castle in Clare Island for Chester,
the usual port of arrival from Ireland in those days. Before reaching
Chester she gave birth to a son, the only child of her curious second
marriage, and named him Tobaduah-na-Lung, or Toby of the Ship. From
Chester she proceeded to London, to her interview with Elizabeth.
The Queen was at that time residing at Hampton Court, and thither
Grace made her way. It must have been a curious scene, the meeting of
these two women. The haughty Tudor Queen, and the wild, half-savage
Chieftainess of the far West. The contrast in their dress, too, must
have been very striking. We are all familiar with the pictures of the
great Queen of England, adorned with her enormous ruff and elaborate
dresses; it certainly must have looked curious beside Grace O’Maley,
who, we are told, was attired in “thirty yards of yellow linen, and
a mantle of red frieze”! Grana was little ready to fall into the
subservient ways of courtiers. She shook hands with Elizabeth, and
treated her in every way as an equal, regarding herself (and rightly
enough, too) as an independent princess. The offer of a lap-dog the
head of the sept of O’Maley rejected with scorn. Afterwards Elizabeth
offered to create her a countess, but this honour she declined, on the
ground that she was the head of her own people; but was willing that a
dignity should be bestowed on her infant son.
Many have been the strange visitors received by English monarchs, but
few more curious scenes have been witnessed than the reception of Grana
Uaile by Queen Elizabeth at Hampton Court.
On the voyage home from England a very striking and romantic incident
occurred, which gives some idea of the state of society in those
days (it was 1575), and of the character of the Princess of Clare
Island. On leaving the English coast severe weather was encountered,
and instead of sailing at once north-west for her island home, Grana
was driven across the Channel to the coast of the county Dublin. On
the northern shore of the beautiful Dublin Bay the peninsula of Howth
runs out into the sea, at the extremity of which was in ancient times
a fortress often used by the Northmen, whose name for the promontory,
Hoved, or head, has been corrupted into Howth. The Hill of Howth, as it
is called, came into the possession of the family of St. Lawrence in
the early times after the English conquest of Ireland; or rather its
partial conquest, for it was not until after the reign of Elizabeth
that the English authority was anything more than nominal, except along
the eastern coast, in the part known as the English pale. The family
of St. Lawrence were Barons (now Earls) of Howth, and had built their
castle on the north-western slope of the hill, facing the mainland,
and close to the isthmus which unites the hill to the main part of the
county of Dublin. To the shelter afforded by the Hill of Howth, Grana
Uaile and her ships were driven. She sought hospitality at the Castle,
but on reaching it found the gates closed. The family were at dinner.
Full of anger at this, she turned again to her ships, and on the way
she chanced to find the heir of the St. Lawrences, then a little child,
playing by the seashore. Here was a chance of revenge for the insult
she had met with, and one which Grana would not be slow to avail
herself of. The boy was captured by her retainers, placed on board her
ship, and with this precious booty she made haste to reach her island
home.
Great, we may well believe, was the anger and consternation of the
family to find themselves robbed of their son and heir. There was not
much use in appealing to the English Government, for the Queen’s writ
could hardly be said to “run” in Western Mayo in the days of Elizabeth,
any more than it sometimes does now in Kerry or Galway, so recourse had
to be had to negotiation. After a considerable delay, Grana consented
to release her captive, and this curious condition was attached to a
substantial sum of money paid as ransom:—Whenever the family went to
dinner, the gates of the Castle were to be thrown wide open, and a
place was to be laid for one more guest than was expected! In making
this provision, she clearly intended that no subsequent wayfarer should
go hungry or empty away from Howth Castle. This curious custom was, I
believe, continued in the family down to quite recent times.
This was the last striking exploit of Grana Uaile. She lived on in her
island home, and died there at last, and was buried on the island, in
the ancient Carmelite Abbey founded in 1224, the ruins of which are
still to be seen, as well as the island fortress of this remarkable
woman. A good many years ago a skull, which local tradition represented
as hers, used to be shown to the rare tourists who visited Clare
Island, but it is said to have disappeared.
Those whose summer wanderings lead them to the remote parts of the West
of Ireland, and who do not mind, if need be, a good tossing on an often
rough sea, might well spend a pleasant day in visiting Clare Island,
and seeing for themselves the ruins of the Castle where our “Princess
of Thule” lived and died in the days of “Good Queen Bess.”
[Illustration: ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS]
WORK.
DAISY GREEN.—Your bridesmaids should wear white gloves, and so should
you. The best man has nothing to do with the bride. He has to bring
the bridegroom to the church, stand by him at the altar, and see that
he does not run away; also, he has to attend to the accommodation of
all the guests in their respective carriages, and to devote himself
specially to the bridesmaids, for whom he has to return thanks, should
their health be drunk. The bride drives to the church with her father,
or whoever gives her away, and sits facing the horses. If you have but
one carriage, send it back for your bridesmaids, as your parents must
drive with you to the church. The men of your family can walk. If they
can hire a cab, it would be the more economical plan in rainy weather.
DOTTY.—1. Send the macramé lace to a cleaner. Their appliances are
better than private home ones, and the price of cleaning is low. 2.
In the name Helen, of course the “h” is aspirated, otherwise the name
would be Ellen. It would be acting like a Cockney to drop it and
confound the two names. Pronounce Mozart “Mo-zart.”
LOUISE.—We do not think there is any sale in England for cocoons; it
costs so much to reel the silk off. If you have a large number you
might perhaps do something with them in America, where the address
of the Women’s Silk Culture Association is 1,328, Chesnut-street,
Philadelphia. Women are largely interested there in sericulture.
