220 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER, 



August 



♦ 



extra pJatcs were put ou, and they must 

 have at least a mouthful, for the sake of 

 hospitality. 



The cold i-oasts from dinner, and usually 

 from dinner of the day before, always 

 came up for supper, with roast potatoes or 

 "bubble and squeak," made regularly aft- 

 er the first night because the traveler 

 liked it so well. "Bubble and squeak" is 

 simply the cold potato and cabbage from 

 dinner chopped together and then done in 

 a frying pan to a crisp brown. It doesn't 

 sound nice, but try it and see how good it 

 is. This is not the notion of one particu- 

 lar house, for directions for cooking it 

 were found in an old cook book published 

 in 1837. 



Supper brings more ale, or 'alf and 'alf, 

 drawn cold and sparkling from barrels in 

 the cellar. 



The bread for supp(;r is always put on 

 the table iu the loaf, one of those round 

 cottage loaves which look as if the baker, 

 as an aftertliought, had added a second 

 story to them. It was cut tor this meal, 

 not in slices, but in "hunks," accom- 

 plished by tipping the loaf on edge, cut- 

 ting off a section, and then cutting this 

 again, so as to give a piece shaped like a 

 three cornered pyramid. — New York 

 Times, 



foi'mallyon an end of the Oiuing'taOJc ann 

 eaten as one chooses. It follows one about 

 the house or into the garden, a maid bring- 

 ing your share on a tray. This luncheon 

 was to be dodged when possible, as it only 

 spoiled the appetite for dinner, which, in 

 this house, was served at 1£:30. 



Dinner is a substantial meal, beginning 

 with an enormous roast of beef, a leg of 

 mutton or a boiled ham. There was very 

 seldom soup, but whenever the roast was 

 of beef or mutton there was always deli- 

 cious Yorkshire pudding, which was serv- 

 ed before or with the roast. To make this 

 dish, comparatively unknown in America, 

 the roast is put to cook upon an iron frame 

 called a "hor.se," which raises it fvom the 

 bottom of tlie roasting pan. An hour or 

 so before the roast is done the pudding 

 batter, made of flour, milk and eggs, is 

 poured into the pan and left to cook be- 

 neatli the drippings of the meat, the juices 

 of which penetrate and flavor it. 



Of course everything is carved on the 

 table. The Englishman has a lofty con- 

 tempt for side dishes, and your meat, po- 

 tato, Yorkshire pudding and two kinds of 

 vegetables are always lieaped upon one 

 plate, which fortunately is a large one. 



By the middle of the afternoon, when 

 our hostess was fairly relieved of her do- 

 mestic duties for the day, she liked to have 

 us drop in at her own little sitting room 

 for a bit of cake, some fruit and a glass of 

 her homemade wine. Imposition as it was 

 felt this was upon one's digestive organs, 

 her delicious wines, tor the making of 

 which she wns famous all over the country, 

 could seldom lie resisted. Her cellar 

 seemed inexhaustible, and the kinds were 

 various. 



At 5 o'clock, by which time we natu- 

 rally needed something to eat, came tea, 

 and this was no "4 o clock" affair, with 

 tiny cups and wafers of paper thinness. 

 The table was s])read in the dining room, 

 and we sat down to a generous meal of 

 potted meat, saiiKi, big plates piled high 

 with thin slices of bread and butter, more 

 toast, tea and jiastry. The way in which 

 the salad was served at this meal is new to 

 an American. While the heads of lettuce 

 are growing in the garden the leaves are 

 gathered tightly together and tied with 

 strings. This makes the heads grow as 

 hard and crisp and white as cab'jage. 

 When serv(^d, the strings and outer leaves 

 are cut away, and the heads quartered ljl:e 

 an apple and sent to the table to be eaten 

 plain, with bread and butter. 



At 9 o'clock comes supper, nest to din- 

 ner the most solid meal of the day. This 

 is also the social meal, when conversation 

 is at its best, and we were ajjt to linger, 

 loath to leave. If a. neighbor dropped in, 

 or more than one, as was often the case. 



ISHE M^VEK^IAKKIED 



"Auntie, will you tell me a story? Tha 

 story, you know, you've promised me so 

 often — why you never maiTied. Do you 

 remember. Auntie, when I was little, you 

 useid to say it was because no one had 

 asked you? I never believed that, "and 

 the girl laughed. "Then you promised 

 you'd tell me when I was 18, and now I 

 am 18," and Miriam gave a tug at her 

 skirts with all the pleased proprietorship 

 of long dressss. "So do, auntie, dear." 



"Very well, darling." Miss Daneby 

 sighed, and Miriam drew up her chair 

 and resteil hei- golden head on the old la- 

 dy's kuee. 



"Now, auntie, I'm ready," and Mis3 

 Daneby began. 



"I was just about your age when I 

 'came out,' iir^d for months past I had 

 looked forward to a London season and 

 thought my first ball would never come. 

 But the much looked for night came at 

 last, and, when dressed and ready to start, 

 I thought it the happiest moment of my 

 life, but it was nothing to what followed. 

 The flowers, the music, the lights, the 

 bright dresses, and the gay people wan- 

 dering hither and thither, all dazzled me 

 and put me in mind of fairyland. I did 

 not lack partners, and danced till the 

 small hours of the morning. Every one 

 said I had been a success, but I naid littlo 