MARY E. M.—1. Your fawn-coloured gown will look well for winter wear
if dyed a rich dark red. Before ordering the dyeing, go to the dyer
and ascertain from him whether your material will take the colour you
desire satisfactorily, because some pale colours will not do so, and
should be seen by an experienced workman. 2. With reference to the
training of your voice, the first thing to be done is to effect the
cure of your deafness; then take a few lessons from a good teacher—an
Italian, if possible. Bad tricks are formed by untaught singers,
such as singing through closed teeth, taking notes in a wrong voice,
or commencing with the letter “n.” A gentleman we once knew used to
distract us by saying, “‘N,’ as it fell upon a day,” etc.
AN ELDEST DAUGHTER.—One of the best methods of making use of scraps of
cloth is to cut them into pieces the size of a penny, taking a penny as
a model, and sew them on, overlapping each other, on a piece of thick
canvas for a foundation, for the hearthrug. If you mark out a pattern
on this, such as a large diamond in the centre and a small diamond on
either side, you can carry them out in colours, making the foundation
black. Rub the ivory with whiting, slightly moistened.
NINA KASELTI may clean the zephyr woollen shawl with tinsel mixed in it
in hot bran. She should rub very gently, just as if washing it in the
bran. Flour would answer equally well.
A YOUNG MOTHER.—Shilling knitting books are to be obtained at nearly
every fancy shop. You can also get the little combinations in Germany
ready made without trouble. We have seen them.
A POOR COUNTRY LASSIE.—We should think you would be very wise to learn
millinery, as it is a very nice, pleasant business, and you would not
suffer from fatigue.
MISCELLANEOUS.
UNHAPPY CIS.—The subject of drunkenness seems a very hopeless one.
Of course, people can cure themselves with God’s help and their own
determination. We should advise your mother to seek legal advice and
get protection for herself and her children. Such a step might bring
him to reason. In America we hear that drunkards who wish to cure
themselves are put on a vegetable diet. You have our warmest sympathy.
KITTEN should use a drying wash for her hair. The best is composed of a
quart of hot water, in which a piece of carbonate of soda is dissolved
and a piece of lump ammonia, each the size of a large walnut. Use the
water warm, and dry the hair well.
IOLANTHE.—The possession of a Queen Anne farthing is, alas! not
equivalent to that of Miss Miggs’s annual gold mine, nor will Iolanthe
be “found in tea and sugar” by securing a purchaser for it! Perhaps
some friend might be induced to give a halfpenny for it in exchange.
ANNIE LAURIE.—1. If the books be much stained they should be taken to
pieces and placed in a decoction of alum and hot water. This may remove
the discolourment; but the book should be passed again through a thin
solution of size after such a bath to give body and firmness to the
paper. Although telling you what should be done, we by no means advise
you to attempt so delicate a process yourself, and recommend you to
place the volume in the hands of an experienced binder. 2. The origin
of women adopting their husbands’ names is to be found amongst the
ancient Romans. They were distinguished as “Julia of Pompey,” and so
forth. We omit the “of.”
GERTRUDE TEMPERLY.—Your little suggestion for awakening a greater
feeling of sympathy between our rough, uneducated, and even depraved
fellow-creatures and the respectable classes, who would endeavour
to raise their moral condition, is certainly well meaning; but, in
reference to a young girl of those respectable classes, mothers would
be very wrong to allow their young daughters to visit the fallen and
depraved, and to elevate them by shaking hands with them, by the
(magnetic?) influence of “the touch of their hands.”
MARY B.—We could not take the responsibility of recommending a winter
residence if there is any complication of disease; but we advise you to
procure the _Leisure Hour_ for October, 1886, and read the advice given
at page 714, in the article entitled “Winter Migration.”
PICKWICK CLUB.—You should tell us from what cause your headaches arise,
and then we might suggest a palliative, if not a means of cure. Our
correspondents forget that we are perfectly unacquainted with their
respective constitutions, occupations, manner of living, description
of residence, remedies already tried, and complications of complaints.
Could we possibly do more than speak in very general terms in reply?
AUTUMN.—The style of address employed to old or young ladies depends
on the position in life of the person who addresses them. A shop
attendant should say “madam,” a domestic servant or poor person should
say “ma’am.” Equals in position amongst the gentry of the upper classes
never employ either word to each other. The Emperor Napoleon III. and
his son, the young Prince Imperial, were buried at Chislehurst.
A BOOTLE GIRL.—We recommend you to apply to the Colonial Emigration
Society, the Manchester branch of which is under the direction of
Miss Emily Faithfull. The office is at 9, Albert-square Manchester.
The office is open from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m., Saturdays excepted; also
on Monday evenings from 7 till 8. Both free and assisted passages are
given under certain circumstances, and the best advice given also.
SNOWDROP and IVYLEAF should first consult a doctor and next a dentist.
2. Old stamps are of no value whatever to anyone. 3. We think Handel or
Haydn was the writer.
POLLY PERKINS.—1. Cold green tea is the best thing to use for the
eyelids in case of styes; but you would do well to consult a doctor. 2.
You must advertise for such a situation.
SEAWEED.—The duties of a stewardess are to wait on the lady passengers,
help to dress them, and bring them the basin or their food if too ill
to rise from their berths. The salary seems to vary with different
lines of steamers.
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s Note—the following changes have been made to this text.
Page 247: out to our—“turned our faces”.
Page 250: flytrap to fly-trap—“specimen of the fly-trap”.]